Buying Stuff is Hard

Look! It's an upper-middle class Mom! She has so much to do...take the dog to the vet, pick up (looks like the only) child from karate class, plan a birthday party, and water the houseplants! I know I've said this blog isn't meant to address actual serious, societal problems, but come on. At this moment people are really suffering and really struggling. Complaining about all the stuff we "need" to parent (so much stuff, in fact, we need to by more stuff just to deal with our original stuff) is tacky at best and just plain awful at worst.

no, No, and NO!

I've recently met some new moms in a big move my family just completed. I haven't written in a while because, frankly, moms can be the best, and I just didn't have a lot of mom-induced irritations to vent about.

AND THEN I SAW IT.

An adorable little girl. Featured in an adorable photo on her mother's meticulously updated blog. On the toilet.

ON THE TOILET!

I thought my contemporaries, people in their early 30's, were relatively tech savvy. We may not be 15-year-old wonder kids, but I was sure we weren't like the slightly older Gen-X variety, like, say Anthony Weiner, who have iPhones, but don't quite grasp the fact that Twitter is omnipresent.

MOMS: The internet is everywhere. It does not go away. Your kid is going to hate you for putting a picture of him or her on their toilet in the privacy of his or her baby book. We as a society are not prepared for the tween-age hysteria that will erupt when Jaydyn or Kaylen or whatever made-up name your kid has, when they realize they are on the fucking internet, on the fucking toilet.

Moving is the Worst?

Over the course of the past few weeks, I thought moving might take over Moms as things that are the worst. One quick glance at Facebook and I was wrong...Moms still are indeed the worst.

One of the best exchanges in 30 Rock is when Jenna is trying to explain to Kenneth how to brag about oneself without being obvious...a back-handed compliment. For example, it's hard for her to watch American Idol, because she has perfect pitch.

I know that technically that Zuckerburg (Zuckerberg? Zukerberg?) guy is the inventor of Facebook, but I think Jenna may have had a hand in it too...it is a bona fide breading ground for back-handed compliments. Though nobody had to teach that to Moms...I think the bitch-switch must be located near the vaginal opening and is flipped as the baby slides out. Scientists are still looking for the C-Section one.

The most egregious one I found is a Mom who posted that she is SO FRUSTRATED because her 18 month knows all of his letters and sounds except for "I." He points to his eye instead.

Notice how the subject interjects three things her kid can do that presumably yours cannot or did not do at such an age: letter awareness, phonemic awareness, and knowledge of body parts. Of course it's all wrapped up in a neat little "whoa is me" sort of package.

Speaking of packages, I think I'd rather move again than have a play-date with this one. Blech.

Registry Wednesday: OMFG

Three words: Pottery Barn Kids. One abbreviated expletive: OMFG.

I feel compelled to give a brief summary of a registry I recently discovered from the above retailer (prices approximated):

* $1200 Rocker and Ottoman

* $600 Changing Table

* $400 Crib

* $100 Side Table

Surely prospective parents who register for these items know that in a matter of months, the side of that crib is going to be chewed to such an extent it'll look like Mom gave birth to a gaggle of woodchucks. They have to know that the Rocker/Ottoman combo costs more than my mortgage...and that its plush fabric will eventually be sullied by any number of baby yucks.

Baby registries are now like new cars. Whether it's an Audi, a Volkswagen, or a Datsun, it's out there, and it's more than just a way to get around.

Registry Wednesday: Is this Relaxing?

Summer Infant Soothing Spa and Shower.

Do I really need to go on?

Okay, if I must. Splashing around in the kitchen sink is so very Saturday Evening Post cover page. I guess I understand the spa thing...we want everything to be spa-like. It's the syndrome that makes normally robust, manly men on House Hunters squeal "Double sinks!" every episode. I'm totally kidding. There are no robust, manly men on House Hunters.

Even though I understand the theory behind it, this statement from the product description had me perplexed. "The soothing spa relaxes nervous first-time parents and fussy babies." I'm looking at a picture of the product, and I don't see how the parent can fit into the whirlpool bath, which is the only way I can fathom that the parent would actually relax. It looks like there's some sort of humidifier/Dyson turbo engine attached to it. Oh wait, I'm sorry, according to the instruction page, that is actually the shower. Either way, the shower and spa are battery operated contraptions you put in your tub. Unless this comes with a muscle-bound Swede to massage you while bathing your infant (not pictured), I fail to see how this might relax a "nervous first-time parent."

Easter Parade

This is not, I repeat, NOT one of those rants that begins with "Back in my day..."

But it's so hard to start otherwise. So, with reservations, back in my day, my parents did not come to every single event of my life while I was in school. While I had loving, involved parents, they did not come to my 3rd grade Fun Run, nor did they attend any classroom Valentine celebration.

This is not to say that every good thing in the world happened in the past, i.e. "Back in my day, Daddy'd take off his belt to shut us up." I cannot stress enough that this blog does not tackle actual issues. It does, however, beg the question: When did parents decide it was healthy to assume their school-age kids cannot function without them?

I've heard of helicopter parents, though I, perhaps incorrectly, associated them only with hovering over this week's algebra assignment. I've been employed by an elementary school (I love being vague) for over five years, and yet I never cease to marvel at the packed parking lots and jammed streets during...an Easter parade in which seven-year-olds walk around one floor of the school for two minutes wearing paper plate bonnets and cut-out ties? I even saw one mom break out the professional grade Nikon lens for this life altering event. Of course, I'm all for capturing precious memories for your kids, but do your kids' memories always have to include you?

Pop Quiz:

Is it an absolute requirement to attend the following event under penalty of childhood trauma?

1. Every single soccer game ages birth-23

2. Grammar school Halloween parties

3. Away track meets

4. Wedding

5. Any relay involving a spoon

There's only one "yes." If you're not sure of the answer, call your mother.

Registry Wednesday

One of the strangest things I hear from expectant mothers is "I can't wait for my body to be mine again." While this flies in the face of basic pregnancy expectations we all should have before embarking on such a state, this mindset can lead to a goldmine for the brilliant minds of the Upspring Company. Yes, yes, THE Upspring Company, who brought us "Shrinkx Hips."

I'm admittedly quick to judge this item, but I have two strong reasons to do so. First, as sure as "Euro" anything increases the price/desirability of a given product, novelty spelling of a word in your product is a red flag for cheesy-ness. Secondly, it is curiously reminiscent of those vibration belt weight loss machines from the '50's. Surely we can find a better, and less embarrassing way to spend $55.

Surely This Has Never Happened Before...

Of course it's always special when it's YOUR baby. It feels like the most amazing thing when YOUR baby walks, talks, rolls over, and shoots through the birth canal. And it is special and amazing. It's just that it's been special and amazing billions and billions of times over.

I have a friend who was recently invited to attend a "gender unveiling" party for an expecting couple. Now before we can properly digest the madness this may entail, I have another friend who went on a "naming retreat" with his spouse. Finally, yet another friend (okay, I'm not claiming this one fully...more of an acquaintance) had a strictly enforced rule that she and her spouse would not reveal the name of their baby until you officially met her. In person.

Which of these practices is most likely to drive your friends and family to secretly resent your child and overtly resent you? Are these even the most irritating displays of self-involved foolishness out there?

As a side note, I cannot speak to the gender of couple #1, as the party has not yet been held. Couple #2 and couple #3 named their children Ellie and Claire, respectively. Earth-shattering enough to warrant retreats and special face-to-face introductions? If you're inclined to say yes, I'm going to go ahead and assume you're in the process of making bunch reservations for your own super special baby unveiling.

Registry Wednesday

I have a sickness. If you have the slightest air of pregnancy about you, and I know the first two letters of your first and last name, I'm going to look up your gift registry. I wish it was so I could buy you a gift, but it's mostly to see if you registered for something completely ridiculous (this coming from someone who registered for, but thankfully did not receive, a baby food warmer).

This week's feature is the Beaba Babycook BPA Free Baby Food Maker.

So this got good reviews on Babies R Us, but you'll never change my mind on the following beliefs:

1. This is the baby shower equivalent to the bread maker: expensive, sounds like a good idea going in, pisses you off so much that one day, you go Gerber and never go back.

2. I don' t know what a "Beaba" is, but if a product has a vaguely European sounding name,

it sends a certain breed of mom scrambling to her Passat wagon to pay ungodly

sums for something a pot on the stove can do.

Raising children is literally the oldest trick in the book. Exactly zero people need this product.

* * *

Reading this post back, I sound a little....what's the word....bitter? Stand-off-ish? Bitchy? Most likely hypocritical, as someone who enjoys a flushing toilet as much as the next. I don't live off the grid in a cabin made of hand-stretched squirrel carcasses...I just don't understand when it happened that becoming a parent is equivalent to deep sea diving, requiring a bunch of crazy equipment.

Inspiration

It all started with a harmless Facebook comment.

A friend posted a query about the best front-facing car seat for her transitioning daughter. As a freaked out pregnant lady who obsessively scoured Consumer Reports for the perfect registry items, I proudly informed her about several "Best Buys."

Fourteen minutes later, another (non-mutual) friend chimed in that she would only buy a Britax seat for her daughter because, "I can't put a price on the safety of my child," thereby, I suppose, implying that I could.

Look, we all know that the actual moms who are the worst are the ones who lock their children in closets and such. This blog isn't about those moms. This is about that particular breed of mom who uses status, money, and an inflated sense of self-satisfaction to turn motherhood into a sugary game of backhanded insults and smug consumerism.

I hope this blog isn't just a place for me to air my grievances, though that is one of my favorite pastimes. I hope it's a place where moms can come and tell stories, laugh, get support, and maybe help lessen our collective gag reflex when the words "mommy blog" are uttered.