My son The Beckham

This is Leos' rules of soccer:

* Don't run past the goal.
* Don't run away from the field.
* Run too fast, but don't run too slow.
* Get a trophy.

An education.

I have to say, this year, I am not too thrilled with Kate's English teacher. From day one, my she has voiced some very strong negative opinions about 4Th grade. This is Kate, No 1 super-nerd, the girl who will actually go to the library to read up on Roman gods, and looks forward to the spelling quiz on Fridays.

Last week they read the Pied Piper of the Hamelin, an afterwards, they were told to rewrite the story making up their own characters. Instead of rats, Kate wanted the pied piper to chase out griffins (no I wasn't entire sure exactly what two animals this ancient creature was supposed to be made up of, but I told you she was a geek), but the teacher had never heard of a griffin, and had made her change the character.

Tonight she came home with some extra maths homework (not her strongest subject). Turns out she had remade the same mistake on 25 different problems - twice - and was asked to bring home to correct them a third time. After helping her, I asked her if the teacher hadn't tried explaining the mistake to her in school. Did you even ask her? I said.
- I did, but all she said was for me to follow the instructions on the top of the page.

I am now seeing red but told Kate that next time she has problem understanding something, don't leave until you get the teacher to explain it to you.
- It is your darn right as a student to be given the very best education possible, I said, and the teacher is your tool. Use it!

Granted; what if the tool is old, blunt and in need of some sharpening?

I don't really care how she does it.

So, hands up: who's watched I don't know how she does it yet?
And who liked it?
Did anyone else roll their eyes at how the scriptwriters managed to address some of the ordeals working mothers of the 21st century are battling by suggesting that as long as you can tell your boss you're making snow men with your kids, you'll be absolutely fine?
I was never a big fan of the book, but compared to the movie it's up there with Orlando and Fear of flying.



But the book does touch on some very serious aspect of the working woman's, as well as the working mother's reality. Sexual harassment, overlooked for promotions, getting less money for the same work and making up for your absence by showering your kids with guilt gifts, are every day fodder for many women, yet the movie decides to not approach this at all, or only through a little cheeky twinkle in the eye: Know what I mean (nudge, nudge)?

And of course, my question would be: why are we even pretending that women have come a long way since the dawn of Housewife, when we still watch movies and read books that explicitly saying that this is only a woman's headache.
The man of the house, regardless of his level of meterosexuality, still reserves the right to complain if he feels his wife needs to put a lid on it and start spending more time home with the kids - especially since his promotion is slightly more important than hers, and he can quietly get on with it because he knows the kids PE kit is still being packed by the wife. We all know it - yet we think the movie argument, resolved in a little movie kiss, is kind of cute, and slightly charming, 'cos who wouldn't want to be a working mother in Boston, worrying about a bake sale if the husband is Greg Kinnear?

I watched this with Kate. I laughed at the List. And the baked goods. That was about it.
She thought it was hilarious.

Family meeting

With a round of croissants, juice and black coffee, I suggest we call a family meeting.
Leo is all on board:
- I want to know what time it is. And if we can have candy.
Husband shakes his head:
- Why do we need a family meeting? We talk every night over dinner.
- That is talking and being together. This is an opportunity for us to discuss things we might want to change. Or something like that. You know, for everyone to have a chance to make decisions. (I look at husband and nod at the kids:) You know, for everyone to feel that they have a say, and are being heard. Like: I would like to talk about how you (pointing to Leo) and you (pointing to Kate) argue every morning. I think we should come up with some solutions to that. And maybe you guys have something you think mommy and daddy should change?

Leo raises his hand:
- I have something to say. I think we should go scooting.
- Well. That's good. We can talk about that.
I am grasping at straws, trying to stay upbeat.

Kate has been muttering in my husbands ear the whole time. Now she rolls her eyes.
- OK. I want to say something. I think we should change the stupid name "family meeting" to something else.
Husband nods in agreement.
Leo says:
- I have something to say. I think I should eat daddy's croissant.
- OK, I say. Maybe that is something you should just talk to daddy about?
Kate and husband are whispering about what a pointless idea this is .

- I think we should go for a walk after breakfast, Kate's finally says. I need to move. I feel so big after that breakfast.
- You don't get to say anything, I say. You decided to not be a part of the family meeting.
- Oh, come on! This is stupid. I can just get daddy to come with me. And I don't understand why we go to this place for breakfast. We should just go to Stacks and eat pancakes.

- You don't have a say. You should have thought about that ten minutes ago.

Angry Mother tries to be all technical and s***

Angry Mother has gone twitter. Now there is a button in the right hand column that you can click on, and something should happen. I don't really know what, but aren't you keen to find out?
Am trying to figure out how to automatically feed my blogposts to the twitter account.
That could take all day.

ABC = F1F2F3

Will book app's kill the paperback the same way as video killed the radio star? I have no idea, but I found this article from the Guardian UK quite interesting. Personally, they would have to drag me to my death before I stopped encouraging my kids to read and enjoy books in their spare time, but I do love me a nice little Ipad for those (in)frequent times when all else has been tried and failed and you just need them to be quiet for a little while.

I certainly won't mind Leo playing interactive games associated with his fave stories, but would I pretend that his reading quota had been filled for the day? Absolutely not.
It will be interesting to see how parents will use these apps and what the research will say a few years down the line.
If I were to put money on it, the debate will sound pretty similar to the one on video and computer games.

I fight for my right to never be a Victoria's Secret.

Some days ago, a male friend posted on Facebook that he had joined a group who were trying to get a shopping mall to move the playground away from their current site, as they are situated right outside Victoria's Secret.
I admit that my initial reaction was one of bemused cynicism:
- Come on. Are we not taking our need to shelter our kids from the devils sins a little too far? This is overkill. What's a semi-naked body when we have plenty bigger issues to tackle?
His reply was straight and honest:

- I like boobies as much as the next man. But my point is not the boobies. It is about the message about what body images we are sending out to our children. We are saying that these skinny, photo shopped bodies are a standard from which we are measuring perfection these days.

He has a very good point. And I admit, again, that I have become too blasé about the visual images we surround ourselves with. Just because I am so the opposite to the type of woman who is affected about commercial stereotypes, because I have a brain that I use on a daily basis, I just assume that my children will be unaffected by this too. I forget that they are still young and impressionable and that they don't automatically become me while they grow up in this very f-cked up world of ours.
I decided there and then to be more conscious and to make sure I talk to my kids a lot more about this.

But too soon for me to do something about it, Kate asked me if I thought she was getting bigger as she was touching her belly after an evening snack of bread, cheese and a little apple juice.

It devastated and temporarily paralyzed me.

This was one of those moments you wish you were in a movie, or a family sitcom, and you would sit your child down on the sofa, stroke her back, and very eloquently tell her everything she needs to hear in three to five profound sentences, and you would hug, she would smile at you, and everything is fine again, and the subject will never be brought up again because your words were enough to forever change you the insecurities your child had carried with her until then.
Oh, I wish!

So what did I do?
I did tell her how special, and beautiful and divine she is, and how she is going through some changes that will inevitably make her feel out of sync with her body and that the body needs energy in order to grow and that there is nothing wrong with her, etc etc. I stroke her back, and I hugged her. Told her I am there for her.

It was almost like in the movies.

But this is not going away. In real life, this is only the beginning of many years of agonizing insecurities about imperfection and self loathing .
And shopping malls will keep putting their playgrounds outside Victoria's Secret.
And we will still live in a world with very impossible physical standards.
And it is not about to get any better.