Zoe vs. the Posh Tots

Most parents agree that by far the biggest change that comes with having kids is the new and various catalogs you receive in the mail.

Birthday and holiday decorations. Party favors. Costumes. Land of Nod, Chasing Fireflies. What happened to the Victoria's Secret catalogs I used to get before I had Zoe? Oh wait, they're still there, buried under those women-of-a-certain-age catalogs I've started getting. Did you know that you can hide a lot of living under a caftan, the sophisticated woman's muumuu?

Work it, Jeanine!

Almost all of these catalogs end up in recycling immediately, except for Pottery Barn Kids, which I just cannot resist. I leaf through it half angrily, half hungrily. Who can afford all these personalized bean bag chairs, monogrammed duvets, nameless hurricane lamps? Wait, is that a sale? Monograms on everything! Whee!

As I was to learn, however, Pottery Barn Kids doesn't even know.

I saw this article the other day from the Wall Street Journal about over-the-top bedrooms and playrooms for children. The focus was on the princess-themed fantasy room.

They may use the word "fantasy" but they mean an actual room existing in space and time and also in someone's house. Not at all like how I fantasize about someday having a home library with a secret entrance.

Anyway, these fantasy rooms are full of lavish furnishings "handcrafted by artisans" and extravagant---though they use the word "whimsical"---decorations that will make your little girl feel like a princess. All for the non-whimsical price of $70,000 plus. Not including a bed that's basically a castle, complete with turrets and a slide. 

One of the sites mentioned that provides this full-throttle whimsy is called PoshTots. Venturing to their site, I clicked on "children's furniture" and found the Woodland Princess Castle Bunk Bed, which combines a bunk bed with a playhouse "to maximize space in your child's room." I'm guessing that for most of their customers having a spacious room is not an issue.

They also sell a bed that looks like Cinderella's coach. You need to "call for pricing" but it starts at $65,000, so you better start skipping your morning Starbucks run.

PoshTots also sells luxury playhouses (villas, chalets, lodges) for the backyard. Which backyard? After all, I have several. Do you mean the one with the topiary shaped like beloved children's book characters? The one with Roman temple folly? Or maybe the one by the stables? These Disney resorts in miniature will run you about $50,000. Can I charge my child rent? 

Alas, it's all moot since I don't have a yard, so let's go back inside to the bedrooms, filled with sweet-dream facilitators (what I assume they call beds) that are bigger than my whole apartment. Not that I'm the demographic. 

In fact, for fun I thought I'd compare Zoe's bedroom.

Abandon all hope yada yada.

From her convertible crib/toddler bed Zoe graduated to a trundle bed, which is useful for a small Brooklyn apartment. When Grandma sleeps over, just pull out the bottom bed and voila.

Then Zoe broke it by jumping on it. No problem. We can still stow the mattress under there and pull it out when needed. Look out for errant nails though! Unless your fantasy is tetanus.

As for decor, I never really got around to it after she was born (or before) so there are no hand-painted murals or toy boxes that double as fainting couches (yes) or swarovski crystal--encrusted letters spelling my little princess's name. That reminds me though. At my baby shower I received a wooden letter Z, about 8 inches tall, solid white. It was apparently craft related in that I could decorate it, somehow, I don't know, I'm no artisan, and then hang it in Z's room. Over four years later that hasn't happened.

Found it!

About a year after Zoe was born we finally got around (my brother-in-law took pity on us) to hanging shelves on which I planned to put books and stuffed animals. I'd show you a picture but a few weeks later Hurricane Irene hit and we had a leak causing the shelves to fall from the wall. We still haven't rehung those shelves, or repainted. That was August 2011. Though I think in 2012 I bought some putty and a trowel thing, then forgot where I put them, but I refuse to buy more since they must be around here somewhere, probably in that bag with the curtains we never put up in the living room.

So, okay, maybe we're just minimalist.

You'd think PoshTots could let me have that, but no.

In the world of PoshTots, Minimalist includes a rocking chair for $1,500. For 200 dollars more the Subtle and Serene room has the Versailles Cream Adult Park Avenue glider. And nothing says subtle like Lucy the life-size stuffed giraffe for $1,000 plus. Completing the look is a hamper ($900). Zoe would have to jump in puddles of champagne and pee pure gold before I'd put her clothes in this hamper.

The infamous wall we still haven't
repainted. Underneath, our glider.
Zoe and I can sit side-by-side on it
since she kicked an arm off.

Now, a quick rundown of the arguments. These fantasy rooms are an obscene waste of money. You're teaching your kid all the wrong values. And: Are you telling me all of this is to feed the child's imagination? (Fainting couch, folks.)

On the opposite side. Why not? You're only a kid once. And think of the people getting paid. Economy and stuff. And people have the right to do what they want with their money, you communist bastard.

And yet . . .

Something something war, famine, pestilence, and widespread human suffering. Something sense of proportion and obscene wealth.

Notwithstanding the over reliance on the Disney fairy-tale images, I'd imagine some of these folks are cultured, or at least want to appear to be. So when they take their kids on the tour of Europe and end up at the Palace of Versailles---inspiration for the glider in their bedroom---as these mini royals marvel at all the tiny chairs will they perhaps detect a whiff of some awkward history?

Or maybe they never travel. I mean, why go anywhere when you have a Disney theme park in your house?

The clock above Zoe's door. The previous tenants left
it behind because it was broken. We left it as artsy
commentary. When you're in Zoe's room, time stops.

Still, here's what I'm wondering. These are little kids, which means they leave destruction in their wake. So you laid down custom carpeting for twenty thou. What's going to happen when the new maid in the left wing sneaks these deprived princesses some cheese curls, and their precious paws get orange powder all over the creamy white glider and pastel carpet?

Because kids break things and make them sticky or they grow tired of toys and play with boxes. Zoe's often happiest with toys from the dollar store that light up and make noise and spin around until she breaks them. And thank god for that---both her affection for cheap toys and then her breaking them because all the lights and sounds and spinning trigger my migraines.

So who needs the fancy stuff, right? Anyway those life-size stuffed animals would scare me in the dark.

I would, however, like to buy the carousel horse. Only I'm not sure if the pole is long enough for my cathedral ceilings.

Zoe: 79; Universe: 0

For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse. 

I need a win here, people. 

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Zoe vs.: General Outrage Report

I'm aware some of my posts have been thinly veiled diatribes against what I myself oppose while using Zoe as a three-foot-tall human shield---cough, Gwyneth Paltrow, cough---but this may be my thinly-est yet.

What follows is my general outrage report.

Those who know me well know that my resting state is low-grade inarticulate aggravation. Sometimes, about once a year (or maybe it's week), I've had my fill of the absurdity of the human race, and when I reach that point, and become aware of my own complicity in the pageant show of horrors, I explode.

Recent "clickbait" was the catalyst. I'm sure you're aware of the phenomenon: Internet headlines that clog your newsfeed (I'm looking at you, Yahoo News) just daring you to click them:

"The Sun Rose. You'll Never Believe What Happened Next"

"This Ancient Aztec Herb Will Help You Lose Weight, Find Love, Get a New Job, Win the Lottery So You Can Quit Your New Job, and Remove Difficult Stains from Your Carpet"

"8 Signs You're Paranoid That Everyone's Talking About You, Pam"

(The last one might only be clickbait for people named Pam.)

Anyway, I resist and resist and then: Click.

I'm usually disappointed.

On occasion I'm outraged, as I knew I would be from the headline, and then I have to  take personal responsibility (yuck) because isn't it true, Me, that part of you, Me, wanted to be outraged?

Yes, it's true.

I love to be outraged. And I can't be the only one.

Some recent examples that got my feminist blood boiling . . .

The first was about a girl who went to a high school dance in a sleeveless dress and was told she needed to put a sweater on to cover up. So basically she was shamed for having shoulders, shoulders that might be too enticing, and it was her responsibility to cover them lest some boy get overexcited. Her ankles were probably exposed too. Hussy.

The other girls knew it was really Madge who
gave away the milk for free.

At least she wasn't wearing yoga pants. I'm not even going to wade into the Veronica-Partridge-Christian-blogger-who-swore-off-yoga-pants-(aka-temptation-knickers) controversy. It touched a nerve with a lot of women. The implication that women yet again need to be responsible for men's thoughts bothers me, but on the other hand, I must admit I don't want to see some of the butts that daily regale me while riding the subway. Lust, revulsion, it's a knife-like pendulum swinging over our heads, edging closer and closer every day.

Too much?

The third was Colleen McCullough's sexist obituary. Famous novelist of The Thorn Birds and, oh yeah, a neuroscientist, but The Australian decided to go another way, practically leading with this gem: "Plain of feature, and certainly overweight, she was nevertheless a woman of wit and warmth." Enough with the compliments. Sheesh. It's a wonder she could write at all with those chubby, unmanicured (I assume) fingers. And you wouldn't have thought people would like her since she was such an uggo, but wowzers, they did.

The Greater Thornbird.
He knew he wasn't the greatest.

So, the tenuous Zoe connection. Since before she was born, to my shame, I've harbored concerns about Zoe's "prettiness." I don't want her feelings about her looks and/or her looks themselves to be an issue in her life. But how to avoid this in a world that prizes beauty, thigh gap, and pays inordinate attention to what female politicians wear? 

What if Zoe isn't pretty? But, on the other hand, what if she is? And what if her prettiness brings the "wrong kind of attention." The kind of attention yoga pants--donning, sleeveless shirt--wearing, non-neuroscientists are subject to. What pressures might she face then? 

And also: What's the nexus between looks and perceived intelligence? And this one: Can pretty woman be funny? My subconscious chews on these issues. I can hear it pacing back and forth in my mind because it wears corduroys and its thighs rub together.

But then my subconscious had a new target: The Holderness family.

This is the family that does the parody videos about parenting. I'm not going to link to them here because they don't need my help with promotion. Basically they do parodies of rap/hip-hop songs that get the it's-funny-because-I'm-white treatment (which I've been guilty of too; I get it).

First there was "Xmas Jammies." Then their back-to-school sendup "Baby Got Class." And most recently they did a Super Bowl one lamenting how lame they are now and how it's hard to enjoy a Super Bowl party once you have kids. Isn't it though?

Maybe what bugs me about them is that part of me feels parodies are the province of the underdog. And that they're trying to be oh-so-relatable and self-deprecating even though they're very good looking, have lots of money, and are obviously connected (both parents were news anchors and the mom had a small role in Iron Man 3). Doesn't mean they can't have a sense of humor, of course, but I just don't buy it. Nor do I buy the Hidden Ranch dressing they're peddling.

Now watch the ad in the top right corner morph into a Hidden Valley ad. It's all connected! The SheKnows network, which recently partnered with BlogHer (source of those ads) has promoted the last few videos created by the Holdernesses' production company. What if they read my criticism!? (Not that there's much danger of that.) They may take away the 34 cents I've earned, which, granted, isn't enough to even buy off-brand ranch dressing, but let's be real here, Zoe's coin-operated horsey rides don't pay for themselves!

In any case, is my annoyance at this family's singing-and-dancing expression of their first world problems in itself a first world problem?

Maybe, but then the Holderness family's problems are firster world. That's one mobius strip of banality.

All I can be sure of is, if Zoe was in their videos, she would give them all wedgies. Wouldn't that make a pretty picture?

Zoe: 78 (for hypothetical wedgies); Universe: 0

For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse. 

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Zoe vs. the Myers-Briggs Personality Test

If you've ever been to college, or conducted a job search, or browsed the Internet (don't lie; I can hear you breathing on the screen), then you've probably come across the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, a psychometric questionnaire (so fancy!) that attempts to index personality.

The test was developed from Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung's theories on personality type. Think of it kind of like the sociological, i.e., more sciency, version of the Sorting Hat from Hogwarts, except instead of learning your magic might be wasted in humdrum Hufflepuff house, you learn your life might be wasted generating TPS reports.

Carl Jung
Mr. Personality (Inventory)

The Myers-Briggs has been been criticized in recent years as dressed-up astrology. Also, for being inconsistent; some people have found that their "type" changes when they retake the test, often within weeks. NOT very sciency.

But, I say: Don't ruin my fun! I love this stuff. I recently took one I found through Meredith from The Mom of the Year, and I forced my friends to take it too.

It was striking how spot-on some of the conclusions were, but others only applied to me sometimes.

Which didn't stop me from taking the test as if I were Zoe. . . .

According to the MBTI, 16 personalities are enough to describe the multitudes on the planet. I know. Yet we still can't get along. Look, a handy chart.

For the record I am an INFJ (introverted, intuitive, feeling, and judging). When I took the test as Zoe, her result was one letter different from mine---INFP (introverted, intuitive, feeling, and perceiving). 

Hmmm. Could this be a case of projecting? Wanting my daughter to be like me? Was I a narcissist primed to only see similarities?

However, one word used to describe Zoe's type that was not used to describe mine was "childlike." On the nose!

Oh wait.

Next I googled whether there were any tests specifically for children.

And found the Harkey-Jourgensen temperament sorting test, one that parents can take for their child. So I did. And guess what? Zoe was again an INFP. Of course, she also had the same test taker/interpreter of her behavior. Me! But whatever; it's not like it's science, right? (What's that? Remember, I can hear you.)

In any case, the questions on this test seem a bit problematic. You're supposed to choose, between two extremes, your child's most likely reaction or behavior.

Key words: "most likely." Which was probably clear since I put them in bold. For emphasis.

Anyway, to me, Zoe isn't all that easy to predict. For example, the first question on the test was, Would you be more likely to spend time in the ER with your Loved One getting injuries patched up, or more time coaxing her to try new things?

Well, it all depends on how badly she wants to do the new thing, and/or how much time she has to think about it.

The first time she wanted to slide down the big-kid pole at the park she just ran right up and did it. The next time, she thought about it. So now she's afraid, and she might never do it again without me standing beneath her, ready to take a pink sneaker to the face.

David Lynch is an INFP.
I love him though he baffles me.
Just like  Zoe.

If I really examined the MBTI letters and the dichotomies they measure, there would be no consistency for Zoe.

I vs. E (INWARD VS. OUTWARD FOCUS)

Introverted (I): Zoe likes to play alone and she's often shy. I recently attended a performance at her day care where Zoe placed herself in the back, at the end of a row, and she mouthed the words to the song they were supposed to sing. When the nightmare was over, she ran to me then promptly hid her face when I praised her "singing."

Extroverted (E): Zoe may play alone, but she keeps up constant chatter. Loud chatter. Recently, she has also started saying, "Hi, I'm Zoe" to strangers and then proceeds to tell them where we are going or that she has to go to the bathroom.

N vs. S (INFORMATION GATHERING)

Intuitive (N):  Zoe is sometimes very intuitive. I was feeling down the other day but hadn't thought I was showing it when Zoe came over and started kissing me repeatedly. She said, "Do you know why I'm giving you kisses, Mommy? Because I love you." (By far adorableness is the biggest weapon in her arsenal.)

Sensing (S): On the other hand, sometimes she's very literal. "Boys like boy things and girls like girl things." But why can't girls like boy things? I asked. "Because only boys like boy things." Mommy's so dense.

F vs. T (DECISION MAKING)

Feeling (F): People who are strong in this trait make decisions based on a desire for harmony. I've told her I don't want her watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The other morning she told me she watched it with Daddy, but that it was okay because I didn't know. See? Considerate.

Thinking (T): People who stress this trait make decisions based on justice and reason. This side of her usually comes out when another child breaks a rule. Then, no one wants to see justice prevail as much as Zoe. Plus, if that other kid's in timeout, she can play with their toys. After all, they're not using them. Fairsies.

J vs. P (PUBLIC LIFE)

Judging (J): Zoe likes rules and routine, and is often inflexible . . . in regards to how others treat her. Every day she wants to know where she's going, who's taking her to school, who's picking her up, who's putting her to bed. She is quick to correct us when we in any way deviate from a norm. "That's NOT the nighttime toothpaste." "You're using Daddy's towel." "Blue cup, red top! It's always the same. Have you lost your freakin' mind handing me an orange cup?! Orange?! What are you, a cruel unfeeling INTJ, like Voldemort?"

Lord Voldemort, noted INTJ.

Perceiving (P): As for her own behavior . . . lawless. Don't pin her down with rules, man. Go with the flow. Live in the now. There's always more time to not listen to Mommy when she says it's time for bath or bed at night, or time to get ready for school in the morning. Chill out, Mommy. Day care can wait.

Conclusion: Zoe is a SPINFJET. SPIN? . . . F. . . . JET. It could almost be a sentence if you strangle the letters hard enough, as hard as Zoe squeezes my throat to manufacture love. Zoe may be short in stature, but she's not short on personality.

Zoe: 77; Universe: 0

For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse. 

I need a win here, people. 

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Zoe vs. Sleeping Beauty Or, Why We May Have to Cryonically Preserve Our Cat

Zoe never met either of her grandfathers. Both my father and my husband's father died before she was born. So you'll understand our disquiet when Zoe recently began talking about her "grampa."

"Grampa gave X to me." "My grampa says X." "My grampa's super smart." Sort of sweet but also sort of creepy. 

When I asked her about her "grampa," she told me: "He lives in the country and his name is Never."

Okay, super creepy.

Still, it led me to wonder, what is Zoe's conception of death? You see, our cat is dying, and the husband and I are not sure how to introduce the topic, if at all.

Historically, Zoe hasn't taken consistent notice of Harley. As a baby Zoe tried to eat Harley's food. Then there was the violent petting of the toddler years and subsequent confusion over why Harley was avoiding her. In fact, the first post I ever wrote was Zoe vs. the Cat. (Ah, nostalgia. Ah, the narrow margins and long paragraphs of the newbie blogger.)

But then, when Harley had to stay at the vet's overnight for a test, Zoe started crying and carrying on about when she'd be back. Harley, she said, was her best friend.

So: problem.

A friend suggested that the next time we watched a Disney movie, I should feel Zoe out as to what she thinks happens to a character who dies. Disney movies are chock full of death. And often it's the mother who gets it. But that's a subject for another post.

This past weekend we were watching Sleeping Beauty. Perfect, right? The whole sleeping as death imagery was rife for discussion. Plus, Maleficent dies at the end. The prince stabs her in the heart with his sword, but only after she transforms into a dragon, presumably to make the death more palatable. For human children, not dragon children. Anyway, Maleficent is dead dead, not sleeping dead. It's pretty clear.

Keynote speakers at the Evil Villain Convention
Las Vegas, 2014

That night, during Zoe's bath, I eased into the topic of death.

Me: Did you like Sleeping Beauty?

Zoe: Yes.

Me: What did you like about it?

Zoe: The bad queen.

Me (unsurprised): Why did you like her?

Zoe: Because she's bad.

Me: Really?

Zoe: Yes, she's super bad.

Me (a hint of concern in my voice): What about sleeping beauty? Did you like her?

Zoe: Yes. Because she's pretty.

Me (oh dear): And what about the prince? Did you like him?

Zoe: Yes. Because he's a boy.

Me (scrambling now): And what about Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather?

Zoe: Yes, because they're fairies and can do magic.

Conclusion: Zoe's values are a bit effed up.

To review:

(1) She likes people who are bad.

(2) If you're a girl, you need to be pretty.

(3) If you're a boy, you should just continue in that vein.

(4) If you can do magic, you're aces in her book, no questions asked. 

Then I asked her what she thought happened to Maleficent at the end.

Zoe: She changed into a dragon.

Me: And after that?

Zoe: The prince stabbed her with his sword.

Me: And then?

Zoe: She fell off the cliff.

Me: And then what happened to her?

Zoe: Then she was frozen.

That threw me, ending the evening's Q&A. I hadn't expected that answer though I don't know why not. More than her mother and father, it is Disney that has formed her belief system, and what was the first movie she ever saw? The ubiquitous Frozen.

Before we could even think of addressing the subject of death it was already too late. To Zoe, death is being frozen.

But, if people love you enough, and/or you have enough love in your heart, you can be unfrozen.

I could see this leading to some misunderstandings down the road.

Which is why I'm considering cryonically preserving Harley, our doomed cat. It's super expensive though. And, I think, super illegal. There are alternatives. There's taxidermy, our grandparents' method for pet preservation. But apparently, all the cool kids are now freeze-drying their Chihuahuas and English Mastiffs (buyer beware: price is per pound) through companies like Perpetual Pet.

The cruel twist was Kiki hated that blue bow in life.

No skinning and mounting. How barbaric! Now when Fido slips off his mortal coil, stick him in the freezer and wait for pickup.

And, as opposed to cryonics---where your pet would have to undergo the procedure before technical death (i.e., be Han Solo'ed) and would then be stored off-premises  (i.e., not in your house or Jabba the Hutt's) in a tank filled with liquid nitrogen at a cool -196-degrees Celsius (for a cool 5K)---if you freeze-dry Sir Fluffington, you can wait till he dies then choose any pose (sleeping, resting, reclining) and keep him with you in your home, freaking out family and friends. However, you will not be reunited in the future as you would if you both were cryonically preserved.

Lots to think about.

Soon after our conversation, Zoe was playing with an ice pack, calling it her baby and stuffing it under her shirt.

Guess which one is Zoe's baby. Not so fast.

Very circle of life. In Zoe's view we start off frozen in the womb, thaw out (are born), then eventually freeze again . . . to once again thaw if we're loved.

Or pretty.

Or a boy.

Or can do magic.

It's almost poetic if you think of it that way. At least for me it was. Until Zoe dropped her ice-pack baby on the floor and placed her foot on it in order to slide around the kitchen.

Back to super creepy, the circle of Zoe.

Walt Disney. Years before his cryonic preservation.
(Scuttlebutt* says Grumpy was frozen with him.)

Zoe: 76; Universe: 0

*But Scuttlebutt is well-known to be an untrustworthy dwarf.

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Zoe vs. How to Open a Present

First, have you been presented with a gift bag? If so, inquire loudly as to the whereabouts of your real present. You need to let the gift giver know that their lack of effort has been noted. Laziness is such an unattractive quality.

If the present is wrapped carefully and elaborately, using thick, quality paper, and festooned with ribbons or bows, rip it apart faster than a piranha on Adderall. Trying too hard is an equally unattractive quality.

Yeah, slapping a bow on it
and doing something weird
with a ribbon will totally hide
the fact you phoned it in.

Open the largest gift first. Rejoice at the sight of a large dinosaur wearing armor, perched atop him a tiny cockpit with an action figure inside. Clearly the fossilized record of the mesozoic era didn't tell the whole story. 

Once this gift is unwrapped, experience dislocation and vertigo. You have a Big Decision to make. Do you play with this present or open the next one? It's a problem. 

While Daddy extracts the past-future dinosaur from its packaging, resign yourself to opening your next largest present. When it's not as good as a future-past dinosaur, push it to the side with your foot. Then check on Daddy's progress with the dinosaur, if necessary spurring him on with encouraging whines when you see him pause to take a sip of coffee. Then turn to the next gift.

Someone get me my armor. I want to eat this guy.

When all your gifts are open, ask, with a vague air of disappointment, is that it? Then demand to play with everything faster than your beleaguered parents can remove all the plastic ties, safety staples, and twisty twine and assemble all the pieces.

When prompted a minimum of three times, thank everyone, perhaps making brief eye contact with grandma, who is, after all, a good sport and your biggest benefactor. If you're feeling generous, shoot her a fleeting smile.

Unpleasant business over, turn back to your spoils. Determine how many toys either light up, make noise, or both.

And there damn well better be batteries included.

Zoe: 75; Universe: 0

For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse. 

I need a win here, people. 

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