Things that make you go hmmm....

Carpeted Kitchens - Why was carpet ever considered an acceptable flooring option for a kitchen? It's one of those interior design ideas where form trumps function - only the form stinks. The only condition I can imagine where a carpeted kitchen would be a good idea is ... okay, I can't think of one. It is never a good idea - especially when you reside with a toddler who finds crunching crackers into the floor an immensely pleasurable activity.
The only thing worse than a carpeted kitchen is a carpeted bathroom - and believe me, I'd know since we've had the privilege of living in apartments with both. (For more evidence of the ills of carpet, read http://janelwilliams.blogspot.com/2008/05/who-put-carpet-in-bathroom.html).

Gas Prices - What's worse than paying $3.89 for a gallon of gas? Paying $4.09 for a gallon of gas. Last Tuesday, the price of gas at the gas station we patronize jumped 20 cents in one day. Who did kill that electric car?

Two-piece bathing suits - I hold nothing against two-piece swimsuits - especially my own body. Which is why I can't understand why every single swim suit I saw at Target was a 2 piece. Am I the only seeker of swimwear who doesn't want to expose her abdomen? Does no one else have something to hide? Give me some other options, please.

America Runs on Dunkin - Dunkin Donuts' slogan puzzles me. It seems such an obvious misstatement. Perhaps I am taking it too literally, but does America really run on Dunkin? I would think "waddle" seems a more appropriate verb. Or "saunters", "meanders", or "slouches. " When I eat a donut, it makes me feel like taking up residence on my couch and drowning in the bluish glow of the television. The last thing it makes me want to do is run.

Diaper Genies - Whatever marketing exec came up with the name "Diaper Genie" must have done something right, because you would be hard pressed to find any other diaper pail on the market. But still, Diaper Genie? Really? Aren't genies the magical creatures that appear when a lamp is rubbed three times? For those of you who haven't had the honor of housing a Diaper Genie in your home, I'll let you in on a little secret - this is one container that you don't want to rub. There's something in that diaper pail, but it ain't no genie.

The Kindness of Strangers

Having a new-born is perhaps the closest most women will ever come to being a celebrity. When you enter a room with an infant in arms, it is usually to the accompaniment of a chorus of "oohs" and "aahs". Shoppers at the grocery store kindly smile as you navigate the cart with baby aboard down the aisles. At the airport,you get to board the plane first; on the bus, fellow passengers readily offer you their seats. At restaurants or shopping malls you become accustomed to receiving adoring compliments from passing patrons. You know the compliments are directed at the baby, but you relish in them as if they were intended for you. The kindness of strangers is overwhelming, abundant, and extremely gratifying.

I was recently at Navy Pier with my family. Henry was tired of being confined by the stroller, and so we let him out to stretch his legs. He immediately took off, racing past the shops and restaurants, and I dutifully pursued him. As I captured him in my arms, I noticed a young couple watching the scene. Expecting the kind remarks I usually receive from strangers,I wondered what compliment they might offer me. Perhaps they would remark on Henry's astonishing speed. Or maybe they would comment on the adorable way his long, blond hair fell across his beautiful face. As they approached me, I eagerly awaited their praise, only to become crestfallen when the man smiled and said, "Now that's good birth-control."

What has happened to the kindness I have come to expect from strangers? I have begun to notice a change in tone in the way people respond to me and my toddler. At the grocery store, shoppers' smiles are increasingly replaced by looks of sympathy, or worse, unsolicited advice, as I struggle to contain Henry, and our groceries, in the shopping cart. The last time I boarded a plane, I noticed many of the passengers look down as I proceeded down the aisle, uttering urgent prayers that we were not their assigned row-mates. At the library, as Henry races about removing books from shelves, I can sense the librarians perceive him as at best an annoyance and at worst a threat.

My brief-lived near-celebrity status is coming to an end. As a mother of a toddler, I am more often viewed with the pity that one has for Brittany after her custody battle or Lindsay after rehab.Of course, the kindness of strangers has'nt disappeared completely, although its intensity has become somewhat diluted. It is the frequency, not the quality, of the compliments that has changed. As Henry becomes a full-fledged toddler, he can be more adorable than he ever was as a new-born: he can give big bear-hugs, laugh and smile, and even attempt to say "I love you." But with these new developments also comes kicking, biting, and full-on temper tantrums.

As far as I'm concerned, these difficulties are a small price to pay as I watch Henry's personality emerge and develop. But with the terrible twos fast approaching, I'm aware they'll more likely be heralded by the dissonant symphony of kicking and screaming than the adoring "oohs" and "aahs" from strangers.

You Might Be a Red Neck If...

...your son's favorite toy is a disembodied stuffed bear called Little Bear. You can't decide whether to be amused or disturbed by the fact that Little Bear has to turn the pages when a book is read, eat at the dinner table, and take walks with the family.

... your mechanic tells you that the reason your car's "check engine" light is on is because some kind of rodent has chewed through all the electrical wires. This accounts for the several hours you invest searching "rodent prevention" on the internet and wandering the "Pest Control" aisle at the local hardware store.

...your abysmal lack of computer skills leads you to pack your non-functioning computer in a laundry basket and drop it off at the Easy Tech at Staples. You manage to leave the technician suspecting that you are a complete idiot as you attempt to explain the error in language that is anything but technical. Suspicion of idiocy is confirmed when the technician calls to say that there is absolutely nothing wrong with said computer.

...you are disappointed to find that the $600 per person/ $300 per child tax rebate doesn't actually apply to you because, the adjusted income amount on your 2007 tax return was too small. You end up receiving only 2/3s of what you expected, leaving you feeling hurt and afraid.

I am increasingly becoming aware that we belong to that demographic of poor, white, hardworking Americans that make up the core of Hillary Clinton's base.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.

The Budget Inn

Henry enjoying the Budget's pool

The Budget Inn is an embarrassingly accurate name for a hotel. I would know, because the Budget Inn in St. George, Utah is the hotel my family has been staying at for years. The funny thing is, the hotel is pretty nice, as far as economy hotels go. It has an indoor and outdoor pool, a playground, and a mini-fridge and microwave in suite. Budget nothing.

Last week I joined my family for a little vacation in St. George. We all enjoyed some good joking at Budget's expense. There is something inherently hilarious about a name as honest as The Budget Inn. Like, when Traci's father-in-law asked her if our parents had a place in St. George, and she had to reply that no, but they had a room at The Budget Inn. Or when we ran into a friend at McDonalds, and, declining to state the name of where we were staying, instead motioned vaguely across the street.

We encountered another example of a brutally honest name when we ate at The Cheesecake Factory in Las Vegas. My sister ordered their Weight Management Salad. Must they call it the Weight Management Salad? It's specific, sure, but it also conveys too much information. Like the clothing store aptly called Big and Tall. Surely there are gentler, more euphemistic options.

I don't know what's worse: honest names or ironic ones. There seems to be a hint of sadism in the persistent trend to give trailer parks uncommonly luxurious names, like Country Club Estates. It's all good and well to tell people you live in the Country Club Estates, until they come over for dinner.

Bubba recently accidentally signed up for a discount entertainment card called Big Fun. He was making an on-line purchase and realized afterward that he had also enrolled in a program which gives minimal discounts at restaurants where we never eat for a monthly membership fee of $10. It was anything but big fun trying to cancel our membership, as the number listed on the back of the membership card had very limited customer service hours. We still keep receiving checks in the mail from Big Fun, with a nearly invisible disclaimer stating that, if cashed, we will be re-enrolled in the program.

It is not fun to deal with Big Fun, nor is it fun to tell the waitress you'll have a weight management salad. When Romeo exclaimed that a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet, he may have been right. The Budget Inn by any other name would still cost as cheap. But a name change may spare its guests from bouts of mild embarrassment.

The Catapult

"Much madness is divinest sense, to a discerning eye", and so begins a poem by Emily Dickinson in which she illustrates the fine line that exists between sanity and lunacy. Certainly many brilliant ideas initially sounded like the product of an unsound mind: antibiotics, flight, the inter-web, the entire family of Ronco devices. Bubba has an idea of his own that has led to an on-going debate between us over which side of the sanity line it falls. His idea? The Catapult.

The Catapult was originally conceived among Bubba's friends (ie, the Clann) in high school. The concept is a little blurry and changes over the years, but the basic gist is a Clann owned restaurant/hang out that would cater to the college crowd and serve specialty donuts and hot chocolate (preferably Steven's Gourmet Hot Cocoa). A catapult would in someway be central to this dining institution, whether by design (the building would be in a shape of a catapult), by function (customers would receive their order via catapult), or some other yet to be imagined way.

Bubba is especially fascinated with the concept of food service via catapult. When I have, quite sanely, pointed out that this method of food distribution would be disastrous, he's suggested that other creative methods could also be considered. Alternative solutions include, but are not limited to, service of food by conveyor belt or the implementation of tube-technology similar to that of drive-through banking.

To whom does the discerning eye belong? I have always claimed to possess it, arguing that establishing a restaurant based on a novel means of food distribution is doomed to fail. But the opening of an "automated" restaurant in Germany may force me to forgo my claim. The restaurant, called Bagger's, is described as "automated" because it doesn't employ any servers. Instead, customers order their meals on table-top touch screens. Their orders are then moved from the upstairs kitchen to their tables via gravity operated ramps. Below is a picture of the joint, and I have to say, it looks pretty cool.

Maybe Bubba was right. Maybe one day the Clann will run a successful hip hang-out. Then I'll not only have to eat food served via catapult, I'll have to eat my words, too.

This American Life.

I must confess, I have become a little bit addicted to the radio show This American Life. Our friends Jenny and Matt urged us to listen to it several times, but Bubba and I thought to ourselves, "A radio show?"

Yes, a radio show. It is so good that I can seldom get through without laughing, crying, or both. I could go on, but instead I'll direct you to Jenny's blog post about the show: http://jennyselsewhere.blogspot.com/2007/09/this-americans-life.html. This post finally motivated me to listen to the show, and I have been listening to archived programs non-stop ever since. You can also visit the show's website at http://www.thisamericanlife.org/.

If you've never listened to the program, turn off the t.v. one night this week and try it out. I promise you will be entertained.

Stop talking and listen to yourself!

Henry, being 21 months old, isn't the best communicator. His vocabulary at the moment is pretty much limited to mama, dada, bubba, and animal sounds (he does a great snake). Recently, Bubba and I have grown frustrated with his attempts to tell us what he wants. Over the past week or so he's picked up the habit of saying "dis, dis" whenever we ask him what he wants.

To us "dis, dis" is meaningless. "Use words" we plead. "Talk to us, Henry." "Don't say 'dis.'"

And then, today, it suddenly hit me. I knew what "dis" meant. To demonstrate how I arrived at this epiphany, let me share a typical "conversation" between Henry and us, his parents.

Henry: Dis, dis.

Us: Do you want this? (picking up a package of crackers). Do you want this? (picking up his blanket). Do you want this? (picking up a book).

Henry: Dis, dis.

Us (frantic): Don't say dis. What do you want? Use words! Do you want this? (frantically pick up whatever remaining item is within arm's reach). Do you want this? (repeated again, exasperatedly).

Henry (pointing): Dis.

Sometimes it's instructive to shut-up and listen to yourself talk. Instead of pleading with Henry to "use words", I should have been using words. Words like blanket, crackers, book. How can I expect him to distinguish among these items when I use the same word to describe them all?

I recently listened to an episode of This American Life where a father, suspecting his son is doing drugs, decides to tap the phone. The father records dozens of his son's phone calls, which confirm his suspicions to be true. When the son discovers his father has learned of his drug use, he fears the punishment. He is surprised when all his father requires of him is to listen to all of the taped phone conversations. And, oddly enough, that's all it takes to change the son's behaviour. He said that listening to himself on the recorded conversations made him embarrassed - he hadn't realized how stupid he was being - and he changed.

Conventional wisdom says that the key to being a good conversationalist is to be a good listener. We usually assume that this means listening to the other person involved in the conversation. We seldom think about listening to ourselves, to what we are saying and how we are saying it. It's not such a bad idea to stop talking and listen to what you're saying. You may find you have something to teach yourself.