Mr. Blue Sky Vs. The Monsters Under the Bed

Minion: So what's the plan, sir?

Megamind: I have no idea!

After the little one went to bed at just before 8:30, Dan and I started watching Megamind. I don't always like computer animated movies, but this is one of my favorites. Funny and sweet, the bad guy decides to do the right thing and changes for the right reasons.

Megamind movie poster, from Wikipedia, here.

ELO's Mr Blue Sky is featured in Megamind. ELO made a new video for it last year, in 2012 for some reason - the original came out in 1977. I've always liked it and have always thought I heard a dog panting in the song. Having seen the new video, either I'm right about the dog, or the animator mis-hears the same thing, because a doggie is animated in at just the right spot. Sweet, right? 

2012 ELO Mr. Blue Sky

The previous video of Mr Blue Sky was a more straightforward performance piece by ELO. From the marvellous and much-missed era of huge 'fros and rockin' mullets, it's neat, but in a different way.

Original video, ELO, Mr. Blue Sky

About an hour after we started watching the film, the little one came down crying. Fast forward another 40 minutes, and we sent her back to bed, still a little upset, but mostly calm. Now I'm upset, too.

Mr. Blue you did it right
But soon comes Mr. Night
Creepin' over, now his hand is on your shoulder
Never mind, I'll remember you this, I'll remember you this way
Lyrics from Mr. Blue Sky by ELO

She couldn't sleep because today at school, when she had a moment to read, she picked up a book called More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (link goes to the Amazon page for the book). Tonight, in bed, she had plenty of time to think about the stories, and when she came down, she was terrified. I have the feeling that she may have picked this particular book up because it has a horse on the cover. She loves horses.

I'm actually not upset about the book. In spite of the title, it seems to be age-appropriate, from what I can see. It simply was not "our child" age-appropriate, but the teacher would have had no way of knowing. Additionally, I'm not one for censorship. Still, I know my child, and could have foreseen this. But I wasn't there. And she wasn't here.

For half an hour or so, we talked to her, and I held her & her pony and gave her tight hugs. Dan told her about a scary movie he'd seen when he was little (he'd seen Jaws) and how he'd had a hard time sleeping when he saw it, but how now he knows that movies and books can't hurt us. When she was calm, but still a little worried, we sent her to bed.

Jaws movie poster, from Wikipedia, here.

Normally, when she's scared, we'd sit up and talk and maybe find another book to read or do something to replace the scary ideas she has swirling around in her mind. We'd take the time until the issue was resolved, even if it took a while.

But we can't sit up for another hour or so.

Sending her to her room is a rude reminder of what "going to school" means.

Hey, you with the pretty face
Welcome to the human race
Lyrics from Mr. Blue Sky by ELO

She has to get up early in the morning for school, and I had to tell her that she had to go back and try to sleep.

Now I'm sitting here, sad and frustrated that I couldn't do everything I felt called to do because of time constraints. We did what we needed to do to calm her and get her back in bed and hopefully  to sleep. With school looming,  though, there is no time to find stories to give her new things to think about, or to have a talk about why we sometimes like scary things and how they aren't always bad.

She asked to stay home tomorrow, right before she went back to her room, and I had to say "no". School is something to fully commit to and attendance is important.

I desperately wanted to say yes.

Taking the time to talk and spend time with her and to fix things is how we've always done things. We both miss that right now.

I feel like crying, and I didn't even read a scary book.

Our babies take flight

In the past week, so many things have changed.

Our oldest daughter has moved, and will be attending graduate school, our youngest has graduated from preschool, and as of tonight, our middle daughter has graduated from high school.

How's that for a busy week? 

from here^

I always say that I could not possibly have more wonderful children. It's true.

They are all beautiful, smart, funny, clever, kind, sharp, witty and talented.

 from here^

For the week preceding graduation, Clementine told me in solemn, quiet  tones that  she did not want to graduate and leave her friends. She loves her teachers, and didn't want to leave them either. She insisted that she didn't want to leave the goldfish or the butterflies, or the ladybugs, or anything at her school.

We tried to reason with her.

 from here^

  
But your new school with have those things and so many more, and you loved it when we visited. She did not want to hear this.  

Your teacher is retiring this year, so even if you were there next year, she wouldn't be. Clementine did not want to hear this, either. No thanks.

from here

So we told her that we knew that moving was scary and that leaving was scary. But that if we never moved, we'd never see or do anything new. That she couldn't read well at the beginning of the year, but she could now, and she needed to move to a new school to get a new teacher who could teach her even more. And that we'd make sure she saw her friends and got to make new ones.

That seemed to help, at least a bit. But she still didn't want to go, and the night before, told me that she was afraid to go. I held her and we hugged. Dan held her and they hugged. She decided she would try to go after all.

from here^

The next day, she went to school and bravely walked across to get her diploma. She was happy to see her teachers and her friends. She was happy to have graduated.

We were so proud. She is so brave.

from here^

As we were proud last night when Caroline graduated from high school. She was accepted into the college of her choice, and will be attending in the fall. It requires a little bit of travel, and this is the first time she'll be living away from home for any period of time. We could not be prouder or happier that she is getting this opportunity. She has always been our sunniest child, and I hope that the students and faculty at her new school know just how lucky they are to get to see her every day.

from here^

And we are so proud of our oldest. She is going to be going to graduate school and has a job working with children, the most important sort of work there is. She has always been my toughest-yet-most-tender, always helpful, pragmatic, and sensible in the best way possible. She is funny, wry, and loyal.

I consider myself the luckiest mommy in the world, because anything I can say about any one of my daughters I can proudly say about all of them.

from here^

Our daughters are the never-ending joys of our lives and we are so proud and happy and blessed to be their parents.

Lesson learned...

My voice is hoarse and rough today and I'm feeling sort of icky (due to the changing weather and seasonal allergies) , so in a raspy, scratchy voice just slightly above a whisper, I asked Clementine to ask her dad to RSVP by phone to a birthday party she had been invited to. He was downstairs, I was upstairs, and I thought it would be quicker and easier to ask her to ask him.

antique French Poster

It wasn't.

Me: I need you to ask Daddy to make a phone call. Say, 'RSVP to this party, please.'

Clementine (trying to sound it out in her head): Why? What does it spell?

Me: It's an acronym (we've covered acronyms before).  It stands for répondez s'il vous plaît. It means, 'please respond' in French (said in my in best I-took-Spanish-not-French-accent). It's asking the person who gets it to answer 'yes' or 'no' so that the sender will know whether or not the person who got the invitation is coming to an event or not. It's on most invitations and we always try to make sure we do it, because it's a sign of good manners. It's a big girl thing.

Clementine: Okay...

 cover of vintage book of manners

Me: So, say to Daddy, 'RSVP, please'.

Clementine: RVSP, please

Me: No. 'R-S-V-P'
Clementine: R-S-S-P, please
Me: No, 'R---S---V---P'. Please
Clementine: R-V-P-P, please
Me: No, 'R----S----V-----P'
Clementine: R-S-V-P
Me: Yes, perfect. Thank you.

 antique French poster

Clementine smiles and skips off. I spend the next minute or so patting myself on the back, proud, because I've taught her what RSVP means, and that it's polite to respond when we get one. Manners and French in one fell swoop? How awesome is that?

 cover of vintage book of manners

A few moments later...

Clementine: DADDY, PLEASE R-S-V-P TO THIS PARTY. OKAY? R-S-V-P TO THIS PARTY. PLEASE R-S-V-P TO THIS PARTY. DADDY...

I'm upstairs, down a hallway and behind a closed door. She's yelling loud enough to make me wince. She wasn't being rude on purpose. I could hear the excitement of being asked to do a "big girl" task for Mommy.

Still: imagine what it was like in person.

Clearly, I'd remembered to stress Manners and to throw in a few words of French, but totally forgot to touch on the Don't Yell Indoors lesson which we've covered so many times in the past.
 
My bad.

A few minutes later, she returns...

Clementine: Daddy says if I scream like that again, I'm not going to the party. I said I won't do it again, so I am going.  

Before I could say anything else, she was off to her room to tell her stuffed ponies about the party. 

Sigh
 

Illustration from: 

Goops and how to be them : a manual of manners for polite infants inculcating many juvenile virtues both by precept and example (c1900), by Gelett Burgess 

Clementine learned what RSVP means, and I have again learned not to take anything for granted when speaking to five year olds. 


~~~

Electronic copies of Goops and how to be them : a manual of manners for polite infants inculcating many juvenile virtues both by precept and example (c1900), by Gelett Burgess can be found here at Archive.org^.

Electronic copies of More Goops and how not to be them : a manual of manners for impolite infants, depicting the characteristics of many naughty and thoughtless children, with instructive illustrations (c1903) can be found here at Archive.org^

Illustration from:

More Goops and how not to be them : a manual of manners for impolite infants, depicting the characteristics of many naughty and thoughtless children, with instructive illustrations (c1903), by Gelett Burgess

Both were popular turn-of-the-century (the 20th century, of course) guides to teaching manners to children with wit and humor. Both are out of copyright, and are free to download.

Another of the Goop books is available here, at Project Gutenberg^. Titled The Goop Directory of Juvenile Offenders Famous for their Misdeeds and Serving as a Salutary Example for all Virtuous Children (c 1913), it's available in several mobile formats.

Illustration from:
The Goop Directory of Juvenile Offenders Famous for their Misdeeds and Serving as a Salutary Example for all 
Virtuous Children, (c 1913), by Gelett Burgess

 
Other books by Gelett Burgess are available at Project Gutenberg, here^. 

Namaste

deena

Happy Seahorse Day

My dad died several years ago.

antique image, altered by me

I can't begin to tell you how much I miss him. Not a day goes by where I don't think of him, wonder what he'd think of something in the news, want to share one of the girl's accomplishments, or just be able to say hello and hear his voice.

antique father's day image in the PD

So much of what I am comes from him. I try to be fair, because he was. I try to listen to people, because he did. My love of nature, of books, of science, and history, all from him. He took me places, and showed me as much of the world as he could. He gave me a deep and abiding appreciation and understanding of our country and what it means to be an American.

antique image in the PD

He taught me to appreciate what I have. He taught me to always try to see the humour in things.

Ultimately, he taught me the hard lesson that life is far too short to try to change things that we don't have the power to change. This means that we owe it to ourselves to be as true to ourselves as possible, to be brave, to be good, and to do our very best.

So, on this Mother's Day, rather than focus on the negative (like why this isn't about my mother, for example), I want to focus on the positive, and thank my father. I want to thank all of the fathers and others who are mothers without the title;  who are caretakers and providers, who are listeners and supporters, often without thanks or recognition.

antique seahorse image, altered by me

Thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for nurturing. Thank you for listening. Thank you for your advice. Thank you for just being there. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Hippocampus
image in the PD, from here^, 

originally from U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

Now, why seahorses? Seahorses are the only animal on the planet where the male bears and nurtures the young. It occured to me this past week, as I was dreading another yearly replay of "OMG I love my mother sooooooooo much", which I can't relate to, that seahorses are the perfect symbol to represent how I always feel in the days leading up to Mother's Day. They represent nurturing and caring by people in non-traditional roles.

 Spiny seahorse (Hippocampus histrix) 

from here^, used in accordance with  

Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported

photo by Nick Hobgood^ 

If, like me, you find yourself unable to celebrate Mother's Day in the traditional way for whatever reason, consider trying to identify a person in your life who helped you, who nurtured you, who cared, who was there. And then finding a way to say Thank You.

antique seahorse image, altered by me

Happy Seahorse Day.

Namaste

deena

excuses, excuses, excuses

I had meant to blog Friday night, but while I was out running errands Friday afternoon, Dan was calling his parents and arranging a date with me for Saturday afternoon. When I got home, I discovered that they'd agreed to keep SuperCat for the afternoon and that we'd be able to spend several hours together.

How can a girl turn down a date with the best guy in the world?

I couldn't.

And so Friday night, instead of writing, I did a lot of the things I had planned to do Saturday morning like: clean the kitchen, and work on Christmas crafts. I was still behind when I finished, but I was behind when I started, so I think it all evened out somehow.

Saturday morning we took Supercat to her grandparents, where she stayed to help them decorate their massive fresh-from-the-snowy-forest Christmas tree and we left for lunch. There are a large handful of restaurants in their little town, but since I don't eat wheat, most were out of the question. We settled on Chili's.

Normally, I prefer non-chain restaurants, and I honestly didn't think Chili's had anything I'd be able to eat, and had already mentally decided on a plain salad (sigh), but once inside, was really surprised. First, they have a menu specifically for Celiacs, which changes frequently and how awesome was that? Second, they describe on the menu what needs to be done to tweak regular menu items so that they can be made safe. They did all of the hard work ahead of time.

For example: I know that croutons have wheat in them, so it's easy to ask for them to be left off, but if the waitstaff isn't well informed, it's difficult to figure out if say, the veggies are dusted with seasoning that has flour, or exactly what the salmon is crusted with. Instead, the waiter was super helpful, answered every question knowledgeably, and as a result we had a stress-free, leisurely meal. Here's Chili's allergen menu(^) (alert: it's a .pdf file), in case you ever wondered what people with food allergies do when they go out to eat.

The service and the food were both great. I had a salad, a steak and veggies, which were all prepared the way I had asked. Dan had the habanero ribs.

We split a frosty chocolate milkshake for dessert and laughed and talked about html standards and and funky conspiracy theories.

We talked about a port knocking application that showed up on my phone's marketplace. I always laugh when I hear the words, cause they sound vaguely obscene. What it really is: remotely opening external ports on a firewall by making connection attempts on certain closed ports. It's the computer geek version of knocking shave and a haircut to gain entry into the all-boys club. Enabling port knocking prevents hackers from getting in easily, because they can't knock on just one port (door) to get in. They have to knock on several to enter just one, and it has to be in the right sequence.

I also always giggle when he mentions "IPTables", the firewall in the Linux operating system, but which to me sounds like the sorts of names Bart makes up when he prank calls Moe's Tavern on The Simpsons. From the episode Some Enchanted Evening:

Moe: Moe's Tavern.
Bart: Hello, is Al there?
Moe: Al?
Bart: Yeah, Al. Last name: Coholic.
Moe: Lemme check... [calls] Phone call for Al. Al Coholic. Is there an "Alcoholic" here? [bar denizens laugh] Wait a minute...[to phone] Listen, you little yellow-bellied rat jackass, if I ever find out who you are, I'll kill ya!

IPTables reminds me of that. I need to grow up.

I took pictures of him while we chatted and ate. He doesn't always want his picture taken, but he's usually a pretty good sport about it:

Don't go toward the light! You'll miss lunch!

He finally gives in to the picture taking

After lunch... well, the small town where his parents live is just that: small. Not much to do, but we were committed to staying out for the several hours we'd booked, so we ended up at Wal*Mart, picking up a few small things, looking at all the electronic gadgetry, and marveling at the zillion-and-one flashy Christmas decorations. We made fun of the truly horrible Bratz Dolls (it looks like they are going away in January, don't cha know?(^), and saw what was new in sporting goods. We tried to find wooden skewers (they were out) and did find a new coffee maker to replace the old, busted coffee maker, and so on until it was time to check out and go get the SuperCat.

When we got there, SuperCat was so excited! She'd had a great time helping with the tree, and she had done a very good job. On the way home, she fell asleep, tuckered out.

We were happy, too. It's important to spend alone time together once in a while, even if it's just to walk around Wal*Mart and look at stationary and talk and pick out new coffee makers.

So that was Saturday.

Sunday I sewed. I sewed and sewed and sewed, mostly by hand, mostly small dolls for small doll houses for Christmas. I'd take pictures, but it's late and I'm tired and the light is bad.

I absolutely positively will tomorrow.

In the meantime, here's a picture of the parking lot at Target I took tonight while Dan ran in. It was 3 degrees below zero, and just starting to snow (again).

It felt bleak and dismal.

It looks like the set from Alien.
You know, when they're on the planet and find the alien for the first time?

Namaste.
Current Mood: (freezing)

Goodbye Motrin. Hello, brand equivalent and non-insulting generics.

Tonight, after I got home from a lovely day out and about with my sweet husband (we had a blast - more on that later), reading through my RSS feed, I found an entry at Crunchy Domestic Goddess(^) that I found infuriating (not directed at CDG, of course).

Companies often try to capture the spirit of a particular group for monetary gain. This shouldn't shock us - it's how advertising works. Advertisers want you to associate their products with your problems. They want you to think that they understand and that they can help solve your problems. They try to use words and images that register with us, so that we'll think they are speaking our language.

Mothers are a group that is frequently targeted. This also shouldn't shock us - moms like me make a lot of the buying decisions for our homes, and persuading us to purchase something can result in huge profits.

It's far too late in the evening (early in the morning, actually) to debate the pros and cons of target marketing, but allow me to say this: when it doesn't work, it can result in the worst type of backlash.

Like the kind I am about to engage in:

All parents, regardless of where they live or what they believe, want what is best for their child. Good food, good health, and safe environment. Those are the basics.

Of course, we all want everything good for our children. We want them to love and feel loved; comfort and feel comforted. We want them to feel sympathy and empathy, to receive it when they need it, and to have the compassion to give it freely when they should.

We all want our children to grow up to be everything they were meant to be.

And while we each may parent differently, we all want the same things. We all work toward the same goals, though we may take different paths to get there.

So, when a company chooses to poke cynical, mean-spirited fun of us to make a quick dollar, it doesn't help. It adds nothing of value. It belittles the very people who do society's heavy lifting.

McNeil Consumer Healthcare, the makers of Motrin, (ibuprofen), have decided that it makes monetary sense to belittle women who, after careful study, keep their young babies in slings worn on the body(^). Women the world over "wear" their babies. They always have. It provides babies with the constant warm and loving environment they need to thrive and flourish physically and emotionally.

Many moms have found that babies who are worn are generally happier, and more content. They find that their babies eat better, and they often breastfeed longer, which directly translates to better health. Slings allow mothers the freedom to move back into an active lifestyle soon after the child's birth, and it has been suggested that slings can help with postpartum depression. Translation: it's good for moms as well.

But, according to the people who make Motrin (and Tylenol, for that matter), and in contrast to the overwhelming majority of women who wear or have worn their little ones, doing what women all over the world do and have done for centuries, wearing your baby makes mom cry.

The ad has lines like:

Wearing your baby seems to be in fashion.

Translation: Jump on the bandwagon, you silly, thoughtless woman.

Someone should inform them that women have always done this. Always. Take a look at a United States Mint One Dollar coin. It has Sacajawea, the Shoshone guide to the Lewis and Clark Expedition in 1804 on the obverse side, her tiny son Jean Baptiste being carried on her back.

More, from the ad: Supposedly, it’s a real bonding experience.

Supposedly? Where is a baby supposed to be, if not with her parents? In a crib, alone and screaming?

(&)

These things put a ton of strain on your back, your neck, your shoulders. Did I mention your back?!

Um, no they don't. Choosing the right sling and wearing it properly doesn't hurt. If it does, seek out the help of other moms, try a different one, or wear the one you have differently. Did I mention it isn't supposed to hurt?

Honest.

Really.

I promise.

The ad ends with:

Plus, it totally makes me look like an official mom.

Translation: There you go again, fluff-for-brains. You didn't research your position. You didn't think it through. You aren't competent or smart. You're doing it because it looks good.

~~~

McNeil Consumer Healthcare and Motrin thinks it's ok to insult moms to make a buck. They think it's ok to demean women, to undermine our parenting, to sell their product.

But they are wrong. This cynical ploy is enough to banish Motrin from our medicine cabinets. If the makers of Motrin feel that denigrating women to make a buck is ethical, we feel comfortable refusing their product.

Generics are there for a reason. Loyalty to brands only works when the brand is worth being loyal to. The makers of Motrin and Tylenol have lost me as a customer.

If you'd like to hear the ad yourself, find it here, at Motrin's website. It was there when I started writing tonight. If they remove it, Barb at Perfectly Natural Photography(^) has thoughtfully transcribed it.

If you Twitter, consider tweeting this. If you do, please add "#motrinmoms" or "#motrindads" (no quotes) to your tweet. I'm not sure who started this, but here are the results at Twitter(^). Pages and pages and pages. My own Twitter feed is in the smaller column here on my blog, or here(^).

If you feel moved, you can write a quick note to McNeil Consumer Healthcare here(^). Here is what I wrote:

I find it hard to fathom that denigrating mothers makes good business sense, so when I heard your commercial last night which belittles dedicated parents to sell Motrin, I was shocked.
We will no longer be purchasing Motrin (or Tylenol) and will strongly encourage our friends to avoid your products as well.

I am mommy, hear me roar.

Namaste