more on spalding gray
friday five (on saturday)

more on falkner fox

Who do I think is forcing me to act like someone I'm not? Some days, it honestly feels as if there's a roving mother patrol out there checking up on me, making sure I'm spending the requisite number of hours doing the trivial shit that everyone else seems to think is so important for kids' well-being. Like buying matching Thomas the Tank Engine napkins and plates for my son's birthday party. I did this once, at a place called Party Pig. The sub-50 temperatures maintained by massive air-conditioners blowing interminably, the bad Beatles songs, the insane amount of plastic, the depressed salespeople, the sugared-up wailing kids -- this is hell.

But still, I feel judgment when my son has plain yellow plates at his party. Doesn't he like trains? Doesn't he like Thomas? Sure he does. But I think he also likes a mother who is not a basket case. I actually think he likes that more. Of course, I could be wrong -- Thomas is pretty cool -- but even so, I will never voluntarily go back to Party Pig.

Finally got around to reading this and loved it. The parenting frenzy sent Ms F to an ashram...


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