90s sitcom kids and their cool crap
May 26th, 2010 § Leave a Comment
Why did all the kids of the early 90′s have the coolest crap. Remember Punky Brewster and her cool wheel barrow bed!?? Remember how it would tip down so she could throw herself into it and then it lovingly caught her and tipped back. That bed was way cooler than my lame white twin bed with blue flowers on it. Not even my Strawberry Shortcake covers could compete with that kind of awesome. Not to mention that Punky Brewster was a hipster before being a hipster was cool! Wait, is being a hipster still cool? And, remember Webster and his amazing super secret clock? How right behind it was a ladder that led up to his room! If I had a clock like that in my house, I would wish all the time that robbers would break in so I could run into my secret clock and call the cops, and then they would come catch the robbers and I would jump out of the clock and be like, “Ha, robber you’ve been foiled!” And the robber would be all, “And I would of gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you, pesky kid!” And, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the amazing train that Ricky Schroder had on Silver Spoons. I would curse the day that my big girl hips came in so I was no longer able to ride comfortably on top of the train.
I stumbled upon this amazing modern day version of kid room cool. It is a wardrobe closet with a super secret hide away cubby hole. Screw it, I am building an adult version one for me.
“Are you there, God?” It’s me, Gullible
February 18th, 2010 § 2 Comments
When we’re kids our parents tell us about the Easter Bunny and Santa and we believe them.
We believe the magic talk so we search for eggs and have trouble sleeping Christmas Eve in anticipation of Santa’s arrival. When we lose a tooth we’re told about the tooth fairy, a spritely woman who comes into our room at night. As a kid all I could think was….wait hold the phone for one friggin minute! How is it okay that a strange woman comes into my room at night? And why am I leaving my tooth under a pillow, if all it does is entice this scary woman into my room? And furthermore, why does every holiday consist of strange people coming into our house? Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, lock our doors? Bolt our windows or do something to deter them from getting in?
But children believe in these things blindly, because our parents tell us they’re real. But time passes, we grow older, we become more cynical and we begin questioning their reality. ”So, how exactly does Santa get down the chimney when Uncle Albert is 5 times fatter than him and he can’t even fit into our Celica?” Or the more savvy of kids don’t even ask their parents, and test the theories themselves by putting teeth under their pillow without even telling mom and dad. And what do you think happens? Aha! Gotcha! And then we have a laugh, mourn a little over the loss of magic and move on with growing up.
But then there is God. As kids we are taught how wonderful and glorious he is. Sure, he doesn’t break into our homes hide eggs, leave presents and take our teeth away…but we are told he is always with us. He is always watching us. As a kid I thought this was as unreasonable as Santa being in every mall, not to mention a little creepy. I surely didn’t want someone always watching me. My brother once walked in on me picking my nose and I just about died of embarrassment (in my defense I was 8, it was painfully stabbing me in the nostril and everyone picks their nose.) Everyone needs a little unwatched “me time” and now I learned I would never have “me time” because this God guy was always staring me down. But when we question God, our parents say…”Oh goodness no, God is real.” At this point, shouldn’t we be a little skeptical? Shouldn’t we be a little more understanding of this skepticism instead of losing our shit when people question God’s validity? I like to think any free-thinking child would say, “alright, you fooled me once with that Santa bit…and you tricked me again with that whole fairy business…and then you really had me going with that Easter Bunny and egg stuff, but now you expect me to believe there is a guy called Jesus whom I’ve never met, but he died for me and then he came back to life and now he is up in the clouds somewhere?” All I’m saying is fool me once, shame on you but fool me thrice…well, you know how it ends.
Strays
August 4th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
I don’t have children. That’s not an apology, or a plea for someone to fertilize me, its a mere statement if only to illustrate the depth of another love I have for children of a different sort, I have two dogs.
When you get to be over 30, there are two questions strangers lead with when trying to get to know you better, “are you married” and “do you have children.” While I am fine with my answers to both these questions, I find that others react to my lack of husband and children, akin to if I told them I was dying of cancer.
I have since developed an annoying nervous response to their prodding, which usually plays out like this:
Complete stranger who has accomplished the level of wife and mother: “Do you have kids?”
Me: “ No” (trying not to convey any tone that could be misconstrued as disappointment) “but I have two dogs.!”(in a tone that conveys enthusiasm far exceeding that which is appropriate.)
I’m not sure if they take offense because my comment cheapened the sanctity of their children or because I over glorify the relationship between dog and ”parent”.
When I was younger I wanted a dog so badly but my brother’s allergies and my mom’s unwillingness proved formidable obstacles. Every pet store we passed I would beg my mom to let me go in and “just look”. I knew every attempt was futile and I would leave every visit empty handed. But I soon discovered another route to dog ownership…strays.
My first stray dog encounter happened on my way home from school. At ten years old, I operated off one rule, the golden rule of “finders keepers”. The fact that the dog had a collar on was inconsequential. He was unleashed and undeniably in love with me. It was our destiny to be together forever. From now on it was me and my new dog, Winston. He looked 100% like a Winston, and if dogs picked names for themselves, I was sure this would be the one name out of all the other names in the world he would choose. It certainly wouldn’t be Max, as his tag mislabeled him.
We continued our journey home and if Winston strayed too far, I would call his name in a high pitched squeaky voice that made him trot back enthusiastically every time, further proving his name was perfect. When I got to my house I yelled for my grandmother and tried to contain the enthusiasm that was dripping out of every inch of my body. I needed to convince her this nuisance of a dog followed me home and I was now faced with the unfortunate responsibility of caring for him. Surely my unwillingness to welcome Winston with open arms would prove to her this was more about fate and destiny, than it was about my desire to have Winston for my own. After one quick glance, it was clear the love Winston and I shared was contained between us. Not only was she upset that I brought this scruffy dog into the house, but he clearly “belonged to someone else” and she told me to take him back to where I found him. With a heavy heart, I walked Winston back to the park where I found him. As we walked, I cried and he chased unsuspecting birds. Broken hearted that I wasn’t able to make good on the life I promised him, I kissed Winston goodbye and wished him well in his life as Max.
Undeterred, my tendancy to find stray dogs and take them home has extended well into adulthood. I’ve been late to meetings at work because a stray darted across the street. I’ve chased a stray dog down train tracks in an outfit far too fancy to be doing so. I carry treats in my trunk to will the less willing, and I do it because I figure they wouldn’t be put in my path, if I wasn’t supposed to notice them.
Dogs fill the empty spaces in life, they are magic that way.
We clean their poop, wipe the goop out of their eyes and let them give us face kisses with their floppy tongues. Dogs love us. They sit with us when we cry, lick our wounds and stand at the door waiting patiently for us to re-enter their world.
We love them because they sprinkle us with their fur, mark us with their drool and make their way up onto the beds we swore they were never allowed on. And all we have to do is be exactly like we are.
Someday I will be able to say I have children, my desire to be a mom is undeniable. But for now, I don’t have kids but, “I have two dogs!”
