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The Spiders I’m Not Stopping

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Department Of A Helpful Morning Routine

Dateline: Monday, 5:45 am-ish. I’d left my yoga pants on the bathroom floor overnight.  As I picked them up I shook them, as moiself  would with any article of clothing before putting it on, to get out the wrinkles or whatever, and a spider    [1]    made an athletic if somewhat startling ( to moiself ) exit from one of the pant legs, where she had apparently spent a restful evening. 

Or perhaps she was preparing me for a yoga pose: the Utkata Konasana variation known colloquially as,  spider pose

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Just Wondering…
(But Not Enough To Follow The Link For The Ad)

Dateline: Tuesday morning, 5:37 AM. After finishing the last of my  New York Times word games I went on to another word game:  Waffle.   After finishing the daily word waffle, an advertisement popped up on my phone screen.  The ad consisted of graphic of a black spider with long spindly legs, along with the phrase, “Way to stop spiders.”

Although I quickly scrolled past that on my way to the waffle royale,   [2]   I was distracted by, and kept thinking about, the ad’s grammatically imprecise teaser:

Way to stop spiders.

 

 

Huh? Way to stop spiders?  As in, *a* way or *the best* way to stop spiders, as opposed to a slang-ish congratulatory phrase one might confer upon an exterminator:

( Duuuude, way to stop spiders! )

And if it’s the former, “stop spiders” from…what, exactly?  From merely existing?  From getting inside your house?  From…

* building their webs across the armrests of your TV chair?

* weaving their web in the corner of your living room and successfully reproducing so that when their egg sac hatches around Christmas time dozens if not hundreds of baby spiders burst forth and land on your Christmas tree?    [3]

* registering to vote?

* taking Black jobs?

* crawling inside your yoga pants and startling you in the morning (ahem)?

* inviting their spider friends over to sample and then critique your steamed mixed veggies with Indonesian style peanut sauce?

* going down the rabbit hole of political psychosis and weaving tiny red hats instead of webs and screaming at you at the top of their thin, quavery, high-pitched arachnid voices, “Oh look, Karen, it’s another bleeding heart woke liberal!” when you open the door and shoe out a fly that had gotten inside your kitchen instead of squashing the fly with a rolled-up issue of last month’s  The Atlantic ?

Like I said, I didn’t follow the link, so I guess we’ll all just have to speculate.

 

Not that I have anything against spiders wearing hats.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Olympic Reflections

As previously noted in this space, I love watching the Olympic Games, both the summer and winter versions.  I saw many outstanding performances in these summer games; among my favorites was the men’s 5000-meter race.  I found moiself,  much to my surprise and embarrassment, shouting at my TV screen ( “WTF?!?!?  WT effin’ F is he doing – how can he just do that?!?!!?! “) as I watched the Norwegian entrant, Jakob Ingebrigtsen, with less than 600 meters left in the race and seemingly hemmed in by the other runners, shift into a gear that the other runners – including the four ahead of him – did not seem to have.  And he looked so casual while doing it; it’s as if he suddenly reminded himself, Oh, sure, you betcha, it’s time for me to get in front.  And as the other runners gasped and flailed with effort, Ingebrigtsen just…ran faster.

 

“To do: Check the lefse and pickled herring supply when you get home; get a new setdesdal sweater for cross country ski season,
hmm, what else was on the list – oh, yah, win the 5k….”

It’s a two year wait until the Winter Games in in Italy, and four years until the next Summer Games in Los Angeles.  I’m in the process of withdrawal, from not having the luxury of sitting in the comfy chair ® for hours during and after dinner, clicking a few buttons on the remote to decide among a plethora of volleyball games or rugby matches or kayak races or fencing/skateboarding/BMX biking/gymnastics/track & field events to choose from.

Alas and yep, the games are over now, so it’s time to thoughtfully consider some of the existential issues brought up by such an amazing series of athletic contests complain.

 

 

Is it just my imagination, or, as indicated by their behavior before/after/during their events and also by what they said during interviews preceding and following their events, that the self-opinions held by many Olympic athletes has exceeded the heights of years past?

Robust egotism should be neither surprising nor unexpected from athletes who devote years to pursuit of excellence in honing what are essentially it’s-all-about-me pursuits and skills.  Still, according to a study I just made up, the literal and metaphorical chest-thumping on display in the 2024 Summer Olympics was 48% greater than such displays in previous summer Olympics.

Some of those immodest exhibitions I blame squarely on the influence of social media in all aspects of young(er) people’s lives (the ages of the vast majority of the Olympic athletes are between 20 – 30).

And although the Games are already a spectacle of Olympic proportions…

 

 

(sorry) …but it seemed that for many of the participants – who were perhaps keeping in mind their post-athletic careers hawking athletic gear and junk food – you can never have too much showtime.

 

 

Of particular annoyance to moiself  was how the athletes were introduced in too many certain venues, such as when entering the aquatics center or track and field stadium.  The booming voice from stadium PA system would announce name of the individual and/or team members competing in the next event, followed by the athlete(s) strutting through the entrance to the stadium field, pausing to perform flirty and/or self-aggrandizing versions of I’m-ready-for-my-selfie!/I’m-number-one! poses and gestures

Uh, hashtag, SpareMe.

Now, I don’t know exactly who is to blame for this – the host country’s Olympic organizing committee?  But isn’t this something that, even if it was “foisted” upon the athletes (“BTW, this is how we’re going to introduce you”) couldn’t they just have refused to go along with the peacock-ish preening and simply given a wave of acknowledgement to the cheering crowds?

So many of the entrances seemed to have been coordinated, as in choreographed, exhibitions.  I’m all for athletes   [4]   having fun in the moment, but the prancing and posing seemed anything but spontaneous.

 

 

I mentioned previously in this space about having watched the Olympics Opening Ceremony.  Full disclosure: I watched less than half of it – I mostly just saw the flotilla of athletes cruising down the Seine, followed by that mesmerizing metal horse – and missed the vocal performances and some of the other presentations that some people found controversial.  The closing ceremonies have always held little interest for me (bbbbooooooorrrrrring), and true to self, I once again didn’t watch them, although for a brief moment moiself  considered doing so.  My customary lack-of-interest was stoked when word was leaked that the Hollywood poster boy for refusing-to-age-gracefully-or-intelligently,    [5]   Tom Cruise, was going to be featured in a stunt symbolizing the passing of the Olympic flame to Los Angeles.

 

Awww, poor baby.

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought(s) Of The Week     [6]

“In the end, I am just a guy wearing spandex that turns left really fast.”
( Canadian Olivier Jean,   [7]   short-track skater,
2010 Olympic Gold Medalist in the 500 meter relay )

“Curling is not a sport.
I called my grandmother and told her she could win a gold medal
because they have dusting in the Olympics now.”
( Charles Barkley,   [8]  American former basketball player and verbal raconteur )

 

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I hated it when the NBC Olympic coverage team apparently thought it was equally exciting for viewers to watch celebrities watch an Olympic event –

* here’s Seth Rogan watching the Artistic Gymnastics Women’s All-Around Final!
* And Martha Stewert at the same event!
* Mick Jagger is at the fencing competition!
* See Spike Lee cheering for the US women’s water polo team!
* Bill Gates spotted at the Tennis Men’s Singles First Round match!
*wow – Elizabeth Banks, Judd Apatow, and Leslie Mann watch beach volleyball!
* Look, it’s Jason and Kylie Kelce at Women’s Rugby 7s!    [9]

–  as it was to watch the event itself.   [10]

 

“Here’s Snoop Dogg, high up in the stands….”             Well, of course he is.

 

*   *   *

May you not try to stop spiders (from anything);
May you be mistaken for a celebrity when watching a sporting event;
May you never challenge Charles Barkley’s grandmother to a dusting race;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] I have been finding a lot of spiders in the bathroom recently, but have not found a nest or remnant of egg sacks or any kind of entry point.

[2] “the premium daily treat.”

[3] This happened to us some twenty plus years ago.

[4] For anyone!

[5] which moiself  blames on, among other factors, Cruise’s combination of a Hollywood doctor’s plastic surgery expertise, and Scientology.

[6] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[7] I don’t actually know if Jean is a freethinker, but with a refreshing perspective like that, he probably is.

[8] Same with Barkley re his worldview status.  But he slams Christian conservatives re their bigotry, and that’s down by moiself.

[9] These are…”name” people?  How can I be impressed by their attendance when I don’t know (or care) who they are?  I remember a quip from comedian Jay Leno, something along the lines of, “You’re not a celebrity unless my mother knows who you are.”

[10] There were several times, when watching the NBC coverage (MH and I also had other coverage with different schedules and announcers, which is what we mostly watched) when action in a game or other event was missed when the cameras cut to show celebrities in the crowds.

The Socks I’m Not Sizing

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Department Of Spoiler Alerts

* Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.
* Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
* We’re gonna need a bigger boat.
* Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.
* Here’s looking at you, kid.

After seeing Poor Things last weekend, I have a nominee to add to the list of the American Film Institute’s best/classic movie quotes:

“I must go punch that baby.”

 

Dude, please, let her go punch that baby.

 

And on the subject of movies, have y’all seen the nominees for the 2024 Best Picture Oscar?  One of the best lists in years, moiself  thinks.  I’ve seen eight of the ten films that are nominated…

֍  American Fiction

֍   Anatomy Of A Fall

֍   Barbie

֍   The Holdovers

֍   Killers Of The Flower Moon

֍   Maestro

֍   Oppenheimer

֍   Past Lives

֍   Poor Things

֍   The Zone Of Interest

My favorite fellow movie lover, daughter Belle, was eager to know what I thought of Poor Things, which she’d highly recommended.  Here’s part of our text-versation early Sunday afternoon, as MH and I exited the theater after having seen  Poor Things.

Moiself:
I must go punch that baby!

Belle:
I laughed out loud in the theater when she said that line.

Moiself:
So did we – for several minutes.

Belle:
I was wondering if I should warn you guys about the gratuitous amount of sex scenes. But hey, you’re adults too (haha).

Moiself:
They were mostly just funny.

Belle:
I agree, the whorehouse scenes were practically comical.

Moiself:
I like the fromage joke she told.  That’s something I would do.
I mean telling a joke about cheese, not working in a whorehouse.
Now I don’t know what to root for, for Best Picture…the strongest category the Oscars have had in years, I believe.

Belle:
Yes!
I decided to catch up on Oscar noms today. I finished watching Anatomy (of a Fall) maybe 30 minutes ago, and I’m gonna watch The Holdovers later this afternoon.

Moiself:
I’ve been wanting to watch Anatomy but can’t find a time when MH will agree to it because he thinks it’ll be depressing…just like he can’t find a time for me to watch Killers of the Flower Moon, because more depressing than the subject matter to me is 3 ½ plus hours of watching Leonardo DeCaprio’s pumpkin face.
The Holdovers is really good.
Here’s another nominee that has something to do with Nazis/WWII. I don’t know if I’ll get around to that; there’s been so much done on the subject – done well, of course but still…. Do you know which one I’m talking about?    [1]

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Thanks (Mick & Keith) For The Memory

Dateline: last Saturday, 7:45am-ish, driving with MH to meet son K for breakfast.  MH was playing music via his music app’s we-think-you’ll-like-these-songs-because-you-listened-to-these-other-songs  playlist via his car radio.   [2]  The iconic rhythmic intro to  Honky Tonk Women rambles through his car’s speakers, providing me with a flashback to one of the few times in my life when my mother said or did something quite uncharacteristic of her.

Dateline: one late Spring evening when I was in high school.   [3]   For some reason I have the living room all to moiself.   Our house’s only decent stereo/radio console is in the living room, and I have the radio on and the volume up, to distract my brain from a boring homework assignment I’ve been putting off.

As whatever station I’ve tuned to begins playing The Rolling Stone’s Honkey Tonk Women, I hear the hallway door open, and my mother enters the living room.  She cocks her head to one side as she listens to the song, and begins to snap her fingers to HTW’s instantly-recognizable-to-anyone-under-30 syncopation  (hats off to TRS’s stickman extraordinaire, the late great Charlie Watts). 

 

 

 

She then declares that HTW would be a great song “…to do a striptease to.  You know, like Gypsy Rose Lee?”  She begins swaying her hips from side to side, and mimes removing a glove from her left hand, finger by finger, and gestures for me to join her in her…uh…dance.    “C’mon, Rob, try it.”   [4]

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

Lies, lies.  More of the same, as in a potpourri of mostly apolitical blurbs.  After a week’s worth of not-particularly-surprising-but-nonetheless-depressing news from around the world, moiself  feels like taking the blog equivalent of a spa day.

*   *   *

Department Of Oh, That Poor Kid

Dateline: Tuesday morning 7:58 AM.  Nearing the end of my morning constitutional,   [5]  moiself  is walking up a neighborhood street, headed toward home.  Approaching me is a girl riding a bicycle.  [6]  I assume she, like other kids I’ve seen on this street at this time of the day, is headed for the local middle school, which is two blocks behind me.  She has curly, shoulder-length, dark brown hair, thick black rimmed eyeglasses and is wearing khaki pants and a red/blue patterned sweater.  And she is grinning from ear to ear. 

 

I don’t know how important this message is; my pause is to insert background info:

I vary my morning walks, but most of my routes take me around/near the two schools in my neighborhood (one elementary, one middle school) and several street corners which serve as a stop for the high school busses.  If I’m out walking and make eye contact with a person passing by it has been my lifelong habit to briefly greet that person, no matter their age.  But in the past few years, I’ve stopped extending a quick good day if the passersby are of student age.  This is because 99.5% of the time the Young People Of Today ® never return the greeting, and/or seemed annoyed or embarrassed or even alarmed that an adult is recognizing that they are a fellow traveler in this world.  I figure they mostly fail to see me in the first place:  they don’t make eye contact; they’re all looking down at their cellphones (the rare one or two who are not screen-mesmerized are still walking with their heads down).  Someone over age 30?  I’m not on their radar.

BTW, this saying-hi-to-strangers was a custom of mine that one of my college boyfriends found bemusing at first, then alarming, when he realized it was a thing-that-I-do.  We were planning a trip to the East Coast for the summer after my graduation, and he’d spent some time exploring The Big Apple with friends when he was in high school.  “Please don’t to this when we’re in New York,” he advised me, and told me scary incidents he and his friends had experienced, illustrating how making eye contact with or even acknowledging the presence of strangers was an invitation to get mugged.

 

 

Big Smiling Girl’s bike is a beach style contraption with balloon tires; when she is about 50 feet away from me, she stops her attempts to ride it with her hands off the handlebars (the bike was wobbling, quite a bit.)   When she’s about 30 feet in front of me she looks directly at me and chirps an enthusiastic, “Good morning!” I return the greeting; as she pedals past me she adds, “How are you doing?” I turn around and reply, “I’m doing well, thanks, and I hope you are, too.”

It was a sweet moment for me, even as I vacillated between stifling both my laughter and my “Oh dear…” reaction.  The latter is due to the idea that if junior high is anything like I remember it (and my sources tell me it is, if not worse), this girl, by acknowledging and even initiating an exchange with an adult who is not related to her….oy vey.  Why am I so cynical about her likely social standing among her peers?

*   *   *

Department Of Yet Another Appeal To The NY Times

Gentle Editor of The New York Times game section:

When I open your app on my phone first thing in the morning, and see the game you have chosen to be “on top” (as in, the first game that the app user sees   [7]  ), please refrain from greeting me, under the play button of the game which you currently have as the top choice (Spelling Bee), with the phrase/warning/admonition/challenge (what is it, BTW?),

You missed yesterday’s game.

Moiself  missed nothing.  I used to play Spelling Bee, but it’s been over a year since I have, after for the too many-eth time I became irritated by the narrowness of the game’s word curation choice – a petty complaint to you, perhaps, but one that to me is a matter of honor.  I’m not coming back.

I greatly enjoy your new word game, Connections, and also Wordle, the mini crossword, and Letter Boxed, as I have written here previously  (no need to thank me for the free publicity).  Just stop the nagging, OK?

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [8]

 

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

Moiself  hates it when someone whose job it is to help you can’t or won’t admit that they just don’t know something (or that they are wrong):

Dateline:  Monday, 11:30 am shopping at a local sporting goods store for a pair of socks for MH’s half birthday.   [9]    I’m looking for a certain brand of wool socks.  Flipping through the store’s sock selection hanging on the wall by the hiking boots department, I notice that there seems to be no pattern to either the size or brand or color organization of the socks.  I keep thinking I’ve found the pair I’m looking for, then see the sizing info on the price tag, which reads, Womens.

A salesperson standing about twenty feet to my left, who has been organizing a sales rack in the adjacent (camping supplies) department, calls out to me, “Are you finding what you’re looking for, ma’am?”  I thank him, say that I’ve found the socks, and am now trying “…to find the right size for my husband – men’s sizing.  I found one in large, but it’s a women’s large, which is as two sizes smaller than a men’s large, and my husband has big feet.”

“All of our socks use unisex sizing,” he responds.

 

And all of our socks use they/them pronouns.

 

Hmmm.  *Some* of the socks are clearly labeled unisex, with a small chart detailing unisex sizing range, but others are not. “Well…noooo,”  I reply, shaking the socks I am holding in my hand.  “I need a men’s large; this is a women’s large.”

“Our socks *all* use unisex sizing,” he insists.

I find the pair I’m looking for, and mutter, “Tell that to them,” pointing to three hanging rows of socks clearly marked Womens, as I head to the store’s checkout counter.

 

…and some of your socks speak French.

 

*   *   *

May the world be filled with junior high nerds who freely greet adults;
May you always find the right-sized (and linguistically appropriate) socks;
May you curate your own list of classic movie lines;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] I think that’s Zone of Interest, which, as of this writing, I still have not seen.

[2] That must be moiself’s  record for most vias in a run-on sentence.

[3] Don’t ask what year; I can’t recall, and that detail would neither add to nor detract from the story.

[4] Rob was what my mother called me, until her fourth and last child, my brother Robert (younger than me by 9 ½ years), decided that that nickname was rightfully his. 

[5] When I’m feeling particularly jaunty I use words like “constitutional” instead of walk.

[6] Safety-conscious pedestrian that I am, I am walking on the left side of the street, facing oncoming traffic.  She is riding with traffic, thus, headed toward moiself.

[7] This varies – which game is featured first – although it seems to have been several weeks if not months that Spelling Bee is first.

[8] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. 

No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[9] Our family – MH, son K and daughter Belle and I – celebrate our respective birthdays, and half birthdays, thanks to MH (unknowingly) starting the tradition when he and I were dating. 

The Sack I’m Not Peeking Into

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Department Of The Partridge Of The Week

It’s that time of the year again. As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, moiself  is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard.   [1]

Can you identify this week’s guest Partridge?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Someone Who Obviously Did Not Reread What She’d
Posted After She Posted It

Background: There’s FB group wherein residents of our fair city post jobs offers, services sought, items for sale, etc.  Dateline:  Monday, 8 am-ish.  MH is scanning the afore-mentioned FB group, and reads me one particular post:

“Hi! I am looking for a professional mobile pet groomer.
I have two small dogs and all they need is nail trim/grind
and their anal gland expressed…. “

That’s *all*?  How did the poster possibly attain even quasi-sentient adulthood without realizing that the phrase, “All they need” – signaling a minimizing of the need which is to follow – is never, ever, appropriately associated with anything to do with anal gland expressions ?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Sounds Like A Holiday Themed Porno, If You Ask Moiself

And you did ask, didn’t you?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Petty But Important Grudges To Hold

Why I play the New York Times word game, Letterboxed, but refused to play their game Spelling Bee anymore:

Because when given the right letters in the right places, Letterboxed will let me enter a legitimate if touchy word, e.g., shat, where as Spelling Bee, despite providing the right letters to spell the name of a beautiful African wild cat, would not let me enter the word caracal, because this totally legitimate, not-at-all-controversial-nor-carrying-scatological undertones, is not on the game editor’s “curated list.”    [2]

 

“Curate *this*, NY Times.”

 

*   *   *

Department Of A High School Student Had To Sue Her School District To Do What?

That would be, she had to sue her school district to be able to have a table outside of her school’s cafeteria, with literature available on milk alternatives and plant-based milk options. That’s what Eagle Rock High School senior Marielle Williamson wanted to do.  She’d researched the negative impacts the dairy industry has on both the environment and animal welfare, and wanted her fellow students to know that there are milk alternatives.   

“… But administrators said she could only do so
if she promoted dairy milk as well…. 

(Despite the fact that the school is already promoting dairy products, with “…school hallways covered in ‘Got Milk?’ posters.”)

‘It was kind of like, Wow, this is serious,’ (Williamson) said.
‘The hold the dairy industry has over schools is so strong that I can’t even promote soy milk at my school.’

In May, Williamson, along with the advocacy group Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine, filed a federal lawsuit against her school administrators and the Los Angeles Unified School District, alleging that her 1st Amendment rights were violated when school officials barred her from sharing material about plant-based milk options without also including information on dairy milk.  The suit also named the U.S. Department of Agriculture….

(editorial comment: The suit was settled by the school – yay!)

The USDA, which did not join the settlement, has filed a motion to dismiss the case, Press said (Deborah Press, general counsel for the Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine), but Williamson and the committee intend to pursue it and challenge federal statutes that, in part, require schools in the National School Lunch Program to serve cow’s milk during meals as a condition to receive federal funding….

‘LAUSD wasn’t the problem here; they were doing their best to comply with these dogmatic federal rules,’ Press said….

In order to receive a dairy milk substitute, a student is required to provide a note from a doctor or parent citing a medical or dietary need to restrict the student’s choice of milk.

The federal policy also states that schools in the program ‘shall not directly or indirectly restrict the sale or marketing of fluid milk products by the school’ at any time while on school premises or at school events. “

( excerpts, my emphases, from Got milk alternatives? Former student wins settlement from L.A. district over criticism of dairy products,
LA Times, 11-24-23 )

 

“WTF ?”

 

Yeah, WTF.  And, wow.  Who did the dairy industry screw pay off to get that statute into federal law in the first place (a statute I’m guessing few people were aware of, until the lawsuit)?

After the lawsuit was settled, Shannon Haber, a spokesperson for LAUSD, released a statement saying that, “Our Food Services Program follows USDA guidelines, and we continue to support our students with nutritious meals and healthy alternatives for those who have specific dietary requests and requirements.”

Scientists and nutritionists – at least those not employed/paid off by the dairy industry – have long known that “nutritious meals and healthy alternatives” do not need, and probably should not include, dairy products. And, as the article mentioned, “Black, Indigenous, Asian and Latino Americans are among those most likely to suffer from lactose intolerance, which can result in digestive issues including bloating, diarrhea and gas after consuming milk products.”

 


Got diarrhea milk?

 

Oh, and here’s the ethnic makeup of LAUSD students: 74% Hispanic/Latino, 7.3% Black, 5.7% Asian or Asian/Pacific Islander, 0.1% American Indian or Alaska Native, 0.2% Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander, 10% White.   Yep, nine out of ten LAUSD students are likely to have, to some degree, lactose intolerance or sensitivity

Just wondering:  why are we the only mammals who continue to consume milk products after we are weaned, and then, not even products (cheese/milk/cream) made using the milk of our own species?  And yes, this question is coming from someone who thinks Tillamook Pepper Jack cheese is as habit-forming as crack cocaine….   [3]

 

Well, Martha, actually not, but it sure is addictive.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Well Of Course A Middle Child Would Find This Interesting

Moiself  has long had an interest the theories of birth order and sibling relationships as tools to understand the complexities of family bonds.  My interest in this area of family dynamics was heightened when I recently came across a link to an article from The Atlantic on birth order and gender expectations:

“…a contingent of oldest sisters have described the stress of feeling accountable for their family’s happiness, the pressure to succeed, and the impression that they aren’t being cared for in the way they care for others. People have even coined a term for this, ‘eldest-daughter syndrome,’ which speaks to a real social phenomenon, according to Yang Hu, a professor of global sociology. In many cultures, oldest siblings as well as daughters of all ages tend to face high expectations from family members—so people playing both parts are especially likely to take on a large share of household responsibilities, and might deal with more stress as a result. ⁠⁠

The caregiving tendency isn’t an inevitable quality of eldest daughters; rather…it tends to be imposed by family members who are part of a society that presumes that eldest daughters should act a certain way. Birth order does not impact your personality, but it can impact how your family views you. Eldest kids aren’t necessarily more responsible than their siblings; instead, they tend to be given more responsibilities because they are older. Expectations are also influenced by gender. Daughters in particular can be seen as ‘kin keepers,’ performing invisible labor that keeps a family together. ⁠⁠

( excerpts, my emphases, from “The Plight of the Eldest Daughter:
Women are expected to be nurturers.
Firstborns are expected to be exemplars. Being both is exhausting.”

By Sarah Sloat, The Atlantic )

The complexities inherent in birth order theories have always intrigued moiself.  There are sooooooo many variables – the number and gender of the children; the spacing between their births, a child whose mental and/or physical health issues drain monetary, emotional and time resources from the other children, the family’s financial situation….[4] –  too many variables for the theories to be subject to any kind of testing that will hold scientific water, so to speak.

 

  

“Older children are ____.  Only children are _____.  Middle children are ____.

These generalizations seem to touch some observational keystones, amongst both psychology professionals and us layfolk.  But there are also a bajillion exceptions to the attempts at classification, such as this example: [5]

You are not your parent’s oldest child; you are the fourth of their six children.  But there was such a large gap between their first four the second two offspring (you and your baby sister are the,“Ooops I guess it wasn’t menopause after all!” babies) that your older sisters and brothers were out of the house before you had anything resembling a sibling relationship with them:  throughout your life, they’ve been more like aunts/uncles/distant cousins.  Thus, *experientially,* instead of being a middle or younger/est child, you are the oldest child in a family of two children.

Fitting with everything I’ve read on the subject, The Atlantic article says the research shows that birth order does not confirm personality traits, but it *does* affect how people view you, and treat you, and what their expectations are of you.  And it is fairly well-established that how people treat us impacts how we view and treat ourselves.

 

 

My father was from a family of six children, and he’d told me how his parents’ relations with his siblings influenced how he wanted to raise his own children.   [6]   Several decades ago, when I first started reading articles about how parents respond to different children, I was fascinated by the studies, and they got me to consider my own family experiences.  On more than one visit to my parents’ house I tried to have a conversation with my father about it – get his opinion, basically.  But he would have none of it.

My father was a person with many fine qualities; however, introspection wasn’t one of them, and he wasn’t well-educated.  Despite my attempted explanations to the contrary, I think he took my wanting discuss the subject – of birth order/different expectations; parents’ relationships to different children –  as my wanting an answer to a question that had never occurred to me to ask.  He seemed to think I was implying that he (and our mother) loved certain of their children “more” than others.  No matter how I phrased my questions/observations, he would respond with variations of, “We love you all the same.”

“Your love was never in question,” I tried to assure him.  Finally, in good-natured exasperation (but exasperation nonetheless), I sighed, “You’re not listening….”   [7]   But it was a lost cause.

Years later, after observing friends and family members have and raise their children, and then after MH and I had our own two offspring, I have come to this opinion:

If you truly believe you “love your children all the same,”
then you don’t really love them – or see them – for who they are.

 

 

You can’t love your children *all the same* because your children are not *all the same.*  They need different things from you at different times.

One Of My Siblings (OOMS) has a good life now but had a very difficult time for many years, due in part/IMO to the fact that our parents loved us “all the same.”  Translation:  they parented us all the same, even though we were four different kids and OOMS had different challenges than the other three.  But because the rest of their kids didn’t have those challenges, my parents just didn’t see (or didn’t want to see) the struggles OOMS was going through.  Not to cast blame; they, along with 99% of their peers,   [8]  were simply ignorant re behavioral and mental health issues.  OOMS needed more guidance, more attention, a firmer hand, so to speak.  OOMS wasn’t as self-starting, self-regulating, and motivated and organized as the other three; OOMS was flailing, in many ways.  But this idea of theirs, that they “loved us the same,” led them to assume that OOMS would, eventually, turn out the same.

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week    [9]

“It is an interesting and demonstrable fact, that all children are atheists
and were religion not inculcated into their minds, they would remain so.”

( Ernestine Louise Rose, (January 13, 1810 – August 4, 1892)
a…”suffragist, abolitionist, and freethinker who has been called the ‘first Jewish feminist.’ )

 

 

*   *   *

May you not try to love everybody “all the same”;
May you steer clear of curated word lists;
May you never need a note from your parent to choose oat milk, FFS;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Specifically, in our pear tree.

[2] I know because I emailed the editor after this had happened to me, and he replied.

[3] Not that moiself  is familiar with crack cocaine, or any kind of highly addictive anesthetic (except for that prescribed me for wisdom teeth extraction all those many years ago), but hey, I like, read things….

[4] “Oldests” and “Onlys” get more of their parents’ time and resources (both are finite qualities, and must be divvied up with the arrival of more children) – this one observation is a fact (one of the few in birth order hypotheses), not a theory. The parents may be financially struggling with the first child, and then get established in their careers and be more economically secure as the years go by…OR, if they have “too many” children (as in more than they can support and/or they get laid off from work….), the financial circumstances can go in the opposite direction…. Just one of the variables to the “rules” of what Oldest and Only get.

[5] From more than one family I’ve known.

[6] That is, he vowed to do things “differently.”

[7] That was a common theme, for conversations with my parents which involved subject matter deeper than the weather or what the kids are doing in school.  If there was any issue that might make them the tiniest bit uncomfortable – and those issues could be difficult to impossible to anticipate – they would reframe what I had said/asked into a question they felt comfortable answering (even if *they* were the ones who’d brought up the uncomfortable issue in the first place!)…or they’d just change the subject.

[8] 99% of any and all of us, at that time.

[9] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org