In Praise of Clutter

American life has become sanitized. Antibacterial cleaning supplies--wipes, dish soap, hand soap...even toys. Super exhaust fans in kitchens so you cannot even smell dinner cooking. Air Fresheners plugged into every room so the whole house smells like lavender fields or citrus groves or Christmas... And then there are the anti-clutter fanatics who believe all signs of real life must be swept away into clearly labeled plastic bins.

Maybe it is because I grew up in a big, old, cluttered filled, rambling house—The first floor was just the kitchen and dining room with an ancient brick floor. A fire almost always going in the big fireplace at the far end of the dining room . The doors constantly opening and kids and neighbors pouring in to hang out by the fire...kids draped on every chair...adults drinking coffee, talking and smoking...yes, smoking. It was a crowded, smoke filled life with the smell of fire wood, cigarettes, coffee and cooking... And there was always stuff...an animal skeleton that was found in the woods was placed on the mantel because it looked so cool. Old etchings mixed with school projects mixed with found objects from the city...a gauge, old newspaper type, an old typewriter for kids to peck at etc.

Pottery barn, Target and other stores have trinkets you can buy to put on your shelves and coffee tables for display that look like travel souvenirs from another time. It is odd that you can buy clutter, but when you have collected things from your travels, from your life—it is viewed as clutter to be boxed away. Just like the removal of the real smells from our homes that are then replaced with fabricated scents from the store.

Sometimes I wonder how much of our real lives are being usurped by some pre-fabricated “ideal” life marketed to us by big industry. I wonder how many of our dreams and aspirations are placed in our heads by the media and this whole idea of clearing away our clutter is actually a way to clear away our authentic dreams for something pre-fabricated by Walmart or William Sonoma or whatever.

Why does everyone suddenly want granite countertops? Why does everyone need Viking stoves? Why does everyone need two bathrooms for every person in the house? Why have our dreams become material and not event driven? My dream is for myself and my family to live in Spain, Italy or France for year—not a large flat screen TV in every room. My dream is to have time to write, not time to clear away every little bit of my personality and put it in a plastic box in the attic. My dream is to walk along the beach with my daughter and collect shells—not buy her $100 Abercrombie t-shirts from the mall.

Are you living your dream or someone else’s?

The Question of Barbie

The look of pure bliss spread across her face as she pulled it from a just acquired hand-me-down little girl purse. There in her pudgy little toddler hand was a very tired Barbie...shirt torn, revealing one plastic boob, hair looking like Ken had roughed her up the night before... My first instinct was to snatch it from her fingers, to deny her this unreal image of womanhood. But I just couldn’t...I could see that in the few seconds she had spent staring into the blank plastic eyes of the doll—there was already a bond.

It was love at first sight.

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I know mothers often struggle with the idea of toy guns, but for me it was Barbie. Like a mother whose child has a peanut allergy, I had warned friends and family that we were not a Barbie household...I was always very clear about a no Barbie rule. How could I, a mother who I had spent months choosing a name for my daughter to reflect wisdom, strength and grace, allow this piece of plastic to take over a part of The Beast’s perception of the world?

Well...as any feminist mother will tell you --Barbies just happen...and as ANY mother will tell you....Barbies also multiply. Soon after the first Barbie incident, two more Barbies found their way into the Beast’s loving hands.

Lingering in my favorite thrift shop one lazy Saturday afternoon The Beast pulled from a lower shelf a large plastic box. The box opened to reveal what can only be described as some 1980’s bordello—flashing disco lights, a two sofas that could be pushed into a round bed and a lighted aquarium that popped up from the flashing multi-colored tile dance floor. On the floor of this disco palace lay two Barbies circa 1980...big hair, short skirts and plastic leather jackets—I have to admit that I was just as enthralled by the whole scene as was my daughter—but for different reasons. While I was scanning the miniature room for signs of tiny single edge razors and rolled hundreds...

My daughter closed the plastic case and clutched it to her chest.

“We are NOT bringing home that Barbie bordello.” I told The Beast is my quiet, but firm mother tone attempting to dislodge garish pink box from her monster grip.

“Barbie Dello! Barbie Dello!” The Beast pleaded.

We were by the check-out desk where two grandmotherly looking volunteers sat watching the scene. “Oh...the little girl wants the Barbie farm.”

“We are on a budget.” I explained

“Nonsense—how about $1?” said one with a warm smile.

“Wonderful.” I said...once again defeated by Barbie.

Of course the Barbie Bordello opened the flood gates--soon there were Barbie presents: the Barbie farm with the pigs with long lashes and blue eye shadow, the Jeeps, the vans, the Barbie jumbo jet, the My Size Barbie....the “marine biologist” Barbie in a bikini...some friend was obviously trying to be nice to me.

It was just a matter of time before the whole house looked like some lesbian prostitution ring had moved in with Barbies lingering in every dark corner in seductive poses with disheveled outfits falling off them.

Barbie had a her hey-day at our house, but she slowly started to vanish to the attic...occasionally a large box of Barbie stuff might be bumped down the attics stairs for a rainy day of play, but she was replaced by the American Girl Doll, Harry Potter, and now Twilight....makes me ALMOST nostalgic for the Barbie days.

Of course, until Ms. PR called last week, flushed with excitement....”Barbie’s 50th Anniversary! Bloomingdales! Let’s go!”

“Helllllo...Remember? I was the mother who did not like Barbies?” Trying to pull Ms. PR out of her girly frenzy.

“Well...it is not just about Barbie...it is the whole cultural subset of society that is being examined with a Marxist filter on consumerism.” she said in her best PR spin. “and all those cute little outfits!” she said unable to contain herself.

Barbie did not win this one.

Passion, Obsession and Martha Stewart

My mother-in-law gave me a subscription to the Martha Stewart magazine when I first married her son. I didn’t take it personally...although in retrospect—perhaps I should have. However, my mother-in-law was always so nice to me...describing recipes, in detail, right down to what the stove looked liked and how to turn it on....I can’t believe the gift was anything more than sharing her passion for cooking with me.

I had never heard of Martha Stewart before....of course, why should I—I didn’t have a TV when I lived in the city and the thought of “housekeeping” or even “housework” never even occurred to me.

But it was love at first sight when I opened the magazine. I was IN LOVE with Martha Stewart. I loved her ideas, I loved her bitchiness, but most of all I loved her obsessions...I guess I am always impressed by people who have an overwhelming passion...no matter what that passion is for. Cinemanics ....I totally understand them. Those people in the middle of the country who do crop art . Monks—how much passion must they have to renounce the joys of common everyday life.

My whole family is passionate. My husband has many passions, but he hates when I mention him. Although I have to say his photo series, Sponge Bob in Paris is truly an obsessive and inspired body of work.

The Beast also has many passions--mostly involving scissors, an inordinate amount of paper and LOTS of glue. I came home one day to find that she had cut and stitched her curtains into costumes for her dolls. What can one do? One cannot stifle creativity.

I wonder sometimes about the children who are so scheduled with lessons and sports and playdates—do they have time to tap into their inner passions? Do any of us have time to sit and think and obsess about something that is truly meaningful to us? Something that we are are truly passionate about?

What Kind of Mother Are You?

There seems to be a fair amount of confusion over the mommy classifications from one of my older posts...and as I mentioned earlier the list is not exhaustive and of course there are degrees and permutations of different mommy types as Ms. PR pointed out...such as the Lazy/Selfish Mom which is a branch of the just plain LazyMom. So here are a few common behaviors of various moms to help you decide YOUR true category.

Telltale Behavior #1--School

• If you have ever sent a permission slip, homework, test etc back to your kid's school with your signature AND a circular red wine stain on the paper: LazyMom

• If you have ever covered a circular red wine stain on a permission slip with white-out: SuperMom

• If you are horrified by the fact that someone could actually get a wine stain on anything: UberMom

Telltale Behavior #2--Vacations

• If you have ever found yourself booking a family trip to Venice rather than Disneyland because—we can always PhotoShop Mickey into a baby picture and tell her she went to Disneyland..that she just does not remember because she was so young: LazyMom

• If you have ever gone to Disneyland and have taken some poor neighbor’s child who has never been because she has a LazyMom who prefers Europe: SuperMom

• If you have a time-share in Disneyland for the next five years so your children can benefit from the joys of American culture: UberMom

Telltale Behavior #3--Health

• If you have ever dosed your child with cold medicine and sent her off to pre-school because—”please, it is not like you’ll get a refund when your kid is absent due to the sniffles and she probably got it from some snotty nosed kid there anyway.”: LazyMom

• If you ever noticed your child had a slight fever, called the pre-school to warn other parents and sent out e-mails to all play-dates that week that your child might be coming down with a virus and they should keep an eye on their child for signs of illness...: SuperMom

• If you ever noticed your child was just not herself, called your holistic pediatrician for some herbal remedy, kept the child home from pre-school and baked cookies with her: UberMom

Telltale Behavior #4—knowledge

• If your child knows how to pour a glass of wine...perfectly: LazyMom

• If your child knows Obama’s positions on public education: SuperMom

• If child knows all her grades will be "As" because you volunteered for every possible event at the school: UberMom

Telltale Behavior #5--Parties

• If your child’s birthday party always includes a case of wine and a case of beer for the parents: LazyMom

• If your child’s birthday party always includes an educational theme: SuperMom

• If your child’s birthday always includes some paid entertainment such as a clown, petting zoo, etc.: UberMom

Telltale Behavior #6— Leisure time

• If your idea of a good time is a pitcher of Sangria or martinis with your husband in the backyard while the child plays quietly with friends: LazyMom

• If your idea of a good time is a trip to someplace educational with the family: SuperMom

• What leisure time? Who has time for leisure?: UberMom

Feel free to add your own behavioral observations...there will be a prize for the best one in each classification and extra points for new variations.

The Secret to a Straight A Student...Southern Style

I was attending an obscure, sort of touchy-feely, marketing workshop in the city a few months ago and while waiting for the speaker to arrive I started chatting up another woman who was sitting nearby. She said she lived in the South...

which explained her

• frosted blond hair
• shimmering pink nail polish
• warm, vacant smile
  

She had come to NYC just for this workshop.

Ms. Perky Southern Belle mentioned that she was a member of the Rotary Club which I have always equated with the Freemasons for some reason. In an attempt to get her off the topic of the MANY joys, and BENEFITS of the Rotary Club--because I was afraid that she might invite me to join and then I would have to wear some funny looking fez (or perhaps that is a Mason thing—or perhaps it is just a Flintstones mocking the Mason thing)--I asked her about her family.

She said that her daughter was an A student in high school and they were looking at colleges and that was actually another reason why she is North of the Mason-Dixon line.

“Oh! Wonderful!—Tell me! How did you managed to motivate your daughter? ” I said, since I am ALWAYS looking for tips on parenting because let’s be honest—we are all clueless..and besides maybe I can make a book out of it... 101 Ways to Get Your Girl to Harvard...Study Your Way to Stanford...Secret Study Methods of the South....

Waiting for the homey answer along the lines of... flash cards from the time her daughter was 3 days old...electric shock for incorrect answers. Or maybe this once blond bombshell married a total science geek and he spent hours with the daughter building competitive killer robots on the weekends ....or maybe she just sent the girl to Harvard Summer School for the cost of a rather nice trip to Europe....every year. Of course all of these ideas did NOT even come close.

“Oh, I promised her a new car when she turned sixteen if she maintained an A average. “ She said with triumph in her voice. “And I just bought her a brand new VW beetle...with cash.”

“Oh—well that is something I really cannot use for bait given my economic situation.” but I queried further not willing to give up on my book idea-- “Do you have any other tips for those of us without $25,000 in our pocket ready to plop down? “

She attempted to toss her helmet of perfectly set hair and smiled that chalky white bleached tooth smile that was enhance by her slightly orange tan... “No.” she said with a giggle. And then she turned to talk to some other jaded New Yorker about the wonders of the Rotary Club...

Well...I guess all that money I have been giving to the tutor and all those piano, horseback riding, dance lessons, etc. should have been going towards a car down payment.

More pearls of wisdom.