Here’s a little gem from March of 2012…
Our friend and fellow parent, who also happens to be a children’s psychologist, told us something yesterday that shocked me. She said there’s a relatively recent school of thought that suggests teaching your toddler to apologize for anything is pointless until they understand why they need to apologize, until they understand empathy or forgiveness.
I was flabbergasted. Seriously, I gasted my flabber. And I really liked that flabber.
Our friend, who does not subscribe to that theory, put it best. She said because of that specific school of thought, there’s now an entire generation of rude little shits running around. Okay, she didn’t say it exactly like that, but that’s the basic gist.
If our boys do anything for which they need to apologize, we make them do it whether they understand why or not. Because that’s teaching them the habit of caring. You know? Habits like that are good. I mean they might not understand why they need to use the potty instead of a diaper, but I’m not going to sit by and let them shit in the hallway until they understand the intricacies of human waste removal.
By the way, this friend helped me with my book to make sure I wasn’t totally making shit up.
Childhood movies taught me the most important thing of all: parents aren’t always right and they don’t always know what’s best for you.
look how many notes this thing has
Parenthood taught me the most important thing of all: We only want the best for our kids and we don’t know how to provide it, so sometimes we make mistakes.
But, in most cases, it doesn’t take a kidnapper, a boogeyman, a giant bear or a dragon for us to figure that out. It just takes our love for our kids.
(And for the record, in that first pair, that’s not really her parent. It’s her captor.)
Mothers. They hide in bathroom stalls, fashion elaborate blankie wigwams or take cover behind mall ferns and alley dumpsters to protect us from the horror of the breastfeeding process. And by “us” I mean the few deranged and perverted assholes whose stomachs and backs have turned on a process that is commonly known as fucking biology!
Models. Let’s look at this from both ends and be fair. Models and starlets have it rough, too. Aside from living on a diet of leaves spritzed with lemon and garnished with air, they have to spend countless hours with their slick-back-haired agents debating over the percentage of augPhotoshopmentation for covers and possibly how their outrage-detonating music video or sex tape will be leaked or released on the Internet. Stressful stuff. Most of us repay them with a kind of worship or avid fascination. This may be the same douchey “us” I referenced above.
All sarcasm aside (some of it at least, but probably not), despite the fact that some new moms may in fact be sort of privately pleased by their increased bra size, or just by the simple satifaction of taking care of their baby in one of the most basic ways possible, I’m pretty sure that newly-minted mothers don’t instantly become slutty exhibitionists trying to win the most Mardi Gras beads while feeding their infants. That’s only if I’m judging by every single mother I’ve ever seen, anywhere. In real life or on the Internet. But I’ve only co-run a globally popular parenting website for over two years, so who am I to lob such an uninformed observation onto the Interheap (whoops, more sarcasm).
When I see people ranting or getting weird and offended over breastfeeding, in public or in private, I feel like—and this is an honest moment—I’m seeing the words and reactions of people who would be the absolute first to perish as castaways on a desert island or smack dab in the middle of an end-of-the-world scenario. The depth of this shallow idiocy boggles my mind. If we’re calling teams, they are not on mine. Sorry. Except for that not at all sorry part.