But you can find us here: http://forthebirdsblog.com
A few weeks ago For the Birds celebrated it's one year mark -- picture me sitting at the keyboard with a party hat on....vodka bottle rolling on the floor... silly string still stuck to the monitor.. I mentioned in my post that FTB has built a following with over 20,000 site visitors. This is a rough estimate, because -- come on, really. You don't think that I actually believe that 20,000+ of you are out there reading these almost daily observations... And thanks to all of the lovely comments that I received pointing this out. Side note, I am not that BOARING Ms. Kelly from Kentucky -- and although you don't know how to spell, I might have better things to do with my time but I choose to do this -- and if it's just not that interesting to you -- then STOP visiting. But, keep checking in if you must, I am into all things that depreciate.
So, getting to the point, I do know -- thanks to those smart heads over at Feed Burner, that we do have a factual regular readership of 25 concrete, real-live people. That's right - a lovely and lucky 25. And to you I am calling out. In the next few days the following will be happening:
It's all changing way too fast around here.
Last week I took a look at Will and thought MY GOD, he's huge! I swear that during the night he grew about 2 inches. Suddenly he was reaching up to turn the faucet on... Suddenly he is making up his own mind—From out of nowhere deciding that nap time—The regular every day 3 hour-plus nap was not for him anymore.. He's sleeping now (10:41am) so his body and mind are at odds...Yes, definitely my son.
He's talking now, or should I say YELLING. Says Hi-BLUUUUUUE when the Bluedog saunters into the room... Dad. Mom. MOOOOM.. BYEEEEE-eeeeee... And everything is hot - he hovers his hand over objects before touching, looks at me and questions... Haute? Guests that have been around -- he calls out to them... KAAAAAATTTEEEE KAAAATTTEEE -- Anneeeeee—and the infamous, My & G. He couldn't care less if I use the hair-dryer—an act that used to cause devastating results, what was I thinking.
He's beginning to get it. Yesterday I suddenly had the opportunity to design a logo. I looked at Will, who was starting to vibrate due to being in-doors via inclement weather. I said, under my breathe—mostly speaking to myself, "Will I just need to sit at the table to get this done, are you going to let me?".. Glancing in my direction, I sensed that he was annoyed by my suggesting that he would object. He pulled himself from the pile of toys he had been mildly entertained with, picked up his pad of paper, walked to the table and put his hands in the air for me to lift him into his seat. Once I had peeled myself from the floor I decided to let him try out some watercolors. I sat next to him and the work began.
Is it too soon to talk to him about controlling the internal artistic angst that comes with being creative, or do you think he knows already?
Just in case you knew, marked your calendar but forgot anyway... A very much anticipated return to prime time will be occurring very soon. Armed with the evil fighting, suicide stopping, librarianesche do-gooder of a hot veterinarian background, our very own C to the O to the D will (again) join the ranks of talents such as Gary Sinise, James Spader and other "Movies are great but Television is Money" actors.. That's right. On September 22nd, brace yourselves as Chris(topher) O'Donnell runs screaming into your dens and TV rooms--Not stopping until he has completely facified his new-born five o'clock shadow with your screen. Staring as leading man, "G"-- perhaps for "gentle", "giant", or "ginormous"... Trust me, no stone will be left unturned in the promise of entertaining you with this one as the O'D acts like he's never acted before. NCIS Los Angeles, with your latin-american flair, come as you will. Oh, and BTW... the new and improved anti-porn LL Cool J stars as wingman... Around the Way Girl, now I know you're hooked. (CBS 9/8c).
Cool as a cucumber, CO'D, this one's for you.
This is a follow up to a post made almost exactly one year ago... NOTHING HAS CHANGED.
We live very close to the Peconic Bay and there are ponds near our property that feed off of this Bay. In the ponds we are neighbors to lovely swan families that we follow and watch with love and fear combined... they tend to have anger-management issues. Also along these ponds runs a public road which people treat almost as a park—bike riders, fishing families, walkers... birders all enjoy the road as it winds away from Shinnecock Hills and into the Bay. It is quite lovely which is why it makes me so angry to state the obvious.. PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE SWANS.
Almost every fair weathered morning for the past few years a car (black station wagon Volvo) has pulled up along side of the pond behind our house. The woman driving the vehicle honks her horn upon arrival. When she does this, swans kick their webbed feet into high gear and float to her as fast as possible. With this, she throws her leg over the divider, walks to the edge of the water and DUMPS A BUCKET OF CORN.
I have fought myself on this situation for a very long time. The corn is not only bad for the Swans, but it has caused a major upset in the natural Audubon order of things... The Swans have become die-hard territorial about her feedings and have actually KILLED OTHER SWANS (4 to be exact) in an effort to remain somewhat DOMESTICATED. I know I said anger-management issues, but this is actually quite a normal reaction for any kind of animal being treated like a pet.
Now - this is my problem. I can either throw all "respect your elders" caution to the wind and go "speak" to this woman... Or I can continue to spy from the other side of the pond saying DON'T FEED THE SWANS under my breathe while my blood boils.. Or - I can leave a note on her car while she continues on her walk to probably feed other wild creatures... OR I can grab a can of spray paint and ... A year has passed and I still can't deal... Please please please - DO NOT FEED THE SWANS.
(Sid of Sid & Nancy -- One Mean Goose)
Last week, a new national campaign was released called SMART CHOICES. And while most of us obsess about making smart choices on just about everything that we come in contact with, this particular campaign is all about food labeling.. just in case you are too busy to read the contents—or don't inherently JUST KNOW that a giant rainbow toucan usually reflects sugar content.. Brand images burned into our brains by the age of two—No pulling the wool over Will's eyes when one tries to convince with the anti-fructose "healthy" version of Trix...but shouldn't cereal be a little fun? Maybe I am dancing around my point, but I am really impressed by the boldness of this situation. This campaign (brought to you by a council of marketing geniuses) not only targets the zombie "I will buy it if THEY tell me to" consumer, but it is completely hypocritical about its entire existence.. Why couldn't I come up with this one?
So, what is the big deal? As not just Americans, but as HUMANS (counting extraterrestrials and carnivorous reptiles) we are blinded on a daily basis by mass media, branding and marketing. Almost every second is spent with our senses being bombarded with something. Even the smells and scents of KFC and McDs—not to mention J.Crew and Banana... were created by a strategic plan to pull you in. One can only hope for a little honesty... But now, thanks to the giant machine of progress generating childhood obesity like we've never seen, we have SMART CHOICES... a check mark placed on the very products that you were questioning... But don't worry, you're smart—and it's okay now -- THEY TOLD US SO.
As if CHOICES were easy to begin with.
We watched the scariest movie last night...
Sitting down, we were really looking for a comedy-- Typical, nothing was on cable so we decided to order in. The list of new releases was less than thrilling, although it wasn't a surprise that I hadn't heard of more than half the movies. Valkyrie, I heard this was hilarious... a Tom Cruiser meets Hitler in an incendiary romp of good versus evil... similar to his run in with Ice Man. The Haunting in Connecticut -- I love horror movies, especially really bad ones.. And my sister Kate, who is my bad-horror-movie-loving equivalent, assured me that this one ranks "especially bad".. But, not really our thing last night (I may wait until I'm alone to watch CT Haunting). The Last House on the Left -- also a screamer filled with dying teenagers—2.5 hours of fun, but since we actually LIVE in the last house on the left, a little too much realism... So, determined, we reviewed casts, screenplays, genres and boldly made our decision (we paid for this, bytheway). It was horrifying ... a sea of thankless mercy killings and buckets of pathetic tears wasting away in a haze of self-righteous, self-loathing, "What Does it All Mean" misery—That's right, He's Just Not That Into You slathered itself all over our screen last night.
I was way more entertained by Blue versus Pig...
But even more entertaining... I just bought an exercise video. Once you've wiped the tears of laughter out of your eyes... I didn't walk into this purchase without serious research. I need to add at least 20 minutes of health to my already somewhat healthy lifestyle, and this video promises to accomplish this... AND it also comes with a promise of really-bad-horror-movie possibilities.. Talk about added value:
Jillian Michaels is TV's toughest trainer, but she is committed to getting big results. As your own personal trainer, Jillian will guide you through her exclusive 3-2-1 Interval System that combines strength, cardio and abs to blast through calories for a dramatic 30 DAY SHRED. The DVD includes three complete 20-minute workouts which progress by level of intensity. Start with Level 1 and advance through Level 3—in no time you'll achieve a lean, SHREDDED body.
Move it on over Freddy.
The message on the voicemail said -- "I know that we are halfway through the project, we have to stop -- however. You can thank the Oppenheimer fund for pulling the rug out from under us. The train passed us by while our eyes were closed and although I am the brother of the owner -- I am telling you that it is over. We just can't recover from this and are moving all the inventory to the van. Once that wave hits -- only Bernie is safe in jail. Also, we heard that the logo caused the IRS to lose your dog in the filing process—is there anyway we can go into a payment plan?"
The phone rang and I was instantly afraid... "I'm just calling to tell you", she whispered in a sad tone -- "someone else finished the project for you. I know, it is our fault that we let it hang in an uncompleted phase for a few months.. but someone showed us the finished product this morning so we are driving up to Maine and setting up camp. We do need your car though because we can't fit anymore pumpkins in ours. We know the recipe calls for doughnuts, but we bought the pizza with the great new design—made with real vegetables... the allergist complies. Can we tee off at noon?"
Dreams—they can cause certifiable anxiety.
The arrival of the Great Silver Trunk (GST) has made me make a few evaluations and decisions this week. First off, I have decided to keep everything in the trunk.. I took it all out -- discarded gross things like old smokes and voodoo candles (wonder if they worked) -- took note of what was there and then put it all back in. Someday -- someday I will open it again and review... It's like a time capsule.. perhaps disturbed a decade (or four) too early. I did, however, take out the JC Penney shopping bag with it's precious contents... Now that it has been exposed to year 2009 air quality-- I think some archival portfolioing is in store -- the plastic shopping bag is weary. Let's let it rest.
I have moved the GST up into my home office—which then required a bit of mandatory organizing via a reorganization. This has inspired me to tackle the rest of the house... The picture cabinet - the dining room (aka storage facility) - finish the "powder room"... take charge of the mud room. It isn't that we live in disorganized chaos - I just still have paper work on my dresser from Will's birth.... almost TWO YEARS AGO...The time has come, my little friends, to talk of other things...Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings...And why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wigs—Calloo, Callay, come run away...With the cabbages and kings.
In other news... For the Birds has it's own DOMAIN!!! YAY!! WAAHOOO!!! http://forthebirdsblog.com -- You can still use the old stinky one... but this one is shiny and new. Please note that we are still stalking the evil birders at forthebirds.com — oh yes, we are.
I'm new to Twitter—joining the site a few months back but not really "getting it" until now. In fact, I think that most people that use Twitter are unaware of everything that it has/does/wants to be. But here it is -- and I'm using it... Tweeting about things, passing out ideas - thoughts, links... it's fun. And, although it may boost my geek status to an all new enviable level (thanks to Mr. BV for pointing out this new addiction) I am finding my place among strangers, associates and friends.
So, in short, I invite you to follow me, but a few things to know beforehand:
When I'm not playing with my son or spending time with my family I am designing or working on something for a client. When I'm not designing or working, I am blogging. When I'm not blogging, I am seeking out interesting stuff online for myself and my family. When I'm not online, I am probably doing laundry. When I'm not doing laundry, I am beating back the massive vine that is trying to eat our house. When I'm not de-vining, I am working on our family's wall of pictures and art galleried collection. When I'm not fendshui'ing art and pictures, I am on the phone—probably with my Mom. When I'm not on the phone, I am thinking about food. When I'm not thinking about food, I am eating it—while reading something--probably about food or art. When I'm not reading something, I'm watching television. When I'm not watching television, I am enjoying new words like Quelm and Twanks.
I blog about things in my life, daily observations, designing, parenting—general stuff. I very rarely post images of my son online in fear of exploiting his own born-given right to free self-expression. I can be completely hypocritical about what I recommend to people versus how I live my own life, and I think that nepotism is an ugly word that should be banned from existence. I also contribute to other blogs including Artistic Things, play with my dog as much as possible and obsess about spreading the love equally.
So that's it. Follow Me and I will Follow You - and maybe in-between we shall meet.
In 1983 my Grandpa handed me a plastic JC Penney shopping bag and told me to guard its contents with my life—don't show it to anyone. He passed away not long after, rather suddenly in fact, which not only intensified his order of protection, but also made me the key master—Secrets from that time forth were and are always safe with me. For a while, I kept the package under my bed... Then it moved behind a wallboard in my closet... Then under other secret stuff in a drawer... The bag moved from hiding place to hiding place until finally winding up at the bottom of the great silver trunk that my Dad had brought home from a convention. I very rarely opened the bag to peek at the contents, and as years passed—lifelong momentos perfeitos were added to the trunk—thus preserving the JC Penney bag that much more. Then, I moved on... and away. Away from the trunk... I left it at my parents house many years ago in trust that everything in it would be safe, which it was -- Hardly ever opened to the light of day... until it arrived at our house this past weekend.
I avoided it for years -- the trunk of my life... or as my husband described it to our son, "Mom's Trunk of Junk"... Stuff that I once thought I wanted to keep forever... All reminders of an obscenely happy childhood turned lunatic adolescence - spiraling into a cynical (but fun) college student and out into the world... But stuff, nonetheless—the Muppets Lunch Box, tap shoes, riding hat, tennis racket, Rolling Stone mag covers, sketch books, year books (which coincidentally, make excellent stepping stools), hats, penny banks, fifty cent coins, high school and college art projects, gas mask, mardi gras mask, mickey mouse autograph book, abacus, ancient pack of Marlboro Lights, Letters (actual real handwritten letters!), bottle caps, Police posters, mixed tapes, postcards, costume jewelry, matchbooks, long-forgotten-friend photos, scrapbooks...And at the bottom of it all—the JC Penney shopping bag.
There it was. I inspected the bag -- still the same. All the other stuff kept it nice and cozy and insulated... The contents—perfect and now here for me to share with all... The big secret... Did you know that in 1969 a few Americans actually blasted off and landed on the moon? Don't believe me? Behold the long awaited evidence!
Year one has passed!
I began publishing For the Birds on this date circa 2008—wow oh wow have things changed since. Initially, For the Birds was to be a marketing tool for Breakwater Design Studio, and although it does serve that purpose, FTB has also opened up whole new worlds for me... Writing and Internet Social Media. Once shunned—Facebook and Twitter are now common tools that promote, engage... Once feared, writing a very public diary of almost daily observations has given me a personal boost that I never could have imagined... Sharing accounts with readers who then become friends with common interests and concerns... And then my favorite -- sharing our lives with existing friends and family scattered all over the world. In short, connections have become a way of life and For the Birds has allowed my family and I to have a mini piece of the pie—actively participating on an almost daily basis.
So, I guess that I need to thank me for jumping into a way of life that I never knew possible... but -- as I take my place at the podium to accept the award for 2009 Ego of the Year—I really thank all the readers... to date a shocking 23,247—even those that hit the website and went "what the f is this" and x'd the browser out... I have kept my word and emailed everyone back that has commented—and I have kept most comments private... knowing that privacy is still a major player in the evolution of For the Birds.
On another note, I really want to acknowledge a few other blogs out there that have given me the courage to share in this open forum... In no particular order:
I don't think that any of these authors are aware of me or how much they have influenced... If they were aware—I'm sure that restraining orders would be issued. At any rate, I read their posts with the hope that someday FTB will boast it's own URL (damn you—you evil birders at forthebirds.com) and claim a regular readership. Until that day—keep stopping by—I promise generous helpings of almost daily observations... blood, sweat, tears all mixed with a fine selection of mundane tribulations.
PS. If you want to hear me talk more (The floodgates! Typepad you're killing me!)—visit me at Twitter.
Yesterday I drove to the Breakwater Design Studio in Bridgehampton.. (I know, what was I thinking?) I put Will in his car seat and hopped on CR39 to 27 East—crept past the Southampton Jitney stop and onto the back roads. Somehow, I made it —I breezed right past the angry traffic demons that haunt the Hamptons and into "Bridge" in under 20 minutes. What?—Even then, slinking over Main Street and behind the Candy Kitchen to our back parking lot... a space awaited. A huge parking space in our building's private lot that is used by... well everyone in town. I was stunned... I was amazed. Our stay was short, as was our stroll around town—packed with shopping lunchers, and then we were back at it -- this time heading west. I drove our tank of a Toyota with the aggression of a graceful charging mother elephant... only to find ourselves home again in under 20. Angels singing. The heavens have finally acknowledged the number of lifetime hours that I have spent driving a car, sitting still in traffic. I am a Golden God.
I know, this is a very tedious description of a rather lame afternoon -- but while nearing the confines of the main drag, I spied traffic sitters on 27 -- going east with their boats in tow -- bikes, over packed cars... all frustrated to the nines. All too familiar to me and all in the name of the beach...
A few weeks ago, I drove -- with loving passengers -- to Rehoboth, Delaware. We left around 9am on a Saturday... spent about 4 hours, which should have been 2 on the NJ Turnpike and another 3 on some god-forsaken route in Delaware.. which should have taken under an hour. Stop, go, stop, go, stop... torture. I was not involved with the suicidal timing of this quest, but I don't think it had too much to do with it. Had it been Tuesday at 5:30am, we still would have found ourselves at a standstill. Be it The Hamptons, Cape Cod, The Jersey Shore, Rye Beach New Hampshire, Ogunquit Maine, Ocean City Maryland, Todd's Point... The long-awaited shoreline of choice does not come without a few hours, if not days, of self-inflicted sacrifice. Just focus, pack mean snacks, keep one hand on the wheel...your foot hovering over the break and breathe—September is only a few weeks away.
Is it just me, or have we hit the dog days of summer? It's suddenly hot -- after being wet and unseasonably cool for months and now it's August? What? And when did July happen? I'm in denial—hot sweaty dehydrated denial.
In other news... 299 tropical bird skins have apparently up and flown away from London's Natural History Museum... Now - I'm always one for a good art heist (as Scotland Yard beats down my door), but bird carcasses? Really? Apparently that's what they are -- just dead bird bodies with feathers—no eyes or internal stuff.... You can read about it here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk. Can you imagine how this happened? In our world of secured insanity... Someone went into the bird carcass area of the ornithological collection in Tring, Hertfordshire -- picked up 299 dead birds... some more than 3 feet long— and then simply carried them out? There was no gun chase, no bomb scare.. no getaway car... very hush hush and low key...very unbirdlike. Those that cherish these feathers are of course torn to bits over the loss... a catastrophe for the science of bird studies and future generations... Truly a mystery that needs to be solved immediately and authorities are on it... searching high and low, questioning collectors, fashion designers and fly fishing extremists.... but have they considered...
The 80s have been hard hit this summer... Michael and now John Hughes... Took a few days to climb out of my "what does this all MEAN" phase... where is OMD when you need a ballad?
"Demented and sad, but social."
"Can I borrow your underpants for 10 minutes?"
"What about prom, Blaine? WHAT ABOUT PROM?"
"But pretty soon, a woobie isn't enough."
"I'm a pathological liar"
"She get married to oily Bohunk"
"Slave wages are okay."
"I can't do anything to you that you haven't already done to yourself."
"The next screw that falls out will be you."
"This is what my girlfriend would look like without skin."
"Hello Jack? I'm Annette. You're doing it wrong."
"I’m not really a farmer."
"I'd rather be with someone for the wrong reasons then alone for the right."
"That’s not a joke. That’s a severe behavioral disorder."
"Could you describe the ruckus, sir?"
"Screw the house!"
"220, 221 whatever it takes"
"Um, I like alcoholics?"
"I'd've died for you!"
"MO-LAY really pumps my nads."
"Get your skag and let's go."
"I predict me and her will interface."
"We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all."
"Why are you here?" "Drugs."
"He must practice on melons or something."
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
I've tried to write this post a few times without much success.. it seems there isn't a way to lay it out without sounding like a wet rag or homeless puppy... but it is the middle of the summer and vacation is what everyone is doing or thinking about -- add on top the recession and we have stone soup. The result of this has taught me a great deal about myself, which is good should I ever find myself in a padded room laughing hysterically at nothing.
From a professional standpoint I have seen much better days. I would say that things have been slow -- but that would mean that there should be something dripping from the faucet. I should feel comforted by the fact that none of this is my fault -- All of it is due to those pesky circumstances beyond my control -- but I can only compare "these days" with a perpetual itch in the unreachable middle of my back.
A brief time line:
This time last year - Breakwater had a busy busy staff of four -- counting myself. We had just relocated to Main Street, projects were flowing and I was looking to hire more designers.
October 08 - the work began to dwindle. Our national accounts started closing their doors. Then local clients started pulling plugs.
December 08 - I cried (and still tear-up about) when I let my last designer, Patrick, go.
May 09 - I cringed when we moved the office into a smaller space.
I go over it and over again trying to figure out how I could have done things differently.
Between May 09 and now... I dive into every project that comes my way with embarrassing energy... like I haven't designed in years. Hungry -- the results are very rewarding, but the work continues to come in drips and drabs... and then.. my insanity switch goes off --
None of this is right. And those of you that know me know this. It took a family getaway to grasp reality -- a strong, "Ry, you're a designer" from my Dad to come back down. And so I digress... I put away the makeup wearing positive advertising real estate mogul craft guru lottery winner dreams and am seeking out the calm... concentrating on what I do have to do and doing it right... And if this plan fails... I'll convince the crew, depart the ship and join the Dread Pirate Roberts in retired in splendor.
We have just returned from a whirlwind trip down the Delaware coast for funtimes with family... Catching up has taken me longer that I had hoped, but I'll get there. Whilst we were traveling.. two slightly amazing things happened.
We've lived here on Long Island for ... I want to say 10 years rounding up, but to be precise... 7 years, 6 months and 31 days. All this time I have been walking past the giant blueberry bush in our backyard with curiosity -- but for some strange reason, always assumed that the fruit was poison. "You can't EAT those" I've exclaimed many times... I don't recollect any traumatic near death berry eating experiences -- although I didn't exactly grow up in the woods scrounging for food. And I do love blueberries.
Then for a while I harbored this weird procrastination-like theory that why bother with the blueberry bush -- the birds eat them all anyway... as if I know this for a fact? I imagined myself getting swooped down upon for approaching the fruit once it was ripe... Oh well -- you can't eat them anyway. This year, for whatever reason, it dawned on me that -- they aren't wild blueberries... this is a well groomed -- manicured blueberry bush that must be ... 8 feet tall and probably 10 ft around.... Someone planted it. Obsession kicked in.. and has certainly paid off....
This is the time of the year, in the Hamptons, that I start to notice a shift in behaviors. There are two walks of life communing around town together -- all aware of each other while turning a blind eye to each others existence. This is the way it should be...
Last week I was thinking about approaching the deli counter at Schmidt's in Southampton. I took a loop around the store (again giant child in cart) and found myself at the back of a crowd. The line was typical, but what I immediately noticed was the silence... no one was talking and people looked at me with giant fear-filled eyes.
"My driver has my number -- he just left the store to turn the air on in the car-- I'm sorry but I was next -- I might not have the number sweetie, but my driver will be happy to shove it up your a** if you want to step outside" -- Man #1 said to Man #2 who I know to be a full-time Southamptoner...
I froze - becoming a part of the 12-odd equally frozen by-standers
"I didn't realize that you needed a driver to do your dirty work" -- said Man #2
"Do you reaaaally want to take this to another level just for the sake of your pathetic rotisserie chicken -- you can get those at 7-11 for G*** sake... Honey, a pound of the LOOOOBSTER salad I said -- not Tuna" -- he wasn't looking and slammed his hand basket to the ground "I swear, you people". -- Man #1...
Standing in front of me (of course) Enter Man #3.
"If that basket had come a hairline closer to my wife's toes -- you'd be crying over a hell of a lot more than your place in line.....You had better get some manners fast you F******* a*** NYC B*** S****F*****Mother ******Balls****Meal Ticket***Driver can **** My****Talk to ***** Loser *****Trust Fund*******"...... I can't publish the rest—it was too much for anyone's ears -- the crowd roared with applause -- whoop whoop from the deli staff.. I glanced over my right shoulder -- Oooo sushi... I grabbed the spicy tuna and ran.
It's not easy living among the two breeds. One never knows who is going to be THAT person -- everyone looks really nice... And -- it's summer... for most it's vacation... there shouldn't be any angst. But alas... after leaving Schmidt's I was... stuck in traffic—blood pressure rising, when a woman passed me on the right...at first I thought "who the H does she think she is.." Then she ran the red light and cut through the intersection... I laughed. Good for her. If I had a Trike -- I might not have a care in the world either.
I've been blogging quite a bit lately about being my experiences with Will, our almost-2yr old. I don't intend to make this a forum for "mommy-blogging", he's just been a very entertaining relief and I can't help but observe. That being said— Childrens programming on television needs to grasp reality. These kids are too smart for you... Elmo, UGH! And the horror of CAILLOU -- the combination of a soon to be Charlie Brown and the weirdest/dullest/baldest 4 year old around? I thought we would try out Yo Gabba Gabba... I mean the leader of DEVO can't screw this up -- the dancing kids are fun, but I feel like I'm sending Will to HR Puff-n-Stuff land with Witchie Poo. Sid the Science Kid is okay, as is Wordworld... but then you get hit - SMACK - with the creepy guinea pig in the Wonder Pets -- and to boot, that duck has a speach impediment... "This is Seeweeous" We want Will to pronounce his Rs. Does anyone know when Jack's Big Music Show is coming back?
Maybe I'm being a little overly critical... I grew up with Mr. Rogers -- who seems to still be ON daily—despite passing away decades ago. There are many more options today... and HD makes it seem like the characters are right in the room vs. onscreen... One would like to think that the geniuses of the world out there -- and I'm NOT referring to the ones that created Blues Clues -- would get together and produce something GOOD. Will only watches TV for a few mintues before running off to whatever he has planned... I just want the good stuff to sink in—I only need a few minutes.
Image via Wikipedia
They say that the age of 2 is terrible. I'm thinking that the age of 34 isn't so hot either, but I am beginning to see the reasoning behind the terribleness of two and it really isn't the two-year old's fault. Will is currently 20 months old and is trying with all of his mighty might to talk to us. There is a great deal of pressure and he tries really really hard -- talking, toilet training—understanding that you sit on it, not put your hands in it... Your toys, the Bluedog's toys, only put the fake keys in your mouth. If I had to do and not do all of these things I'd be stressed out and frustrated too.... which seems to lead to melt-downs and breaking things (much like someone else I know).
Last week - - upon being told not to play with the propane for our outdoor grill, he turned and broke a flower pot -- threw it to the ground with massive angst... I said "No!" and knelt down to pick up the pieces while he turned and threw 3 more pots—shattering on the patio... he laughed.
This morning he was so tired... didn't want to wake up, but I made him get out of bed.. Growing is exhausting, you know. Yawning we went into the kitchen, I opened the pantry for the cereal and turned my back to reach for his bowl when --- CRASH, down came the Oreos that were haphazardly placed on a Will-can-reach-shelf... "No!" I rushed to pick up the cookies, only to spin around to see him half-way through his second helping. I know it was his second because of there is no way one cookie generated all the cocoa yumminess now on his face and hands... he laughed -- and this time, I laughed right with him.
Last year I posted "Then Suddenly.." announcing the mysterious arrival of our pumpkin patch.... Well, I am happy to report that it was not a once in a lifetime phenomenon.
Behold, the return of the pumpkins!
Let it be known that these orange balls of fun will never cease!! Grow seeded wonders, Grow!
How much longer do our arms need to be in order to extend out to the reaches of where we are trying to get to?
In other words, Brookstone is strangling my email account.
A few weeks back - while at the Stamford "Town Center" I purchased a little gifty gift for my husband's birthday. It was something that I never imagined could exist -- but he asked for it and I found it at Brookstone. Thinking that this was the greatest store on earth—saving me from having to build the in-shower fog-less lighted shave mirror, I was very grateful... The clerk had a heck of a time ringing me up though— apparently he needed proof of my first born, blood type and a DNA sample but when he asked for my email I hesitated. Why? I don't need emails from Brookstone... I hate html emails and I hate sale notices-- among the thousands of emails in my inbox -- this would only add to the clog. I refused -- but he was a persistent little bugger and insisted that he could not complete the sale without my email address. Now... how is this possible.. I started to rant and wave my hands wildly -- EMAIL-ISM! What if I don't have an email address -- would you not let me buy this amazing thing? I don't even own a computer -- Are you telling me that every person on this planet that tries to buy something from Brookstone MUST have an email address??? I was beginning to scare my son so I took a breath.... My email address is... rms@...
I understand the need for my email address. As a member of the marketing world -- one would assume that I would hop right in and wade in the flux of list building tools. Instead, I hypocritically recommend these tactics while loathing them at the same time. I do think, however, that REQUIRING one's personal information in order to allow the purchase of a in-shower fog-less lighted shave mirror is taking the world order a little-teeny-tiny-bit too far.
To date, I have received 3 to 4 emails a day from Brookstone since my purchase. I have tried to "unsubscribe" but they must have watched my wall bouncing display and have decided to blacklist and proceed with torture. Pray for me, please.