I wonder how much spam and how many disappointed pervs I’m going to get with that title?

A lot, I suspect. Oh well.

Many of you may have read this brilliant post that a father (who is also a Father) wrote to Victoria’s Secret, the lingerie retailer, upon learning that they were launching a line – Bright Young Things -aimed at younger teenage girls. The kind with glittery slogans on the bum that say things like

Feeling Lucky? (WTF?)  or

Call me!  (bleurgh)

There’s been a big hoo-ha (no pun intended) about this and plenty of angry people have posted things on the VS Facebook page, myself included, protesting the sexualisation of children and teens, but so far, the retailer has responded by denying that BYT was for underage girls, but instead was for college age women.

Right.

That’s why the CFO, Stuart Burgdoerfer has been quoted as saying at a conference this year:

“When somebody’s 15 or 16 years old, what do they want to be?They want to be older, and they want to be cool like the girl in college, and that’s part of the magic of what we do at Pink.”.

And also, possibly why teen idol, Justin Bieber was chosen as the main entertainment at the VS fashion show this year. Because so many college age women love him NOT. I don’t know anyone over the age of about 14 who would be seen dead admitting they like him.

I think they might be lying a teensy bit.

Interestingly there are quite a lot of women (at least I think they’re women, they could also be saddo blokes who spend all their time in their mum’s spare room surfing the net and pretending they’re girls so as to troll on sites with scantily or nil-clad women) defending VS, too, saying that they like to look pretty, like to look sexy, and that it’s parents who should be policing what their teenagers wear, not corporations and there’s nothing wrong with making sexy undies for kiddies  people who are below the age of consent   girls. Those who get hold of them or even want them before the clock strikes 18 are clearly those whose parents clearly don’t love them enough to tell them not to show anyone.

That reminds me a bit about the joke where the little girl tells her parents that a man asked her to lift up her dress & show her his knickers, which she did, and the parents were horrified. They said never to do it again. The next day they asked her if the nasty man had come around again, and she said yes,”But this time I fooled him. I wasn’t wearing any!”

It’s not really funny, is it? And the logic is equally skewed.

They seemed to be suggesting if we were all better parents there would be NO problem at all with the objectification of women, sexualisation of kids, sex trafficking, victim blaming in rape cases, horrific events like the recent ones in Steubenville.. It’s all the parents fault. No, wait, it’s the MOTHERS’ FAULT because women have vaginas and we know what a load of trouble those have got men into.

And by that reasoning, with all that bad parenting around, there’s enough to justify a NATIONAL LINE OF SEXY LINGERIE, so it’s just as well they’re selling it – I’m sure those kids will be comforted by some avuncular men who’ll be happy to shag them and improve their self esteem in the process.

I’m glad those upstanding ladies have cleared that up. The ones who have made Victoria’s Secret the behemoth that it is and are proud to keep flying the PINK knicker flag high, preferably peeking out of their low-cut sweatpants. We should note, thought, that these same gals have enough moral fibre to bring their daughters up differently from us, we’re only protesting because secretly we’re a bunch of slags who can’t keep our own kids from rampant promiscuity.

Got that?

No, me neither.

No matter how you slice it, this is another case of a big corporation pimping out your kids so they’ll keep on bringing in the mighty dollar to their doorstep for life.

Ugh.

Comments

• March 29, 2013, Metropolitan Mum writes: The only words my daughter will have emblazoned on her knickers will be the names of the weekdays. 'Call me'?!?! WTF indeed!
• April 4, 2013, Mothership writes: I'm with you on that, MM. ALthough must say I regret having bought day-of-the-week knickers for my girl as she's completely OCD about wearing the correct day and OF COURSE they're never clean/findable when she wants them. GAH!

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It’s barely March and I already know what we’re doing nearly every day of the summer which is actually quite depressing.

Due to the insanely long school holidays here (2 1/2 months – what?), one has to find something for the little dears to do during this time so they don’t drive me completely fucking insane and I leave some sort of chance to do some, you know, work. So it’s summer day camp for them. The choices are dizzying. You can pay anything from $150/week for those at the budget end to upwards of $500/week per child if you have tons of cash and you love your little darlings more than poorer parents do  (so the glossy literature implies). They can do sports camp, nature camp, art camp, lego camp, cooking camp, horse-riding camp, financial-planning camp (maybe I should attend this one? It’s called Millionaire’s Club, but I can’t actually afford the fee which is telling), drama camp, singing camp, math camp (really? Which unfortunate child is forced to go to that one?), babysitter’s camp (perhaps I can volunteer my children as guinea pigs for the budding caretakers?), science camp, guerilla warfare camp.. Ok, I made that last one up, but you could almost believe it given the range of options.

I have already pre-selected my children’s camps, even though they are not yet on sale because the moment the online purchasing options become available, every over-achieving mother in Stepford, especially those, like me, with an eye for a bargain (read cheapskate/broke) will be hovering above her mouse to snap up the available spots within minutes – and I mean literally minutes – of the camps going on sale.

It’s the same with swimming lessons. You need to buy them within 10 minutes or else you’re screwed and your kid destined to drown in some boggy lagoon while you’re checking your email because you didn’t secure the proper Red Cross lesson and you also didn’t teach him yourself because the pool’s too cold and full of wee.

I think the Pentagon should hire me, actually – I have executed this summer’s plan with military strategy. How to spend the least money, get the most fun, find camps that have the same drop off time, place, set of interests for each child despite the age discrepancy, will still allow them to leave in time for their afternoon swim lesson, and will not drive us so deeply into debt that we have to sell their kidneys in September before school starts (tricky). Plus I have all the sign-up times and login details programmed as alarms in my phones so no matter where I am I am guaranteed to be ON IT and will get them what they need.

I did say I knew what we are doing every day of the summer but that’s not quite true. I know what the children are doing – they’re going to camp. I know Husband is going on a three week hike through the Sierras (rather him than me). I know I will be doing a lot of ferrying and taxiing of infants.  While Husband is hiking we’ll visit my father and Eight will go to horse camp. Five and I will loaf around and he’ll gleefully watch cable TV which he doesn’t have at home, no doubt compiling a long Christmas list from the ads he sees. But me? I don’t think I can bear to just sit here facilitating everyone else’s life. I shall have to plan a jaunt and do something I’ve never done before for no particular reason other than to relieve the unremitting predictability of daily life in Stepford.

When I think of what it might be, I shall let you know. It just doesn’t do to plan everything too carefully, Makes a girl restless, you know.

Comments

• March 11, 2013, nappyvalleygirl writes: This made me laugh; it's exactly the same here with camps. Especially the swimming lessons - people would do virtually anything to get their kids into the local ones. And yes, there are science, lego, maths, tae kwan do and everything else camps here. When they are older they go to sleepaway camp - we haven't got to that stage yet. (Even though we are moving back to England in mid July, I've already signed up the kids for 3 weeks of camp starting when school finishes. The cunning plan is to have them out of the house while we pack up.)

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About a year ago I wrote a post about going to see a life coach, and I included a copy of a poem – Cargo – that he had given me, by Greg Kimura.

It was very inspiring and I took the words very much to heart. In fact you could say that it kick-started me into getting back to the blog, and also to focusing, finally, on writing my novel which has actually taken over my life and thoughts in the way that music used to.

This for me is an ecstatic return of the creative muse. I had felt somewhat bereft and flat in this regard after I had the children – I didn’t really want to write music very much anymore – I would, certainly, if there was a large cheque attached to the project, but I just couldn’t be arsed to go into the dark room with the machines that go ping unless I absolutely had to which is completely different from earlier years when you could barely coax me out of the studio. I tinkered about with various things, but nothing really gripped me in a convincing and lasting manner until this book started to unfold in my mind and on paper. I’m obsessed (in a good way, I hope!). I feel as if the real me is finally back, and this makes all of the rest of life so much more pleasant, and any trials and tribulations I may encounter seem far less traumatic than they might otherwise because I am living this other life in my head that is untouchable and completely of my own making.

I sound a bit odd, I know. But I am a bit odd, to be honest. I just embrace it and try to get on with things.

Anyway, back to the subject of this post.

I was in London a couple of weeks ago, mostly to do some boring administration things in regard to my house and while I was there I took the opportunity to shop myself stupid at the January sales – may I just say, John Lewis; I love you.
I stayed partly with family and partly up in town at my club. (I’m just going to say that again because it makes me feel VERY IMPORTANT like a posh gentleman from 1892 or something..) I was staying up in town at my club, and to my great surprise and delight, I got an email from Greg Kimura.

Yes! That’s right, the poet who wrote Cargo!

Actually, to be honest, when I first saw his name in my inbox I thought

“Oh no! I didn’t think to write and ask him if I could put his poem up! That was rude! And bad! He’s found out and now he’s mad! EEK!”

But it wasn’t that at all.

He had found his poem on my blog, but far from being annoyed, he was very gracious and complimentary. In fact he said he was looking forward to reading my book (!!) and would I like a copy of his poetry book?

YES PLEASE!

So I sent him my address and yesterday the book arrived with a lovely personal inscription.

Thank you, Greg!

I recommend it highly, and you can buy your own copy here 

The universe is full of unexpected gifts. Especially when you are brave enough to explore your own.

Comments

• February 13, 2013, Potty Mummy writes: So does that mean the next time we meet (at your club, obviously) you will be sporting a top hat, tails, and a monocle?
• February 13, 2013, Mothership writes: Of course, Potty. I expect you to do the same.
• February 15, 2013, Greg Kimura writes: You are welcome! Also, creative people are odd. We just are. Nothing to do about it but, well, "embrace it and get on with things." I'm glad to hear that you embrace yours!

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Now that I’ve failed to potty train the cat, I can go back to more important projects like continuing with my novel.

I’ve been quite busy with that which is partly why I’ve neglected the blog so much for the past few months – there seems to be only so many words I have per day, unless you count:

“Five, can you please get dressed and come down to breakfast”

“Eight, can you stop reading, get dressed, and come down to breakfast”

because I say those words maybe 30 times PER MORNING and then I shout them another 30 times before I physically pull books out of people’s hands, shove underwear into them,  and make unpleasant threats involving the withholding of  sugar, electronics, and time with the kitten.

I’m not sure how I became that person. She’s quite horrible and so are her children.

Once they’re at school I can become that interesting, quiet woman who has to boil the kettle several times before making a pot of tea because she gets distracted by other tasks, and then, finally, with a pot of lapsang and my delicious ginger kitten, I can settle in to a few hours of writing my book.*

I don’t know when I’ll finish this book. I am not a speedy writer but I am a steady one, and the plot’s rather complicated, plus there’s a pictorial aspect to it I haven’t quite worked out yet, BUT. I will get there. I’m probably a third of the way through?

Sometimes when I tell people I’m writing a book they give me a funny  look, like I’ve told them I’m building a spaceship out of cardboard boxes and I’m planning on flying to the moon next week. Then they ask me what I ‘really’ do. Or who my publisher is. When I say I don’t have one yet, not looking right now because I’m not ready, and besides that isn’t really the point for me, the look often turns to pity (eg be nice to poor deluded lady, it’s either that, basket weaving or intense therapy for her to keep her off the streets, btw don’t let her have a gun).

I don’t struggle with this as much as I might have done in earlier years. I remember some folks being the same back when I was a young musician, singing in crappy wine bars, sequencing synths on my 1 meg Atari (ha!) and sending out (showing my age) demo tapes which nobody listened to or listened to, laughed, and threw in the bin. Then, when I finally got a record deal and some commercial success, suddenly I was a ‘real’ musician. As if during the struggling pot noodle years I was only pretending.

Of course it’s possible that this is all in my head – so much stuff is (I may need a larger drive to hold all the drivel thats accumulated over the years), but even if it is, I still have to live with it, manage it, and get it out the way so I can actually tell the story I’m trying to write. And it needs to be told.

I hope that whomever is left reading my little blog (all 4 of you?) will bear with me – I’m going to keep trying to post, even if it’s just about little things, and one day, there will be something more substantial, and more interesting to read.

* Unfortunately I also spend quite a bit of time reading the news, answering email and looking at Facebook, then feeling guilty about it and having to make another pot of tea because the first one went cold before I remembered to pour a cup.

Comments

• January 16, 2013, Potty Mummy writes: That having to repeatedly re-boil the kettle thing? Snap. Keep the faith!
• January 17, 2013, nappyvalleygirl writes: Kudos for actually starting and continuing to write a book. I've started several but never got beyond the first three chapters. Boiling the kettle and looking at Facebook are HUGE distractions....
• January 17, 2013, Amandeep writes: Goodluck! I have the faith that it will be a big hit! Do let us know once it is out.. I would love to read it!
• January 17, 2013, Mothership writes: Thank you so much! It might take a while, but I will be sure to tell you. Nice to know you are still here xo
• January 17, 2013, Mothership writes: Tx, we'll see if I get to the actual, you know, ending. I'm doing quite a lot of wandering around in the middle! And making lots of tea.
• January 17, 2013, Mothership writes: Well, we have to do our bit to contribute to global warming, don't we, Potty?
• January 17, 2013, Erika writes: we're still here. And because I tend to coffee in the morning and the machine needs time to get into the swing of things, I tend to lose track of exactly how long (30 mintues, 40?) it's been on. Oops. And no, never quite understood the "you have to be in the public eye and making money to be a real artist/writer/musician/fill in the blank". You are or you aren't. Being able to make a living from it is something of a double-edged sword. I prefer to write for my own pleasure. But I love to read, so look forward to hearing when your book is out there!
• January 17, 2013, Mothership writes: I am heartened that I am clearly not the only one who forgets their morning beverage, and also not the only one who likes just to write for its own sake. Thanks for being here, Erika.
• January 18, 2013, Dorothy writes: Good for you! Sounds like great progress. You may have heard that I finished a draft end of summer. Unfortunately, it's not very good. Now doing major rewrite. Cutting out the whole two people get murdered, solving the crimes, bit. Not sure how this is going to work out. But I'm sticking with it!
• January 20, 2013, Cindy bunny writes: There's more than 4 reading. Some just root for you in silence. That does sound stalker like. I promise you will not find me outside waiting to come in with the kitty!
• January 24, 2013, Mtff writes: Thanks, Cindy!

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I took Tabasco for his rabies and final FLV shot the other day and I asked our vet about the toilet training. She, apparently, had trained her Siamese cat to use the toilet.

It took her a year and a half.

A YEAR AND A HALF???

No. I’m not cleaning the bathroom and picking poo off the floor every single day for eighteen months.

She also said that, on balance, if we didn’t live on a busy road (we don’t) and we ‘clicker trained’ him to come when we wanted him to, he’d be fine as an indoor/outdoor cat. It’s safer to keep them in, but if he wants to go out – and he does (and so does Husband) -then that’s what one should do.

I’ll wait until I get back from England to start the clicker training, take him out slowly, bit by bit, and then just hope for the best. We do love him so. What other cat plays ‘fetch’?

In the meantime, the litter tray is back and, compared to the toilet seat thingy, it’s really not that bad.

Comments

• January 15, 2013, Betty M writes: I can't believe you lasted this long! Perhaps we are cruel back in the UK but indoor only cats are a rarity in my experience. Admittedly you run the risk of the odd missing/ dead cat (I've had a couple and it was horrid) but still the general view is keeping them in is a bit cruel and it has the added advantage of no litter trays. I bet Tabsco will love it outside.
• January 15, 2013, Mothership writes: I always had outdoor cats in the UK, but here in California we have coyotes roaming the neighbourhood and people regularly set out poison for gophers and such. My beloved British cat met his end eating some of that. And apparently a cougar was spotted a few blocks away in broad daylight the other day! Still, I agree, he wants to go out, we are not going to be able to keep him in, and this is what is going to happen. It's more dangerous for him here than in England, but we'll just do our best to have him home and locked in at night.
• January 25, 2013, Nina writes: We have three cats, two of them fetch. :)

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Bad news first: He did a giant wee on a freshly washed basket of laundry.

AGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

(at least I hadn’t folded it yet)

Good news: When I shut him in the loo for 10 minutes he used the amber pan for both kinds of elimination.

What am I to extract from this lesson? Don’t leave laundry lying around? Shut him in the loo until the little bastard is forced to crap? Give up like any normal person and accept that Husband is right and he’s going to be an indoor/outdoor cat anyway as soon as the weather is nice and the windows get opened on a regular basis?

I’m taking him for a rabies shot today, just in case.

But I’m still going to hide my clean laundry and persevere with the amber pan (they call me the amber gambler..)

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He has been very curious about the hole in the amber toilet seat and clearly very suspicious of the whole (hole) thing.

I’ve found him mewling in there a few times and scratching at the litter and peering into the water but finally tonight I found some droppings on the floor beside the commode (ugh) and him looking very puzzled by the entire thing, so gritted my teeth, got a piece of toilet paper and picked up the pieces, and put them into the water.
He was fascinated by this and immediately jumped up to have a look. Then, encouragingly, he scratched some litter on top of them and sort of moved his body around as if he was looking for a place to do a wee.

Then I did what I said I absolutely wasn’t going to do – I quickly positioned his legs so that his bum was in the right place and he weed right into the water!

It’s actually pathetic the enormous triumph I felt at hearing the little tinkling sound it made.

He seemed rather pleased with himself and scratched some more litter on top of it and then walked around the seat a few times before jumping down and cleaning himself.

Is this progress?

Please God, yes.

By the way, I am having a hilarious email correspondence with a PR person who insists she thinks I have a very well maintained blog (proof itself that she is not a regular reader) and is very keen to write something for me. I told her it was a personal blog and I didn’t have guest posts or promoted content but she insists that it will be ‘good for my readers’ to ‘know the value of the cartoon network’ and maybe she’d write something that pertains to my site, maybe something about kids.  I am considering writing to her asking if they have any cartoons about shitting cats, and if so, please write a piece on that and I’ll let her have a link for £50.

Seems fair?

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No missing kids here, but we have progressed from the ‘red pan’ to the ‘amber pan’ which has a small aperture at the center so that Tabasco can learn to deposit his excess into the water rather than the litter.

This is the theory.

So far he’s sat on the edge of the seat, clearly wondering how to get his head inside the hole to have a drink.

I went out for a few hours this morning and when I got back he’d kicked a bit of the (flushable) litter into the hole so something has happened but it’s not clear what.   I’m dreading finding a poo on the floor or the toilet seat again, but as I’m not quite at the point where I’m going to physically teach him how to crap myself, I’m holding out for his great intelligence (??) to point his bottom in the right direction.

More later

Comments

• January 9, 2013, Geekymummy writes: I'm impressed with your dedication! I know a woman who trained her cat successfully this way. I was so amazed that I don't even recall her name. To me she will always be "that woman who toilet trained her cat". I'm wondering if it will work for geeky boy?!
• January 10, 2013, Mothership writes: Ha! I don't know if it would work on Geekyboy but he's definitely cleverer than the cat (which means he's less likely to bend to your will).

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I thought I was being quite clever, subtly reducing the amount of litter in the ‘red’ pan before switching to ‘amber’ which has a hole in the center (if you’re totally baffled by this statement, start here), but it turned out not to be quite as brilliant as I thought.  Or maybe it was a clever move but Tabasco got the wrong end of the stick – or the wrong side of the toilet seat because I came into ‘his’ bathroom this morning to find some fragrant brown lumps on the floor just beside the loo. Clearly he had perched on the seat but put his bum in the opposite-to-ideal direction.

Yuck.

Fortunately the floor is tiled and it wasn’t a horrendous mess to clear up – actually less messy than the scatter of litter everywhere and I’m hoping that this is a one-off mistake that can be corrected in time. At least he knows where to sit, right?

I read some literature about cat elimination (wait, that doesn’t sound right, – I mean the way cats eliminate, not feline assassination) and apparently when they’re weeing they can move around but once they settle in for a poo they sort of freeze in position and one is advised to go and physically reposition them so that they know the right place to dump the droppings. It also said one might have to wait around a bit – stalk the cat until he feels the urge to take a crap – so that this correction can be achieved.

Are they fucking kidding? 

I’m supposed to hover by the bathroom door hoping the time is right so I can pounce on him and fiddle about with the back legs of an animal that is in the actual live process of shitting?

EEEEEUUUUUUWWWWW!

Oh sorry, did I put you off your lunch?

Comments

• January 7, 2013, MsCaroline writes: I am following this avidly, and I'm not really laughing at you - more of a 'with' you thing - having had a similar experience with a pig. Back in the 90s, MrL and I acquired a then-trendy-as-a-housepet Vietnamese Pot-bellied pig . We'd been told they were quite intelligent and could be easily trained to use a litterbox. We got the thing all set up, planted one of the pig's previous deposits in it (to give him the idea, you see) and - just as everyone promised - he trotted right over and put his front hooves into the box. That was as far as he got, though. Once the front hooves were in the box, he'd proceed to poo on the floor. Every time. And if we tried to move him, he'd squeal and run to hide behind something. At least the cat doesn't squeal. Good luck - I can't wait for the next installment.
• January 9, 2013, Adam Share writes: This made me chuckle, I will be back for sure. Happy New Year.

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I think Tabasco may be a genius.

Okay, he’s not a genius but he DID figure out how to use the LitterKwitter ™ almost immediately and has used it several times for, erm, both kinds of elimination (yes he took a dump as well as a couple of wazzes) and I duly cleaned up after him (ugh) and made it all nice and tidy afterwards.

This is the bit I don’t like.

However, I’m going to stay on track and in a week I will switch to the ‘amber’ seat with the hole in the center and we’ll see how that goes. I do note that he doesn’t actually leave any deposits in the center of the seat. They’re more off to the side (though not on the actual toilet seat itself) so I’m not sure he’s going to kick any stuff into the hole after he craps it out, but time will tell.

In the meantime. Here is a picture you didn’t need to see.

BTW. The picture behind the toilet is a signed Gilbert & George poster from the  Naked Shit exhibition that I attended some years ago at the South London Gallery in Peckham. It seemed an apt setting and I enjoy the discomfort it provides my American guests.

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