Mommy is sleep deprived popette. Quarter to five ain’t a good wake up time. 6am? Sure, lets do it…but if it’s dark out you better think twice before grabbing my nose and poking me in the eyeballs. Yes, I know we co-sleep and I probably deserve the smacks and pokes but you know what? IT WAS QUARTER TO FIVE. You know you you love listening to birds chirping. They weren’t this morning…wanna know why? It was too goddamn early. So why did you think it was okay to start laughing and assaulting your father and I? Did you REALLY need to bite daddies nipple to try and wake him up? Weren’t kicks to the rib and cackling enough?

And now you’re at Grandmas for the night. And I miss you, you’ve been gone for about three hours. Why is it I daydream about free nights like this and when they come I sit around eating chicken salad, doing laundry, contemplating going to sleep so I can wake up sooner to see you tomorow thus starting the cycle of getting annoyed/wanting you at a sitters/missing you.

The world will never know.

Go to bed,

Love mommy

Bookmark to:
   

My younger daughter, Ella, is seven years old. A few weeks ago she spent the night at a friend’s house and stayed up late and ate junk food and did all that stuff that usually happens at a sleep-over that makes you sigh and shake your head and tuck her into bed a little earlier the next night. But she also got to watch a movie that was rated suitable for mature audiences, and I have to tell you that’s the bit that worried me the most.

The mother of the friend is a good friend of mine, which complicates things a little. I like that we are all friends, and that our daughters play happily together in the backyard while we gossip on the back porch (sometimes, shhh, we have a glass of wine). On the one hand, we’re good enough friends that I could tell her that I don’t want Ella watching M-rated movies and she’ll be fine with that. But on the other, I don’t want her thinking that I’m questioning her judgment and that this somehow means I’m questioning everything about her. I know how much I worry when someone gives me some slightly negative feedback - I immediately start making a mental list of the zillion other things they must hate about me too.

Perhaps I would not have worried so much about the movie if Ella hadn’t had a nightmare. She told me that she was having a bad dream about the movie she saw, and we (her Dad and I) told her not to be silly, it wasn’t a scary movie, you’re just making excuses to stay up late. In the end she was so over-tired and overwrought that we banished her from the room she shares with her sister and made her sleep in the spare room.  But just to reassure ourselves, we checked parentsinmind.com to see what the classification police had to say about the movie. Oh, dear. References to humans having sex with animals. A man kicks a young woman’s head off. A man whips himself on the back and we see bloody slashes.

Yes, we punished her for having a nightmare after she watched an M-rated movie.  That has to count as one of our least proud, most imperfect, parenting moments.
In the end I decided not to say anything to my friend about it  - what’s done is done - but if Ella is invited to stay over again I’m going to put on my Serious Concerned Mother face and just ask that she limit the viewing choices to the bottom shelf - the one with all the Disney cartoons.

The movie classifications are there for a reason, telling us very clearly that some smart people in a government office somewhere have given the whole matter a great deal of thought and no, this film shouldn’t be seen by seven year olds.  Why question it?  Why take the chance that our kids might find references to humans having sex with animals a little upsetting instead of hilariously funny?

Bookmark to:
   

Hi, my name is Prescott, and I’m a home makeover show junkie. (Hi, Prescott!)

Seriously — if the show involves tearing down walls and slapping up paint, I’m so there. I have a season pass set for Property Ladder on the Tivo. So it’s no surprise that when Trading Spaces debuted in 2000, I was immediately hooked. The chaos, the low budget, neighbors screwing up each other’s living room, Doug making women cry, what’s not to love?

Then TLC had to mess with their winning formula and take the show in a “new creative direction”. Paige Davis was dumped, designers left, they ditched a carpenter, and the participants went from soccer moms to young, trendy couples. And we didn’t like it. I gave up watching after a few episodes, along with millions of others. Trading Spaces’ ratings sank lower than a lead weight in the Mariana Trench.

But instead of canceling the show, they decided to give it one more try and go old school. Paige’s career as a stripper wasn’t working out, so they were able to woo her back — although sporting a kicky new haircut, which the wife could not get past (”Where’s the flip? WHY DID SHE CHANGE HER FLIP?” Yeah, she has issues). The budget has returned to $1,000 without all the “bonus room” and extra cash that was floating around the past couple seasons. Many of the original designers have returned as well — Frank, Laurie, Hildi, Doug, and Edward are on this season, but sorry, gentlemen, no Genevieve. We do have a little eye candy for the ladies (and closeted homosexuals like myself): meet Thad and Brandon, filling the role of hunky carpenter #1 and #2, respectively, a prerequisite on these shows.

The one big difference from the original is that they are no longer having neighbors trade spaces. Instead, the teams are put together to create maximum tension: a woman trading with her mother-in-law, an executive assistant trading with her boss, and on the premiere episode, ex-spouses trading bedrooms. It sounds gimmicky, but it did add a nice flavor to the show, especially since the ex-wife has since remarried but the ex-husband has not. So he constantly had the pained expression of, “sure, I would love to help design a lovely bedroom where ANOTHER MAN WILL BE BANGING MY WIFE.”

Doug came up with something completely non-offensive as always (although he did add a meat cart to the “steak house” look he was going for). Hildi is thankfully still working her “unique” (i.e., bat shit crazy) designs which usually feature 2,000 pounds of feathers or 6,000 doll heads, this time nailing up 1,500 rubber rings all over the walls. Have you noticed that she sadistically makes it so that if the homeowner doesn’t like what she’s done, it will require hours and hours of time to remove?

Bottom line: The original fun of Trading Spaces is back, and I’m glad to once again have my regular Saturday night date.

Bookmark to: