He's the strong, silent type.
We've been hit hard the past two weeks. First there was the scourge of mothers everywhere....head lice. There was treating and combing and laundry. Lots of laundry. And then there was more treating and more combing and more laundry. If you see a kid at preschool running around in a swimming cap, that's going to be my kid. We are NOT risking this madness again. Also, I had to go three days without washing my hair or using any kind of hair product. Yeah, there won't be any pictures of that. Or maybe that's not really a photo of Sam above. Needless to say, there has been quite a bit of homebound time during the Lice Debacle of 2015.
Everything but the Xanax
And then, just when I thought we couldn't have any more togetherness, there was the ice storm. And no, it was nothing like the movie. Here in the South, the world shuts down whenever any sort of frozen precipitation falls from the heavens, so we've been home now for three days with no preschool (Presidents' Day was thrown in just for fun.) I have taken to hiding in the back of the house as soon as my husband gets home and takes over as Chief Question Answerer/Admirer/Edifier/Entertainer. We say things like, "Mommy is taking a bath," which is code for, "Don't bother Mommy while she watches Star Trek:Voyager in peace."
Lest I sound like the biggest villain since whoever cancelled Arrested Development, allow to me clarify that we did celebrate Valentine's Day as best we could as a family, and I made pancakes with Kiddo this morning just because. I also allowed my husband to join me in the back of the house to watch the mid-season premiere of The Walking Dead (yes, we're an episode behind.) So I have my moments of soft-heartedness. Only moments though.
Back to zombies, however. What is the deal with the second halves of seasons on this show? Last year we had to wade through at least six episodes of the separated group whining, I mean, wandering through the woods and a whole lot of not much else. The first half of the current season was action-packed and ended with a BANG (literally.) And now, here we are again in the Slough of Despair, directionless, whiny, and killing off one of the only currently interesting characters. I am so sick of Conflicted Rick with his Furrowed Brow, and now it seems (at least as far as the mid-season premiere went) that he has passed this disease on to the perpetually hopeful Glenn. Anyway, fingers crossed that the second episode is better tonight. Also, on a side note, there is a special place reserved in hell for people who post spoilers on Facebook. Ever heard of a DVR? Or a ROKU? Official Facebook pages for shows, this goes for you too! (You'll notice that I was VERY careful to word my complaints about the show in very non-specific language above.)
While I'm in such a sunny mood, I'll also post a mini-review of Lena Dunham's Not That Kind of Girl, which finally came in on my reserve at the library. (There were something like thirty people ahead of me. This is not hyperbole.) I added my name to the list, pretty much as soon as it came out -- you know, somewhere between the release announcement and the shitstorm of accusations that followed. I've seen Dunham called all kinds of unrepeatable things -- not the least of which were that she was a child predator -- online and in print by a whole herd of angry people. So when the title finally came in to my little library with my name on it, my excitement was tinged with curiosity from reading so much negative press. I read the book in two days, so obviously, it was entertaining. Reading this book convinced me of two things: #1 - Lena Dunham is awesomeamazingsupercoolsmartfunnycleverkindredspirit. #2 - All those KneeJerks (as I am henceforth dubbing them) didn't actually read the book. Now there's a shock.
So what is their (the KneeJerks) problem with Lena Dunham? Is it really that she was curious about what the human body looked like when she was very little? Is it the fact that she talks about what she actually thought and felt as a young person in a completely honest, open, and straightforward way? Or is that she is a woman who is comfortable in her own skin, at ease with own thoughts, and unapologetic about her personality and temperament? Perhaps if she showed some sort of shame about her not-so-Hollywood body they could forgive her being smart, funny, and a woman. I am so over the dismissal of powerful women as bitches or perverts, as if being a woman in charge is somehow unnatural.
Ok, I'm getting riled up, and this isn't the day to risk that. So we'll move on. Before we do, though, on a semi-related note, here's a link to a great Salon article on the power of female nudity. Do yourself a favor and read it with an open mind.
Well, Kiddo has had all the alone time she can muster, and there is a little face at my door every couple of minutes now with some manufactured reason why I need to be interrupted. And I just used the words "unless you're on fire or dying" in a sentence to her, so yeah, I'd better go. Plus, there are still papers to grade (only five, so that's not too bad.) Tomorrow it's back to school. FOR EVERYONE!