Jen Laird White

For some bizarre reason many of the young people in my life, and when I say young,  I mean YOUNG…my teenaged nieces, my sons middle school pals, my near and dear’s children, have decided to “Friend” me on Facebook.  On one hand, I consider this a compliment, a commentary on my accessibility and, no doubt, youthful nature.  On the other hand, it’s actually just weird and I should probably be embarrassed.  But I use it to full advantage to spy on all of them.  Nice “Friend” I am. Thus far, I’ve only tattled once to a parent of my generation.  Thankfully, most children I know seem to behave almost too well on Facebook and post nothing even slightly interesting.  But last week I came across the most hilarious exchange on a middle schoolers page.  The page belonged to a he.  A lovely fellow who hasn’t yet turned thirteen.  The exchange was between him and a female classmate and it went something like this…
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So this has been a rather complicated holiday season in the White House.  Our beloved twelve year old golden retriever Deedee was diagnosed with metastatic cancer two weeks before Christmas and had to be put to sleep on the 22nd.  While that was going on we all(except for spouse) got the seasonal flu for the first time ever.  I had to deal with the dying dog, the familial flu which prevented any organized Christmas shopping and telling my kids that the dog could not be fixed, that parents were not superhuman and that life, even of those you love deeply, comes to an end.  Fuck.  Merry Christmas to all and to Deedee “goodnight”.  Because I was so dismayed at losing both our dog and my “Superhero who can solve ANYTHING” status with my children, I opened the flu door to bacteria and spent Christmas morning trying to pretend to be present for presents while battling pneumonia.  
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I am going to do something I rarely do and post a quick series of thoughts.  I spend too damn much time deliberating and editing and since time, these days, is something I just don’t have…I’m going to get this off my chest.  I just got back from a run.  It’s a crystal clear election day morning in New York, the leaves are glowing orange and pink and I could see my breath for the first time this year.  I had gone about 3 miles at a good clip when I passed a man I see almost everyday I venture out.  He rides a bike and has an American flag attached to his helmet.  He’s gregarious, charming and extremely conservative.  As we passed going in opposite directions he hollered out with glee and a slightly accusatory finger point from his teetering bike “I’m going to vote”.  “Good for you”, I replied.   “Tea Party all the way” he shouted.  Through slightly clenched teeth I shouted “Go for it.” and then I added ” It’s a privilege to be able to make that choice.”  And off he went.  
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What I learned this summer, by Jen Laird White.

First thing…it’s about two weeks too long and when you throw the Jewish holidays in there after TWO DAYS, two measly days, OF SCHOOL….I just don’t think God, whoever he or she is, would do such a thing. Particularly if she is a she.  There is not a she on this earth or floating above it that would have mothers do the whole back to school, let’s get on a schedule, get out of bed, make the lunch, do you have your backpack, here are your socks, did you brush your teeth, forget about making your bed well do that next week routine for two days, TWO DAYS and then CANCEL SCHOOL for god related reasons.  No god is cruel enough to taunt a mother with the two days of freedom, two days after a summer of running Camp Mommy, two days to do something that actually involves being a human not a mother only to snatch that new found freedom away for the Jewish holidays.  And can I point out that it wasn’t even the most solemn of Jewish holidays that we got off.  But don’t get me started.  Let us just say that this is a decision clearly not made by god but by a schoolboard largely made up of men and those with grown children.  And  let us just say that nice mommy was really and truly mean mommy by the end of it all.  I was even scared of me.  But it’s over.  And I’m sitting at the computer.

So what did I learn during the seventy three days but who’s counting that make up our summer holiday?  Plus the four for the lesser of the serious Jewish holidays.  A lot.  LOT.  I think I’ll just itemize.

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So my friend Mary called to see if I had seen the latest Vanity Fair. I had. Or at least the cover with a simply lovely shot of the eternally perfect Grace Kelly. Mary then complained that we weren’t in it. “Why”, I asked. “Well”, she responded, “They have an article on Tiger’s women as well as an, er, amazing photo spread. Check it out and call me.” So I did. The irony of flipping past the flawless Grace Kelly to find Tiger Wood’s women didn’t escape me for a moment and when I found them, the difference could not have been more dramatic or, as some might say, pneumatic. They are quite a bunch.
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So it’s that Holiday season again.  Everyone overflowing with goodwill and cheer.  In my house it’s everywhere.  Why, just this morning, I indicated to the spouse that I’d like to start our Christmas shopping a bit earlier than the last week before Christmas this year, to cut down on stress and all, and his response was “Goddamnit, do you have to start so early.  Wait until a few people pay me.  Fuck.” and then he stomped off.  Then I checked the kids carefully written Christmas lists.  Oh, they’d been hard at work like little elves.  All sorts of special Christmas requests including a pair of $15,000 night vision goggles and a taser, because, as my younger said of my older “Jack needs a taser for Middle School.”  Yes, the spirit is overwhelming.  

Last week my friend Juliet and her two boys, Chris and Max and my team of children went on a walk.  It was a half day of school and we had all had pizza together and were going to play some football.  At lunch her eleven year old son had indicated that the top thing on his Christmas list was DJ Hero.  As we walked I mentioned this.  “Yeah,” said Juliet. “There’s NO WAY he’s getting that” and she pantomimed spinning a disc on a turntable with a most excellent imitation of a teenage slack jaw while staring into space.  All she needed was for me to hoist her pants down to the top of her butt cheeks, utter “my G” and the idiot gangster thing would be complete.  I could see her point.  Now, unless you are Amish, you probably know what Guitar Hero is and DJ Hero is an off shoot of that, another way for electronics companies to make money.   But in case you are Amish and are reading my blog, Guitar Hero is a game that involves holding a fake guitar and pressing different colored frets on the neck to “quell” explosions that appear on the stage on your tv screen, to the beat of a song.  “What?”  you say, “That makes no sense at all.”  Correct.  And it makes even less sense when you realize that, in the case of our home, you are doing this to the tune of a selection of Aerosmith songs as you watch a cartoon Steven Tyler sing.  When I was a teenager, Steven Tyler freaked me out.  His pants were so tight that his crotch resembled nothing so much as an abandoned breakfast link and his mouth looked like it would eat a human in one quick gulp.  I was pretty sure he wasn’t very clean and I couldn’t listen to him because I would inevitably think of his crotch and feel dirty myself.  And yet, today, I stand with my boys, fake guitar exploding to the tune of that fine bit of songwriting “Dude Just Like a Lady”, as cartoon Steven dances his breakfast link around the screen with no sign of the drooping jowls, the apparent drug addiction and definite swinging sausage that I know are there today.  I am terrible at the game and I think I know why.  My utter disdain for things this useless is palpable.  I don’t get the glazed look in my eyes or the guitar grimace that my kids and even my spouse seem to get while playing.  I don’t for a second think I’m really playing an Aerosmith song.  And, thank god, I don’t think I’m in some concert hall with an exploding floor hanging with Steven Tyler.  The whole thing seems incredibly silly especially when my kids actually like playing the REAL guitar.  And DJ Hero, as Juliet pointed out, is NUTS.  I mean, how much skill is there in spinning a record and hitting exploding things.  And who are the cartoon DJ’s you would actually aspire to?  The only DJ I know is the one who dated Lionel Ritchies daughter and ended up, in a role model move we should certainly be encouraging, od’ing while hosting a show about rehab.   So we have a dead DJ, we have Steven Tyler.  What are kids to think?  

SO Juliet and I came up with an excellent idea.  How about reworking the whole “Hero” game model.  How about if you really could create a game with excellent role models and challenges.  Role models not known for displaying their breakfast links or drug problems, and you made it about practical stuff, stuff that might actually HELP kids in life.  Oh, like say, “Bed Making Hero”.  Where every time there’s a little explosion you have to cover it with a sheet or a blanket.  And you get extra points for smoothing and fluffing your pillow while little explosions happen all around the pillow.  And max points when you remember to raise the shades and carry your water glass down on the way to school.  Or “Dishwasher Loading Hero”.  Now that sounds fun.  Instead of a fake guitar, you have a fake plate and every time there’s an explosion, you smother it by pretending to load a dish.  If you’re really good, you can use the fake dish and glass, at once.  The most dishes in one load, without breaking, while the little explosions happen, and remembering to slightly scrape, wins.  I like the sounds of this.  What about “Scooping the Dog Poop in the Yard and Feeding the Pets Hero”.  You can see how that one works.  The guitar replacement is a bit tricker but the object of the game feels very clear.  Perhaps the fake pooper scooper becomes the food scooper(gross, I know, but if kids are happy watching Steven Tyler they won’t care) and you lose points for DEAD PETS and DIRTY SHOES.  You see where I’m going.  I think the “Hero” series can be expanded to include/help spouses since they all look ridiculous doing the guitar face and pretending they are Steven Tyler (which they really should not given the unimpressive exposed link).  How about the grownup version of “I Don’t Have to Leave My Underwear on the Floor Hero”.  Easy to see how that one would work.  Fake undies.  Little explosion instantly quelled by the quick flick into, yipeee, the laundry.  The cartoon character in this one could clearly be the customized wife, who looks just like YOUR wife and who smiles every time a direct laundry basket score is made and another round of silent seething prior to a fight is averted.  How about  the very simple “Consideration Hero”.  Easily played by everyone.  The idea is, say, there’s only one towel in the bathroom and there are two people who need showers and whoever goes first decides to use the only towel, even if the other person has brought it upstairs and kept it on THEIR hook, then the explosions start and must really, truly be smothered by going to the basement and getting another goddamned towel so that the poor second in the shower( because she was getting the kids off to school) person doesn’t have to use the wet towel.  Or what about “Kitchen Hero”.  Say, just for instance, that there’s a small amount of yogurt or half and half, or coffee and both people like it in the morning and one person rather than eating the last of it himself, say, hits the button to smother the explosion by getting a NEW THING OF YOGURT OR MAKING MORE COFFEE FOR THE OTHER PERSON WHO HAS NOT HAD THEIRS YET.  AND BY DECIDING TO LEAVE THE KITCHEN AND GO STAND SOMEWHERE ELSE INSTEAD OF READING THE PAPER  AT THE COUNTER WHILE THE OTHER PERSON IS TRYING TO MAKE BREAKFAST FOR BOTH PEOPLES CHILDREN explosionAND GET THEIR LUNCHES READY explosion AND PACK THEIR BACKPACK. explosion. AND OCCASIONALLY explosion explosion explosion OFFERING TO WALK THE PETS AND DRIVE THE KIDS TO SCHOOL WITH A HAPPY GRIN AND A TRUE SENSE OF GOOD NATURE AND JOY.  BONUS POINTS FOR ASKING “HONEY, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU TODAY?”   As my friend Christina says..”Now, that’s a Hero”.

Okay, enough about that.  Someone paid us so I can go taser shopping.