How TV made me a better mother

Let me say first of all that we do have limits as far as screen time is concerned, but I'm the first to admit my kids watch plenty of TV. In the morning, all bets are off, and its a TV free for all, although since they are lately late-to-bed-and-late-to-rise, this isn't more than one or two shows usually. I've got Sec with me most afternoons and, as I'm sure you know, she's one high-impact child so I consider it essential to promoting peace on earth to allow her a show or two before we pick up Primo. After homework's done, they'll sometimes take in an episode of Curious George, and if they are ever left in the care of my grandmother they basically are glued to the TV. So TV is not a stranger to our home. The AAP wouldn't stage an intervention but they would frown upon it. And knowing this, I end up beating myself up about their screen time, though there's not a chance in hell I could reduce it. And that's because . . .

Without TV, I would be the world's shittiest mother.Some people's kids will entertain themselves quietly for long stretches of time, reading books to their siblings and playing tea party with their teddy bears. These people can enjoy the liberty of not having a TV in the house and then telling they don't have a TV in the house and feeling great about themselves. But some people have kids who, when left alone for five minutes, kill the fish and take all the feathers out of their pillow and tell the neighbor they hate their outfit. Some people have kids who come to blow while fighting over a wizened poinsettia leaf that was found near the garbage. When you have these kinds of kids, you let them watch TV because if you didn't you'd end up banging your head against the wall in an effort to knock yourself unconscious. That's best case scenario.

Primo has been really worried about the possibility of thunderstorms and tornados lately, making him decidedly opposed to leaving the house. “Decidedly opposed” is the polite way to describe a situation where screaming, yelling, whining, crying and threats are used whenever we have to go out – for a playdate, groceries, birthday party, library. It is taxing. But because I’m a fighter by nature, the kind of person that refuses to admit defeat, I soldier on, forcing him o confront his fears and do what needs getting done. It did occur to me though that perhaps the kid needed to feel like he had more control over the day so I asked him what he’d like to do this weekend and he said, “Let's have a Christmas party!” You may recall that I JUST THREW the birthday party of the century for him, so I vetoed this idea immediately, but then he downgraded the party to simply “invite two friends and their families over to watch Christmas movies.”

Movies, did you say? BINGO. All systems go.

We Tivoed "Charlie Brown Christmas" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" tossed popcorn in the microwave, and set up blankets and pillows on the floor of the living room. Then David busted out the beer he’s been homebrewing and I put out some Costco guacamole and a Carr’s Entertainment Assortment package of crackers. Instant party.

May I say, too, that it was the most pleasant affairs that I’ve hosted in years? Kids a-chuckling, contained in one corner of the apartment, parents imbibing in the other. There were no fights to break up, no interventions necessary. The most taxing thing was cleaning up the popcorn from the rugs afterwards.Primo was happy, Sec was happy, David was happy and I was happy.

Spontaneous, unstructured play is good and all, but when your kids are impossible and you live in a 900 sq foot apartment, it can be a little much on the nerves. TV, on the other hand, heals all wounds.

So today I say, three cheers for the boob tube! AAP, I love you and all, but just for today, you can suck it.

Oscar Night

I’ve had an Oscar party every year since I graduated college but the last one I threw was when Primo was about three months old. I was back to my pre-baby weight by then, and I served h'or d'oeuvres to a packed apartment with the baby in the sling. I thought to myself, “See? This baby won’t stop me from having a life. I can have it ALL!”

That was my last Oscar party. A year later, Primo was walking and my life was basically over. A year after that I had a three week-old baby and my life was definitely over. There would be no more passing h'or d'oeuvres, I tell you that muck.

But this year, as part of my Say Yes! Year I decided it was time to get back on the horse so to speak, back into the business of entertaining. So I negotiated a deal with my grandmother and by “deal” I mean she gave and I took, which is usually the way it goes with my grandmother. Even when you try to make it more equitable because you’re racked with guilt at what a martyr she is, she finds a way to give back what you’ve given, like the blue cashmere sweater my sister and I painstakingly picked out for her one Christmas which ended up returned, and the money slipped into our pockets. So I’ve learned just to take and let her give which is really how she likes it.

She gave us her apartment for the party so we could watch the awards show at an audible volume and not have severe indigestion from hearing the children scream for an hour at bedtime. So she went downstairs to our place and put the kids to bed. She also cooked baked ziti and meatballs for everyone. Before I had even started to get the ingredients together, she had the whole thing done. That’s what happens when you wake at 4:30am to start cooking. So we had a party with prosecco and passion fruit cocktails some of David’s homebrew beer, and if not h'or d'oeuvres, then at least some fancy cheese from Faiway and almond-stuffed olives.

Of the Oscars themselves I will offer the following observations:

How flipping great was it that Jeff Bridges won? I love Jeff Bridges but his performances in Crazy Heart took our one-way relationship to the next level. Last night I shouted, “I am going to marry him!” and my friend Claire remarked, “I thin you already did.” She’s right. David is my Bad Blake post-reformation, and a writer instead of musician. Even better, he is able to buckle his pants when he drives in the car.

Go Catherine Bigelow!! And kudos for not yelling, “James Cameron you can suck it!” in your acceptance speech.

Why was George Clooney wearing such a sour expression on his face all night? Was it because someone had forgotten to fix his hair so he looked like an oldster?

Stand up straight Miley Cyrus! I know your boobs are about to pop out of that gown but – and I don’t mean to sound like you mother but -- perhaps you should have considered that before you stepped on the red carpet.

What the hell happened to Anthony Michael Hall? Did he have some kind of elective reconstructive facial surgery? He doesn’t resemble his former self at all.

I was very un-impressed by the fashion in general. Demi Moore’s gown was stunning though I was totally distracted by the fact that she is 90 lbs sopping wet with a rock in her pocket. Vera Farmiga’s was an abomination and I felt like all the other pones were just . . . whatever.

But the highlight was when I told Primo I wouldn’t be there to tuck him in because I was having an Oscar party, he thought about it for a sec and then he asked, puzzled:

"Why are you having a party for Oscar the Grouch?”