Dig It

One of the advantages of my current house is that it is directly in front of the neighborhood swings and playground. Our living room has three floor to ceiling windows and a glass door, so that if I wanted to, I could send the kids outside and sit in a recliner with a frosty cold beverage and still be able to see what they were doing 75% of the time (and isn’t that really enough?). Actually, since I am slightly paranoid, they are never outside for more than 45 seconds or so without me, but when we are all inside we can sit and stare out the windows and watch other people/critters play/expire at the playground/on our back deck (concrete slab).

I have previously described the nasty sand that is under the swings behind the house, and although as I write this I feel like I need a shower from just thinking about it, I have let the kiddies play back there when they are so inclined. The last one to venture back there was Marty, who left the playground and went back to our “deck” where he picked up several pails and shovels and headed back to the sand. I reacted to this development with absolute joy, that he had actually thought of a way to entertain himself and then executed it without even glancing in my direction. Normally the kiddies all want a lengthy discussion with a timeline, milestones, visual aids, etc., etc. before they are willing to leave my side (yes, I am that great of a mother that the kiddies can’t bear to be without me).

Of course, since Marty is two, when he was distracted by something shiny and moved on to another activity, he left all of the pails and shovels in the sand, and I have not gone back to retrieve them. They are the type of sand toys that Target sells for a dollar so that all the mothers (ahem, like me) who are too lazy to go pick up the sand toys can just go buy more when they disappear. And so this week, occasionally, I have looked out and seen other kiddies playing with the lame sand toys that we left out in the sand. Some of them use the shovels to put sand in the pails, some of them use the shovels to fling sand on the other kids on the swings, but the repeated spectacle of the kiddies and the shovels and pails reminded me of something that I read in The Power Broker (the book I am reading and will likely be reading for the rest of my life) which is about the development/destruction of NYC by Robert Moses.

According to the book, in 1932 in NYC, “which contained approximately 1,700,000 children under twelve years of age, there were only 119 [playgrounds], or one for every 14,000 children. ‘Children’s gardens’ in playgrounds were the only places in which slum children could engage in that most precious of childhood activities: digging…Playground supervisors made children stand on line with their pails and shovels until a spot in the gardens was open, and the lines were so long that most of the girls and boys could see at a glance that they were unlikely to get a turn.”

Obviously, that description is a little startling, and not just because there were so few playgrounds and sandboxes. Playground supervisors? That used to be a job? If the playground supervisor was not there, the playground was not opened. Can you imagine? In theory, it would be nice to think that some energetic college student could spend a summer entertaining children at a playground, lifting them on to swings and putting bandaids on their scrapes. Pushing the stinking swings (maybe I’ll sponsor one of those positions this summer) and giving the parents a chance to chat while the playground supervisor retrieved the shriekers from the top of the monkey bars (of course, many of you are probably thinking of the other end of the spectrum – playground supervisor = child molester, but I’m referring to the theoretical world here). Anyhoo…

I can appreciate that children need to dig, and actually I enjoy a good construction project on the beach with the kids (because beach sand is much cleaner than playground sand. Shut up. Yes it is.). My dad built us a sandbox when we were young, and even though it was uncovered and often filled with debris and dessicated worms, it was still fun. So, I figure I’ll leave the buckets and shovels out there for any kiddie who wanders by and wants to dig. I thought for a while about doing a little public works project out there myself, maybe putting out a big bucket with all kinds of shovels and sand toys in it, but that would probably disappear. Things are probably fine the way they are. No one will bother with faded $1 sand toys, except for the kiddies who really want to dig.

Thomas Edison Would Be So Proud

My friends, I have discovered that 1500 words is a lot easier for me than 500, probably because I feel the need to beat every subject into submission. These 500 word posts are taking me almost as long as the long ones did, and are turning out rather crappy. However, for now I will continue on with the short ones and hope they improve. In the interest of providing my few readers with something that is not cranky or reminiscent of a rant, I have decided once again to try to write a post for the positive side. Here is Part One of what will be a periodic series describing some recent inventions (or inventions that I’ve recently discovered) that I believe have really improved life on the planet for all of mankind:

Press ‘n’ Seal Plastic Wrap. I don’t know when plastic wrap was invented, but it seems to me that the plastic wrap industry was resting on its laurels for many a decade. It never occurred to anyone to make plastic wrap that would not only stick to the container that you were trying to cover but also keep the air away from the thing you were trying to preserve? This stuff tears like a dream and once kept half a head of cauliflower in my refrigerator from turning brown for over a week. The great mind behind this product needs to be feted at the Kennedy Center and then sent home with a piece of cake (tightly sealed to its plate by Press ‘n’ Seal Plastic Wrap).

Continuous Spray Sunscreen. I suppose it is possible that the propellants in this type of sunscreen are actually contributing to the hole in the ozone layer that we are attempting to protect ourselves from. Nevertheless, I hate putting on sunscreen, and now that I have 3 kids and a husband, I hate it 4 times more than I used to, because now I am responsible for warding off skin cancer for the whole family, not just me. I have been waiting and waiting for somebody to invent an easier way to put on sunscreen, and finally they have. The only complaint I have about this stuff is that we used up one can in less than a week and the can is unrecyclable. However, for arms and necks and faces on the average day that we are going to the playground or swimming pool, I think I’m going to have to turn my back on mother earth and just use it. It’s made my life that much better.

90-Second Rice. I know this also has nonrecyclable packaging and flies in the face of my resolutions to try to keep the earth cleaner, but rice in 90 seconds? What could be better than that? It makes the five minutes you need to make couscous seem like an eternity. Now some days I can get dinner on the table for the kids in 3 minutes (cut up a ham steak, rinse off some frozen peas, and microwave the rice). With all the freaking cooking I have to do these days, I am sticking with the 90-second rice at least until the HP comes home. Not to mention the fact that the kiddies love it, and sometimes specifically ask for it, as in “Are we having 90 second rice?” or “Can I have some more 90 second rice?” Uncle Ben, you had me at “90 seconds.”

So there you have it, three things that may hasten the destruction of the planet, but that make me ever so happy. Maybe I can find ways to offset the additional trash I am producing by using this stuff. Perhaps we could start a trash trading market like the emissions trading market they have now, and I could buy some trash points from one of those families in Vermont that only puts out one can of trash per year. To me, no price could be too high.

Take That Mother F$#@$^! I'm Mentally Disabled!

When I hear codgers/radio personalities/people on Fox News talking about how everyone has an excuse for the bad things they’ve done (“Momma didn’t love me,” “Daddy was a drunk,” “Grandma gave me paper towels for a birthday present”), I usually ignore them. In defiance of what the people at Fox News tell me, I try to judge things I hear on a case by case basis, instead of making a proclamation and demanding that everyone agree that it explains everything that has ever happened in the past, present, and future. And then, the other night, I caught the very end of the NBC Nightly News where Brian Williams was describing, and mocking in his own intolerable smug way, the discovery of Intermittent Explosive Disorder. I have considered this disorder (drawing upon my one semester of Psychology from college) and decided that it is, in fact, a load of horse poop, in every situation that has ever happened in the past, present, or future.

According to the Washington Post, “By definition, intermittent explosive disorder involves multiple outbursts that are way out of proportion to the situation.” If this is a psychological disorder, then I want to sue somebody, because I have been surrounded by people like this my whole life. In fact, I was one of them, so I want to sue somebody for the damages that I caused to myself. In my house, we have a definite candidate for this disorder (although he has temporarily relocated to the Middle East). I had no idea that when I christened his alter-ego “Spaz Boy” I was actually mocking a psychological condition that he had no control over. That time he took the bag full of spilled Chinese food and howled at the heavens, he wasn’t just being a loon, he was uncontrollably demonstrating his disability. That time he freaked out because I forgot to have the dealer stamp our maintenance book after the car was serviced, he couldn’t help himself - he is mentally challenged. That time (or should I say those times) he screamed and grabbed his head as the Philadelphia Eagles gave away a game they had almost won, he wasn't just reacting irrationally, he was emotionally disturbed.

However, the strange thing is, Spaz Boy doesn’t come around much anymore. I suppose it is possible that someday the HP’s head will explode with all of the rage he had been suppressing for the past ten years. However, I suppose it is also possible that living with me has changed him a little bit, without any need for medication or intense psychotherapy. If he was able to change on his own (and years ago I was able to change on my own) maybe the other sufferers can too. I believe in medical terms this is called “chilling out.” Throwing temper fits is not a sign of mental illness; it is a sign of self-indulgence. I’m sure the court cases using IED for a defense have already sprouted and begun working their way through the system. Psychologists might as well start printing money with all the expert witness testimony they will be providing to every jerk who takes a swing at someone else in a bar. But the worst outcome of this new disorder is that the people at Fox News will be right. If this is allowed to be a disorder, then there really will be an excuse that everybody can use to explain the bad things they've done.