RIP Rant

             

RIP, Gary Marshall.

Seriously? That's all you've got? For the man who brought us The Odd Couple and Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley and Mork and Mindy and The Princess Diaries and even had that part in Hocus Pocus, that's all you've got?

Come on! My childhood memories are full of him. My children's childhood memories are full of him. He brought laughter and smiles to millions of people, and all you've got is an acronym that sounds like a fart?

And what about this guy?

I suppose for Alan Rickman, maybe you have a POOP? Peace, Ovations, Obsequies, and Prayers?


For Mya Angelo, something more poetic might be called for.

We'll give her BARF. Benediction, Applause, Respect, and Fondness.

If you can't tell, I hate the RIP. Hate, hate, hate it. It's is the laziest manner of recognition ever created. You know who uses it? People who want to be the first ones on social media to acknowledge the death of some big name star. I wonder how many David Bowie RIP-ers could name more than one of his songs? What about Joan Rivers and James Garner and Robin Williams? If you enjoyed the lifetime of talent and hard work and dedication these folks shared with you, don't they deserve more than the gallant effort you put forth to type three letters?

You know what's worse? When I see social media posts where regular people post RIPs for other regular people. Especially when those RIP-ers are eagerly opening their apps to be the first. I have learned of the death of more than one acquaintance or former school mate from someone's over-zealous use of the Facebook RIP. Most often those RIPs come from other acquaintances or former school mates, not the close friends and families of the deceased. You know why? The close friends and family members are actually grieving, not rushing to FB to get social media attention for their ability to type three letters.

If you need to recognize the passing of a celebrity or loved one, how about sharing a memory? How about listing your favorite things about that person? How about asking others to share as well? Wouldn't that be a better tribute? If you can take the time to tell the social media world when you have a hacking cough or need a drink or how a driver cut you off or where your potty-training kid urinated today or what an ass your ex-spouse is, can't you take the time to offer a comment of appreciation for the dead.

In conclusion, let me ask this one thing of you. When my Maker calls me, I beg of you, please do not RIP me.

How to Create Creative Kids and Other Life Lessons

I've told you before about how the time my daughter came home from school complaining that the only kid who understood her jokes was the class weirdie. Her sister, completely serious, said, "I thought you were the class weirdie."

It's true. My kids are kinda weird and it might sorta, kinda be my fault a little.

But maybe not entirely.
 Yes, I let them and all their friends play indoor hide-n-seek without many limitations, much to the demise of my linen closet and Christmas storage area. I also let them dress themselves--tutu over everything, kitty cat shirt under everything, and Tupperware bowl...uh, I mean improvised Buzz Lightyear Helmet...on the head everywhere.

I let them cover themselves in mud and talk to imaginary friends and dress up the cat. We wrote on the walls.The best kitchen utensils were always in the sand box.

We played soccer in the house. And sword fights. And tag.

My kids were the ones on the playground, teaching all the Catholic school kids Cheech and Chong's Sister Mary Elephant routines. They were the ones who got in trouble for chewing gum at school and when asked how their behavior was unChristlike answered, "Well, they didn't have gum when Jesus was alive." They were the ones trying to use mind power to blow up like a giant blueberry  the "stupid" teachers, just to see if it would work. (Think Willy Wonka's Veruca Salt)

But now that they are all adults, I have to admit I am not entirely to blame for their twisted, weirdie sense of humor and anything goes lifestyles. I had help--from Sesame Street.

Seriously! Did you ever notice how freaky those critters are? A giant yellow bird that carries around a teddy bear. A monster who steals everyone's cookies.  A mean grump who lives in a trash can. That two headed-thing and those other guys with honking horn noses. Then, there are these fellows:

Of all the strange things we feed into our children's minds, these guys are some of my favorites. They beat out the big purple dinosaur and his annoying whiny baby friend. They trump the colorfully dressed full-grown men who sing about fruit salad...yummy, yummy. They even surpass the dancing gumdrop-looking creatures with the TVs in their tummies who worship the giant toddler head in the sky. Those other oddities are just weird. These guys are cool.

And if you're gonna be the class weirdie, you might as well be the class weirdie cool cat. And that's that!

What's the weirdest thing you ever used to entertain your kids?

Movies Make Good Memories

Our children cannot escape media!!

As a mom and a teacher of teens, I have to tell you that most of what media offers is crap—terrifying, humiliating, soul sucking, IQ lowering, demoralizing crap.

Nevertheless, what is on media is also woven throughout the fabric of our lives. Celebrating Independence Day last week helped me realize it’s okay. In fact, it can be celebratory, educational, inspirational, laughter inducing, memory making stuff. You see, while my kids enjoyed blowing stuff up, their celebration was not complete without partaking in our traditional patriotic movie time! 

I first knew my oldest would be an actress when at 4 years old, she berated me consistently for not being able to recite all of the lines correctly from certain scenes of The Wizard of Oz and Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

My second oldest was a sickly toddler. She had sky-high fevers. We would have to cool her down with cold wet rags. It was pretty awful for her, but she was always, without fail, calmed and comforted by one movie—Dumbo. The song Dumbo’s mom sings to comfort him become my baby’s nighttime lullaby.

My third daughter wasn't sickly, but she cried for the first 2 years of her life. Not colicky, just stubborn and serious. Her calming comfort came in the video of the Broadway musical Cats. We’re still not sure if she was terrified or mesmerized at Macavity's red eyes. But, hey, she quit crying for an hour, so…

Looking back, I can’t believe I let my little boy watch Lord of the Rings at 5 years old. That’s pretty violent stuff for a little guy. His dad actually let him miss a day of kindergarten to go see Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. Yep, that’s the one where Anakin kills all the younglings and then his wife. It was quite a graduation from his first favorite—Toy Story. And by favorite I mean that by age three, he embodied Buzz Lightyear and had a collection of action figures to rival Disneyland.

Even today, as my oldest introduces her toddler to Hollywood, we hold our movie traditions dear. Independence Day can’t happen without a viewing of 1776. Halloween can’t pass without Hocus Pocus. Christmas is decorated with every holiday clay animation film ever made. In fact, not too many dinner table conversations pass without someone quoting Galaxy Quest or The Sword and the Stone or SpongeBob or Indiana Jones or Pirates of the Caribbean, or even (to my deep disappointment) Anchor Man.

So maybe the ubiquitous media isn't all bad. Still, I do very often wish they’d get their faces out of their phones so they can actually experience life, or at least long enough to watch a good movie.

Here's a short movie for you. The clip shows what is probably her 500th viewing a favorite movie. We take our cinema seriously. BTW--we're beautiful criers, aren't we? 

Watch This

I've Created a Monster

I'm outnumbered, pure and simple.

You would think that this would be a familiar feeling, considering I am a single mom with 4 kids. You would think, but you would be wrong.

Now that I'm down to only 2 at home, I am more outnumbered than ever because the 2 who are still home are frequently referred to as "The Frank-n-Carmen". When they were toddlers together, the monstrous nickname was cute. It was funny. Now, it's downright scary.

I wish I could have recorded our first serious conversation in our new home. It had obviously been planned for some time. But not by me.

F-n-C: Mom, now that we're in a new place, there should be new rules. So we're each going to write down 3 rule changes that should happen.

Mom: Ok, how many rule changes do I get?

F-n-C: (Exchange of secret language expression) You can have three, too.

Mom: Oh, good.

F-n-C: (In unison as if scripted) Three total. Not three for each kid.

Mom: Well, let's see your changes.

Rule Change Lists:

1. Later Curfews
2. Cussing is allowed.
3. Ability to come and go when you want and all you have to do is tell mom where you are going.

1. When we go out, we don't have to give a big background check on our friends.

2. Everyone go with the flow.

3. Mind yo own business, Fool! (That includes everyone).

Mom: You understand that I do have veto power on all of these, Fool?! (Okay, I didn't say, FOOL, but I dearly wanted to. But this was their first attempt at sitting down to discuss rules in a mature manner. I wanted to respect the process.)

F-n-C: Come on, Mom. We thought that once we moved to the apartment, you would be cool. All kids who live in apartments have cool parents.

Mom: How many kids do you know who live in apartments?

F-n-C: (Again, in unison) You know, on television.

Clearly, I would never make it as a TV mom. 

I have feeling this is only the first of many double teams for which I will have to brace myself.

For years I have told the Frank-n-Carmen, "Do you know why you guys are so close together in age? It was planned that way, so you would have a playmate. Now, go play." It seemed like such a good idea at the time--you know, sibling bonding and all that. Well, at least I can say the bond that was created is a strong one. I guess I can take solace in that, even if it means I'm outnumbered!



She's Back...

Aren't you glad she's finally out of the spotlight? Kate Gosselin is just about the most un-newsworthy person whose face nonetheless constantly appears on every talk show and magazine cover. I am so glad that show was cancelled and we don't have to hear her screaming fits over not using coupons while she parades through her million dollar home or watch her bag on her husband for mis-using pronouns or ending a sentence with a preposition.

And just when you thought it was safe to turn on the television...

She's back! And this time, she's dancing!

There are so many things wrong with the idea of Kate Gosselin returning to prime time, I don't even know where to start.

How about I start with this--It's called "Dancing with the Stars". Since when is Kate Gosselin a star? She's not a star. She's a mom. And kind of a neurotic one at that. I mean the woman wouldn't even let her children walk barefoot on the hotel carpet for fear of germs. Remember that episode? How about the one where she stole the ice cream from her 3-year-old children on a hot day at Disneyland because she didn't want them to get sticky? Or the time she just about blew a gasket because the baby sitter had given her children gum? Documenting her freak-outs over perfectly normal childhood activity on television, does not make her a star.

I wonder what kind of drama she'll bring on herself with this show. I can't wait to see her correct her dancing partner. Because you know she will at some point. I can just imagine the post-dance interview:

Dance Partner: "I feel real badly that we didn't do better."

Kate: "It's really bad, not real badly. And if you would have done the turn and the lift the way I told you to, we would have done very well." She smiles at the camera and brushes her bangs aside. "There are some things I need. If he would just give me what I need..."

And somewhere Jon Gosselin is experiencing a nervous tic because her words aggravate his Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

I just have to clarify that obviously I'm not completely opposed to parents exploiting their children for fame or attention. I mean, just take a look at this blog. Of course, I got my children's permission first. They were all in agreement that being blogged about was no big deal. You see, my oldest daughter is on her way to becoming a stand-up comic. They all know that nothing in their private lives will remain private if it is good for a laugh.

Besides, they all believe that our crazy life would make a more interesting reality TV show than anything Jon and Kate or the Kardashians, or even Gene Simmons can come up with. Because ours is actually real. Real people don't have Emeril coming over to make Mac-n-Cheese. No, real people's children end up catching their Easy Mac on fire in the microwave because they didn't add the water. Real people don't get all expense paid trips to Hawaii. No, real people camp in the backyard because there isn't a single weekend that doesn't have a soccer game or dance recital or church social scheduled. And because there's at least one daughter who will not pee without indoor plumbing. And real people not only let their kids eat ice cream on hot days, but let them eat melting rainbow-colored snowcones at the zoo. Then they wash the sticky hands and spray SHOUT on the stained T-shirt when they get home.

I might be stepping into the Mom Snob role, but I can't help it. I have to announce that Kate Gosselin is not a Roaring Mom. She might be a ranting mom, or even a raving mom. But she is not a Roaring Mom. Roaring Moms guide rather than control. Roaring Moms aren't perfect. And the best thing is, we know it. Kate Gosselin, on the other hand, doesn't seem to.

Still, the network must have known what they were doing when they returned Kate Gosselin to the spotlight. Those who love her will undoubtedly tune in. And those who profess to be a little sick of her, will probably tune in, too. I just can't wait to see her critiqued by the judges. I hope they are as harsh as she was to her husband. That might be a show worth watching.