The Billboards In Thighland

Very few people will believe this, but I have a tendency to say things without thinking them through.

No, it’s true!  I can take an ordinary moment and make it painfully awkward like a magician, if magicians (like other than Criss Angel) specialized in making people cringe.

Abra-kid-ohgod.

Several summers ago I arrived on the scene at one of Jack’s Little League games and found another mom bouncing her criminally adorable, superchubby 6 month old on one knee.  I gasped, and without a second thought I blurted, “Oh my god!  Look at those thighs!  I could just eat them!”

My husband tried to crawl under the bleachers.  Everyone else just paused and got really quiet, like some loud fruitbasket had just announced that she wanted to chow down on a thick slice of underage boy thigh.  That particular teammate of Jack’s didn’t come back after that season, but I’m sure there is a significant no connection.

Law & Order: SVU tone aside, I stand by my remarks.  Baby chub is scrumptious.  Don’t believe me?

photo from thelaughingstork.com

If you can resist that, I don’t want to understand you.  This little Miss is enjoying those few short months in her life when she lays around eating all day, she’s never met a treadmill, and she gets extra points for taking high quality naps.  If she weren’t so damn cute I’d hate her.

I also can’t hate her because those Lit’l Smokie toes won’t pass for very long, and before she knows it she’ll be a kid.  Traditionally, baby chub melts away when Pitter Patter becomes Make Like It’s A Prison Break, but these days it seems like the baby chub is lingering longer, or never going away at all.  You might even call it an epidemic.  Okay, so everyone is calling childhood obesity an epidemic, and the state of Georgia thinks they know what to do about it.

Here’s what they’re doing, with my expert paraphrasing:  Let’s take a few carefully selected kids who are already seasoned targets for jokes and put them on big giant billboards.  Maybe we can even splash big red words like “problem” and “fat” on there because the kids themselves will have no trouble discerning that these are messages targeted toward their parents and no one is actually calling them a big fat problem.

As ABC News and this article note,  strong4life went with this approach because “75% of parents with obese children were not aware that their kids were overweight”, and “50% of parents didn’t realize childhood obesity was a problem to begin with”.  I’m just not buying it.  With those kinds of eye popping numbers, I have to think that these are parents simply suffering from fairly common parental ailments like denial, revision, and maybe a wisp of delusion.  My child is a flipping genius, tomorrow’s LeBron James, the next Mozart, a budding Renior.  It’s just a little baby fat.

Let’s suppose for a moment that this campaign, which the Truthful Mommy blog rightfully gave a good throat punching to on Thursday, isn’t ridiculously insulting to its audience and Georgians really aren’t aware that overweight isn’t healthy.  Nearly 40% of the kids in the state are obese, but guess what?  So are 30% of the adults.  My state is even fatter.  I have a really tough time believing this is lost on anyone.  If adults have trouble cracking the “eat less/better, move more” code, doesn’t it make perfect sense that they can’t help their kids do the same?  Yet, I don’t see anyone rushing to put obese adults on display along the Interstate, or (god forbid) figure out what it is that’s making the code so tough.  This strikes me as the Toddlers & Tiaras of anti-childhood obesity campaigns, where exploiting children and editing up a million reasons to help the rest of us feel superior about our parenting is an instant win. 

Getting families healthy is a community concern that cannot be reduced to, “Hey, do you know your kid is fat?”  The BIG FAT PROBLEM is complicated, like poverty, safety, food desert, ubiquitous advertising of crappy food directly to children, garbage filled school lunches, recess creep, gym class battles and general all around economic upheaval complicated.  What isn’t complicated is the fact that good health starts at the top and the overwhelming majority of parents care for their kids and want what’s best for them.  The sad looking kids in the strong4life ads used to be smiling, round 6 month olds bouncing on someone’s knee, but things are a bit different and a lot more hurtful when a kid understands what all the crazy tall people are saying. 

Georgia strong4life, I feel confident in telling you that you’ve missed the mark.  As anyone at Little League can tell you, I’m a total expert on both discomfort and crazy tall people. 

One of My Favorite Brands Unfollowed Me (and my subsequent obsession)

Okay, I promise.  Just one more little colorless opus on social media and then I’ll go back to talking about poop and taking pictures of my kids wearing Things That Aren’t Hats on their heads.  Today the topic is Twitter, a machine that is all at once an ego boost and a free trip back to high school.

Initially, I didn’t quite get the appeal of Twitter.  I am one hell of a wordy girl.  My sighs are longer than 140 characters.  Frankly I only started tweeting to help drive traffic to this blog, but then something happened and I started really using it.  I finally understood what all the fuss was about.  According to my husband, I’ve even developed a Twitter-related look that surfaces every time something even mildly noteworthy happens in our home or lives.  Whenever I get Twitter Face, he says, “Oh God.  You’re going to tweet that, aren’t you?”  It’s sort of a delayed warning system, so more often than not I’m already typing.

One of the more exciting side effects of a Twitter obsession for me has been the opportunity to “talk” directly to businesses and brands.  My list is small, but Twitter is a great place to get openly gushy when I really like a product, I’ve gotten stellar customer service, or I’ve tried something new and loved it.  Many brands don’t necessarily “follow back”, but will respond to tweets (particularly when they’re being twitched about…See what I did there?).  For this reason I was rather giddy a while ago when one of my favorite brands followed me back.  I noticed that they follow a lot of us little people, and thought that was equally cool.  Yesterday, they unfollowed me.

In the years since high school I’ve worked hard to develop my ability to brush things off, not take them personally.  Or so I thought.  I get that the Internet is a mean place and not everyone is going to like me.  Yet, it just so happens that this is a brand that pretty much follows everything back but the porn ads.  I couldn’t really avoid the message:  We don’t even want people to know you like us.  We have no problem with “unfollow” ringing in your ears every time you’re in the grocery store and you’re choosing between our product and someone else’s.

I can be big on massaging my inner masochist.  All day I’ve been internally reviewing my online activities, wondering what could have made me so repellent.  It’s much ado over one unfollow up in here.  Maybe I swear too much, I thought, or maybe it was the  tweet where I kinda sorta complained about a giant vet bill and made reference to my dog being on cocaine.  140 characters may not seem like a lot, but maybe it’s just enough to make someone look like a horrible person.  The truth is, I often try to use humor as a salve when it comes to dealing with difficult things about my kids and my pet and my life in general.  That night I felt like a crappy dog owner for not prioritizing the concerns that led to that monster vet bill, and telling the Internet I was about to offer her a glass of wine was my admittedly poor attempt to ease my worry and laugh about it.

Though I am reticent to give Mitt Romney credit for much of anything, perhaps he was right when he said that corporations are people too.  I have no way of knowing what made the person manning the Twitter feed at Favorite Brand click me out of the picture, but maybe I’ve learned another important social media lesson:  Think twice, tweet once. 

Editing doesn’t have to mean self-censorship, and is far better than misrepresenting oneself accidentally on purpose.  No, I really can’t enjoy writing or be authentic if I’m constantly wondering whether or not I will come off as an ass.  Given how socially awkward I can be, I’m fairly sure that I do indeed come off as an ass a lot of the time.  The big difference is that one on one, in real life, I will probably get the opportunity to redeem myself somewhat in coversations lasting longer than five minutes.  Twitter can be that short interaction you never get to smooth over, like the time some guy tried to sell me a poster out of his trunk and I thought he asked why I looked familiar.  I ended up saying, “I work right over there”, which is a perfectly normal response to, “Do you want to buy a poster?”

I recently met someone who described her first three months on Twitter as “going somewhere to talk to herself”.  I can relate to that feeling as I head into my third month of Twitter use, still learning the ropes.  My latest rope?  I’m definitely not talking to myself.

I’m pregnant! (Just kidding)

Earlier this year I was a little grossed out to log on to Facebook and read what appeared to be a brief description of the places where a good portion of my female friends, relatives, and coworkers liked to get it on.  After being subjected to a few days of status updates like “On the kitchen island” (very unsanitary) and “the bottom drawer” (look at you and your Cirque du Soleil ass) I finally received a “useful” message letting me in on the secret: it was my friends, telling me where they keep their handbags at night, and it was all being done in the name of breast cancer awareness.

There have actually been several different versions of this “campaign”.  In addition to purse storage, there was the “What color is your bra?” game, meant to fool all of those sex crazed guys out there into thinking the woman folk banded together and decided to tell them what color panties they had on.  Or something.  I’ve never participated, don’t disparage those who have, and in the past I’ve just kind of watched it happen and moved on.  If it makes a few breast cancer patients or survivors feel supported or remembered, it serves a purpose.  I don’t happen to think that Facebook statuses (oh, how I wish the word were statusi) are any match for cancer, but I am neither a breast cancer survivor nor a Facebook fiend.

As of today, my apathy on this practice no longer stands.  I’ve seen several different versions of this email that went around to tons ‘o women on Facebook–copied, pasted, and modified in various ways.  This one happens to be from Undomesticated Housewife, who wrote a really great piece on the subject:

Hey!! This is what its about…Ok pretty ladies, it’s that time of year again, in support of breast cancer awareness!! So we all remember last years game of writing your bra color as your status?…..or the way we like to have our handbag handy? Remember last year so many people took part that it made national news and, the constant updating of status reminded everyone why we’re doing this and helped raise awareness!! Do NOT tell any males what the status’ mean, keep them guessing!! And please copy and paste (in a message )this to all your female friends to see if we can make a bigger fuss this year than last year!!! I did my part… now YOUR turn! Go on ladies…and let’s have all the males guessing! … It’s time to confuse the men again (not that its really that hard to do :)) Everyone knows it makes their brains work wonders on what we’re talking about!! The idea is to choose the month you were born and the day you were born. Pass this on to the girls only and lets see how far it reaches around. The last one about the bra went round all over the world. So you’ll write… I’m (your birth month) weeks and I’m craving (your birth date)!!! as your status. Example: Feb 14th= I’m 2 weeks and craving Chocolate mints!!

To say I object to this little plan would be cutting things short.  I have many objections.

No one–and I repeat no one–is ever indifferent about pregnancy.  It’s typically met with one of three reactions:  Elation, Uncertainty, or Terror.  With the exception of the Duggars and their ilk, no one ever says, “What the hell?  Throw another baby on the pile” and even the Duggars’ reaction is an intense one.  They have been blessed by God with (yet another) child, and that is some intense stuff for them.  You see, pregnancies aren’t usually all that funny and will always elicit an intense reaction.  Saying “I’m pregnant!  Just kidding” is one of the more effective ways I can think of to get someone to mentally punch you in the face.

“It’s time to confuse the men again (not that it’s really that hard to do).”  Hee hee hee, ho ho ho…Stop!  “Guys are so useless” humor gets me every time.  I never tire of the email forwards offering a laundry list of things men are inept at, or the t shirts, bumper stickers, or shot glasses claiming that nothing will ever be said, done, or wiped correctly unless a woman does it.  This isn’t about him forgetting to unload the dishwasher or pick up his socks.  It’s cancer.  Because women have boobs, somehow men and boys aren’t impacted by breast cancer.  No man has ever loved a woman–a mother, a wife, an aunt, a daughter–who has suffered from this disease.  No man has ever been diagnosed with breast cancer himself.  Sorry guys, having boobs just makes us want to get sexist and all practical jokey.

Finally, I’ve seen enough women suffer from infertility to know that every new pregnancy announcement stings a little.  In no way does this mean that she isn’t excited for her friend or acquaintance, it just is what it is.  Kind of like ordering the onion blossom and a slice of fried lard cheesecake in front of your girlfriend on the 1500 calorie a day plan, except loaded with the billion or so emotions connected to having and raising children.  There’s a reason all of us cellulite-typical women want to set something on fire when we’re reading the new Glamour and yet another celebrity takes the time to go on and on about how she’s just “naturally thin” or “eats absolutely everything and never gains a pound”.  The majority of women who are interested in it know that nothing’s fair in fertility, but making a joke of “oops” pregnancies when you’re someone who had no trouble conceiving isn’t funny, it’s called being a dick.  And, lest we forget, one of the biggest burdens on women who *do* survive cancer is the fact that conception afterward can be an uphill battle at best and impossible at worst.  Oops.

Let me be clear and say that I’m not knocking on anyone who tried this game or did it because someone close to her is fighting or fought a diagnosis.  Cancer is a disease that makes us all feel pretty helpless, and I completely understand the urge to do something–anything–to let the world know you care.  I know that helplessness.  The intent doesn’t bother me, it’s the execution.

I am already very much “aware” of breast cancer, and so is a favorite relative of mine who is just starting treatment.  But I am also aware of the fact that in order to put an end to it, we need solutions that serve and include everyone.  Free or low cost mammograms and reminders plus affordable, accessible health care and preventative services for all would be a start.  Why can’t we use Facebook to demand that?  There’s a bad joke I’d tell for the greater good.  Until then, maybe we can all remember there are a few things we don’t goof on (or goof on only with great care): pregnancy, coffee shortages, and…cancer.