Author Archives: Naptimewriting

New Year’s meme

Posted on by

Picked up this meme over at Dr. Brazen Hussy’s blog…I’d better warn you, I hate these things. I only ever answer to CIH, and I don’t know if she reads this blog.

1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?
blogged

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I try my best every day, and every day fall short and resolve to do better the next day. My goals are far too Sisyphean to be broken out by year.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Like next to me on a train? No.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Several ants right next to the front door did. But no humans.

5. What countries did you visit?
Your life must be far more glamourous than mine. Can’t you ask which rooms of the house I visited?

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
A finished novel, a publishing contract, an accepted journal submission, a babysitter, uninterrupted sleep, money—wads and wads of it so I could do better about helping those without.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
September 15, 2008. Two reasons, both of which you know.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I didn’t terminate the existence of my child, my Spouse, or myself.

9. What was your biggest failure?
I don’t believe in failure. There’s a lot of shit I could have done differently, but I didn’t. I’m already over it.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Another stress fracture. But the cancer hasn’t returned, so I’ll call it a healthy year.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Bought? Bought? What kind of lameass superficial consumerist bullshit is this? All metaphysical and then a question about stuff? Lame. (Except, I could mention that really awesome cold press watercolor paper for Peanut’s watercolor projects and a couple of really satisfying CDs.)

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Sometimes everyone’s.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Sometimes everyone’s.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Down the toilet of the dual lies of the stock market and the real estate market. Plus a bit too much to chocolate, but see previous answers to get what I consider righteous justification on that.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
In the moment: the first six straight days of sleeping through the night. Towards the future: publishing both academic and fiction in 2009.

16. What song will always remind you of 2008?
I don’t associate music with years, but rather with moods. So you name the mood, I’ll name the album. Otherwise, next question.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Every moment is a happiness roller coaster, I’m much heavier since we weaned, and much poorer in terms of money. But I have a happy and healthy family, so the above options are totally moot in the “eggshell or antique white?” realm of silly distinctions.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Living in the moment.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Wasting time online.

20. How will you be spending the New Year?
Sober, tired, with a long list of things to do.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008?
I fell in awe.

22. How many one-night stands?
Just this year? Whew. That’d have to be…counting here…sheesh…including that one it was…none.

23. What was your favorite TV program?
Top Chef; then we got rid of the TV and swore allegiance to Jon Stewart and The Daily Show.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
I’m not okay with the word “hate.” Strong dislike? Many. But after the October Rolling Stone piece on McCain, he’s moved very close to the top of the list. Right after his pick for VP.

25. What was the best book you read?
In 2008? The Best Non-Required Reading of 2007. Because I’m a little behind. (Not that I’m an ass. I’m just not caught up on my reading.)

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Tie: Incendio and Blammos

27. What did you want and get?
Happy, healthy, sold house, family for M&S

28. What did you want and not get?
Finished novel, affordable Bay Area housing, answers to all my questions, a call from Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader telling me that the answer is yes, regular exercise, regular peace and quiet, PhD, fortunes without fame, a lot of other things I could control but didn’t bother to, and a lot of other things I couldn’t control and therefore c’est la vie.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?
Saw very few, and for now have to say the The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Nope, wait. The Wedding Date. Nope, wait. Juno. Yup, Juno. Was that this year? Maybe Diving Bell for this year and Juno for last year. No. Wait, Dan in Real Life. Yes. Dan in Real Life. Was that this year? (We could go on and on like this. Go with anything clever and funny and basically vapid and you have my answer. Does it really matter, anyway?)

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I don’t remember what I did, though I know it involved a museum for children and a painful foot. And trying to go to a restaurant and having to settle for something I didn’t want that turned out to be a lovely experience. I was relatively young and comparatively really old.

31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
More sleep.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
Put on something that is recently way too snug. Wear it all day. Sleep in it. Wear it the next day. Sleep in it. Wear it until I go for a run. Change to running clothes, shower immediately, the repeat the process.

33. What kept you sane?
Who told you I was sane?

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I don’t much fancy celebrities because they always turn out to be human, and that’s the worst kind of disappointment.

35. What political issue stirred you the most?
The country in which I live finally voted for hope rather than fear. But also for homophobia, so I was stirred two different ways.

36. Whom did you miss?
Ben.
Bob. Anne. Jack.
Kristin. Amelia. Natalie.

37. Who was the best new person you met?
Kylie.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.
Every day I spend worrying about doing it right is another day I don’t quite get it right. So I either have to stop worrying or do it right.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
And. And but so. And but so then. We all fell in love with living again. (see it here)

Happy New Year?

Posted on by

It’s midnight three time zones away, I mailed my unfinished book to KGT, and Spouse says my backrub doesn’t start until hulu is loaded, so can I call it quits early?

I remember when it was important to stay up until the year actually clocked by. I remember when it was exhilarating to start the year with a kiss and a promise to make things the best, ever.

Now it’s important to get to bed as early as possible, and to start the year with a modicum of patience and good will toward humanity.

So can I go? Please?

Okay, that’s it.

Posted on by

Attention ants: Stop it. I know it’s warm in here, I know it’s dry in here. I don’t want you in here. Stop it before I run out of Biokleen spray, because its replacement is decidedly less pleasant for all of us.

Attention interest rates: Stop it. Fucking settle around the low 5s and stop. For fuck’s sake. We’re trying to fix an economy here, and you’re not helping. Greedy fucking bank jerks who stole our 401ks. Stop, stop, stop. Just lend everyone nice some money and quit trying to turn 2005 profits. Stop it stop it stop it.

Attention toddler: Keep up what you’re doing, boy. We’re having a great month. You’re doing very well. Nice effort on the friendliness, the compromising, and the listening. You’re a fine and decent human. Keep up the good work.

Attention early morning freight trains: Stop it. You don’t need the horn. Nobody on the planet could miss the blinking lights and dinging bells and dropped crossing arm. Stop honking your horn at 4am already.

Attention everyone on the planet: Step off! Just get out of my way for a few days. I have a novel to send to KGT, about which I’m terrified, even though she’s the sweetest and most gentle creative soul I’ve met, including MPG, who is the sweetest and most gentle creative soul anyone has ever met. While dealing with that fear (and unfinished novel that has two days to be finished), I also have to stop interest rates, decide whether to buy a house, decide how to finish this conference paper, decide whether to think about another kid, decide whether I can pull off above the knee striped socks with a skirt and an aircast. It’s an artificial-crisis-filled stressful month, and I’d like to ask that you all stay home, stop calling, and take a step away from the car keys. Just have some eggnog, chill, and resume your duties after the new year. (NDM, you may resume whenever, since the whole international date line gives you an extra day, anyway, and you wouldn’t get in my way, anyway, since you’re busy not drowning on the other side of the world, fighting to keep the world a better place than the rabid monkey blogs ever could without you.)

Attention babysitters: please select the best amongst yourselves and call me. I have no idea how to find one of you, but I need to see Spouse once before Peanut turns three. It would make three dates in three years, and I’m begging you…please call your own references, because I don’t have time. That’s why I haven’t found you yet. I haven’t looked. It’s a daunting task, one that should be important enough to stop parenting for the three months or so I assume it takes to find a good sitter, but that would sort of make the whole thing a bigger deal than I’m willing for it to be, seeing as I just want one stinking date with my husband in 2009. At least, I mean, but still. Ah, fuck it. I’ll just have Netflix send something not subtitled, and we’ll have our stinking Hot Tamales and popcorn on the cat-litter dusted couch. Sigh.

Attention world governments: please, please hear me now. I’ve figured out the secret to world peace. It came to me in the car (you know, that thing that very few people in the world have, and I’m way too spoiled to even have that, considering what most of the people in the world go through daily). The world would stop its fighting if every man woman and child had working indoor plumbing. Clean water, yes. That’s just necessary, though millions don’t have it. But beyond that, a flush toilet in some sort of structure where you can go all by yourself and close your eyes and have one minute of peace and quiet. And I’m going to go out on a limb here, and GUARANTEE world peace if somehow Bill and Melinda can get everyone a heated toilet seat. I know. We need to fix malaria and AIDS and birth traumas and birth defects and maternal health and cancer and everything else that afflicts the world populations. But once we’re all healthy, we might still be angry. Not with a heated toilet seat. There would be no wars if everyone had a heated toilet seat (which, if you were paying attention above, requires clean water and indoor plumbing, and about three thousand steps of poverty and disease eradication before the heated seats, but still).

Just consider it. Because once I go against my personal beliefs and kill all the ants in the house and strangle bank interest rate people and put a huge boulder on the railroad tracks and kiss my toddler and get a sitter and finish my novel and cure all those diseases, I would really like, for once in the winter, to not freeze my ass just trying to keep the house cleaner than our cat is willing to. And I can’t enjoy a heated toilet seat unless the rest of the world is also fed and healthy and happy and not abused and not endangered and also evacuating on a lovely, clean, heated toilet seat.

So there.

Uh-oh, I’m disqualified

Posted on by

So I got an awesome response about the non-violent, non-scary videos post, and someone pointed me to some yahoo groups that discuss nonviolent communication. (Never mind that the first group listed is a polyamory group. I need extra time to see if I qualify for that one.)

But I noticed that, once again, I’m totally out of the running for attachment parenting and natural parenting and wild parenting, and all those awesome hippie natural respectful styles that I thought were totally up my alley. Why? ‘Cuz we occasionally teach using timeouts and punishment. I know, I know. Might as well use a playpen, as long as we’re totally failing our kid.

Yup. Our kid hits, he gets either a timein or a timeout. Timein is where we remove him from the situation and talk with him about how hitting is not okay, how it hurts, and how words are better. Timeouts are where I can’t do a timein without losing my cool, so I send him to another room, corner, side of the house by himself. Yup, he cries. He is very sad and should have attention and human contact. But at that moment, the only contact avaialable to him is the very un-AP palm of my hand, so he gets to weather the consequences of anti-social behavior alone. Not how I want to parent, but it beats beating him.

I’m also out of the realm of AP, GP, and something new to me called Aware Parenting, because there’s that eggregiously selfish post you saw a couple of weeks ago where we decided to bribe him each night for a night’s sleep (only time we’ve ever bribed him). A fistful of stickers are yours if you sleep through the night. Each time you call me, you have to pay me a sticker. Yup. Totally inhumane. I’m telling my high spirited high needs highly sensitive kid that he has to pay for my love at night. But you know what? It’s been working about 80% of the time. My kid, who never slept through the night before 28 months, and still does it only rarely, is now sleeping through the night at least half the time. For stickers. I’ll unsubscribe from the Aware and Gentle and Attachement and Wild parenting forums for that.

I wish we didn’t, at times, lose our temper and punish and bribe. Because these people sound like my kind of people, on 98% of their theories:

“Aware Parenting is attachment-style parenting …which support the following: natural childbirth and early bonding, plenty of physical contact (including night-time closeness), prolonged breast-feeding, prompt responsiveness to crying, sensitive attunement, and non-punitive discipline — no punishments of any kind (including “time-out” and artificial “consequences”), no rewards or bribes, searching for underlying needs and feelings, non-violent communication, peaceful conflict-resolution (family meetings, mediation, etc.). Acceptance of emotional release, awareness of babies’ and children’s vulnerability to stress and trauma, recognition of repressed emotional pain as a contributing factor in many behavioral and emotional problems, recognition of the healing effects of laughter, crying, and raging, respectful, empathic listening and acceptance of children’s emotions.”

Their kids totally lucked out! I’m totally with those parents in theory. Damn, that would be nice, eh? But my kid is stuck with a cranky, sleep-deprived former-academic, former-professor, former-business-owner, former-exectutive, former-creative , AP-poser who only does most of that stuff, is just way too grouchy that she’s gotten her wish for a wonderful, sweet, loving kid instead of the twenty-two other life-long rewarding opportunities she wished for that year.

Damn, man. It’s hard to be a feminist and an attachment parenting type. It’s hard to be an anything and the kind of parent I want to be. But, as our friend JS said, “This respectful parenting stuff ain’t for pussies!”

Gee, how offensively correct you are, sir.

I’m really peeved at Melissa and Doug

Posted on by

I usually like the toy makers over at Melissa and Doug. They’re all wooden and edutainment-y, and I like that.

But today I’m heart-poundingly, strongly-worded-letter-y pissed.

Grandma brought Peanut a cool magnetic dress-up Joey doll. Peanut loves the doll. I love the doll. So I figured I’d get him the female version, too.

Uh-oh. Not just gender-assigned, not just gender-stereotyped, but gender-disgusting.

The Joey doll gets to be a firefighter, police officer, knight, superhero, construction worker, and a pirate. Stereotyped, sure, but not totally offensive, provided there is a female doll with the same choices, too.

Well, the Maggie doll lets you choose between “cute” outfit and “attractive” outfit. Period. Revolutionary choice of skirts or pants. No career garb. No uniforms. Nothing she could wear to a world where they value her for her mind. But she sure is purdy.

The Nina doll is all different ballerina costumes. The Princess doll is too disgusting to discuss here. Use your imagination. Now add more ruffles and glitter.

I’m genuinely pissed. My son happened to catch a glimpse of baseball on tv a few months ago, and asked where the ladies were. I told him I wasn’t sure, but we’d turn the channel until we saw some. So we watched billiards for a while. Then poker. ‘Cuz in those worlds, women and men seem a little more equal.

Are you freaking kidding me with dolls like this? Why can’t the Joey doll come in a female version? There are firefighter and police officer and construction worker women. Why not add a garbage truck driver and an executive, because women do that, too. Sure she can be a princess. Can’t each set have real career choices, including princess? (Oh, what? Like pirate is a viable career choice outside Somalia? And knight is a monster.com pull-down option? Each set could have some realistic and some unrealistic jobs. I want a set with a professor, a lawyer, a doctor, and a comedia delle arte harlequino. I guess we’ll have to learn to carve our own.)

I’m going to go write to Melissa and Doug. If you care what your daughters and sons know about life, I urge you to do the same. Tell me when you find a girl doll who dresses up as something other than a princess or a beauty object. ‘Cuz I’ll buy her doll. And more for gifts. I mean, hell, even Barbie got a job every once in a token while.

Melissa and Doug, shame on you. This is not 1909. The only choices are not mom or princess; policeman or fireman. I’m not teaching my son that, because it’s not reality. And I’m not teaching girls that, because it’s not reality. There was a motherf–king woman running for President this year, y’all, and all we get is princess and dresses? F— you. I’m buying Plan Toys this year.

Btw, where is the black Joey doll? And the Latino/a and the Asian? I know that shouldn’t be a “by the way” question, but I’m too pissed to rank my equality priorities right now. I want it all.

The cat is really really really really mad at us

Posted on by

Cat Two is a sensitive lad.

And a vindictive a–hole.

We know that he is angry with us because he strategically places feces depending on his mood. When all is well, it’s all in the litter box. If he’s a bit miffed, especially about our having a party or overnight guests, he leaves a bit outside the litter box on the floor. When he is ready to throw us out on our ears, aching to take over what is rightfully his domain, he pulls down the covers on our bed and poops exactly where we sleep. Last time, it happened nine times in a week, always where Spouse lays his right shoulder. This time, it’s right where my left deltoid burrows in each night. And he’s managing to get top sheet, fitted sheet, comforter, and mattress pad all in one fell poop.

But the kicker, this time, is that he’s also now targeting Peanut’s new bed. Knowing that we have the real power, and Peanut is just a pawn in our family’s nonsense, Spouse and I get the crap, and Peanut gets the pee. Three pees on Peanut’s bed today, including two where Cat Two pulled down the covers, peed right on Peanut’s sheets, then pulled the covers back up. Not well, or anything. I’m not saying he grows opposable thumbs. I’m saying the f—er deliberately hides his efforts so they can get really good and stinky. So we’re washing four freaking loads of laundry right now, instead of having nap time. At least we had a little extra BioKleen after Peanut potty trained himself early, having decided he hated the bulk of cloth diapers. Hope it works on cat shit, too.

Good times, y’all.

This f—ing cat is damned lucky we believe in fixing whatever is making him mad rather than throwin his ass into the pound, because that sounds really tempting. We spend a lot of time volunteering at the pound, where we see that people drop off their pets for all manner of inconveniences, the likes of which you give a child a timeout or a good talking to, but for which most people think it’s acceptable to just give away the furriest of their family. Disgusting and sad.

But, dude, he’s pooping in our bed to make a point.

I fear that if we ever had another child, both cats and the first kid would be pooping all over the hous, just to voice their displeasure and relative helplessness.

And I thought it felt like a zoo in here already…

Working outside the home versus working inside the home smackdown

Posted on by

You wanna know who wins the ultimate championship of working mom versus stay-at-home mom? Bad Mommy Moments has tabulated and calculated and articulated her experiences as both and came up with this post.

You wanna know why the part-time work option only looks good until you’re knee deep in both hellish worlds? Read The Mask of Motherhood by Susan Maushart. A good choice for realizing that nobody in the motherhood game has it easy and we should all be a lot more honest with each other and the childfree about it.

Whatever you do…

Posted on by

…do NOT cave in when they ask, after opening stockings Christmas eve, for just one piece of chocolate.

Grandma, you’ll rue the day you put candy in our kid’s Christmakkah sock.

That toddler had a small chocolate Santa (sure, enormous considering his size, but, still, after a full dinner and the whole confection he asked for more, which is a sign it was less than the one ounce of chocolate he gets each Friday). And he has been singing to himself in his bed, at full volume, in a tykebuddy-in-full-winter-garb-lit room, for 78 minutes. And counting. Invented songs, y’all. Not Christmas classics or Summer Lovin’ or something. Total improv genius he is, btw.

I know that theobromine is not caffeine. But I’ve seen the structure and I’ve seen the effects. And that shit is identical in a three year old body. I’ve drugged my child with mass marketed toxic substances. I’m totally gonna be the cool parent in high school. (For those who know me, ba ha hahahahaha ha. That’ll be the day.)

New rule. No chocolate within eight hours of bed. Unless you’re mommy. Then chocolate only if accompanied by liquor. Mmmmm. Hot chocolate with liquor.

Gotta go so I can be loaded while listening to the toddler carolling.

At least someone values my labor, even if the exchange rate sucks.

Posted on by

Peanut was playing with his Chrismakkah tea set today. (First night present. There are ten days of Chrismakkah because that’s the maximum number of token presents we feel like wrapping.)

I noticed he had spilled water on the floor. “Oh,” I said. “You haven’t cleaned that up. Would you like a towel?”

He walked across the room to the coin purse his uncle gave him. He took out a penny.

“Here, Mommy. I pay you do it.” He offered me the Lincoln.

Well, that is how it works. Sigh. I took the penny. “Okay.” And I cleaned the water.

He looked at me, evaluating. “You keep that money, Mama. I give it you, you earn it.”

True dat, little boy. Now hand over the $1.224 million you owe me for every other minute of cleaning up after you.

Toddler Rules

Posted on by

Another plagiarized post…this time a mass email forwarded from my sweet friend KJ. We miss you, lady, and your son’s curls. Stay warm.

Here are our toddlers’ version of the rules. I didn’t write these, and they didn’t come attributed. If you wrote them, mazel tov. Get back to parenting and quit crowing for the spotlight.

TODDLER RULES

If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it is food, it must not be tasted.
If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, or smeared.
If it is high, it must be climbed.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting  full.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy’s hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is quiet, I must make it loud.
If it moves, I must chase it.
If it will fit me, I must hide within it.
If another child has it, I must have it.
If I have it, no other child shall have it.
If I told you I don’t want it, I do.
If I told you I want it, I do not.
If it is whole, you must cut it for me.
If it is in pieces, you must fix it for me.
If you don’t do what I want, I will scream.
If you do what I ask, I will scream.
If you scream, I will cry.
If you cry, I will cry.
If you are tired, I have copious energy.
If you have energy, I am tired.
But if I’m tired, I won’t nap.


Surreal carolling

Posted on by

The only holiday music I’ve heard today:

Working in the living room, which faces the street, I heard young voices singing. We live on a quiet street, so I heard at least 100 feet’s worth of the musical walk home from school of three high school girls. Their carol of choice?

“Summer Lovin'” from Grease.

Happy Holidays throughout your Su-hu-mmer Ni-hi-ghts

Things I learned this week…

Posted on by

Single pane windows suck. Mucho.

Starbucks is making a mint off single serving Horizon milk. Every kid who walks in that joint gets one.

Berkeley real estate is not climbing as fast as realtors say—they just list the price 30k below what it’s worth, and watch it sell for 50k over. May they all rot in a cell with Madoff and Abramoff. Anyone else now leery of all people suffixed -off?

The weeks where your little are brilliantly in sync with you, where life really is sunshine and blueberries through the rain and cold, are brilliant gifts.

There are far, far too many opportunities to be nasty and jaded during the holidays, when a gross number of people are blinded by selfishness and bitterness. Please go volunteer, and take a child to see the lights around town. You’ll be less likely to wrap yourself in your own world.

The USPS has a total racket going around the holidays, and three different post offices were useless to me in my quest to get seven large envelopes of Peanut artwork into the mail this weekend. Even their job-killing robot postal employees were out of patience and out of postage by Saturday morning. wtf?

Missing friends is hard. I don’t know how we did it before the Internet. (I do, really, because we wrote letters. And that was glorious. Must go do that.)

Even when CheeseBoard features mushrooms on their pizza, there’s none better.

One day off a week, where I go far away from PeanutWorld and into my own world is enormously restorative. Should’ve been doing this for the past 2 years.

It’s really, really, really nice to be home.

Happy Hannukah.

Worst parent of the year—-and a large second place tie

Posted on by

I am seriously calling Child Protective Services this time. It’s just wrong the way the Man in the Yellow Hat keeps ignoring George to go off and do something by himself without any sense of how much danger that little creature is really in. So irresponsible. (And rude. Take your hat off when you’re inside, please.) If you keep expecting other people to parent your monkey, buddy, you have another thing coming. (Btw, has anyone called the Animal Protection Institute or the SPCA or something about the fact that this guy has a monkey living with him? Aren’t there laws against holding wild animals hostage to your selfish need for “friends”?)

Last week, our choice for worst parent of the year took George to the fire station and let him slide down the pole…then never went to check on him. Apparently cavorted with the other children for hours while George went off, messed up all the firefighter gear, and rode in the fire engine to a fire.Way beyond letting them play with batteries and matches, man. Choosing the other kids in class i just downright neglect.

This week, The Man in the Yellow Hat (who, as my son points out when we read, is wearing all yellow and should be called the Man in Yellow, and whoever named him is doo-dah) took George to the library and just dropped him off at story time. Would that we all could do that, Mr. Stay at Home and Wear Yellow. The rest of us have to stay and listen and do a little thing we call watching our kids. Man, I’d love to find a library that let us drop kids off for story time. Bad news, though, MiY…you didn’t find one of those. You just left everyone else to do your job. Went off to find his own books, in fact,  while George loaded up a stacks cart and careened down a ramp to a huge crash. The librarian helped George get a library card, which should be a very important moment shared with someone you love, not with some stranger holding an advanced degree in Library Sciences. The A–Hole in Yellow Riding Boots, as I now call him, sauntered in at the end of the story, all happy to see George was ready to go.

Look, dude. If you can’t actually parent that small monkey, teach or control or beat the curiosity out of him, you have no right to be his primary caregiver. There are loving gay couples all over Arkansas who’ve been denied their right to parent and would take  care of that monkey MUCH better than you seem to be willing or able to do. (Kudos, Florida. Now that the Supreme Court has shown it’s illegal to discriminate against gay parents, all the willing families of your state can give children the loving, stable homes they deserve. Too bad George seems to be in a landlocked state.)

And while we’re at it, Charlie and Lola’s mom had better get off her ass to help once in a while. Every time we open one of those books, she’s tasked Charlie with looking after his little sister. That’s not fair to Charlie, lady. He needs his childhood, too. Did you have the first just to babysit the second? Seriously, let’s all look into zero population growth, if the 8 year olds of the world ar going to have to raise the next generation. Please take some interest in your children. For heaven’s sake, they are letting whales go down the drain! Do you know what that does to the plumbing?!?!

I’m just tired of this. I know the moms and dads at the playground read instead of watching their kids, and some of the nannies talk to each other instead of teaching, but these literary parents are terrible examples. Max’s mom sends him to bed without dinner just for calling her a monster? (Then caves later and leaves a hot meal in his bedroom? Mixes me-ssa-ges!) Frances’s father offers to spank her if she doesn’t get back in her bed when she’s scared of the noises in her room? (Never mind that an hour before, when she was scared, her parents gave her cake. Have these people never heard of gentle and consistent? Geeeez!)

Anyway, I’ll process the votes again, but I think the A–hole in Yellow Jackboots wins this round. Doesn’t matter, of course. I still have to read each George book as a cautionary tale—“Oh, look. That seems like fun. But he should really ask, first. Then, if it’s safe, then he can try that. After his mommy or daddy say yes”

“Or the Man in Yellow,” chimes the unwitting parenting neophyte.