Category: Life and Other Existential Problems

Origin Story

· 1 Comment ·

Who, PhD

This is the piece that began my writing life. It started as a Facebook Note, written in the wee hours during the first week of my daughter’s life.

I submitted the piece to Scary Mommy (polished version here). Some readers shellacked me online because, when it first ran, I wrote “Dr. Who” instead of “Doctor Who” and, mortifyingly, “pass times” instead of “pastimes.”

Totally fair, I was wrong. Fortunately, the editors jumped in and fixed it. I love editors.

I also gave (and give) myself grace. I was caring for a newborn and twin toddlers, recovering from a C-section, writing random thoughts while running on approximately four minutes of sleep. Besides, making dumb mistakes is my brand. May I make smarter ones someday.

The piece below is the original Facebook Note (with the two errors above corrected). Some lines I’d rework or remove completely now, but it’s a good snapshot of that moment.

The baby in question is now in middle school. She’s remarkable, as are her brothers. I won’t say the worry was for nothing. Honestly, a lot of my worry is well-placed — or at least well-aimed. (See: the world.)

Notes To My Daughter

I worry. I worry about the low expectations, the frilly expectations, the just-so-far-and-that’s-fine expectations for you.

“Smile!” will be begged of you by strangers on the street and friends alike. I give you permission to scowl, growl, reflect, cry, muse, sing, smile, wince all you want. It’s your face showing your heart. You do not owe the world a phony grin because we only want our girls to be happy.

Learning you were a girl brought on sighs of shopping for pink frills by well-wishers. I was assured of being thrilled. You were, according to some, a balance for your brothers. According to others, “girls rule, boys drool.” I cringe, as you might if you have sons someday…or daughters.

I hope you mix your Hermione Granger with some Judy Blume and a whole lot of Kurt Vonnegut. I hope you watch Doctor Who and Star Wars and Murphy Brown. Please cast a wary eye at the Kardashians and Twilight books and Real Housewives of Where Ever.

Women are funny. You can be more than the nurse, the wife, the exotic dancer in your scenes, if you want. You can even be more than that mythical “Brilliant Hooker.” Be the surgeon, be the husband, be the strip club owner, be the President.

You can be the ingénue, you can be the side kick, you can be Tree Number Seven.

There’s a lot to be said for being an alto. There’s a lot to be said for a cappella. Don’t be afraid of a solo.

I hope you learn to spike, field, kick, bat, dribble, run, if you want.

Pink isn’t bad, but pink isn’t all. Pink softens and dazzles. Pink is fine. Sequins are usually not.

Shout Holy Yeses as much as you can. The scary things teach and (if you’re lucky) inspire awe.

Don’t be afraid not to be liked. Be afraid of those who excuse rudeness.

Jump. Jump high.

From the moment you were born, the usual comments have been about your looks. Yes, you are beautiful, especially to your mama and daddy. Aspire to receive feedback about talents you honed, earned, and sweated for. Be dazzling. Be brilliant. Work hard. It’s not enough for you to be pretty. May being pretty matter less and less as life presents you with more interesting pastimes. Strive for brilliance, curiosity, devotion, passion, truth, humor, skill. There will still be room for pretty. The beautiful package (and it is beautiful) will be that much more precious if it’s filled with many unique gifts.

Have energy. Know when to stop.

Math isn’t hard. Math takes time for some people. Invest that time. It’s ok that there are right and wrong answers in math. There are right and wrong answers in the world sometimes.

Learn languages. Learn public transit. Learn to say no, thank you.

Be careful about using the word “bitch,” and please avoid the c-word. Other women are not your default enemy.

Learning to be concise is a gift to you and others. Listening is a greater gift.

The word “cute” really stops being a compliment after a certain age.

Worry about your health and feeling good. Indulge sometimes.

Savor.

Laugh.

Apologize.

Forgive.

Raise an eyebrow or two.

Stay my baby for a little longer and know that I would keep you wrapped up in my arms forever if I thought that would make you a better person…it wouldn’t, but it would sure feel good.

Whoever you turn out to be, whatever advice you do or don’t take…

I love you.

— Mama, on the occasion of your first week.

Suburbialis Clangum: A Melodic Guide to Your Neighborhood Wilderness (Encore Post)

· Leave a comment ·

Nature May Abhor a Vacuum but Suburbia Sure Loves a Leaf Blower.

In the verdant suburban sprawl, the uninitiated masses vainly search for the quaint silence once celebrated in pastoral myths  —  charming, perhaps, to those with less refined tastes. The modern sophisticate, however, appreciates the richness offered by the incessant, blaring symphonies of human achievement. Why pine for the whisper of wind when one can revel in the roar of an arsenal of machinery running day or night (or both!)? Here, in these cultivated fields of progress, the glorious din of civilization justly overrules the silence sought by the hoi polloi. This sonic landscape is not for those unfortunates who crave a rough-hewn quietude, but rather for the discerning citizen who understands that true progress resonates through the hum of industry. The air simply must crackle with the sounds of civilization’s upkeep, the resounding overture of spring.

(more…)

Why We Have So Many Girl Scout Cookies

· 2 Comments ·

(I Know How This Looks)

I should explain. It looks like I went to the store and came back with twelve-ish boxes of Girl Scout cookies.

The truth is that I went to the grocery store in late winter, which is when America’s youth runs a live experiment on adult decision-making. Every year, I fail. Yes, I am weak. Yes, I love cookies. Also, I keep underestimating a group of children who have mastered capitalism.

What appears to be a folding table and a few boxes of treats outside Kroger is in fact a highly optimized retail environment built on decades of behavioral data. I am not equipped for that.

At no point did I intend to purchase eighteen or so boxes. I would like that on the record.

And yes, I see you pointing at the kitchen counters like you’re presenting evidence at a war crimes tribunal.

Let me walk you through what happened:

TERRAIN CONTROL

Tables were placed in the high-conversion retail corridor, that narrow stretch between the parking lot and the grocery entrance.

In that Pre-Cart Vulnerability Window, I was trying to remember whether we needed milk (YES), whether cilantro is the one that tastes like soap (MAYBE), why winter is still happening (SCIENCE), whether I brought my reusable bags (OOPS!), and if I should eat more kale (ABSOLUTELY NOT).

Because my brain was buffering like airport Wi-Fi, I was in no condition to handle an enthusiastic greeting from an enthusiastic child with an enthusiastic clipboard (or their sales pitch) in the Ambush Zone.

EYE CONTACT

If you learn just one thing from my experience: NEVER. MAKE. EYE CONTACT. because once there is eye contact, you have only two options.

  1. Purchase.
  2. Lie.

If you don’t purchase, you’re a monster. If you lie? You’re a monster.

You know it. They know it. Everyone within fifteen feet knows it.

I tried several defensive maneuvers, including studying my nailbeds, powerwalking towards the automatic door, looking at the sky for divine intervention, and a sudden interest in the grocery carts.

Alas, I looked up and locked eyes with several adorable Girl Scouts.

It had begun.

THE FRIENDLY GREETING

They asked with all sincerity, “Would you like to buy some cookies?”

And like an idiot, I responded to this conversational tractor beam with “Sure, what do you have?”

PRODUCT DISPLAY PSYCHOLOGY

Having now lowered the drawbridge like a fool, immediately I received a graceful little arm sweep. “Right this way.”

And there they were. Thin Mints, front and center.

Thin Mints are strategically placed because they are unassailable. No one is morally opposed to Thin Mints. (And if you are, keep that to yourself. This is not your moment.)

I thought I was being smart and said, “Okay, I’ll just get one box of Thin Mints.”

WRONG.

Immediately, one of the girls pointed to a stack of boxes. “A lot of people also like the Samoas.” Yeah, of course they do! They’re delicious!

I tried to hold the line. “Oh, I can’t eat that many,” WHICH IS A LIE. Not only can I eat that many, I have eaten that many..

FREEZER RATIONALIZATION

“That’s okay,” the be-sashed scout said, still holding the eye contact from the beginning of our interaction. “They freeze really well.”

Uh oh.

Now I’m reframing the purchase as a responsible long-term investment. If two boxes freeze well, then four boxes freeze exceptionally well…and now stockpiling 23 boxes feels prudent.

THE AUDIENCE EFFECT

A crowd assembled, waiting to see if I’d also like Do-Si-Dos, Tagalongs, and the ones that look like they taste like particleboard. (Dip those in lemon curd or Nutella. Delicious.)

I start doing fast, bad math. How many boxes say I’m a good person and supportive of children? (The answer, by the way, is six, minimum. I went with 31 because I am a very good person.)

THE FINAL ESCALATION

Now, maybe you’re strong and can hold the line. Maybe you’re a one-box person. Great.

How would you handle an end-of-transaction “Would you like to purchase some for the troops?”

Whatcha gonna say now, friend? “Nope. The troops are on their own”?

No. You’d do what I did. You’d grab your wallet, and get those 43 boxes of cookies, you patriot.

EXIT?

Transaction complete. I walked back to my car, pushing a shopping cart full of so many cookies it looked like I should asked about bulk pricing.

The whole way to the car I’m talking to myself. It’s fine. Good people buy 58 boxes of cookies.

I loaded the cookies into the trunk. And the back seat. And up front with me where they could ride shotgun.

Then I realized I forgot to actually go grocery shopping. This meant I had to go back past the same Scouts who have already correctly identified me as an easy mark. So now I’m scanning the building like I’m planning a heist. Is there a back entrance? A side door? A loading dock? A tunnel system? ANYTHING, because what I cannot and will not do is walk past that table again. I know what happens. “Would you like to buy some cookies?”

So I did what any grown adult would do. I went home and got my groceries delivered.

And I forgot the milk.

If you’d like to support an excellent troop, you can order cookies directly from them here.