.SOMETIMES RAW.

The other day, my son came home from school and barely looked at me while he threw his school bag in the corner and left with his friends for the playground. “Bye mom, I will be home at 6.30 p.m. for supper,” he yelled. And off he went. This made me think of a time when we used to cuddle all the time when he didn’t want to leave me when he stuck to me like glue.

Nowadays, he gives me a quick hug before heading to school, no drama, but when he was younger, for the first couple weeks of each school year, he would beg, sob, and cling to me until I literally peeled his fingers off my body. And, every fall, I see a handful of other kids doing the same thing. Even if they love school, that morning drop-off can be brutal. Nothing is sadder than your child desperately reaching for you while you walk away with a smile plastered on your face, like, “Bye! I am definitely not dying inside! My heart rate is totally normal don’t worry about it!”

Through the years, my son will be nine years old next week, I tried different strategies – listing all the fun school activities, sending him with his friend’s mom instead of me, making the goodbye super quick and upbeat, reading  The Kissing Hand — but none made a huge difference. Until…

One morning, as we approached his Kindergarten, three-year-old Joel teared up. But instead of giving him a pep talk about the day, I decided to focus on our reunion afterward. “Joel, will you read a stack of books with me tonight?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said, sniffing.

“Are you sure?” I said. “I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to cuddle and read with you. Do you promise you will read with me???”

“Yes!” he laughed. “I promise!”

And, amazingly, he climbed out of his stroller, patted me goodbye, and waddled into Kindergarten.

I couldn’t believe how well it worked, but it also made sense to me. By asking your kid to promise to hang out with you, you position yourself as completely reliable — you will definitely be there! Also, you’re giving them the power — since YOU are asking THEM — so instead of feeling out of control, they’ve become decision-makers. That inherently feels safe. Talking about the evening also reassures them that 1) school will end, 2) you will reunite, and 3) you will once again be happy together.

Another example:

Joel: “I don’t want to go to school, I want to stay with you.”
Me: “Well, you do have to go, but do you promise me you will play blocks with me afterward?”
Joel: “Okay.”
Me: “Do you promise? Please please please?”
Joel, laughing: “Yes! I will, Mommy!”

Thoughts? Have you done this before? Anything else that helps with separations? Parenting is all such trial and error!

Under the sea, There’ll be no accusations, Just friendly crustaceans, Under the Seeeeeeeeeeeeea! – Homer Simpson

A few weeks ago, I sold my voice to a sea witch to become a human woman. It was an incredible adventure at first. I fell in love! I made new friends. I learned so much about the culture up where they walk, up where they run, up where they stay all day in the sun. And now I politely request to return to the sea because I mean, c’mon, just look around what is happening in the world. I rather live with friendly crustaceans under the sea. Far away from this madness on land.

Yes, I looked at the stuff. It was neat. But now my collection’s officially complete, and I would like to leave the land, please. I no longer want to be part of their world. In what seemed like a lifetime ago, I stared at a fork I thought was a hairbrush and said, “I don’t see how a world that makes such wonderful things… could be bad.” But I didn’t know about all this insanity on land when I said that because I was a fish doing fish things most of the time.

It turns out, life on sand is pretty bleak for folks like myself. Those of you still blithely devoted to floating full-time under the sea may not realize, but on land, if you want offspring, you don’t just release a bunch of eggs into the water and move on with your life. No, those of us who can conceive often endure something called “pregnancy.” Evidently, as a princess, I am expected to go through with this process.

I don’t remember all the details because I passed out cold when the palace doctors first explained it to me, but before everything went dark, I heard them say “vaginal mucus,” “loss of blood,” and ten-centimeter hole.” Later on, in a PTSD flashback, I remembered the phrases “nipple cream,” “mesh underwear,” and “thread to sew up the perineal tears.”.

That’s a lot of gadgets and gizmos my buddy Scuttle never explained to me. I famously bet once that on land, they understand that you don’t reprimand your daughters. Well, turns out, daughter-reprimanding is pretty much all they do up here.

They reprimand daughters in churches! They reprimand daughters in court! They reprimand daughters who go to work! They reprimand daughters who stay home from work after childbirth because of those damn perineal tears! They reprimand sons for acting too much like daughters! They reprimand Black daughters and disabled daughters and fat daughters extra for some reason! They attack daughters in the street and make the daughters go through the aforementioned pregnancy! And they reprimand the daughters for that too! And even in dealing with all of the above, my husband’s maid told me that as a white cisgender conventionally attractive European royal, I have it easier than almost any other group on earth, WHICH JUST MADE ME WANT TO JUMP IN THE OCEAN EVEN MORE! On land, humans deal with climate change, gender issues, LGBTQ+ issues, electricity and gas issues, and one virus that causes the entire world to shut down. Who needs all this?

But here is where it gets really dark. My old choir director Sebastian once told me it is “hotter under the water.” Well, that might be because of something called “climate change.” Remember the filefish family that went extinct? Yeah, that’s because humans are smoking out our oceans, and in a few years, daddy’s underwater opera house will simmer like a fucking Jacuzzi.

So now I have to choose between staying a human woman or returning to my homeland to boil like a wild-caught lobster trapped in a pot of these psychopaths’ making. Having finally been where the people are, I choose to boil. I will do anything. I will sign whatever gold contract this witch gives me. I got my voice back right before my wedding, but I will trade it again – I mean, it is not like they are listening to it up here.

Take me back to the shipwrecks and sharks, where friends like Flounder are true allies who risk their lives for mermaids in danger instead of just yelling at us to “vote harder.” Look, life as a fish was not ideal. My father was hot-tempered, and my mom was long-gone after releasing her eggs. Ursula, rest her soul, put it best: Those of us who wanted better were poor, unfortunate souls without many options. But human women, I am devastated to admit, might be even poorer, even more unfortunate. So I am looking seaward. Give me back my shell-bra. I will live out the rest of my life in – what’s the word? – peace without all these humans.

Oh, have you heard about the new Disney version of Arielle?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UH2knSbIQj0

Thoughts? Opinions? Please share them in the comments below.

I had a chat with a friend yesterday. About kids. About our kids who played Nintendo Switch like there is no tomorrow.

Kids today! They’re always toting their Air Up bottles around like they’re going to die of dehydration. Give me a break. All they’re doing is scrolling through their phones, iPads—how does that even work up a thirst? My generation played outside all day in the blazing hot sun, and we didn’t need any fancy water bottles—we either drank from corrosive, lead-contaminated water fountains or slurped our water straight from a hose. Delicious! We drank that stuff and we loved it. And guess what? We survived. Except for those of us who ended up consuming unsafe levels of mould and frog faeces, and eventually succumbed to fungal infections.

My generation played outside until dark—no checking in on “parental control apps” or whatever nonsense these helicopter parents are using to keep their kids dependent. Nope, it was a different world back then. We rode bikes all day without helmets, and our injuries made us stronger. We weren’t delicate little brainiacs, and we didn’t all get a trophy just for participating in the spelling bee—especially those of us whose bike-accident-related brain damage left us unable to spell our own names. I pity these kids today—we had a magical childhood, at least what we’re able to remember of it.

We were fearless—we didn’t hesitate to hop into pickup trucks driven by strange mustachioed men offering us chewing gum. Not only was it full of sugar and devoid of nutritional value, but it also looked just like chewing tobacco, so we got to sit in the back of the pickup and shove it in our faces like little badasses. And guess what? We turned out just fine unless you count the kids who got into the wrong truck and were never heard from again until their faces showed up on our cartons of full-fat chocolate milk or Kinder Riegel Chocolate. Yep, you heard me—we got to look at computer-aged photos of our missing buddies while we drank FULL-FAT CHOCOLATE MILK for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. What kid today gets to have that kind of good old-fashioned fun? And we turned out great! Even our presumed dead friends looked like they turned out fine. Back then, children were seen and not heard, and then occasionally never seen again.

When we misbehaved, we got spanked, and if we got in trouble at school, our parents automatically blamed us and sided with authority figures. Nobody worried about our delicate “feelings” or our “desperate pleas to be heard and believed” or any of that crap. If the teacher said you were bad, you were bad—end of story. And we turned out perfectly fine, except for the crippling hellscape of neuroses and inferiority complexes that have haunted us throughout our lives and now compel us to post lengthy screeds on social media about how fine we turned out!

Sure, life was tough, but we were tougher. There was nothing we loved better than riding in cars without air conditioning, airbags, or seat belts. Hell, we would have loved riding in cars without brakes if we could. Our parents wouldn’t have dreamed of strapping us into our car seats—straps were for spanking, not safety. And yet, we all managed to stay alive—unless you’re the kind of dork who believes all the fancy-schmancy statistics indicating that several thousand of us did not, in fact, stay alive.

And if you are that kind of dork, I don’t know what to tell you. Go drink some Vitamin Water while wearing your helmet, I guess. It’s a dog-eat-dog world (in fact, our dogs loved when we fed them other dogs, none of this “dog bakery” crap). Only the strongest and most able to click “share” will survive!