7 Quick Takes: “Pearls Before Swine” Edition

Seven Quick Takes:

“Pearls Before Swine” Edition

In choosing movies, my kids have more or less beaten me down.  Of course I don’t let them watch just anything they want, because, obviously, some things are harmful or inappropriate in themselves; and some things are just so dang stupid, they do damage to immature aesthetic organs.

On the other hand, it’s so unpleasant to spend an evening shushing and chastising sulky kids while they ruin a perfectly good movie.  And all they remember about the movie is that you yelled at them all the way through it.

So we more or less compromise, and let them watch a small amount of really worthless stuff (Scooby Doo); a lot of accessible stuff that has some merit, even if it’s only the merit of well-crafted entertainment (Daffy Duck); and then some Good Movies They Ought To See (High Noon), whether they want to or not.

The following list is a subcategory of accessible-with-merit:  things they ought to easily enjoy, but don’t, just to drive me crazy.  For these movies, I wait until the kids are really desperate for entertainment, and then gradually wear them down until they accidentally start enjoying themselves.

–1–

The Thief of Bagdad (1940) (available to watch instantly on Netflix)

Is this actually even a good movie?  I sure loved it as a kid.  It’s a Sinbad-ish story about a (remarkably white-bread) beggar/king Prince Ahmad who goes adventuring with his little brown buddy Abu, and wins the princess with the help of a gigantic and greasy genie with Brooklyn accent.

I sometimes think that the more clumsily-executed special effects of this era (together with the garishly brilliant color scheme) portray magic  better than slick and perfect CGI.  The roughness makes it all the more startling and otherwordly, which is how it ought to be.

Why the kids didn’t like it:  It’s dated and goofy.  I think there are songs, too, which is intolerable to sophisticates like themselves.

–2–

The Adventures of Milo and Otis (1986) (often on sale for $5-7 at Walmart and Target)

A completely charming live action dog and cat buddy story set in the lovely Japanese countryside.  Dudley Moore narrates and does the dialogue, perfectly giving voice to the natural gestures and expressions of the animals.  He’s clearly ad libbing in places, and some of it is just comic genius.  I thought the turtle part was especially funny (for my TMC classmates:  the turtle always made me think of Mr. Shea), and I really like the fox:

Why the kids didn’t like it:  I really don’t know.  They do show a dog giving birth in more detail than I would like.  It’s not a typical computer-manipulated, squeaky-voiced animal picture, which takes some getting  used to.  Also, it opens with an irritating folksy kid song “We’re gonna take a walk outside today,” which really gives the wrong impression about what kind of movie it is.

–3–

A Christmas Carol (1951)

The only movie version of this story you will ever need.  Most convincing (and entertaining) conversion story you will ever see.  So many elements of this movie are unforgettable:  the pagan grandeur of Christmas Present, the terror of Scrooge alone in his cold house, hearing the dragging chains coming closer and closer; the the brilliance and sincerity of Alastair Sim’s timing and facial contortions.  A nearly perfect movie.

 

Why the kids didn’t like it:  It’s black and white.  Some of it is pretty hokey, and the emotionalism (Scrooge’s sister’s deathbed; the miniature lost souls in agony waving their arms around) made them uncomfortable.

–4–

West Side Story (1961)

A modern (50′s) retelling of Romeo and Juliet with unforgettable music by Leonard Bernstein.

Haven’t actually made them watch this one yet (it’s not so much the sexiness as the sad ending that’s made me hold off.  I’ve been really chicken about exposing them to sad endings)–but I’m pretty sure they’ll hate it when I decide they’re old enough.  The baby, however, loved it:  lots of jumping and dancing, loud drums and swirling skirts.  Boy, the music is so great.

Why the kids won’t like it:  the dated scenario and slang, the gang members doing menacing jetés and arabesques, and some of the plot points (the wedding scene comes to mind) are important but subtle.

–5–

The Gods Must Be Crazy (1980)

How did they pull it off?  It’s a story about a small tribe of simple and noble Bushmen being threatened by the violence and consumerism of the western world.   But it doesn’t preach.  It doesn’t even teach.  It’s more of a funny, moving, and unusual fairy tale with a happy ending, which creates strong affection for several of the characters (and not just the Bushmen).  I remember the sweetness, but was surprised at how much slapstick is in this movie, too.

Why the kids didn’t like it:  Because they’re bad, bad kids.

–6–

The Iron Giant (1999) (available to watch instantly on Netflix)

A little boy discovers a giant robot, who has to develop a conscience and save the world.

Why the kids didn’t like it:  I suspect it’s because they were made nervous by elements which they thought I wouldn’t approve of:  the main character is really bratty, occasionally uses bad language, and there’s an irritating anti-establishment vibe.  But I think the good of this movie outweighs these slightly distasteful aspects, and one scene (when the Iron Giant murmurs “Superman . . . “) makes me (and–shh!–my husband, too) leave the room when I know it’s coming, because it makes me cry.

———

Whoa, that’s only six!  Oh well.  I also forgot to list which scenes might not be good for kids.  Sorry!  Going to bed now.

Don’t forget to check out Jen (and excuse her dust.  I love that phrase!) at Conversion Diary, where she is hosting the weekly 7 Quick Takes linkaround.

I’ll just say it for you: AWESOME!

Since as many as two of my readers have asked for pictures of my van (which I described here), here are some pictures of my van:

You know what, I think one picture is enough.  You get the general idea.  Contain your jealousy!  If anyone deserves to tool around rural southern New Hampshire in a vehicle this awesome, it’s me.

As you will see, it is an intimidating vehicle, weighing in at two-and-a-half tons of pure kid-schlepping menace.  If you are unlucky enough to find yourself stuck behind our van in traffic, you’ll have this stonelike visage to contend with:

So what we have here is not so much a picture of how the decals under the back windows resemble the mustache of Muammar El Qadaffi, as an illustration of the law of diminishing returns, exacerbated by the husband who brings around gin.  That is to say, the harder I worked on this stupid picture, the stupider it got, until my husband came along and asked what I was doing.  So I explained it, and then he decided to bring around some gin.

Oh, the time stamp on this post that says 7 a.m.?  Don’t think about it too hard.

Why we’re dropping out of home school

A couple of people have asked why we’re not home schooling any more.  We will be, a little bit — my six-year-old son will be at home for first grade, and my four-year-old daughter keeps handing me notes composed of random letters, in a pathetic plea to be taught how to read and write.

And of course we’ll keep our feral three-year-old, whom no school can hold, and the smartest baby in the world (16 months old), who is not only putting together two- and three-word sentences, she can say “Come ON!” just like Gob Bluth.  So clearly, we will be maintaining a richly educational atmosphere, even though I’m sending the oldest four off to a classroom.

I don’t know, is it too passé to say I’m burnt out?  It wasn’t the hard work that wore me out; it was the crappy job I did, and the worrying about it.  That’s what was so exhausting.  And then there was this:

(This was the first day of school last year.  We wondered why she was letting us get math done.)

We had nice times,  when the kid would have revelations about free will, or when they’d groan because it was the end of our Latin lesson.  The dining room is still decorated with the heraldic coats of arms we designed for our Medieval unit, and there were some thrilling moments in stovetop meteorology experiments.

But I was sitting here ordering the math books for the school year (yes, now.  Shut up!  It isn’t even labor day yet) and feeling nothing but weariness.  We enjoyed some of the benefits home schoolers promise:  the closeness, the leisure, the freedom, the intensity, the depth.  But really just not often enough.  We did it for six years, and I’m about ready for something different (not necessarily easier!) for a while.

If I’ve learned anything in the last twelve years (and I haven’t), it’s that you never, never know what your life will look like this time next year– so who knows?  Maybe we’ll go back to home school next year.  Or maybe the world will come to an end, and I won’t have to explain place value again.

The four oldest kids have a lovely, rural charter school to go to, and I want them to be happy and busy.  Also, a couple of them turned out to be more complicated than we thought.  And I’m not the kind of mother that it’s okay to be around all day.

I do know that all my kids have learned that reading is a wonderful way to spend your time, and that figuring out things and hearing new ideas is thrilling.  They aren’t embarrassed to talk about ideas, and they have no idea how dorky they are.  So I feel more or less okay with the start I’ve given them.

Boy, I wish I still had that gin in the photo.

Poetry Monday – UPDATED

Hamburger Washer Sleep Blog, Or:

Will Okra Slime Hurt Me?

. . .

Mad Jesus
Laughing Jesus
people choking
Jew site
.
Snappy kid talk
What is spillcock
baby powder help with lice
.
I have sit
I must sit down
Ha ha suckers
toilets blog
.
Mark Shea butter football
baby shower old wise tales

.

How to wet sitting down
Sit down joke
I need sit down
.
frog brothers
pasty vampires
Hallie Lord the jerk
. . .
Dear everyone,
Well, I did it again.  I thought the joke was really obvious, but it turns out that it was just me being a big weirdo again.  I hope no one was offended, disgusted, or, you know, weirded out.  This poem was made up of search terms for my blog.  Each line was an exact quote of a phrase that someone entered into a search engine, and then ended up at my blog.
“Hallie Lord the jerk,” for instance, is not a statement of opinion — it’s just a sad statement that Hallie Lord is now inextricably linked (at least as far as Google is concerned) with people like me.
Sorry!

The blessings keep rolling in.

So I was sitting there, refusing to get up.  My six-year-old wanted a glass instead of a cup, the eight-year-old kept doing his evil laugh even though it makes him throw up, and the four-year-old wanted to tell me a story about how first, see, she forgot to flush, but then she suddenly remembered to flush, but then. . .

And remember, I have five other kids, too.

My husband is back at work after eight months of unemployment (and may I say:  heckova job, Barry), and I miss him.  It’s not just that suddenly, everything that needs to be done, said, investigated, cleaned up, controlled, and decided by an adult has to be done by me, me, all me.  I just miss having him around.  And I’m back to being surrounded by kids in a way that I wasn’t surrounded when there were two parents around.  The days are so long!

So despite my relief that he’s working again, I was feeling pretty mopey and despondent.  The kids were eating their stupid supper (in the fridge, waiting for husband, was ziti with chicken sautéed in olive oil with fresh garlic and basil.   The kids were eating naked noodles and poached chicken chunks.  That is a stupid supper) and I just wanted to sit down and feel sorry for myself, because I cut my toe on one of the plates the baby smashed while I was sautéing.

While I was fending off the needy ones, I read this little article from The Daily Beast(via Slate’s XX Factor blog):  I Refuse to Freeze My Eggs! (UPDATE:  Ooh, looks likeZoe beat me to it, and she chose the same quotes, too!)

The author is single and childless at 35–the age when, as she says, “all the petals fall off [your] vagina and dozens of cats suddenly park themselves in a circle around [your] cobwebby old hope chest.”  She’s enduring a gynecological exam, and her doctor starts harassing her to start freezing her eggs, just in case.

It’s super easy, she said. All you have to do is inject yourself with hormones a couple of times a day for about fourteen days, then you go to the doctor, and they scrape your eggs out of your body! Hopefully a few will be ripe enough to make a baby. They put those in the freezer. The rest are thrown into the river. I think that’s what she said. Something like that.

My doctor, who I adore, asked if I wanted to take home some “literature” about the procedure. (I never understand why these medical pamphlets are called literature, as if Faulkner was up all night feverishly writing about NuvaRing.) And in that moment, I made a decision. A decision about how I’m going to handle the fact that I’m thirty five (today!) and I don’t have kids and a kid-making partner isn’t currently on the scene. I decided I didn’t want the literature. And I don’t ever want the literature about anything related to the world of Fertility. It’s my big thirty-fifth birthday present to myself.

I’m sharing this story with you for two reasons:  first, because it’s refreshing to hear a (presumably) secular woman say what she says:

[W]hen I think about my uterus (which is rare) I don’t have any desire to bully it into doing something it may not naturally feel like doing. In vitro fertilization, artificial insemination, egg transplants, surrogacy, fallopian Xeroxing—I have no interest.

Hear, hear!

The second reason is to share with you my delight at an unexpected benefit of having all these little kids around.  I mean, I’m used to all the regular blessings:  always surrounded by love, the peace and serenity of being open to God’s precious gift of life, the constant howling, and so on.

But it never occurred to me that there’s something else:  even though I, too am 35 years old, no doctor ever, ever tries to push me into freezing my eggs.  I think I have my twenty-seven  children to thank for that.

Also, around about the time you have your fifth baby, the doctor stops trying to sneak a plain cardboard box of condoms into your hospital bag.  They’ve given up.  They think you’re an idiot; you know you’re an idiot.  Everyone’s happy, and no one tries to talk you into anything when you already have your feet up in stirrups and can’t fight back.

See what I mean?  Children are a blessing, and the blessings keep rolling in.

I’m just going to complain about my alarm clock.

Our alarm clock finally just went fatally berzerk.  It already had some issues, but yesterday it started advancing a minute for every actual second that passes.  This is a disconcerting but accurate depiction of the way our summer is going.  Happily, it gives me an excuse to buy a new clock. I hate this clock.  Someone gave it to us, back when we got caught in the wrong end of a current of well-meaning charity from a group of elderly church ladies.  They saw we had a lot of kids, and drew the only obvious conclusion:  that I would be overjoyed to receive large quantities of random junk they didn’t want in their garages anymore. I gave away most of it, but we kept the clock, because — well, because we had a lot of kids, and couldn’t afford a clock on our own.  (Even a charitable old church lady is right twice a day.) Does anyone else have such trouble with alarm clocks?  I really don’t ask a lot out of technology, but it seems to me that it shouldn’t be so hard to find a clock which will reliably (a) show the time and (b) go off when I tell it to. Our clocks do this for a month or so.  Then they don’t.  Maybe!   The main problem is that, when an alarm clock goes bad, you only become aware of the problem when you’re half asleep.   It’s sort of like going to the doctor, and by the time he finally shows up, you’ve so nervous and tense, you actually do have high blood pressure:  You just can’t make an accurate diagnosis in conditions like this. You set the alarm for 7 a.m. and drift off to sleep.  A few hours later, you’re right in the middle of a sweet and gentle dream about being a nice little fish that makes cookies, and YAAAAAAAAAA!  the alarm goes off, and it’s only  2:30. What?  What?  Did you set the alarm wrong?  Or is the clock broken?  And if you’re the one who made the mistake, did you actually fix it?  Wait, did you press the button at the right time?  Oh, you went past 7– now you have to go all the way around again!  Is that dot for a.m. or p.m.?  Do you dare to fall back asleep and trust that  will wake up at 7?  Or would it be more fun to crouch on your bed like a feral cat, unable to slow your heart rate back to normal?   Until it’s 6:15, at which point you finally lose consciousness, and sleep through the alarm. Or did you just dream the whole thing? This particular terrible clock had some kind of fancy system with two different alarms, each with a choice of different sound effects, and it was nearly impossible to figure out which one you had actually set.  Especially after some kid ripped the plastic face off, which meant that the various lights signifying “am,” “pm,” alarm 1″ and “alarm 2″ were nothing more than bald, unlabeled dots, signifying, “I mean something, and I’m on!” The only work-around was to set both alarms for the same time.  So you would wake up in the morning, turn off the alarm, start to get up and think about what you–DAMMIT, turn off the alarm again. Or, if you’re my husband, you get up and turn it off in your sleep and lay yourself  peacefully down again. Now, according to everything that is rational, and everything that I know about this man, he does this because he’s a heavy sleeper.  It’s unintentional, unfixable, and actually kind of cute. But according to everything I know when I get woken up by his alarm and must lie there poking him until he grumpily rolls out of bed and I’m too annoyed to go back to sleep, even though I had only truly fallen sleep two hours ago because I had just accomplished several pre-dawn hours of worrying about school clothes, he does this because . . . well, let’s just stick with unintentional. Anyway, what this all goes to show is that we are in big trouble this coming school year, with actual schedules and all.    Why did we home school all those years?  Why did my husband get into journalism?  Well, the secret’s out now!  We’ve arranged our lives around not getting up  in the morning. Sure, so there was a dash of planning, a smattering of the determined pursuit of our desires and the cultivation of our talents.  Maybe a whisper of answering our divinely-ordained vocations in life. But mostly, we are where we are because we can’t figure out our alarm clock.

7 Quick Takes: “Fair’s Fair” Edition

Don’t worry, it’s not another scholarly fisk of the cultural significance of Billy Jean.  I’m talking about the county fair!  The fair!  Who doesn’t love the fair?

If you’re taking your kids to the fair for the first time, you are going to hate it.
–
It will be, second only to the birth itself, the most miserable, sticky, disappointing, and ludicrously expensive day of your life as parents.  You will go home wondering why you just paid hundreds of dollars to make your kids this dirty and unhappy.
–
Also, you’re fairly sure you had eight children when you left the house, and now you only have six.
–
But it doesn’t have to be that way.  We kept trying and failing to have fun at the fair, and eventually we worked out some guidelines.  And this year, it finally happened:  we actually had a good time! All of us, even the wimp, the show-off,  the escape artist, the malcontent, the spoilsport, the worrier, and everyone.
Well, the baby actually hated it, but she kind of hates everything right now.
–
So here is how we managed:
–1–
MONEY
Start saving money last year.  I’m serious — this is an expensive day.  You have to just accept that it costs what it costs, and there is really no point in making the effort if you’re not going to go whole hog.  Be prepared to shell out for admission (and possibly parking), ride tickets or passes, food, souvenirs, and possibly for special rides or shows — plus emergency cash for something unexpected, like bug spray or a bail bond.
–
And do some research.  There are usually a few cheaper days and a few expensive days, so work out exactly how much it will cost to do everything you want to do.   I recommend going on an unlimited pass or bracelet day.  We tried individual tickets, and it was not only more expensive, but made us very anxious, because we had to pace ourselves and conserve tickets.
–
–2–
WEATHER
Check the weather report! A wonderful day can be ruined by  clothes that are too hot or too cold.  Once we went on a rainy day, and lost a whole hour off our unlimited ride time.  And once we went on such a hot day, everyone just wanted to sit on a bench and suck down lemonade.  Which we could have done at home for much cheaper, with slightly less of that nauseating barnyard smell.
–
Bring sunblock and lots and lots of drinks.  The screaming, walking around, and the general excitement will make your kids even thirstier than they normally would be after a day outdoors.  There will be drinks for sale, but they will be EXPENSIVE.   Have I mentioned this?  It’s not because I’m a cheapskate; it’s because I don’t want you to have to tell a weeping 7-year-old girl, “I know I said you could ride the pony, but Mama spent her last $6 on your fourth lemonade!”
–
–3–
GETTING LOST
Make sure your kids know what to do if they get lost.    We tell them to first yell and yell (in case the rest of the family is right around the corner) and then they can go to a policeman,  someone behind a counter, or someone who looks like a nice mother, and say, “I’m lost – can you help me find my parents?”
–
Make sure your kids know their parents’ actual names (a surprising number assume Daddy’s name is “Daddy”), and what their parents are wearing (my daughter once described me as “the one with the haircut”). Dress your kids in distinctive clothing and write down descriptions of everyone (“black sweatpants, a Jack Kemp T-shirt, and a homemade haircut”) in case you need other people to help you find them, and are too flustered to remember what they look like.
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The earlier in the day you go, the smaller the crowds will be.  Know which kids are likely to bolt or wander away, and give them a special lecture beforehand.  (We didn’t need one of these until kid #7 could walk, and then we needed it desperately.)
–
–4–
PACING
Plan for variety, especially if you need to stretch your money.  Do something thrilling, then something where you sit down, then something where you wander around, then a snack, then something for the older kids, then something for the younger kids, etc.  Save something primo for last, so when it’s almost time to go, you can say, “Okay, the fair is over . . . but not before we do such-and-such!”  Makes your exit much happier.
–
Bring the roomiest stroller you have.  The fair is completely exhausting for little ones, so kids who’ve outgrown the stroller might need a ride.  Also, it’s helpful to have somewhere to stash all those drinks.
–5–
FOOD
In order to make the effort and expense worthwhile, you will want to be there for several hours  — which means you will be there during a meal time.  I recommend packing a picnic for the meal, and spending your money on snacks, instead.  Kids don’t appreciate an $8 steak sub, but they will always remember getting a cloud of cotton candy or a caramel apple with rainbow sprinkles.
–
What we do is arrive at lunch time, but then go on rides right away before eating.  The kids would have been too excited to eat at first, and would have just pecked at the meal, and then begged for snacks later.  After a few rides, they were happy to take a break for sandwiches and chips.
–
–6–
STICKINESS
Succumb to the stickiness.  Your kids will be just disgusting by the end of the day:  sweaty, sugary, dusty, and, yes, possibly throw-uppy (although that never happened to us, miraculously).  It’s a good idea to have them wear clothes you don’t care about. Be smart about timing:  they can ride the Neck Snapper, but not right after eating one of Doody’s Famous Fried Pickles.
–
Bring a change of clothes for the youngest kids, and plastic bags.  Trust me on this.  Sooner or later, you will be stuck holding something that desperately needs to be wrapped up in a plastic bag.
–7–
EXPECTATIONS
Discuss expectations ahead of time.   Before you even enter the grounds, let them know what they will be doing, and what they will not — and stick to it.  How many rides can they expect to go on?   Will you be playing games, buying a meal, buying snacks, buying balloons, buying toys, riding the pony, seeing a show, seeing the animals?   Especially if you have lots of kids with various desires, just winging it will lead to someone feeling disappointed.  (We skip the games of chance altogether, and just let them pick out a souvenir.  Not as exciting, but cheaper, and less heartache.)
–
My husband and I discuss our expectations, too:  we remind each other that our #1 goal is to give the kids a super fun day, and that we will both try our hardest to be patient and generous, and do our best to give the kids what they want (within reason). A day of fun is no time to teach lessons. It’s okay to be over-indulgent once in a while, as long as you’re doing a good job on most other days.
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Also, this may sound silly, but unless you’re getting home late at night, it’s a good idea to have some mild treat waiting for them at home — lollipops or a special movie.  Kids are tricky, especially if they’ve been looking forward to something for weeks– and now it’s over.  You will expect them to be grateful and satisfied, but they will likely feel exhausted, let down, and cranky.
–
So go easy on them.  Tomorrow, you can go back to the old routine, but it’s nice to do whatever you need to do to keep things pleasant today.  And once the kiddies are in bed, you can have a nice little drink and put your feet up.
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And for goodness’ sake, take better pictures than I did.  Never before have so many knees, ears, and backs of heads been captured for posterity.
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Oh, before I forget:  check out the other 7 Quick Takes hosted by Jen at  Conversion Diary, and leave a link of your own!  Or, wait, it’s actually at Betty Beguiles this week, I forgot!

 

Simcha’s guide to financial empowerment

Does your library give out copious prizes just for checking out books in the summer?  Ours does:  ice cream and pizza coupons, tickets to sports events, T-shirts and toys, games, stickers, etc.

But the prize that thrilled my kids the most was something new this year:  ten dollars!  Their enthusiasm was only slightly dampened when we explained that no one was actually going to hand them a ten-dollar bill–they’d have to open an account at a local bank, which would credit them $10.

Daddy was glad to help.  He would bring the happy little misers to the bank, sign them up for accounts, go home, and then truck them right back to the bank again as soon as humanly possible to close out their accounts.  They would then zip on over to the Dollar Tree to blow their glorious cash on sticky hands, expanding dinosaurs, and expired Laffy Taffy.  You know, the American dream.

Not so fast.

Don’t ask me why I didn’t see this coming, but there was a catch.   Of course there was a catch!   Sure, they’ll deposit $10 in your Young Saver account.  They’ll even waive the $4 monthly fee, as long as you’re age 18 or under.  All you have to do, kids, is keep a minimum monthly balance of $250.

$250! Stupid jerks.  What kid has $250 seed money to start a Young Saver account?   No one.  Okay, maybe some enterprising Eagle Scout mowed enough lawns to save up $250, but I guarantee that all the other Young Savers got their minimum deposits straight from mom or dad’s wallet.  Bah.

When I was a kid, our local bank that gave out little cardboard boxes for collecting quarters to put in your junior savings account.  There were no minimums or monthly fees–it was all about teaching you that money doesn’t just materialize out of nowhere.  If you don’t spend it, you’ll still have it; if you keep spending it, eventually it will be gone.  But the most you could possibly save up was maybe $20 before the box fell apart.

I really don’t want my kids to have a meaningful financial portfolio.  That’s the idea of being a kid:  you learn the lessons, but you don’t get any of the actual benefits.  You don’t need benefits, because you parents are taking care of you.

When you get older, then you learn how money really works.  In a nutshell, adults have two choices.  You can turn over your finances to a ravening monolith that will (1) warn you by mail that, four days ago, they charged you a monthly fee for your overdraft protection plan, which will (2) hit you at a bad time and make your balance dip below zero, at which point the bank will (3) charge you an overdraft fee for letting your balance dip below zero, and then (4) charge you a second overdraft fee because you didn’t have sufficient funds to cover the first overdraft fee.

This is called “customer service.”

Your other choice is to keep a wad of cash in the freezer.  This is a bad strategy if you are an avid collector of half-empty cartons of old, drippy ice cream.  In that case, a workable counter-strategy  is to invest in the really high quality brands of  Ziplock baggies, which really keep your money dry.

Our financial adviser (who speaks directly into my ear at 4 a.m.  She has a querulous voice tinged with panic, and sounds just like me) has counseled us to diversify our portfolio.   So now we keep our Regular Money in the bank, and our Frivolous Whim/Horrible Emergency Money in the freezer.

For an even niftier fiscal maneuver, try letting your prudent, thrifty super-ego save money, while allowing your idiot, scatterbrained id to forget all about it.  Then, one day, your ego (who is in charge of cooking) will be gloomily surveying the dark landscape of Dinners Yet to Come, and in between the freezer-burned pork chops and the eleven chicken carcasses that never will be soup, you will see something.  Something . . .

Could it be?  Yes, yes, it’s a Ziplock bag!  And inside it is . . .

Aw, you thought I was going to say $250.  No, it’s only $42.  The label on the bag says $250, but you had to spend part of it on a new spinner thing for the washing machine, and part of it on the great Tooth Fairy Amnesty Pay-Off, in which each child aged 5 to 12 got $5 and was counseled to move on with their lives.

But that leaves $42!  Enough to settle either your bank fees or your library fines, with some left over to buy some brand new ice cream for the freezer.

Isn’t that a good system?  God bless America.

Dear Justine

Today’s guest post is written by a fine woman who more or less strong-armed me into being her friend.  Like so many fabled relationships, it all began online.  And, if a restraining order means anything at all anymore, it’ll stay there.

However,  I want it known that this post was published entirely of my own free will, and has nothing to do with blackmail, coercion, or any kind of weird, contagious, free-floating Italian guilt (is that a thing?).  We both like to tease, but deep down are decent people; and so most of our correspondence begins:  “Um, you know that was just a joke, right?  I like your hair!” or “Stay away from my husband, homewrecker!”

 

Again, for the record:  Justine Schmiesing is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever known in my life, and that is the reason she’s writing this guest post today.  That and that she’s damn funny, and should probably stop being a blog hog and open up her writing for public consumption again.

One more thing:  if you have a question for Dear Justine, send it to me at simchafisher [at] gmail [dot] com and I will be sure to forward it to her.

Enjoy!

 

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DEAR JUSTINE:  When a Spoonful of Sugar Just Isn’t Enough

Dear Justine,

School’s out for the year, and now my kids are complaining about having to help around the house. I’ve read parenting articles that encourage turning chores into games, but the games are never ones my kids want to play. Any suggestions?

Signed,

Doubting Mary Poppins

Dear DMP,

Ah summer! Those crazy, lazy days when everyone stops eating, using the bathrooms, and wearing clothes.

No wait, that’s heaven.

So unless you LIKE being the only one stuck slaving away inside during the pool party, it’s perfectly reasonable to mobilize your troops and make them pitch in to clean up the mess that they are, very likely, responsible for.

 

My kids hate chores, but they are always up for a game. Of course, MY favorite housecleaning games are based on movies I don’t allow the little tykes to watch (likeAliens and Predator), but here are a few of my kids’ picks that are almost equally fun and effective.

Hot potato

(One player)

Player is handed an object by parent and instructed to put it away where it belongs. Player then pretends the object is too hot to carry all the way and shoves it in the first available hiding spot. Player loses if parent finds the object before they forget who they told to put it away.

Unfreeze Tag

(Single or multiple players)

Game begins with parent assigning a chore (like clearing the table or picking up toys). Players perform assigned duties until parent steps out of the room, then players freeze in place and do not move again until parent returns.

Players win if chore takes three times longer to complete than it should have.

Town Cryer

(Multiplayer)

Players are assigned a task that involves them working at a slight distance from parent, anywhere from the next room over to the backyard. Players take turns shouting at the top of their lungs, “So-and-so, why aren’t you HELPING?” “So-and-so, GET UP and HELP!” Game is won if parent shows up and spanks So-and-so. Game is lost if parent shows up and spanks everyone. (Town Cryer can be played in conjunction with Unfreeze Tag for double the fun.)

Telephone

(Two player)

Game begins with parent giving a message to one player assigning a chore to the second player. First player delivers the message, with the option to add their own embellishments (like, “Ha-Ha”, and “I don’t haaave to”). Second player may choose to obey the messenger, ignore the messenger, or shoot the messenger. If messenger is ignored or shot, they may choose to tattle on the second player or shoot back. Game ends when both players are separated and assigned double chores.

Blind Man’s Bluff

(Single player version)

Player cleans their bedroom in such a manner that parent can’t tell whether or not a blind man did it.

 

The Blame Game

(Two or more players)

Game begins when parent (preferably Mom) questions why an assigned group chore has not been completed. Players take turns blaming each other and saying “Nah-AHH!” while parent tries to sort out the truth through all the confusion. Game is won if Mom starts crying. Game is over if Dad comes home.

Last, but not least, Daddy’s favorite…

Concentration

(As many players as necessary)

Players who are have lost their focus and motivation to do chores properly use paper and pencil to hand copy Pope John Paul II’s encylical Laborem exercens, (On Human Work) until they are found again.

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So the next time you pull out the vacuum and hear a loud whining sound before it’s even plugged in, just remember that even though Julie Andrews’s charges were only kid actors who cheerfully did what they were told because they got paid a lot of money, she sure got it right when she sang, “Find the fun and SNAP! the job’s a game!”

The Perils of Excessive Modesty

Today I’m over at The Inside Blog, talking about a new take on modesty.  The blogging wife of a protestant minister at Musings of a Young Mom (don’t worry, her writing is much better than the title of her blog) argues that excessive modesty objectifies women (which reminds of me of gluttonous thin people).

And we’re off to the fair!  That’s not an expression – we really are off to the fair, and expect to be half-dead by early afternoon.