Dear Steve Jobs,
After careful observation of my two year-old’s use of our house iMac, I would like to suggest a new addition to the Finder menubar that you may include in your next update of OS X. (The only remuneration I request is that you name this version Maine Coon Cat after my dearly departed pet.)
As part of your drive to make computers breathtakingly easy for managing one life and iLife, I think you’ll appreciate how this new menu will save parental users hours of reading through software manuals and fruitlessly calling on the Geek Squad, as well as in the prevention of nervous breakdowns. See my suggestion below, complete with the full slate of pull-down options:
Undestroy
Mom’s Photos
Dad’s iTunes Library
Preferences Settings
Login password
Reboot disc for restoring password
Browser bookmarks
Program storing all account passwords
All data related to finances
Keyboard
Mouse
Audio Jack for sound system
Software, starting with most expensive
Scanner
Printer
Patience
I look forward to seeing these changes on my new laptop that’s now kept on the top shelf in my closet and is only used during nap times and after toddler bedtime.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Kiddonomics
One good thing about the reduced working hours I suffered at the hands of the recession—plenty of time to think about careers that are bubble-pop proof. Of course I read articles in The New York Times and Wall Street Journal, but the real ah-ha moments hit me at the playground, where amid the slides and swings was a constant flow of lost, dropped, and broken items that would surely need replacing. I had always known that baby gear is pretty much always going to be in demand, but given the amount of product loss in certain categories, I’m ready to launch a business that will succeed endlessly. Well, as long as we don’t arrive at the state of society in the film, The Children of Men. So, here are the businesses already coming to life in my head, if not a shopping street near you:
The Single Sock Shop, where you can replace a missing sock rather than tossing the one you have. It’s green, it’s unique. The inventory isn’t complicated—a few styles, a simple color palette. Calling all venture capitalists.
Used Ball Boutique, where parents might have a chance at finding their lost orb and getting it back for a small handling fee, or they can replace their lost bouncer with another found ball in the collection. Only one person need staff the store, but I will have to hire a team of ball catchers.
Toy Trauma Center, where missing wheels get replaced, cracked parts get glued, and battered dolls can get limb transplants. I don’t need a medical degree, just a big bottle of Gorilla Glue, screwdrivers, and a wide-variety of battery sizes. The hospital will recycle dead toy batteries as a part of its green initiative, and encourage the families of patient to consider organ donations once their children are done with a particular toy.
Low-Jack Bottles, a purveyor of sippy cups, sport bottles and baby bottles equipped with chips that make tracking their whereabouts from your own PC easy. Able to work even when the bottle in question is beneath the slide, hidden in a tree trunk, or, deep inhale, is secreted away in another parent’s stroller because it’s a fancy aluminum one. Standard bottle can be retrofitted with the system at a modest fee.
Single Shoe Shop, an off-shoot of the single sock shop, featuring a selection of found shoes as well as new shoes so generic they’ll work well-enough with the one shoe left in a precious pair. Certainly a nice sneaker with a big O on the side pairs up nicely with a New Balance shoe. And heck, it spells “No,” every toddler’s favorite word.
Binky Vending Machines, located in every playground across the nation, insert 50-cents, get a new pacifier to mollify the child who spat their prior one into the bushes, onto the dirty floor of the park bathroom, or at a dog good at baptizing everything with its wet nose. Product selection will also include single Cheerios, pretzels, and cheese puffs to replace that one special one that fell on the ground, got snagged by a sparrow or squirrel, and has left your child despondent, despite the fact that you have a whole bag full right there.
The Single Sock Shop, where you can replace a missing sock rather than tossing the one you have. It’s green, it’s unique. The inventory isn’t complicated—a few styles, a simple color palette. Calling all venture capitalists.
Used Ball Boutique, where parents might have a chance at finding their lost orb and getting it back for a small handling fee, or they can replace their lost bouncer with another found ball in the collection. Only one person need staff the store, but I will have to hire a team of ball catchers.
Toy Trauma Center, where missing wheels get replaced, cracked parts get glued, and battered dolls can get limb transplants. I don’t need a medical degree, just a big bottle of Gorilla Glue, screwdrivers, and a wide-variety of battery sizes. The hospital will recycle dead toy batteries as a part of its green initiative, and encourage the families of patient to consider organ donations once their children are done with a particular toy.
Low-Jack Bottles, a purveyor of sippy cups, sport bottles and baby bottles equipped with chips that make tracking their whereabouts from your own PC easy. Able to work even when the bottle in question is beneath the slide, hidden in a tree trunk, or, deep inhale, is secreted away in another parent’s stroller because it’s a fancy aluminum one. Standard bottle can be retrofitted with the system at a modest fee.
Single Shoe Shop, an off-shoot of the single sock shop, featuring a selection of found shoes as well as new shoes so generic they’ll work well-enough with the one shoe left in a precious pair. Certainly a nice sneaker with a big O on the side pairs up nicely with a New Balance shoe. And heck, it spells “No,” every toddler’s favorite word.
Binky Vending Machines, located in every playground across the nation, insert 50-cents, get a new pacifier to mollify the child who spat their prior one into the bushes, onto the dirty floor of the park bathroom, or at a dog good at baptizing everything with its wet nose. Product selection will also include single Cheerios, pretzels, and cheese puffs to replace that one special one that fell on the ground, got snagged by a sparrow or squirrel, and has left your child despondent, despite the fact that you have a whole bag full right there.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
I hate a toy
He’s got a cute face, a solid build, and great reputation. But I hate him. Well, just one version of him. Thomas the Tank Engine is great on TV, cute on wooden tracks, but horrible, horrible when he comes in Duplo block form. “Big Thomas,” as my son calls him, is composed of four interlocking pieces. Building him is what makes him so much fun for my son. Watching his four pieces break apart and scatter to the four ends of the earth is what makes him torture for me. Big Thomas has shattered on sidewalks and subways, once conveniently arraying himself with two parts on the train and two on the platform. Kind passengers threw the pieces from the platform back onto the train just as the doors were closing. I was hoping they’d miss. Big Thomas falls to pieces when my son rolls him along the sides of skyscrapers, over cracks in sidewalks, and along the wooden slats that make up playground fixtures in the city park closest to our home. My son falls to pieces if Big Thomas isn’t with us at all times. He also flirts with tantrums if he can’t get the pieces together quickly enough or if I dare to put them together in a manner not meeting his specifications. In particular, he prefers that the piece with the engineer’s quarters in it be placed backwards. It’s just the way things are done in his world, reality be damned. I am not allowed to hold Big Thomas except when my son is climbing a playground ladder. Therefore, it is just his small hand with his emerging fine motor skills that comes between Big Thomas and gravity. I could hate gravity, but I hate a toy instead. And, sadly, I know Big Thomas will not be the last toy I hate. I’ve seen the future, and it’s filled with those damnably complicated Transformers, rife with too many hinges, levers, and geegaws destined to break apart—and break my spirit all over again.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Taglines for My Toddler
I’m starting with five. As there are so many more on the tip of my virtual tongue, I’ll be converting this topic into a regular feature.
I know what I want, why don’t you?
What’s the hurry?
Everything belongs in the toilet
Everything belongs to me
Crayons do too taste good
I know what I want, why don’t you?
What’s the hurry?
Everything belongs in the toilet
Everything belongs to me
Crayons do too taste good
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Top 5 things I like to do when my 2 year-old isn't with me
1) Jaywalk
2) Swear like a rapper
3) Stand-up straight
4) Read something that doesn't rhyme
5) Forget Elmo and Thomas the Train
2) Swear like a rapper
3) Stand-up straight
4) Read something that doesn't rhyme
5) Forget Elmo and Thomas the Train
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Top 5 Children-themed Publishing Projects We'll Never See Happen
5) Blood Meridian Coloring Book
Comes with crayons in shades of red with names like "dried blood" and "artery spray."
4) Thomas Pynchon and Kurt Vonnegut's Baby-Naming Book
Move over Emma and Ethan, here comes Oedipa and Kilgore
3) Lolita Activity Book for Girls
They've got TV to teach 'em all how to be nymphettes these days anyway
2) Eminem's Book of Rhymes
Gotta go with the flow for baby to be in the know . . .
1) White-Noise, the Pop-Up book
Can't you see that airborne toxic event floating above the pages?
Comes with crayons in shades of red with names like "dried blood" and "artery spray."
4) Thomas Pynchon and Kurt Vonnegut's Baby-Naming Book
Move over Emma and Ethan, here comes Oedipa and Kilgore
3) Lolita Activity Book for Girls
They've got TV to teach 'em all how to be nymphettes these days anyway
2) Eminem's Book of Rhymes
Gotta go with the flow for baby to be in the know . . .
1) White-Noise, the Pop-Up book
Can't you see that airborne toxic event floating above the pages?
Introducing the new MTA workout for parents
A 12-step (per flight of subway entrance staircase)program for parents who find they no longer have the time to go to the gym. Program costs $2.50 for a single workout; $91 for a monthly membership.
1)Plan trip somewhere using an MTA subway map.
2)Be sure to bring your baby. The additional 6-12 pounds of a newborn add an element of weight-training that naturally increases in challenge as your offspring adds a pound or two each month.
3)Walk several blocks to train station.
Descend down 2-3 flights to train, carrying the baby either in a stroller to add an additional 11 pounds or so to your workout. Baby Bjorns and Baby Ergos are for wimps.
4) Arrive on train platform to find that the train is not running due to construction, sick passengers, brake-pulling pranksters, or some other reason that you can't really discern thanks to the Charlie Brown Teacher-style audio system.
5) Head back up the flights of stairs and either walk or bus a mile or so to another train line. Extra bicep bonus points if you take the bus, since it requires you to fold the stroller and carry it in one hand as you carry the baby in the other.
6) Upon arriving at alternate subway station, descend 2-3 flights of stairs.
Get on first train to arrive. Stand. Not just because it burns extra calories but because no one is going to offer you a seat. Well, a 90 year-old man or a one-legged woman might, but you just can't accept.
7) Hang on for dear life to the poles, letting the braking motion of the train stretch your one arm and the ricochet motion of the stroller stretch the other.
8) At each station, move stroller in just about every direction as you try to allow people by you, only to find that you are blocking others. This speedy motion should get you up to about 12 reps of tricep work per station.
9) Arrive at your destination. Head up first flight of stairs only to find it leads to a locked-off exit. Descend again. Roll up and down platform in search of way out. Finally find a stairway leading out. Pick up stroller, and hold on tight as other exiting passengers bump and jostle you as if you weren't there. Upon going up the first two-steps, hear someone offer to help you. You have to decline as trying to shift the weight while your standing on your 7-inch step seems risky and strenuous.
10) Get to top of stairs and land on sidewalk. Victory! Only since this wasn't your first-choice train line, you're still 9 blocks from your destination.
11) Roll along, weaving in and out of pedestrians, many of whom are so busy texting you have to pivot frequently building good ankle strength. Burn even extra calories crossing the street several times to avoid cigarettes dangling from hands dangerously close to baby's head.
12) Get to your destination. If it's a store for you, the baby will immediately cry, so turn around. If it's a play-space for them, they'll be asleep and you can't wake them up. So, just go home.
Average calorie burn: 600
Average duration: 2 hours
1)Plan trip somewhere using an MTA subway map.
2)Be sure to bring your baby. The additional 6-12 pounds of a newborn add an element of weight-training that naturally increases in challenge as your offspring adds a pound or two each month.
3)Walk several blocks to train station.
Descend down 2-3 flights to train, carrying the baby either in a stroller to add an additional 11 pounds or so to your workout. Baby Bjorns and Baby Ergos are for wimps.
4) Arrive on train platform to find that the train is not running due to construction, sick passengers, brake-pulling pranksters, or some other reason that you can't really discern thanks to the Charlie Brown Teacher-style audio system.
5) Head back up the flights of stairs and either walk or bus a mile or so to another train line. Extra bicep bonus points if you take the bus, since it requires you to fold the stroller and carry it in one hand as you carry the baby in the other.
6) Upon arriving at alternate subway station, descend 2-3 flights of stairs.
Get on first train to arrive. Stand. Not just because it burns extra calories but because no one is going to offer you a seat. Well, a 90 year-old man or a one-legged woman might, but you just can't accept.
7) Hang on for dear life to the poles, letting the braking motion of the train stretch your one arm and the ricochet motion of the stroller stretch the other.
8) At each station, move stroller in just about every direction as you try to allow people by you, only to find that you are blocking others. This speedy motion should get you up to about 12 reps of tricep work per station.
9) Arrive at your destination. Head up first flight of stairs only to find it leads to a locked-off exit. Descend again. Roll up and down platform in search of way out. Finally find a stairway leading out. Pick up stroller, and hold on tight as other exiting passengers bump and jostle you as if you weren't there. Upon going up the first two-steps, hear someone offer to help you. You have to decline as trying to shift the weight while your standing on your 7-inch step seems risky and strenuous.
10) Get to top of stairs and land on sidewalk. Victory! Only since this wasn't your first-choice train line, you're still 9 blocks from your destination.
11) Roll along, weaving in and out of pedestrians, many of whom are so busy texting you have to pivot frequently building good ankle strength. Burn even extra calories crossing the street several times to avoid cigarettes dangling from hands dangerously close to baby's head.
12) Get to your destination. If it's a store for you, the baby will immediately cry, so turn around. If it's a play-space for them, they'll be asleep and you can't wake them up. So, just go home.
Average calorie burn: 600
Average duration: 2 hours
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