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Why is there a "Sex for Dummies" and not a "TypePad for Dummies"? If we're so dumb we don't know how to insert tab A into slot B, then don't we also need help changing a CNAME record to map a domain?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Question: It's 7:30 on a Saturday morning in the dead of winter, and your five-year-old son asks for fresh strawberries. What do you do?
A. Use this chance to discuss growing seasons and the cost of fruit when it's out of season, then suggest an apple instead.
B. Hand him the car keys and tell him when he can reach the gas pedals he can get strawberries himself. Return to your coffee and newspaper.
C. Just. Say. No.
D. Grab your boots and a ponytail holder and race to the expensive grocery store that sells anything anytime for a cost. Take out a second mortgage to pay for fresh strawberries that only yesterday were sunning themselves happily in the mountains of Chile.
Answer: D. Because when your kid asks for food that might actually contain a vitamin and isn't entirely composed of white flour, chocolate, or cheese you fly to Chile and climb the mountain yourself if you have to.
The Little Guy is only in kindergarten, but his school teaches kids technology from the get go. Evidently it's working, because LG is becoming quite the computer pro:
Little Guy: Mommy, guess what a server is?
MomBrain: I don't know, what?
LG: It's a computer that links other computers together.
MB: That's right! Did you learn what the other computers are called?
LB: Yup. Macs.
MB: Macs? Not clients?
LB: No, Macs. It's short for Maximum.
MB: It is? Maximum what?
LG: Maximum fun. Because that's what computers are.
MB: Oh.
It's the post you've been waiting for! It's the annual list of MomBrain's Favorite Things, conveniently posted just before Christmas. However, unlike Oprah, I will not be giving away free goodies to members of our studio audience. No, my ducks, you must satisfy yourself with hot links. So ... here are the things I just can't live without.
Past years have featured my favorite tea, but coffee has now joined my morning routine. And nothing else will do but Torrefazione Italia.
Revlon ColorStay Lipstick is my mainstay. Make mine "Spice."
My very favorite PJs are Nautica English Floral Lawn. Yes, they're girly. I wear them straight out of the dryer and miss them when they're in the laundry. They are also popular among cross-dressers and drag queens. I know this becuase they are highly reviewed on fagnits.com. I am not sure how this makes me feel.
If Santa has any kind feelings for me at all, he will leave this sweet little number in my driveway.
Time to go shopping!
In which MomBrain gazes at her delicate, princess-like navel ...
Today I had the great good fortune of bumping into my writing friend Martha at a party. I did not know she would be there. I did not know she knew the hosts. I did not expect my writing world to collide with my school-mommy world. But collide they did, with many happy fizzy bubbles as a result.
Martha and I finagled a few quiet moments next to the 18-foot (!) Christmas tree, and out came all my existential writing angst. It's the old dilemma: write for love, or write for money? I say I want to write for love. In fact, I sold my soul to the devil at the GAS* Company so I could afford to write what I want instead of what sells. And yet I find myself writing about hoochie mama diaper bags and stretch mark cream. I am not helping humanity. I am not provoking people to think. I am not adding beauty to the world. I am a shill. I write about the products that are advertised in magazines.
Make no mistake: The magazine business is not about selling content to readers. It is about selling readers to advertisers. When you buy your favorite magazine at the grocery store checkout line, the $4 you plunk down barely pays for shipping and handling. Everything else - the writing, the photography, the design, the celebrity interviews - is paid for by advertisers. And so it is the advertisers who control the content, and therefore the writers.
That's okay. I mean, producing magazines is expensive, and someone's got to pay for it. I do wish readers were more cynical, though. For example, when a beauty magazine recommends using moisturizer on your dry winter skin and then adds "One we like: Acme Skin Lotion!**" that's not a recommendation. It's a product placement that was probably paid for. So you buy Acme Skin Lotion because Beauty Queen Magazine*** recommended it, when in fact that lotion is nothing more than mayonnaise.
I don't begrudge magazines (or the snake oil supplement companies who own them) from making a buck. It's a business, after all. But it's not the business I want to be in. Hence the navel gazing. What do I want to write? What impact do I want to have as a writer? To get you to buy Acme Skin Lotion? Or to somehow make the world a better place?
I pimped myself out for the GAS* Company because I wanted the money. And it was worth it. But I'm not especially interested in being a whore for the makers of Acme Skin Lotion. How else can a girl make a living, though?
* Giant Acme Software
** A fake product. Please. I have no interest in being sued for slander.
*** Again with the fakery.
In which MomBrain detects the unmistakeable whiff of testosterone ...
Here at House O' MomBrain we are trying very hard to make Family Dinner the rule rather than the exception. This is a challenge because the Little Guy would eat at 4:00 if he could, the Big Guy would eat at 9:00, and I would skip dinner altogether and spend my wad of calories on pancakes the next morning.
All this has changed, though, since we began telling Shaggy Dog Stories at the dinner table. Suddenly the Little Guy would rather starve than eat before us, and the Big Guy races home from work to eat at 6:00. Then we hunker over dinner and take turns starting a story. Now. MomBrain is proud to say that she is a gentle creature intent on telling tales that enlighten and educate. The Big Guy is more about slapstick entertainment. But the Little Guy is all about destruction. Tonight our stories began like this:
MomBrain: Once upon a time there was a squirrel and a nut.
Big Guy: Once upon a time there was a pirate ship and a treasure chest.
Little Guy: Once upon a time there was a fire bomb catapult and a cannon.
And because these are shaggy dog stories, they head south as soon as one of the Guys takes over. Boys will be boys. Even when the poor hungry squirrel is just trying to find the nut he buried, it is guaranteed that a shot will ring out, a fire will burst forth, or a scream will be heard in the distance. Sometimes it is my scream. But more often it is a sigh of resignation.
In which MomBrain mourns the imminent decline of an old friend ...
I am sorry to report the sad news that the Sack* has entered the early winter of its life. Taking it from the dryer, daylight shone through three small holes that have finally poked their way through the threadbare fabric. And so, it has been retired, and will make appearances on an as-needed basis only.
I am considering a ceremony, a frame, a Hook of Honor. But mostly I am just considering how sad I am.
*sack (sak) n. [Middle English, from Old English]
1. A sweatshirt of extremely unflattering proportions
2. Lucky writing clothes
3. A warm substitute for flannel pajamas
4. When rolled into a ball, a squishy pillow for napping under one's desk
See also muu muu, Omar the Tentmaker, man repellent.
In which MomBrain bemoans her lack of talent in the kitchen and worries that the Little Guy will need therapy if she uses a boxed cake mix ...
The Little Guy is now in Kindergarten, an official Big Boy, and I am seriously earning my June Cleaver Girl Scout Badge. Let me tell you, MomBrain's wooden spoon is getting a workout. The bake sales, the fund raisers, the classroom holiday parties, the potlucks ... oy.
This would not be so bad except that my baking skills define new levels of suckage, which is why I have been relying on Krusteaz "just add water" cornbread. But now I must make four dozen of my favorite cookies and bring the recipe for a party this weekend. I've always been the dork who brings Oreos and gets a laugh. But these are Alpha Moms, talented and energetic and committed, while I am strictly an Omega Mom. I believe in shortcuts. I am all about the B+. Because sometimes "good enough" is good enough. Except that it isn't.
In which MomBrain engages in shameless self-promotion ...
Here at MomBrain HQ we are all atwitter over the recent publication of "It's a Boy." Full disclosure - "It's a Boy" includes an essay by moi. But while I'm always happy to see my work in print, I am humbled to be in the company of writers I've admired for years.
Raising a boy is the weirdest combination of sublime and bizarre. And although kids are kids to some degree, boys raise different issues. When do you stop prancing around naked in front of your little boy? How do you drag a reluctant preschool boy into the Ladies Room with Mom? When is it not okay for a boy to wear pink? How do you explain to the mothers of well-behaved girls that being a wiggly mess is just part of your son's DNA?
If you have a boy, wish you had a boy, are curious about boys - buy this book. If your friend is pregnant with a boy - give her this book for Christmas. If you are a boy - give it to your Mom. Also, if you would like to read about how the Little Guy thumbed his nose and came into existence despite an ancient and powerful curse, buy this book. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll tell your friends!
Dear Friends,
Thank you for coming to my blog warming party! As you can see, I have finally moved out of the Blogger ghetto and into a spacious TypePad condo. My old Blogger place had some broken pipes and frequent blackouts, and the landlord was not responding to my pleas for help. So MomBrain hightailed it out of there.
Like most moves, this one was messy and took much longer than we expected. (And I mean "we" in the royal sense. MomBrain is nothing if not delicate and princess-like.) It may be a while before we unpack the boxes marked "Archives." And we haven't found our links yet. But it's liveable for now, so please ... pardon our dust and make yourself comfy.
