The Devil's Tablet

The Spouse lost his new iPad yesterday, and naturally, he is very sad about it. While I do sympathize with the Spouse, and my thrifty inner Yankee hates to lose a valuable piece of equipment, I have a strange feeling of . . . relief. Relief because the annoying electronic device that hijacked all family time is finally gone. You see, my family had become obsessed with Apple's latest electronic toy. The most-asked question around our house of late hasn't been "How are you?" or "What do you want to do?," but "Who has the iPad?" After we got the iPad, Boy Wonder played with Legos less and Miss M read fewer books. The Spouse talked less. I think civility declined, too, because there were many, many arguments about who got to use the iPad, how long someone else had been using it, and who forgot to charge it. Also, the 500Jerk kids didn't get enough sleep, because they were getting up at unreasonably early hours to be first in line for the iPad. Efforts to interact with them were unavailing. They were like cavemen, crouched in the dark, hypnotized by the iPad's blue pulsing light. It was total mind control, brought to us by Apple.

So, I'm not sad to see the iPad go. The person who nabbed it from the Cracker Barrel where the Spouse left it can have the associated eye strain and loss in social connections. I'm pulling out board games, fluffing pillows, and paying my library fines so we can check out some new books. I'm going to slowly re-introduce the art of making conversation and encourage everyone to get more rest. I'm no longer thinking about buying an electronic gaming system for Christmas. In fact, the loss of the iPad makes me feel like the 500Jerk family has had an exorcism. I feel renewed.

Get thee behind us, iPad!

As the Thighs Thicken: A Holiday Prequel

The holiday eating frenzy began earlier than usual for me this year, due in part to the continuously replenished Halloween Butterfingers in the pumpkin-shaped bowl that sat on our receptionist’s desk for most of October. I have no idea how many times a day I passed by that bowl, but I know I stopped calling colleagues so I would have an excuse to walk across the office and by the Butterfingers bowl, exercise which in no way compensated for my burgeoning caloric count. I’m sorry to say that the tremendous Halloween uptake of Butterfingers was followed by near daily consumption of two large chocolate chip cookies, and this lack of restraint together with the Butterfingers has resulted in my entering the holiday season with a few extra pounds gathered around my midriff. Also my thighs, which in classic middle-aged lawyer spread, feel to be stretching the seams of every pair of pants I own. Adapting my friend Grace’s favorite line from The Devil Wears Prada, I’m at least three stomach flus away from my perfect weight.

I do usually try to keep it in the one to two range.

Although I love the holiday season—the festivities, food, and good cheer—this year I am putting myself on a bit of a regimen so I don’t swell right out of my clothes come January 1. For starters, I'm vowing that one meal every day will be comprised solely of a salad. Also--dammit--I'm swearing off the chocolate chip cookie lunchtime habit. My running partner, Ashley, has to be bathing-suit ready for a January trip to Belize, so I’m hopeful this means more running time for me, a good thing for my thickening thighs. And given that tomorrow is likely to be starch-intensive—mashed potatoes and stuffing—I’m trying to take it easy today.

Lunchtime is nearing, though, and already I hear that siren chocolate chip cookie call. Do you hear it, too? It sounds like sweet tinkling bells of cheer and good will, and it makes my eyelids go heavy and my stomach growl. I feel myself falling under its spell . . . .

GAH!

Not Including the Cost of Replacing Spoons

A now-dated U.S. Department of Agriculture survey indicates it will cost a four-member family annually earning $65,800 or more almost $250,000 to raise each child. This figure only takes a child to age 18 and doesn't include college, which if your child attends a private school, can easily add another $150,000 to the total sum. If, like me, you've already boarded the parenting roller coaster, there's really nothing to do at this point but close your eyes in terror until the ride's over. I'm thinking, though, that the $250,000 figure isn't even a fully loaded cost, because there are expenses in the 500Jerk household that no Department of Agriculture wonk would even think to include in the cost of raising a child.

Take, for example, the mysterious and expensive phenomenon of disappearing spoons. At some point, Boy Wonder came to believe that all flatware was inherently disposable. Done with your yogurt? Throw the plastic cup AND the spoon in the trash. Finished your chili? Throw the bowl AND your spoon in the trash. Easy clean-up! Mom offers congratulations on keeping things neat! Win, WIN!

It took a while, but I eventually caught on--Boy Wonder was waging war on our flatware, and the casualties were fierce. I counted our spoons last night, in fact, and although we used to have fourteen complete sets of flatware, we're down to eight teaspoons and six place spoons. This explains why I'm always pulling spoons out of the dishwasher to handwash when there's company. When I asked Boy Wonder about the spoon issue, he reassured me that he hadn't thrown any spoons away in a very, VERY long time. "Like maybe since I was three."

I question this.

After explaining the importance of taking care of what we have, I ordered some new spoons. You may not be aware, but spoons? Cost WAY TOO MUCH MONEY. The Department of Agriculture survey may be dated and inaccurate, and it certainly doesn't factor in the personal reward involved in raising a child. But it's got one thing right:

Parenting is SERIOUSLY EXPENSIVE.

Rabbit Ears, Justin Bieber, and the Futility of Political Conversations

So, my bloggy reading friends, hello, hello, HELLO. Of late, I've been lost to a world of full-time lawyering, suburban parenting, and near constant cleaning up of other people's messes, legal and otherwise, so blogging has taken a back seat. But I'm poking my head up from the fray to give you some 500Jerk updates and deep thoughts on important matters.

First of all, rabbit ears. Even though we're only six weeks out from Halloween, do you know how hard it is to find rabbit ears in Knoxville on short notice? IT'S RIDICULOUSLY HARD. Yes, yes, the discount shopping shelves are already stuffed with teen stripper costumes, but authentic-looking rabbit ears? Not to be had. That's why Boy Wonder is wearing fuzzy white Playboy bunny-like ears in his school book parade today. He looks very . . . flirty. Does he mind? Not at all. In fact, I had to wrestle the fuzzy white neck bow out of his hot, sticky hands this morning. Although I've never read The Wind in the Willows, I just can't imagine a sexy white neck bow makes an appearance in it.

Second, Justin Bieber. All you haters out there just need to can it. Justin Bieber is a Good Thing. His songs are catchy and clean, and he seems to be wholesome and grounded. Stop it already with your Justin Bieber ranting. It makes the slightly obsessed Miss M uncomfortable. And maybe you're just jealous girls don't scream and giggle when YOU walk into the room.

Third, the futility of political conversations. Although this may come as a surprise to some, neither the state nor federal government can be changed by complaining about them TO ME. I'm full to the brim with those futile, bitter conversations and what's more, THEY KILL MY BUZZ. The next time someone tries to talk to me about What's Wrong with America, I'm going to stick my fingers in my ears and run away screaming. You just wait.

I think that's all for now.

Librarian-Man Rolled His Eyeballs At Me

Given our thwarted Sunday afternoon library trip last weekend, the one in which I slogged through Knoxville's insanely hot downtown streets with two whining children, one of whom actually cried when we finally reached the library only to find it SURPRISE, SUCKERS! unexpectedly closed for HVAC repairs, I took the 500Jerk kids for a make-up library trip last night. Our downtown library closes at 7:00PM on Thursdays, a nice gesture for working stiffs who read, right? But here's the rub: should you actually go to the library in the evening, you must endure a gauntlet of hungry, tired, snappish librarians who want nothing more than for you to leave so they can go home already.

I feel their pain; by 6:15PM, I'm quite snappish myself, and that's why when the third library person told me in a span of 60 seconds the library would be closing in 20 minutes, I loudly retorted, "I KNOW that. She [pointing at person approximately eight inches away] just SAID that. While YOU [pointing at person approximately two inches away] were standing right here, in fact." Then, at 6:53PM, when I followed my Hannah Montana-obsessed 4th grader up to the CD section, librarian-man openly rolled his eyeballs at the sight of us. Rolled his eyeballs! For daring to enter his CD domain seven minutes prior to closing! The effrontery!

Where is this post going? I don't know. All I know is: (1) library visits on Thursday nights = FAIL; (2) eyeball-rolling library-man needs customer-service training; and (3) this working stiff is tired already and could use a nice cold one.

I Bought a $22 Chicken

In an effort to support local agriculture and humane farming practices, I bought a free-range, organically-fed-with-non-GMO ingredients, stress-free, hand-raised by Democrats, happy up until the moment of its no doubt bloody slaughter $22 chicken at last Saturday's Farmers Market.

Twenty!

Two!

Dollars!

For a five-pound chicken!

When the local farmer plunked the chicken down on the table and asked me to fork over the cash, I couldn't say no. He'd just spent ten minutes describing his superlative farming practices, having his happy customers regale me with their satisfaction, and warning me of the dangers of GMO feed. Did I mention he tried to convince me to buy a $6 carton of eggs? The least I could do was buy his bloody chicken.

But I wasn't--and am not--happy about it. First, on a closer at-home inspection of the chicken's label, it appears that the packing of said chicken occurred in Bowling Green, Kentucky. Which means someone drove that carcass all the way up to Kentucky and back to have it wrapped in plastic. I'm pretty sure I didn't do the environment any favors there.

Second--and I know this is sacrilege to some--BUT THE CHICKEN TASTED ABOUT THE SAME AS A PERDUE CHICKEN. I admit--my tastebuds may be dead. But my family didn't notice any significant difference, either. So any increase in the value or worth of the chicken is, seemingly, invisible to the consumer footing the bill.

Third, a conventionally raised chicken of similar shape and size would cost about $7.00. Spending an extra $15 on a five-pound chicken is just plain foolish when worthy causes like UNICEF; literacy campaigns; and the Red Cross are crying out for financial support. Better to donate the money and insist that conventional farmers engage in better and more benign farming practices than support an inefficient, insupportably expensive local farming process.

This Saturday, I'll be back at the Farmer's Market. I'll buy bread and vegetables and maybe some flowers. I'll enjoy the experience.

But--believe you me--I won't be buying any chickens.

A Rant in Which I Go All Tipper Gore on You

I am seriously dismayed by my nine year-old daughter's sudden interest in pop music. Because although the accessible sound and beat draw children like Miss M in, the R-rated lyrics are for mature audiences only. That is, if by "mature" you mean adults who like their lyrics lewd, stupid, and crude.

Take Tik Tok, a major 2009 hit by Ke$ha (gotta love the dollar sign) playing regularly on Star 102.1 in Knoxville:

"Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy

Grab my glasses I'm out the door I'm gonna hit this city

Before I leave brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack

'cause when I leave for the night I ain't comin' back

. . .

I'm talking about everybody gettin' crunk

Boys tryin' to touch my junk

Gonna slap 'em if he be gettin' too drunk."

Right. Turns out Miss M's older cousins introduced her to this song over Christmas break. Naturally, she loves it, and I understand--the music itself is fun to dance to and sounds like something a nine year-old should like. But the lyrics? GAH. And guess what? Miss M knows all of them. BY HEART. She even sings them in that atonal nasal rap way, so we're talking total emulation here. I don't know how much she understands--in fact, I'm so far past the age of cool I had to resort to Urban Dictionary to figure some of it out myself--but the overarching message from that awesome song on Star 102.1? By the pretty girl in the video with the wild hair you maybe want to grow up and be like?

Is about getting drunk.

Here's another winner by the aforesaid Ke$ha: Blah Blah Blah, also playing on Star 102.1 and in the local bowling alley where we recently attended a child's birthday party:

"I don't really care where you live at
Just turn around, boy, let me hit that
Don't be a little bitch with your chit chat
Just show me where your d**k’s at

* * *

Boy, come on give me rock stuff
Come put a little love in my glove bag
I wanna dance with no pants on
Meet me in the back with the Jack and the jukebox."

Luckily, Ke$ha of the embedded dollar sign is talking so fast in Blah Blah Blah she's hard to understand. Because I don't even want to go there with Miss M.

Then there's former-burlesque-dancer-turned-pop-star Lady Gaga with her infectious Poker Face, in which she describes "bluffin' with her muffin" and sings "when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun." Oh yeah. I'll get him hot, show him what I've got. Even though we don't play this music for her at home or in the car, nine year-old Miss M also knows this song for some reason. I'm not saying there isn't a place for this kind of expression, but does it have to be on prime time radio? Wrapped in a sugar-coated beat that makes it appealing to third graders?

Yes, this music does present an opportunity for me to address . . . issues with Miss M, and I'm certainly going to redirect and encourage her to listen to less toxic choices. But I'm peeved that I didn't catch on earlier, or really, that I had to catch on at all. I mean, why is this R-rated music playing on the radio or even available to young kids in the first place? Pop culture--which is ubiquitous, and to its credit, can sometimes be really, really fun--has become seriously crude. I know my generation had Madonna's Like a Virgin, and Prince certainly was no pop angel, but we're talking a whole new level here. And that adult language and imagery is out there every day, playing on the radio and at kid venues, so children will pick it up.

I'll get him hot, show him what I've got.

This is not what I want my nine year-old daughter thinking about.

The Harshest Critic

500Jerk: So because I'm 41 you think I should just accept myself for who I am?
500Jerk Spouse: Yes. Yes, I do.
500Jerk: Well, I find that unacceptable.

Barring Illegal Immigrants from Purchasing Health Insurance Is a Bad Idea (More with the Health Care)

Other than appealing to the worst anti-immigrant impulses, why would our Senate put forth a health care bill that would prohibit illegal immigrants from purchasing health insurance with their own money and without government subsidies on a health insurance exchange?

Because health care providers who treat uninsured illegal immigrants should absorb the cost of immigrant health care instead?

Because we prefer that illegal immigrants be provided health care free of charge?

Because illegal immigrants don't need health care or health insurance?

Or maybe because we've elected Senators who are obstinately and irrationally devoted to their own prejudices?

The cost of providing health care care to the uninsured is astronomical. Health care providers all over the country struggle to meet the needs of the uninsured through charity care programs and forgiveness of debt. Barring illegal immigrants from purchasing their own health insurance is senseless because without health insurance, these immigrants can't afford to pay for their own health care. Health care providers simply pay for it for them.

And that means the cost of health care increases for everyone. Including the members of anti-immigrant groups to which such a restriction panders.

Thanks, I'd Rather Not (Have That Cardiac Cath)

For any of you interested in health care, I'm going to go a little off message here at family-oriented 500Jerk and point to a New Yorker article offering one explanation why U.S. health care costs are so high. This very readable article about a small Texas border town where Medicare per capita spending is the highest in the country posits that over-utilization likely is a cause of our ever-escalating national health care costs, with "over-utilization" meaning the ordering of medically unnecessary items and services.

In a system where doctors are paid for each test and procedure ordered, and where some physicians even have hospital ownership stakes, the temptation to order additional services can be, well, financially irresistible. If, for example, a physician makes $100 every time a patient has an in-office ultrasound, patients can come to be regarded as profit centers rather than human beings whose overall health is at stake. And although you might think that a little extra health care never killed anyone, you'd be wrong. Ordering unnecessary tests and procedures isn't just affecting our national bottom line--unnecessary tests and procedures actually harm patients in the form of infections, complications, recuperation times, lost productivity, etc. Plus, on a more personal level, I know that languishing in double-booked medical offices is bad for my sanity.

I very much like the building-a-house analogy used in the article to point out how paying per test/procedure doesn't get us where we want to be:

Providing health care is like building a house. The task requires experts, expensive equipment and materials, and a huge amount of coordination. Imagine that, instead of paying a contractor to pull a team together and keep them on track, you paid an electrician for every outlet he recommends, a plumber for every faucet, and a carpenter for every cabinet. Would you be surprised if you got a house with a thousand outlets, faucets, and cabinets, at three times the cost you expected, and the whole thing fell apart a couple of years later?

After reading the article, you may think twice about why your physician is recommending a procedure or insists on an office visit when a three-minute telephone call could answer your question. Maybe it's for your health. But I'm sorry to say that, under the current system, it could also be that the procedure or visit benefits the physician's bottom line.

Halloween Is Rated R

Miss M, Boy Wonder, and I set out yesterday in search of Halloween costumes. We visited four stores, and in our ultimately fruitless peregrinations, happened on some seriously inappropriate costumes for the eight and under set, including:

1. Monster Bride
2. Cheerless Leader (a dead cheerleader)
3. Elegant Bride (with white polyester dress, rhinestone tiara, and fake bouquet)
4. Bride of Satan
5. Army Man (with machine gun)
6. Scarlet (a pirate slut)
7. Hot Devil (red halter top, sequined hot pants, and horns)

Choices, choices, choices.

In addition to running the usual gauntlet of hideous plastic Halloween items emitting screeches and smoke, this year we also witnessed in plain view a pair of gigantic rubber breasts with outsized flesh-toned nipples. And did you know that Playboy now makes adult Halloween costumes? If the various crypt creatures and fake body parts don't deter you, Playboy pretty much makes whole sections of these stores off-limits for children.

After striking out at the fourth store, I successfully bribed Boy Wonder to be Soccer Boy. For $25, he is willing to wear his AYSO soccer uniform, shin guards, and cleats. With the money, he'll be able to buy a Lego set that will thrill him more than any costume ever would. And given that costumes now run in the $24.99-$59.99 range, it's a good deal for me.

But Miss M cannot be bribed, and only a storebought costume will satisfy.

I'm afraid.

Very, very afraid.

Is Obesity the New Leprosy?

I’ve been following with interest Megan McCardle’s recent blog posts about obesity. Read them yourself; here, here, and here. Also, here. If this topic interests you, too, there's a recent NYT article here. Megan McCardle's posts have made me re-examine my thinking on obesity, the illusory health benefits of the slim, and the genetic/environmental factors that essentially dictate how much a person weighs. I hit it lucky in the gene pool with a 6' 4" father, who at his heaviest, weighed in at about 160 pounds. I can eat what I want--which most of the time is not too much--and give or take 5 pounds (mostly give), keep 130 pounds on my almost 5'7" frame. I'm not thin, but I'm not heavy either. Does this make me healthier than someone who weighs more? No. Should I chalk my weight up to self-control? Given that I don't actually WANT to eat copious amounts of food, I can't say I have superior self-control. I've been on diets before, I know how strong the craving for food can be. Most of the time, I just don't HAVE those cravings. Sure, I try to exercise and eat healthy low-calorie foods, but here's the thing--even when I'm training for a half-marathon and running 12 miles at a stretch--I never weigh much less than 130 pounds. I'm at 130 pounds essentially for reasons I don't control. And there are many indications that people who are heavy are equally powerless to effect permanent weight change, which makes demonizing the overweight completely inappropriate.

I took my children to see Wall-E not long ago; you know, the movie with all the displaced fat people adrift in space, having gobbled up the Earth. They float around, slurping from gigantic sodas and waiting for the next meal. It's meant to be a repellent portrayal of the obese. I wonder if we'll look back years from now and realize that the currently acceptable prejudice against overweight people is the same misplaced prejudice lepers and cancer patients had to bear. Studies show that many heavy people can't permanently lose weight through diet and exercise; that moderately overweight people may be healthier than thin people; that some obesity may be attributable to a disease; and that our sanctimonious attitudes about overweight people driving up health care costs are misplaced. If I'm stuck at 130 pounds, another woman may be stuck at 160 pounds for the same reasons. But being 30 pounds slimmer doesn't necessarily make me a better, healthier, or more disciplined person.

This doesn't mean I'm going to throw up my hands and have a seat in front of the TV. I think it's probably easier to avoid putting on extra weight than it is to lose that weight, so I'll continue to steer the 500Jerk family to healthy foods and daily exercise. But I'm not going to persist in any delusion that thin people are always healthier than heavier people or that thin people have better self-control. I just don't think it's true.

Now. What's for lunch? I'd like some lentil soup.

I Am the Human Bermuda Triangle of Technology

In the last few days, my mere presence seems to have short-circuited the limited technology available in the 500Jerk household. I’m not sure what the universe is trying to tell me (Stay in bed? Get back to the land? The end is surely nigh?). All I know is that technology has failed me in a big way, and I am NOT HAPPY about it.

1. Both my home cable and Internet connection are out. Because our phone is linked to the cable service, it is not even possible to call the cable company to complain. Use your cell phone, you say? See infra, at 2.

2. Cell phone dies sudden inexplicable death.

3. “New” phone is inherited from 500Jerk Spouse, who has long since upgraded to a Blackberry. No contact information can be transferred by singularly unhelpful Verizon tech, so all my quick dial phone numbers are lost. Also! “New” phone blares Rocky Top as a ring tone. GAH.

4. Due to the disk being full, Tivo unilaterally elects to delete five True Blood episodes I’ve been storing (cue keening and rending of garments). True Blood is the ONLY series I've watched in the last four years. In fact, the only reason I learned to turn my TV on AT ALL is to watch this show. GAH. Inexplicably, Tivo keeps five episodes each of Chopped and Giada at Home. GAH. GAH.

5. Now that I can actually call Comcast with my "new" phone, our home Internet connection re-connects sporadically, usually when a Comcast representative is on the line. This makes remote diagnosis of the problem impossible and gives the appearance that I am incompetent/insane.

Someone please tell me, why must everything fail at once? Who is responsible? Is this in any way linked to the recent appearance of a flock of crows at my house? What does it all mean?

WHAT IS GOING ON?

The Me I Want To Be

Although the 500Jerk passion for modern fiction continues unabated (has anyone liked the writing in The Outlander by Gil Adamson as much as I did?), I'm sorry to say that my bedside table collection currently evidences a strong bent toward self-improvement. To wit:

1. The Couple's Relationship Survival Guide (totally unread, HA)
2. Family Fun (magazine featuring parents who do more work for their families than is humanly possible)
3. The Economist (serious news for people much more serious than I am)
4. The Garden Primer by Barbara Damrosch (dog-eared and studied)
5. Taking Your Kids to Europe on a Budget! (extensively dreamed over)
6. Novel Writing for Dummies (quickly skimmed and set aside for more prosaic tasks)

Oh, the Me I want to be. Where is she? I sense a Seuss-like self-improvement book taking shape.

What's on your bedside table? What does your bedside table say about you?

That's Enough of That Ham

You probably know the old saw, "The definition of eternity is two people and a ham." After the Easter ham the 500Jerk family ate for six days last week, I could not agree more. In the wake of Easter dinner, we had ham sandwiches, ham omelets, and ham dinner redux. We ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I fed it to the kids, the dog, the visitors. I even thought about feeding it to our chickens, but somehow that seemed wrong. For some reason (general tightwad-ness? OCD?), I could not bear to throw the ham away, even though it got saltier and saltier as the week went on. By Friday, it was almost inedible. Still, we persisted.

The worst part is that the 500Jerk Spouse was out of town the entire week, leaving me with two small children and this insurmountable ham. So he's ready for ham dinner next Sunday, and we've all had enough of that processed pink meat for a lifetime.

Ham. The very word makes me shudder.

NO MORE HAM.

I'm Not Drinking the Facebook Koolaid

I noted with interest a blog commenter's recent statement that everyone has stopped blogging due to Facebook.

Now. This is plainly not the case. First, might I point out? Said commenter actually read, then commented, ON A BLOG. Second, there are--what?--like three gazillion active blogs. And that's in Knoxville alone. It's waaaaaaay too soon to call the Blog-Facebook race.

But the comment is food for thought. A lot of folks have turned to Facebook as a way to keep in touch and revive old connections. And that's admirable. But after you've made all those connections with friends, and friends of friends, and friends of your friends' friends, well, then what? Who has the time and interest to maintain relationships with all those people? Facebook's not going to help you with that. In fact, all that relationship-tending may end up driving you back to your core group. And then, what's the use of Facebook?

And, hello? Does everyone know that employers and prospective employers search Facebook to see what kind of pictures you're posting and what secrets you're spilling? Just imagine sharing all your personal thoughts and information with the company HR manager--NO THANK YOU I'D RATHER NOT.

I think the Facebook flame is going to fizzle. At least it has for me. I like blogs because they allow for more measured and considered positions. I like the semi-anonymity a blog affords. And--no offense--if I'm not currently in touch with people from my past or the friends of my friends' friends, I'm just not that interested.

But I was about five years late to the cell phone game, and I still don't own a Blackberry. Maybe I'll get more interested in Facebook when my children are posting their minute-by-minute thoughts on a Facebook wall. Maybe I'll get to wondering what happened to my college roommate's cute boyfriend (what was his name again?). Maybe one day I'll want to know what my sixteen year-old niece ate for lunch.

Facebook could be seriously useful then.

Michelle Obama: The Barbie I Don't Want

As a working mother, I am perplexed and annoyed by the media's constant attendance to Michelle Obama's every fashion move. See here. And here. And here. Michelle Obama is an educated and, I assume, intelligent woman. She is the parent of young children with the ability and interest to use her position as First Lady to further important issues like literacy, child care for working women, and nutrition. But as far as the media is concerned, these issues are a distant second to weighty matters like whether "Michelle's" arms are bare or who designed the dress in which she met the Queen of England.

I know some regard fashion as high art and a useful pursuit. I'm not debating that here. What's troubling is the inattention to substantive issues in which Michelle Obama has expressed interest--issues that deeply affect the quality of American life--in favor of esoteric pursuits that only the rarefied few can afford (e.g., patronage of up and coming fashion designers and private trainers).

Although I first blamed the press on marginalizing Michelle Obama as a clothes horse and beauty queen, the Obama camp is as much to blame as anyone. See, for example, Michelle Obama's voluntary appearance on the cover of Vogue. I have to say, I am disillusioned and disappointed with this tack toward the superficial. I expected Ms. Obama--the product of Princeton and Harvard, a lawyer, a former health care executive, and an involved parent--to be a substantive and smart First Lady.

Instead, what I got was First Lady Barbie.

I've got no argument with taking care of one's appearance, but women who are attractive and well-dressed can still get a point across. What's happening with Ms. Obama is that her points aren't getting across. Instead, all we hear are silly quips about her Second Amendment "Right to Bare Arms" and fashion face-offs with Carla Bruni.

Please, Ms. Obama. Stop being sidelined and distracted by the media's rapt attention to your physical beauty and dedication to fashion. Take hold of this media train before it utterly marginalizes you and the working parents who counted on you for leadership. There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there?

Isn't there?

Dentist Mentis

I feel like I should win a gold medal when I go to the dentist: I voluntarily go every six months, I shell out a good chunk of change for the 500Jerk family (which has no dental insurance), and I take an entire afternoon off work to drive way the hell out to Lovell Road. I even floss! GOLD MEDAL PLEASE.

But what normally is a feel-good situation was less so this past Tuesday. The dental hygienist scrubbed until my gums were raw. Both kids had plaque build-up. The dentist again pitched x-rays, which I again refused (I haven't had a cavity in 12 years, my kids never have cavities, and I think x-rays every year are pointless), then he got kind of pissy about it. The kids bickered and complained about the apres-exam toys in the dentist's basket. The bill was $340. Then, when I mentioned that I had stopped running, the dentist snipped, "Maybe you've gotten lazy all around."

Good God almighty, the whole experience was completely miserable.

And my dentist? Calling me lazy? May I point out that the man is not open on Fridays or after 4PM? Takes an hour and a half every day for lunch? Shuts his whole office down for a week every August? NOTHING infuriates me like laziness, and I'm hard on myself about it. Calling me the L word is a cue for a throw down.

I need a new dentist.

And, by golly, I want a toy from the basket and a gold star when my exam is through.

Craving the Juice

After a great dinner at Taste of Thai with extended family last night, we got home to find our power was out. And lucky us! Practically everyone else on our street has power. This means we are extremely low priority on KUB's to-do list. So Miss M worked in bed with a flashlight on an Amelia Earhart book report due Friday, while we bumbled around in the dark finding PJs and toothbrushes and discussing various pieces of Amelia Earhart trivia (did you know, for instance, that Amelia Earhart never went to college?).

This morning rose clear, sunny, and cool but still . . . no power. It's kind of fun to make do, but as my family will attest, the biggest problem with no power is--NO COFFEE FOR MOMMY. The 500Jerk Spouse has rightfully pointed out that NO COFFEE FOR MOMMY is akin to a code red national emergency.

Given that our power may not be restored for another day, I am already planning how to cope with an uncaffeinated Friday morning. This plan may involve purchasing a camp stove or bunsen burner and waking up at the crack of dawn to get it going on our porch. Or, more simply, an early morning run in my pajamas to the local Starbucks.

Although the effort involved makes me regret my heavy reliance on caffeine, let me tell you, the alternative--doing nothing--is much, much worse.

Just ask my family.

Why Do We Value Soccer More than Math?

A question the 500Jerk Spouse originally raised and one I've been pondering recently is why it's acceptable to push kids to excel in sports and other extracurricular activities, spending weeknights and weekends at the ball field or pool and sending kids to specialty camps in the summer, then perhaps to specialty schools if the child is really talented, but it's not acceptable to push kids in the subjects they learn at school. Can you imagine if Knoxville parents spent the same time on math with their kids as they do on soccer? Some of it, I understand, is just a matter of a child's interests. But interests are nurtured by parents, so why do we nurture the athletic and the peripheral (apologies to Louis Armstrong, but trumpet lessons come to mind), rather than core learning: math, science, literature, geography, history? Is it anti-intellectualism? Is it to give kids a break from the "boring" job of learning? Is it in the spirit of being well rounded? (On this last, if you've seen some of the rabidly competitive parents at kids' sporting events, you'd know that well-rounded is not the goal.)

Although our children attend a school that is accommodating, we've had a job convincing the administration that academic advancement isn't about us or our egos. It's about nurturing and supporting our kids' interests and abilities. That's important, especially when those interests--math, reading, science--are laudable and should be encouraged.

So why the bias against academic achievement? Against early advancement? I'm going to take a stand here: I really think it boils down to misplaced priorities. In the spirit of being "well-rounded," we avoid encouraging kids to achieve in school, subtly (or not so subtly) teaching that school and its subjects are something to be endured, rather than a path to greater discovery. Parents send kids to soccer, or art, or swimming, or gymnastics, sometimes for many hours a week, but working through a math textbook with a child after school is almost completely unheard of. And where are the elementary school math clubs; science discovery clubs; and literature and history camps? Where are the weekend games involving geography and history? Where are the parents volunteering their time as math coaches, reading coaches, writing coaches? Look around, there's plenty of extracurricular support for baseball, soccer, and swimming, but almost none for anything academic.

Kids need the message that class work is only the beginning--that there is reading, math, science, history, and geography to be learned and, yes, enjoyed outside the classroom. Just like making sure they get enough physical exercise and learn the value of teamwork, we need to focus on and encourage their academic achievement. But voicing that sentiment isn’t popular. It's as if there's some common opinion that academics should be marginalized, that schoolwork is best taken in small doses, with lots of repetition and breaks. That it's OK to encourage and cheer your kids on at soccer, swimming, gymnastics, and figure-skating, keeping them up after bedtime to compete at regional meets and events, but it's not OK to encourage and cheer your kid on for working through a math or science textbook so he or she can move ahead.

There’s just something wrong with that.