let the party begin
MY BOTTOM LINE (ALTHOUGH I LOVE YOU LIKE CRAZY)
When it comes to sugar and parenting, I like to think of myself as pretty chill. Nora eats a piece of chocolate or a Popsicle every day. We get ice cream at the park sometimes. Halloween night? Knock yourself out eating crap from the plastic pumpkin, whatever. Of course, I should not pat myself on the back too hard here because Nora is naturally pretty self-regulating with the junk food—if she were not I would probably have a lot more food rules.
It is always interesting when you find your limits. It can be a “friend” who pisses you off just one too many times, a rambunctious child who causes you to invent rules for things you didn’t even know needed rules, or a tube of brightly colored goo supposedly called a “squeeze pop.” Nora came home from a party with this thing, in a lurid neon green, and asked, “Can I have this when it’s time for my treat?” And although I have never outright banned a food item in my life (everything in moderation, man), I said no. I mean, NO. Why don’t you just drink a bottle of corn syrup? In fact, why DON’T you just drink a bottle of corn syrup, since at least corn syrup would not have artificial flavors and colors like this does?
Nora took my proclamation well, chose something else for treat time, and the goo-tube went in the trash, where it is probably poisoning an alley raccoon right now. Later my friend further opined that eating a bit of the “squeeze pop” at several sittings would probably mean saliva going back into the tube and growing all kinds of horrid things in the lovely sugar medium of the warm moist tube,* so I had yet another very good reason to forbid its consumption. One that was even related to disease transmission and not to self-righteous food policing! I feel all justified now.
*Oh hey. Ahem. If it weren’t for the part about bacteria I would be getting a bit turned on here.
(Speaking of inappropriate: have you seen the “Wild Kratts” show? It is the Kratt brothers, formerly of the preschool show “Zooboomafoo” [I detailed my problems with that show about four years ago], and they are looking a bit old and puffy and haggard. So they just appear in person at the beginning and end of the episode, and the rest is animated and kind of adventure-y. I was watching the episode about worms with Nora, and Martin Kratt gets miniaturized and ends up riding an earthworm. So the animated Martin is straddling this large pink spasming thing, and of course worms are coated in slime and for the big comedy laughs it goes all over his face [see earlier complaints], and his brother says, “Hey Martin! How’d you like your worm slime facial?” That was when I was like okay, I have to get out of here. Enjoy your filthy children’s show, Nora!)
SHOWDOWN AT THE DELI COUNTER
Because I am a sucker and the mother of an only child, I get my kid small gifts for her half-birthday. For the momentous EIGHT AND A HALF it ended up being the seventh (and last, or so I hear) Harry Potter book. Nora genuinely enjoys reading these, but I think there is a certain degree of fangirl shit going on with regard to the Harry Potter franchise, both with her and among her peers—it is not enough to get Harry Potter books from the library, you need to own them; the books’ lengths and girths are compared, like some literary locker-room wangfest; and you are expected to have a favorite book and vigorously defend that choice. I roll my eyes a bit at the whole thing but cannot deny that listening to a bunch of pre-teens arguing about books is adorable. So off to Barnes and Noble I went on my lunch hour, where I bought the paperback to surprise her with after work. Then I realized I needed a few groceries so why not go to the Jewel that is up by Clark and Division, instead of my usual River North grocery haunts? Oh I was pleased with my efficiency.
I forgot, though, that the corner of Clark and Division is a free-admission freak show. It is a very strange area where homeless street-shouters and wealthy Gold Coasters sort of end up smashed together. The Jewel was a premium example. I was picking up bakery bread and this small, well-dressed, but obviously insane gray-haired woman was being abusive to the deli workers, calling them “morons” for messing up her order. Then a very swishy gay man with a strong Southern accent began telling her to “be nice” and that she “can’t talk to people like that,” and she switched her ire to him, and it just went on FOREVER, both of them being constitutionally unable to walk away and let it go, she because of her Crazy and he because of his Southern Gayness. So there was a shouted-across-the-store performative “argument,” like this:
Crazy Rich Lady [hissing]: You HOMOSEXUAL. HOW DARE YOU. You HOMOSEXUAL.
Southern Gay Guy [fingersnaps]: Daaaaamn right!
CRL: Why don’t you go touch a man’s genitals, you homosexual!
SGG: Now that’s a fine idea!
CRL: Your parade was last month!
SGG: Yes, and it was a great time! Sorry you didn’t get a parade. They don’t have parades for WITCHES!
CRL: I’m going to call the police on you! You threatened me! I’m calling 911!
SGG [phone pantomime]: 911, what is your emergency? Yes, can you send a squad car? I am just TOO FABULOUS!
It was all very entertaining but oh my god. While I was waiting to check out I saw a plain-clothes security guard come talk to her for a long time, after which she left quietly and on her own. I’m sure he had decided there was no harm in humoring her—yes, the homosexuals are terrible, yes, our employees can’t cut roast beef for shit, I will make sure to bring up your concerns to the management, have a nice day now.
—mimi smartypants, innocent bystander.