Do-Do-Do-Do Dora!

For the longest time, I snobbishly insisted that my child would never watch TV. I looked down upon my friends who let their kids watch episode after episode of Dora the Explorer, and continually spewed forth rhetoric about the downfalls of excess TV viewing, which included (but was not limited to) everything from ADD to apathy, autism to obesity. Clearly, I'd bought into quite a bit of rhetoric myself.

Something happened, though, right before my daughter turned two. Up until then, she never paid much attention to the TV; she always preferred to play or look at books or run around rather than watch TV. Then all of a sudden, she started watching. It all started with The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, which I bought and approved of because I grew up with Pooh and thought he and his friends in the Hundred Acre Wood were adorable. Apparently, my daughter did too. The first time I put the DVD in, she was mesmerized. After a few more times, she danced with the theme music; a few more times and she sat through the whole movie.

I don't remember how it happened, but before I knew it, my daughter was rescuing animals with Diego, exploring with Dora, and learning Mandarin Chinese with Kai-Lan. Within a month or so of beginning her foray into the world of television, I saw a change in her. She started talking more; Dora's map led her to say mom for the first time, and soon after that she started pointing to everything and asking "what's that?" She still loved playing, reading, and running around, but after doing those things all day long at daycare, all she wanted to do when we got home was to sit down and watch a little TV. And I certainly couldn't blame her; most days after work, that's all I want to do for a while. So I let her, and I entered the modern world of children's television programming with her. And honestly, it's not as bad as I thought.

Don't get me wrong, for an adult to watch nick jr. all day is sometimes as torturous as being on hold and listening to bad Muzak for any amount of time, but it's not all bad. Does Dora annoy me? You bet she does. The fact that she constantly yells and clearly can't do anything for herself (as evidenced by the fact that she continually asks for help with the easiest tasks) annoys me more than I can adequately express. Diego suffers from a similar problem (I can only assume that whatever Spanish-speaking culture Dora and Diego come from has never heard of an indoor voice), but at least the music on his show is fun. The Wonder Pets are frickin' adorable, despite the fact that a rodent (hamster), a turtle, and a baby duck are the last pets I would ever allow in my house (with the exception of perhaps a python or a tarantula). Besides, learning about teamwork through a cute, catchy song can't possibly be bad, can it ("What's gonna work? Teamwork!")? Olivia is cute enough, even though pigs freak me out, and the wonderfully classic names of the characters (Olivia, William, Ian, Julian, Francine, Alexandra, etc.) are a fresh break from all the trendy, creative names that abound these days. Max and Ruby (about brother and sister bunnies...why their parents are never around is anyone's guess. I like to think they're in the woods somewhere, making like, well, rabbits) is about as annoying as possible, thanks to Ruby's bossy attitude and her inability to say sandwich correctly (she says "samwich," extra emphasis on the sam). The best children's show that I've seen since turning on the tv for my daughter, though, is undoubtedly The Backyardigans. The Backyardigans features a set of animal friends (Pablo the Penguin, Austin the Kangaroo, Tasha the Hippo, Tyrone the Moose, and Uniqua the Unique...whatever that means) and their backyard adventures. Their backyards are adjoined and in each episode, their imaginations transform their ordinary backyards into anything from an ancient Egyptian civilization along the Nile to a haunted house to a fairy tale village. The characters sing and dance, usually in one specific genre per episode (reggae, Motown, Big Band, etc.). I think I like it more than my daughter does, perhaps because it reminds me of The Muppet Babies, which was my favorite cartoon when I was a little girl. One of the biggest arguments against letting kids watch TV is that TV robs kids of their imaginative skills by filling in all the blanks for them. While that's probably true to an extent, I seem to recall The Muppet Babies giving me countless hours of entertainment, long after I'd shut off the TV. I'd like to think that's what these shows are doing for my daughter: helping to spark interest in imagination, in environments and places and situations vastly different from her structured, routine life.

I certainly don't let her watch TV all day, and I certainly don't let her watch anything inappropriate for her age (no Saw or Girls Gone Wild), but a little TV after a long day is a nice way to unwind, even when you're two. I don't think that Dora has ever killed anyone, although Yo Gabba Gabba may be a different story. But that's another post for another day.

The Seven Year Itch

In the 1955 comedy "The Seven Year Itch," Tom Ewell's character, Richard, lusts after a new neighbor (The Girl) while his wife and children are on vacation in the country. The new neighbor is none other than Marilyn Monroe, who comes calling wearing a sheepish smile and a white halter dress (now emblazoned as an icon on American pop culture). After spending what viewers can only assume is a generous amount of time with his new neighbor, Richard decides not to have an affair with her because he misses his family, and the film ends as Richard rushes off to Maine to visit them.

I'm sorry, but I have to throw the bullshit flag. First of all, The Girl pretty much throws herself at Richard throughout the film. I doubt any man today could resit Marilyn Monroe; I REALLY doubt that any man in 1955 could have resisted her. Second, even the film's review in Variety expressed disappointment that Richard and The Girl never consummate their friendship (and that was in 1955, remember). In either decade, the more likely outcome of the film's premise is an affair, perhaps not a long-lived one, but an affair nonetheless. Why? Because people are human beings (and thus members of the animal kingdom), complete with faults and weaknesses (such as my weakness for brown eyes) and we're predisposed to make mistakes.

This is why monogamy in practice is a bad idea. In theory, it's great; the notion that there's one and only one "soul mate" out there for everyone, whom we'll all find and spend our lives with, is as romantic and lovely-smelling as baby's breath and lace. However, monogamy in practice completely goes against human nature. For starters, human beings are members of the animal kingdom. Animal instincts are strong and forceful motivators of human behavior, including our need to propagate the species. Granted, our sex drive exists independently of our urge to procreate, but they are intertwined nonetheless. Monogamy not only decreases our odds of procreating successfully, it also hinders the gene pool and fosters segregation. As if these biological nuggets weren't enough, there's more. Monogamy limits and defines the relationships we have with one another (but especially the relationships we have with the opposite sex).

Couples in monogamous relationships are assumed to have some sort of connection, a chemistry that they supposedly don't or can't have with anyone else. While this may be true to an extent, I just can't accept that out of almost seven billion people there's only one with whom I'll have chemistry, only one with whom I'll have a connection, only one with whom I could be happy. Of course, our media certainly doesn't help with this at all (then again, what does our media help with?). The picture of monogamy that the media paints is all rainbows and puppy dogs; the story always ends happily, of course, with the man and woman locked in a passionate embrace, sailing (or riding or driving, or whatever the case may be) off into the sunset. Exaggeration aside, this isn't that far off. Movies always seem to end with a perfect kiss, and audiences are just supposed to assume that the characters live happily ever after. Movies rarely show the actual effort that goes into making relationships last, the give and take, the compromise, the work. The butterflies-inducing chemistry that couples have in the beginning of a relationship only lasts so long, and after it fades away like ink on a yellowed newspaper, then the real work of monogamy begins.

At this point, I'm going to undermine the principles of argumentation and everything I've just said by pointing out that my monogamous relationship has been successful. After seven years, I'm still quite happy and content. However, recent events (not limited to my current lust for one of my students and my recent rediscovery of The Bridges of Madison County) have kept this subject on my mind lately. I'm just bitter that all of my other relationships seem to be defined and limited by the fact that I'm married. If I feel a connection with someone else, I feel guilty, as if I've done something wrong, even if I clearly haven't. Friendships with men seem impossible, as I always feel guilty for spending time with men that aren't my husband. Perhaps if we stopped thinking of relationships in such one-dimensional terms, we'd discover that real relationships and real connections don't just exist between a husband and a wife, but they can (and do) exist between anyone and everyone.

Sweet Child of Mine

Now that my daughter is 15 months old, she's pretty independent. Actually, she's always been that way, but now she can walk and run, she can feed herself (more or less), and she sleeps about 12 hours a night. According to damn near everyone, now's the perfect time for another child. Why my reproductive decisions are anyone's business is beyond me, but when complete strangers are telling me "oh, time for another one," I get pretty annoyed. What if I (we, actually, since this is not entirely my decision) don't want "another one"? What if I (we) think the one that we have is perfect (she is)? What if we want to quit while we're ahead? What if I want another dog instead (believe me, it's tempting)? Besides, my husband is an only child and he's (relatively) normal, so where's the incentive to add to the brood? Another child means countless more sleepless nights, at least two more years of diapers, if we have a boy it means an entire new wardrobe, if we have another girl it means one more wedding, regardless of gender it means one more college fund, one more possibility of health problems or birth defects, one more child to never stop worrying about. It's exhausting just thinking about reproducing again.

In all honesty, I'm certain that we will have another child and that Alexandra will have a brother or sister someday. But when that's going to happen is nobody's business, and until it happens, I'd just like to enjoy the undivided attention I can give to the perfect child I already have. I'm certainly in no rush to contribute yet again to the world's burgeoning population problem (unlike this woman), so until I am, just tell me what a beautiful child I have and leave the discussion about "another one" out of the conversation.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I shouldn't be afraid to vaccinate my child, but when my daughter received her infamous one-year shots, I was. Thanks to celebrities like Jenny McCarthy (who insists that her son's autism was caused by his immunizations) and uber-crunchy, hippy moms who breastfeed their kids into high school (and therefore certainly don't vaccinate), vaccinations nation-wide are on the decline. Between last January and June, there were 131 reported cased of measles in the U.S., the highest number in 12 years. The fear-mongering, it seems, has trickled down from the highest levels of government to big-breasted celebrities. As if I don't feel guilty enough for what I do or don't do as a mother (go to work? you're neglectful...give your kid juice? you're setting her up for obesity and type 2 diabetes), now I have to hear about how every other celeb mom feels about vaccinating, as if being a celebrity and having a medical degree are mutually exclusive. I don't doubt that vaccinations can possibly instigate problems in some kids who are already predisposed to them, but to say that vaccines cause autism is dangerous and unfair. Besides, we seem to be missing the larger picture: a child with autism can live and thrive; a child with the measles (or mumps or small pox) very well may die. Personally, I'd rather have a child with autism than to say I had one that died from the measles.

Winter Wonderland

Well, it's here. Winter has finally come to South Dakota. Here in the extreme eastern part of the state, the snow is wet and heavy and somewhat resembles a K-Mart slushie. In the western part of the state, however, the snow may be the same consistency, but that's where the similarities end. Deadwood and Lead received about 47 inches of snow, according to reports, while the corridor from Rapid City to Spearfish received somewhere between 12-18 inches. Sixty-mile an hour wind gusts caused drifts 10-12 feet high across the central part of the state, stranding over 300 motorists. By the time the storm reached us in the east, it had become weak and deflated. As a result, we only received about 3-5 inches, which is just fine with me. It's just enough to encourage me to curl up on the couch with a blanket, a cup of tea and a stack of essays. Winter Wonderland indeed.

Amazing Grace

After nearly two years of debates, caucuses, and speeches, America has elected Barack Obama as its next President. This presidential election was the third since I became old enough to vote but the first in which the candidate I voted for actually won. I believed in Obama's ability to change what's for so long been broken; I believed in his message of hope for a brighter future; I believed in the strength of his character and the courage of his convictions. Seeing him elected our next president brought sobs to my throat. I still believe in Barack Obama and I believe he will lead our nation and unite our people as no president has done before. I admire his determination to make our country a better place for our children and I respect both his political ideals and his family values. Several years from now, in the not so distant future, my daughter will ask me what she should be when she grows up. "Absolutely anything you want to be," I'll be able to honestly tell her. Barack Obama has just proved that it's possible.

Growing Older But Not Up

Jimmy Buffet lyrics aside, growing older but not up seems to be the common theme for our society lately. We are perpetually trying to look younger, act younger, be younger. Fifty year old women and seventy year old men have babies; ninety year old men pop Viagra like Chicklets; celebrities gush about plasitic surgery and Botox injections; Miley Cyrus is the epitome of tween entertainment.

All of this would be fine, except most of the adults I know (either directly or indirectly) insist upon acting like spoiled children apporximately 85 percent of the time. I know a pregnant twenty-one year old whose mother still does her laundry and butters her pancakes. I know a twenty-four year old mother of three who would rather amass hundreds of friends on facebook than pay attention to her own children (which is perhaps why they keep ending up in state custody). I know a fifty-five year old man who won't even cut his own meat - his wife cuts it for him. Approximately ten percent of my students (who are university students, remember) can't even string together a subject and a verb in order to create a complete sentence. And as the epitome of this refusal to grow up, two high school classmates of mine recently sent me nasty messages on facebook, all because I said I didn't like their kids' names (seriously girls, get over yourselves).

I understand that childhood is great and fabulous and something we should all cherish forever and always, but it's time that adults start acting like adults. We need to leave the whining and crying and tantrum-throwing to the kids and accept the fact that we have to grow up. We have to do our own laundry and make our own pancakes. We have to take care of our children. We have to cut our own food and pour our own drinks. Some people may not like us. Some people may make nasty comments about us. Sending nast e-mails and throwing fits and avoiding responsibility gets us nowhere. Acting like children only teaches our children that they'll never have to grow up or own up to their actions. That's certainly not the message that I want to send to my children.