Here are some random things.
A Christmas thing I really don't like: That carol about the drummer boy parum-papum-pum. It's really dumb-darum-dum. Drumming for a baby is stupid. Mary would have got really cross. It would have woken the baby up.
British English words that I miss: Stupid instead of dumb. Cross instead of mad/angry.
Fruit I miss: Bramley apples!
Christmas food: mince pies.
Fact about living in Scotland: they call mince pies, mincemeat tarts (which could be great inspiration for a fancy dress costume).
Christmas food that I miss, though I don't like the taste: Christmas pudding and Christmas cake.
Christmas food that is marvellous beyond words: cold turkey and cold stuffing.
A phrase in American English that I really like and use a lot: "Good luck with that". It means "that sounds truly dreadful, I don't envy you".
Something that made me laugh yesterday: my boss called me Eunice Fairbanks all day. It was an in-joke. It was funny at the time, though I can see it loses something in the telling.
Something I am grateful for: oh lots. I'm in that kind of a mood.
Something I bought half price, in the sale at Williams Sonoma yesterday: a mix for making sticky toffee pudding. It says that they researched the recipe in the Lake District, from where the pudding hails. I didn't even know puddings could hail. I don't want to make the pudding. I just want to read the side of the tin over and over, and luxuriate in the fact that I've bought a mix from Williams Sonoma, which is what I do in my dreams sometimes.
Something I saved $100 on, in the sale at Williams Sonoma yesterday: a Le Creuset oval pot, cast iron, enamelled. Only a couple of days ago, I said to Husband "the trouble with my two Le Creuset pots is that one is too big, and the other is too small; I really need the one in between." It would have been criminal not to have saved $100 buying the very perfect one. It's like the baby bear's Le Creuset in Goldilocks. It's orange. Hot orange. I know I'm a better cook already.
Something that happened while I was writing this post that was very nice: my brother phoned from Paris to say Happy New Year. It is, of course, already 2011 in Paris. I'm just so darn international.
Something nice I'm doing tonight: going out. We have been invited out as a family. And - get this - this is the second year running that we have had a New Year's Eve invitation. This could almost be a reason to stay in America. We never used to get invited out on New Year's Eve.
A true fact: I will be late if I don't go and get ready right now.
Greeting: Happy New Year, Bloggy Peeps!
.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
A favourite Christmas moment
We have been watching a lot of The Waltons recently. It’s hard to find a movie or tv programme that keeps everyone happy, given the age range of our children, from 6 to 13. The Waltons seems to fit nicely. And it’s so darn wholesome too. Husband and I can sit back and feel smug about the lessons that our children are learning of the values of family life, the common sense morality, the homespun wisdom… Many of the episodes are familiar, so they must have had a big effect on me when I watched them over 30 years ago. I loved The Waltons, as a child. Now I see my own children equally caught up, with 6-yo deciding she wants to be called Elizabeth, and the boys arguing over whether Ben should or shouldn’t have told the family that he had failed to shoot a turkey for Thanksgiving, and had ended up buying it instead.
It’s not all easy watching. In the depression in rural Virginia, the family and their community struggle to make ends meet. The children go to school in bare feet. The programmes don’t shy away from traumatic events. Mary Ellen’s husband was killed at Pearl Harbor in a recent episode we saw. But they are rich stories, and though things don’t always end well, there is good at the core. And there's a great theme tune to boot.
I have to confess that my inner teenager has a bit of a girlie crush on Johnboy. My inner teenager is fickle, because when I watched The Waltons decades ago as a real teenager, it was the dreamy Jason or the impetuous Ben who held my interest. But now it’s Johnboy. It’s the struggling writer thing that I’ve fallen for. There he is, lynchpin of the family, wavering between boyhood and manhood, more parent than older brother to the younger brood, and then each evening, he seeks the solitude of his own room, and writes feverishly, capturing the ordinary and the extraordinary in his stories of everyday life on Walton’s Mountain. Each episode begins with his mature reflection on the events that will unfold. He is in the story, but he is detached from it: a participant but also an observer. Johnboy Walton was a most excellent blogger, before blogging was invented.
Oh alas, Johnboy. How much easier you’d have found it these days. With broadband arriving at Walton’s Mountain, a whole world would have opened up for you. No more mailing off stories to hard-faced publishers, and waiting for disappointment after disappointment as the manuscripts are returned to you with rejection letters. No, you’d definitely be a top blogger, with your winsome tales of your siblings, and your nuggets of insight into the complexities of family life. What would your blog be called, I wonder? Perhaps one of the following: A Modern Mountain, Johnography, Mountain Tips, Bringing Up JimBob, Virginia Scribble, John Boyfoix, More than Just a Walton. Or how about The Johnota Quota? I’m glad you made it in the end, Johnboy, even with no blog to foster your nascent writing skills.
Here is one of my favourite Walton moments. It’s a blooper with an appropriate Christmas theme, which made me laugh decades ago, back in the days when you had to catch bloopers once a year on a Dennis Norden seasonal special, and savour them enough to last a Youtube-less year.
It’s not all easy watching. In the depression in rural Virginia, the family and their community struggle to make ends meet. The children go to school in bare feet. The programmes don’t shy away from traumatic events. Mary Ellen’s husband was killed at Pearl Harbor in a recent episode we saw. But they are rich stories, and though things don’t always end well, there is good at the core. And there's a great theme tune to boot.
I have to confess that my inner teenager has a bit of a girlie crush on Johnboy. My inner teenager is fickle, because when I watched The Waltons decades ago as a real teenager, it was the dreamy Jason or the impetuous Ben who held my interest. But now it’s Johnboy. It’s the struggling writer thing that I’ve fallen for. There he is, lynchpin of the family, wavering between boyhood and manhood, more parent than older brother to the younger brood, and then each evening, he seeks the solitude of his own room, and writes feverishly, capturing the ordinary and the extraordinary in his stories of everyday life on Walton’s Mountain. Each episode begins with his mature reflection on the events that will unfold. He is in the story, but he is detached from it: a participant but also an observer. Johnboy Walton was a most excellent blogger, before blogging was invented.
Oh alas, Johnboy. How much easier you’d have found it these days. With broadband arriving at Walton’s Mountain, a whole world would have opened up for you. No more mailing off stories to hard-faced publishers, and waiting for disappointment after disappointment as the manuscripts are returned to you with rejection letters. No, you’d definitely be a top blogger, with your winsome tales of your siblings, and your nuggets of insight into the complexities of family life. What would your blog be called, I wonder? Perhaps one of the following: A Modern Mountain, Johnography, Mountain Tips, Bringing Up JimBob, Virginia Scribble, John Boyfoix, More than Just a Walton. Or how about The Johnota Quota? I’m glad you made it in the end, Johnboy, even with no blog to foster your nascent writing skills.
Here is one of my favourite Walton moments. It’s a blooper with an appropriate Christmas theme, which made me laugh decades ago, back in the days when you had to catch bloopers once a year on a Dennis Norden seasonal special, and savour them enough to last a Youtube-less year.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Crismis
So this is Crismis. Or that’s what it says on the calendar on my kitchen wall. Written by 6-yo way back last January, when she was a mere Kindergartener, and she went through the calendar painstakingly writing in birthdays and holidays in letters larger than the space allowed. Of course now she is a First Grader, she would know how to write Crismis properly. That’s what a year does for you. And when we went swimming yesterday, she insisted that I use the Winnie the Pooh towel, which is too babyish for her now, though it was a favourite in the summer. Time passes and things change.
If I were feeling in a philosophical mood, I would reflect that this has been a year of two halves for me. It started badly, with that trip, when Husband was head-hunted and it all came to naught. Then I don’t really remember much about the spring, except I couldn’t really get back in the groove, and I was truly fed up with people telling me to be gentle with myself and not expect too much of myself, and that getting over a major trauma like cancer would take time. Don’t you just hate it when you know the answers, and people keep telling you them, and it doesn’t make the darnedest bit of difference?
The year’s half time was our trip to the UK, which was lovely. I remember day after day in the sunshine in my mother’s garden, trips to beaches, a very hot visit to Paris, walks on the North York Moors, resting and recuperating. There were tears in the gardens of Grosvenor Square, sprung out of the sheer frustration and anguish involved in getting through the US visa system. I remember that.
Then the second half began with the arrival of my green card, and a job in a toy shop. Morale improved. I was busy. It’s easier to make good use of time at home, when you’re not at home all the time. All three children made happy starts to the school year. I joined the church choir, remembered how very much I love choral singing, and wondered why I’ve done so little of it over the past ten years. We celebrated Thanksgiving in Colorado, which has become something of an annual tradition. I spent a week-end in Chicago with five other British bloggers living in the US, leaving Husband to look after the children and pass a kidney stone (or not pass a kidney stone, as it turned out – it had to be blasted apart a week later). That man is a saint.
In terms of blogging, well, I was a finalist in the MADs awards, in the category ‘Best Writer’, and now it seems I’m a finalist in the BMB Brilliance in Blogging list, in the category ‘Inspirational’. Ooh, get me. The blogging highlight of the year for me was reading out a blog post at Cyber Mummy. I loved doing that. I was really nervous, truth be told. Given that it was an emotional topic, my youngest child’s first day at school, I wasn’t sure I would make it through without tears, so I’d given a copy to a friend in the front who could take over if necessary. Be prepared, as they say in the boy scouts (although I’ve never actually been a boy scout, so I don’t know for sure that that’s what they say). Reading that post reflected how I like to think my blog plays out in the blogosphere. Some members of the audience had never read my blog, so for them, the post would have been an interesting commentary on school life in America through an English woman’s eyes. All the audience at Cyber Mummy were mums (or dads), so the post would have tapped into some of the feelings that all mothers experience from time to time, when our children move on and grow up. The specific interest and the general appeal - a good balance in a post. But there were some people, who have followed my blog through thick and thin, and for them, the post was loaded with significance. They would remember that my daughter started school in the middle of my 12 weeks of chemotherapy, and that it was only by the fortunate chance of where the date fell in the 3-week cycle, that I was well enough to take her. They knew how important that was to me. They knew that at the back of my mind were thoughts not only of her first day at school, but where I would be for her last day of school. I spotted tears at the front table. I love that about blogging – the way we all connect in different ways, and on different levels. It’s a rich web of interactions.
Enough about blogging. Another year has gone by. The tree is decorated. The wicker reindeer is on the front lawn, bedecked in lights. The organic turkey will be collected tomorrow. The egg nog is in the fridge. So this is Crismis.
If I were feeling in a philosophical mood, I would reflect that this has been a year of two halves for me. It started badly, with that trip, when Husband was head-hunted and it all came to naught. Then I don’t really remember much about the spring, except I couldn’t really get back in the groove, and I was truly fed up with people telling me to be gentle with myself and not expect too much of myself, and that getting over a major trauma like cancer would take time. Don’t you just hate it when you know the answers, and people keep telling you them, and it doesn’t make the darnedest bit of difference?
The year’s half time was our trip to the UK, which was lovely. I remember day after day in the sunshine in my mother’s garden, trips to beaches, a very hot visit to Paris, walks on the North York Moors, resting and recuperating. There were tears in the gardens of Grosvenor Square, sprung out of the sheer frustration and anguish involved in getting through the US visa system. I remember that.
Then the second half began with the arrival of my green card, and a job in a toy shop. Morale improved. I was busy. It’s easier to make good use of time at home, when you’re not at home all the time. All three children made happy starts to the school year. I joined the church choir, remembered how very much I love choral singing, and wondered why I’ve done so little of it over the past ten years. We celebrated Thanksgiving in Colorado, which has become something of an annual tradition. I spent a week-end in Chicago with five other British bloggers living in the US, leaving Husband to look after the children and pass a kidney stone (or not pass a kidney stone, as it turned out – it had to be blasted apart a week later). That man is a saint.
In terms of blogging, well, I was a finalist in the MADs awards, in the category ‘Best Writer’, and now it seems I’m a finalist in the BMB Brilliance in Blogging list, in the category ‘Inspirational’. Ooh, get me. The blogging highlight of the year for me was reading out a blog post at Cyber Mummy. I loved doing that. I was really nervous, truth be told. Given that it was an emotional topic, my youngest child’s first day at school, I wasn’t sure I would make it through without tears, so I’d given a copy to a friend in the front who could take over if necessary. Be prepared, as they say in the boy scouts (although I’ve never actually been a boy scout, so I don’t know for sure that that’s what they say). Reading that post reflected how I like to think my blog plays out in the blogosphere. Some members of the audience had never read my blog, so for them, the post would have been an interesting commentary on school life in America through an English woman’s eyes. All the audience at Cyber Mummy were mums (or dads), so the post would have tapped into some of the feelings that all mothers experience from time to time, when our children move on and grow up. The specific interest and the general appeal - a good balance in a post. But there were some people, who have followed my blog through thick and thin, and for them, the post was loaded with significance. They would remember that my daughter started school in the middle of my 12 weeks of chemotherapy, and that it was only by the fortunate chance of where the date fell in the 3-week cycle, that I was well enough to take her. They knew how important that was to me. They knew that at the back of my mind were thoughts not only of her first day at school, but where I would be for her last day of school. I spotted tears at the front table. I love that about blogging – the way we all connect in different ways, and on different levels. It’s a rich web of interactions.
Enough about blogging. Another year has gone by. The tree is decorated. The wicker reindeer is on the front lawn, bedecked in lights. The organic turkey will be collected tomorrow. The egg nog is in the fridge. So this is Crismis.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Learn to Dress Kitty
This is it. This is my least favourite toy in the shop.
It's the Learn to Dress Kitty. The idea behind it is that you use this friendly fun cat to teach your child all about clothes fastenings. See, there's a zip (zipper), a button, and shoes with laces on the front, and various hooks and eyes and other things on the back. It retails at $34.99. We also sell a wooden shoe with laces, for $14.99. Same idea, but just a large wooden shoe. No cute cat. It's my second least favourite toy in the shop.
The reason I hate these items so much is this. You just don't need them. Trust me. I've had three children. You truly don't. Here's why (and it's not rocket science). You can use your child's own clothes to teach them how to do fastenings!
"Wait a minute!" I hear you interject. "It's easier for the child to learn on an object in front of them, than on clothes on their own body." I've thought of that, and I have a selection of answers.
First, it actually probably isn't.
Second, what is the point of teaching your child a skill that's easier than the one they need in daily life? What good is it if your child can operate that taut, easy-to-pull 2-inch zip, if at preschool they need to be able to do up their own wrinkly, tricky-to-pull 10-inch zip? Eh? Tell me that. How impressed will the beleaguered preschool teacher be if they say "I can do the Kitty one at home"? Not very.
Third, even if it were helpful to have a teaching aid that the child isn't wearing, even if it were helpful to have easier fastenings to start learning on, even then, this is still a total waste of $34.99, because guess what? You can use an ordinary shoe to practise laces. You can use your handbag or a pair of jeans to practise zips. You can use a cardigan to practise buttons.
There are so very many things that are worth spending $34.99 on. Plus tax. If you still aren't persuaded, if you're still tempted to purchase this toy, or teaching aid, or whatever it is, then STOP right now. Buy a puzzle, or a doll, or a teddy, or Monopoly, or write a cheque to Oxfam. You're still liking the kitty? I hate this toy so much that I am almost at the point of offering to pay my own travel expenses to your house, where I will take you by the hand, and lead you to your own wardrobe, and help you find items which you have right there which will do the same job. It could be a life-changing releasing moment for you.
Quite apart from not buying into the whole idea behind this toy (had you noticed?), I have some issues with the details of the design. The staring eyes... The fact that the zip is so short (what's the point of a 2-inch zip?)... But most of all (and this REALLY annoys me), that orange button under the cute cat chin? See it? It's not even a real functioning button. It's a decorative button. What IS the point of having a button on a learn-to-dress toy, that doesn't have a button hole to go through? Aaaargh...
Before I self-combust in the heat generated by my own ire, I just have to show you this.
Yes, it's the equivalent toy for boys. The Learn to Dress Monkey. I hate it with the same passion, though at least the two buttons on the front are functioning (one with a button hole, the other with an odd loop arrangement that you never ever see on clothes). And there are poppers (snaps, in the US) too. But I have to tell you this about the monkey. In this picture, he's holding the banana in one hand, and his tail in the other. But in the toy shop, he hangs on a rack with both hands fully extended down in front holding the banana - they both attach to it, and (visualise it, go on) it just looks very rude.
Here's my final thought. (If you're not persuaded by now, I'm thinking you're probably beyond my reach on this item.) If your child struggles to do up laces, don't buy the kitty, the monkey or the wooden shoe. Join the rest of Planet Motherhood, and buy shoes with velcro! That $34.99 could buy a very nice pair.
It's the Learn to Dress Kitty. The idea behind it is that you use this friendly fun cat to teach your child all about clothes fastenings. See, there's a zip (zipper), a button, and shoes with laces on the front, and various hooks and eyes and other things on the back. It retails at $34.99. We also sell a wooden shoe with laces, for $14.99. Same idea, but just a large wooden shoe. No cute cat. It's my second least favourite toy in the shop.
The reason I hate these items so much is this. You just don't need them. Trust me. I've had three children. You truly don't. Here's why (and it's not rocket science). You can use your child's own clothes to teach them how to do fastenings!
"Wait a minute!" I hear you interject. "It's easier for the child to learn on an object in front of them, than on clothes on their own body." I've thought of that, and I have a selection of answers.
First, it actually probably isn't.
Second, what is the point of teaching your child a skill that's easier than the one they need in daily life? What good is it if your child can operate that taut, easy-to-pull 2-inch zip, if at preschool they need to be able to do up their own wrinkly, tricky-to-pull 10-inch zip? Eh? Tell me that. How impressed will the beleaguered preschool teacher be if they say "I can do the Kitty one at home"? Not very.
Third, even if it were helpful to have a teaching aid that the child isn't wearing, even if it were helpful to have easier fastenings to start learning on, even then, this is still a total waste of $34.99, because guess what? You can use an ordinary shoe to practise laces. You can use your handbag or a pair of jeans to practise zips. You can use a cardigan to practise buttons.
There are so very many things that are worth spending $34.99 on. Plus tax. If you still aren't persuaded, if you're still tempted to purchase this toy, or teaching aid, or whatever it is, then STOP right now. Buy a puzzle, or a doll, or a teddy, or Monopoly, or write a cheque to Oxfam. You're still liking the kitty? I hate this toy so much that I am almost at the point of offering to pay my own travel expenses to your house, where I will take you by the hand, and lead you to your own wardrobe, and help you find items which you have right there which will do the same job. It could be a life-changing releasing moment for you.
Quite apart from not buying into the whole idea behind this toy (had you noticed?), I have some issues with the details of the design. The staring eyes... The fact that the zip is so short (what's the point of a 2-inch zip?)... But most of all (and this REALLY annoys me), that orange button under the cute cat chin? See it? It's not even a real functioning button. It's a decorative button. What IS the point of having a button on a learn-to-dress toy, that doesn't have a button hole to go through? Aaaargh...
Before I self-combust in the heat generated by my own ire, I just have to show you this.
Yes, it's the equivalent toy for boys. The Learn to Dress Monkey. I hate it with the same passion, though at least the two buttons on the front are functioning (one with a button hole, the other with an odd loop arrangement that you never ever see on clothes). And there are poppers (snaps, in the US) too. But I have to tell you this about the monkey. In this picture, he's holding the banana in one hand, and his tail in the other. But in the toy shop, he hangs on a rack with both hands fully extended down in front holding the banana - they both attach to it, and (visualise it, go on) it just looks very rude.
Here's my final thought. (If you're not persuaded by now, I'm thinking you're probably beyond my reach on this item.) If your child struggles to do up laces, don't buy the kitty, the monkey or the wooden shoe. Join the rest of Planet Motherhood, and buy shoes with velcro! That $34.99 could buy a very nice pair.
Nomination
Well, this is embarrassing. I've been nominated for an award. It's for being "Inspirational". That's very lovely, and it means a lot to me. A... Lot... The embarrassing thing is that I'm just about to post a very ranty post about the trivial subject of my least favourite toy in the world. So if you've clicked over here thinking "Ooooh, I need a bit of "inspirational", I'll see what this Iota Quota blog is all about", then you'll be somewhat disappointed (as they say in America).
But thank you, whosoever of you nominated me. You all are fab. If you want to vote for me, you can click here.
But thank you, whosoever of you nominated me. You all are fab. If you want to vote for me, you can click here.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Christmas picks
This is the time of year when many mummy bloggers do reviews of toys, and give their hot picks for Christmas presents. Well, I’m going to do the opposite. I’m going to give you my cold picks.
The vast, vast majority of the toys in the toy shop where I work are brilliant. They’re high quality, well made, educational, imaginative; some are old favourites, some are different and unusual. I just want to point that out. I need to cover my back in case, just in case, the toy shop owner somehow is reading this and has worked out who Iota is, because I really don’t want to be dooced. And if you are reading this, oh please, please don’t dooce me. I love my job. Please, please don’t give me the sack. I love your shop. I love working in it. I’ll work for you for free.
With that disclaimer, of the thousands (actually, I think it might be tens of thousands) of toys in the shop, there are a very few that I really dislike. So here are my cold picks for 2010.
Hexbugs - I’m sorry, but I just don’t get Hexbugs. We’ve got a couple at home, from 10-yo’s birthday last year. They do two things. They either stay absolutely stationary, or they scuttle in a straight line. Neither is remotely interesting after the first 5 seconds. They are expensive, and as far as I can see, you might as well put your dollar bill or your credit card on the floor. That will stay absolutely stationary, which is 50% of what the Hexbug does. Then you can pick it up again and put it back in your wallet, and have it to spend on a different item. In my opinion, that will have been a much better use of your money. You will miss out on the scuttling, but trust me, you’re not missing out on much. I’m guessing that people buy Hexbugs because some in the series have the title “nano”, and “nano” sounds intelligent and impressive. Even the ones that aren’t “nano” somehow bask in the reflected glory of the ones that are. Also, some boys reach an age where they are almost impossible to buy presents for, and Hexbugs are the straws at which desperate friends and relations clutch.
Ugly Dolls - I don’t see the point of Ugly Dolls. They are ugly. They are overpriced. They do nothing. They don’t even scuttle. If your children ask for an Ugly Doll, it means they’ve got too many toys.
Chew by Numbers kits – I had my first introduction to this concept when 6-yo was in Kindergarten. I used to help out in the classroom each week, and once, I couldn’t believe it when the activity to help the kids learn the letter ‘G’, was to chew gum to make it soft, take it out of their mouths, and then stretch it into a string and stick it onto a sheet of paper in the shape of a ‘G’. Very suitable letter, given the huge number of Germs that were being happily spread around the place. Well, the idea must be flavour of the month with educators and toy designers, because someone has produced these kits containing different coloured gum, which you chew and then stick on to pictures. It’s painting by numbers, but with gum. Yet no-one has had the wit to call it “painting by gum-bers” which would at least add a bit of wry humour to the activity. Answer me one question. Why would anyone buy this kit, when there is a huge range of really good, creative, sensible art kits on the market, which don’t involve chewing and spitting out? Answer me another question. What are you meant to do with these chewing gum pictures when you’ve finished them? Hang them on your wall? Used gum, in colourful blobby shapes, masquerading as art, on your wall? Or put them in a drawer? Yuk. I rest my case.
Anything that says “Everyone loves” on the box - It’s like reading a recipe that says “Children will love this tasty and nutritious snack”. You just know it’s going to have spinach and chick peas in it, and that your children are not going to love it; they’re not even going to try it unless you deploy a big bribe. We sell a craft kit for making wind chimes that says “Everyone loves wind chimes” on the box. Well, I have news for the manufacturer. I don’t love wind chimes. I don’t mind them. I don’t object to them. But I don’t love them. So that’s a fib, right there, before the description goes any further. I am one person. So if I don’t love wind chimes, you can’t say “Everyone loves wind chimes”. Who wants to buy a toy from a company that fibs? We’re all ethical consumers these days.
Snap circuits - I have no idea what these are, in all honesty. I just know that the description on the box makes no sense: “Have fun learning all about electronics”. That is a sentence made up of two entirely discrete concepts – “have fun”, and “learning all about electronics”. That sentence is like vinaigrette. You can shake it vigorously, and it’ll be tasty for a short while, but then the oil and the vinegar will separate out again. You just can’t force two things to combine that don’t belong together. I think the word I’m looking for is immiscible. (Oh, how very, very gratifying. That is indeed the word, but it’s not in Microsoft’s thesaurus. I’m more literate than Microsoft! Ha!) I do have to tell you, though, that we sell a lot of snap circuits, and that people love them and come back for more. There are things called "snap circuit extension kits". I really have no idea at all what those four words mean (though I will happily sell you a box).
So those are my cold picks. I do have one more. It’s not so much a cold pick, as a frozen pick. It’s an item I hate with exquisite loathing. I’ll tell you about it in the next post.
The vast, vast majority of the toys in the toy shop where I work are brilliant. They’re high quality, well made, educational, imaginative; some are old favourites, some are different and unusual. I just want to point that out. I need to cover my back in case, just in case, the toy shop owner somehow is reading this and has worked out who Iota is, because I really don’t want to be dooced. And if you are reading this, oh please, please don’t dooce me. I love my job. Please, please don’t give me the sack. I love your shop. I love working in it. I’ll work for you for free.
With that disclaimer, of the thousands (actually, I think it might be tens of thousands) of toys in the shop, there are a very few that I really dislike. So here are my cold picks for 2010.
Hexbugs - I’m sorry, but I just don’t get Hexbugs. We’ve got a couple at home, from 10-yo’s birthday last year. They do two things. They either stay absolutely stationary, or they scuttle in a straight line. Neither is remotely interesting after the first 5 seconds. They are expensive, and as far as I can see, you might as well put your dollar bill or your credit card on the floor. That will stay absolutely stationary, which is 50% of what the Hexbug does. Then you can pick it up again and put it back in your wallet, and have it to spend on a different item. In my opinion, that will have been a much better use of your money. You will miss out on the scuttling, but trust me, you’re not missing out on much. I’m guessing that people buy Hexbugs because some in the series have the title “nano”, and “nano” sounds intelligent and impressive. Even the ones that aren’t “nano” somehow bask in the reflected glory of the ones that are. Also, some boys reach an age where they are almost impossible to buy presents for, and Hexbugs are the straws at which desperate friends and relations clutch.
Ugly Dolls - I don’t see the point of Ugly Dolls. They are ugly. They are overpriced. They do nothing. They don’t even scuttle. If your children ask for an Ugly Doll, it means they’ve got too many toys.
Chew by Numbers kits – I had my first introduction to this concept when 6-yo was in Kindergarten. I used to help out in the classroom each week, and once, I couldn’t believe it when the activity to help the kids learn the letter ‘G’, was to chew gum to make it soft, take it out of their mouths, and then stretch it into a string and stick it onto a sheet of paper in the shape of a ‘G’. Very suitable letter, given the huge number of Germs that were being happily spread around the place. Well, the idea must be flavour of the month with educators and toy designers, because someone has produced these kits containing different coloured gum, which you chew and then stick on to pictures. It’s painting by numbers, but with gum. Yet no-one has had the wit to call it “painting by gum-bers” which would at least add a bit of wry humour to the activity. Answer me one question. Why would anyone buy this kit, when there is a huge range of really good, creative, sensible art kits on the market, which don’t involve chewing and spitting out? Answer me another question. What are you meant to do with these chewing gum pictures when you’ve finished them? Hang them on your wall? Used gum, in colourful blobby shapes, masquerading as art, on your wall? Or put them in a drawer? Yuk. I rest my case.
Anything that says “Everyone loves” on the box - It’s like reading a recipe that says “Children will love this tasty and nutritious snack”. You just know it’s going to have spinach and chick peas in it, and that your children are not going to love it; they’re not even going to try it unless you deploy a big bribe. We sell a craft kit for making wind chimes that says “Everyone loves wind chimes” on the box. Well, I have news for the manufacturer. I don’t love wind chimes. I don’t mind them. I don’t object to them. But I don’t love them. So that’s a fib, right there, before the description goes any further. I am one person. So if I don’t love wind chimes, you can’t say “Everyone loves wind chimes”. Who wants to buy a toy from a company that fibs? We’re all ethical consumers these days.
Snap circuits - I have no idea what these are, in all honesty. I just know that the description on the box makes no sense: “Have fun learning all about electronics”. That is a sentence made up of two entirely discrete concepts – “have fun”, and “learning all about electronics”. That sentence is like vinaigrette. You can shake it vigorously, and it’ll be tasty for a short while, but then the oil and the vinegar will separate out again. You just can’t force two things to combine that don’t belong together. I think the word I’m looking for is immiscible. (Oh, how very, very gratifying. That is indeed the word, but it’s not in Microsoft’s thesaurus. I’m more literate than Microsoft! Ha!) I do have to tell you, though, that we sell a lot of snap circuits, and that people love them and come back for more. There are things called "snap circuit extension kits". I really have no idea at all what those four words mean (though I will happily sell you a box).
So those are my cold picks. I do have one more. It’s not so much a cold pick, as a frozen pick. It’s an item I hate with exquisite loathing. I’ll tell you about it in the next post.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Christmas story
Christmas is coming, in case you hadn’t noticed, and here at The Iota Quota I’ve been thinking about Herod. Just to get into a festive mood.
Now Herod was not a nice man. Oooh no, not a nice man at all. If you’d been around at the time of the Nativity (and please, Americans, do we have to pronounce it Nay-tivity? Can’t we just stick to N’tivity? Please?)… If you’d been around at that time, you’d have heard very little about the shepherds and the angels, I’m guessing, because life would have been completely dominated by the horrific events instigated by Herod. Do you remember? He didn’t like the idea of anyone challenging his rule, so when the Magi pitched up, with their stories of the special star and the special baby, he came up with a plan, and ordered all the infants under the age of 2 to be slaughtered, in front of their parents. I’m told that fourteen thousand babies died. Fourteen thousand. Herod was not a nice man.
Mary and Joseph slipped away to Egypt, and somehow, down the ages, those other babies and their weeping, scared, scarred parents have been relegated to second place in the story. Well, I’m remembering them here.
Thinking about this story, I’ve noticed something this time round that I’ve never noticed before. The Magi. They’re meant to be the good guys. Wise, rich, exotic, generous, journeying patiently, seeking diligently, wearing fancy crowns. But they did a bad thing. They went to see Herod on their way to Jerusalem. They were warned in a dream not to go and see him on their way home, but it was too late by then. The damage had been done. Why did they do that? Why did they go to Jerusalem? Couldn’t they just have steered their camels to Bethlehem? They must have known that Herod was bad news.
I think they went to see Herod, because that’s what powerful people do. They like to hang out with other powerful people. No doubt they were well-received, and treated royally, and who doesn’t like to be treated royally? And listen to what they said: “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the East, and have come to worship him.” Yes. Because we all like people to know when we’re about our religious business. If you’ve made a big effort to go on a spiritual journey, it’s a shame if other people don’t know about it. Especially if it has involved a bit of hardship and a few trials. But Magi, my friends, your desire to be kingly and to have your mission weightily appreciated may well have cost the lives of fourteen thousand babies.
I’m disappointed in the Magi, frankly. It’s disconcerting when you see the flaws in the good guys. I’ve always preferred them to the shepherds, actually. I mean, they had to trek across nations following a mysterious moving target, while the shepherds were conveniently right there just by Bethlehem, and had the benefit of a skyful of angels telling them what was what. All they had to do was straighten up the tea towels on their heads, and walk down the hillside. They're always depicted with a lamb or two, but let's think about that for a minute. They would either have taken the whole flock with them (bit cosy in the stable), or they'd have left someone in charge on the hillside, in which case they wouldn't have needed to take any with them at all. Maybe one of the heavenly host tipped them the wink. "Psst. Take a lamb with you. You know... A lamb...? For the symbolism...?"
My favourite character in the story, though, is Mary. And I’ve seen something new about her this time round too. When she and Joseph escaped to Egypt, how horrible that must have been for them. They must have felt such awful, dreadful relief at having protected their precious baby, their firstborn, from Herod’s henchmen with their instruments of death. But I’m sure they felt horrible guilt too. Can you imagine? Escaping when fourteen thousand didn’t? The news of the slaughter must have reached them, and they must have been sick at heart. How did they cope with it? When they returned from Egypt and went to Nazareth, did they avoid Bethlehem? I bet they did. To have a living child among such bereavement would have been a most terrible burden. The lesser burden, but a terrible burden nonetheless. Terrible, and so lonely.
We’re not told very much about Mary at this point, but we are told that she “kept all these things, pondering them in her heart”. I love that. If there’s one thing that I’ve learnt from all the mummy blogs I read, it’s that there is quiet pondering a-plenty that goes on in a mother’s heart. I suppose Mary had more to ponder than most of us, what with the visitation from the Angel Gabriel, and the donkey ride, and the shepherds, and the Magi. And just think of the pressure you’d be under to look your best after the birth, if you knew that your picture was going to be on Christmas cards for several millennia?
Yes, I think Mary must have had very many lonely and difficult days. I'm glad she had Joseph. Obviously a great bloke, choosing to stick with her and look after her, though she was carrying a child who wasn't his own. We're thinking the Dad from Little House on the Prairie meets Atticus from To Kill a Mocking Bird.
Whatever you think of the historical reality of the Nay-tivity, you’ve got to admit, it’s a great story. Tell me, who’s your favourite character?
Now Herod was not a nice man. Oooh no, not a nice man at all. If you’d been around at the time of the Nativity (and please, Americans, do we have to pronounce it Nay-tivity? Can’t we just stick to N’tivity? Please?)… If you’d been around at that time, you’d have heard very little about the shepherds and the angels, I’m guessing, because life would have been completely dominated by the horrific events instigated by Herod. Do you remember? He didn’t like the idea of anyone challenging his rule, so when the Magi pitched up, with their stories of the special star and the special baby, he came up with a plan, and ordered all the infants under the age of 2 to be slaughtered, in front of their parents. I’m told that fourteen thousand babies died. Fourteen thousand. Herod was not a nice man.
Mary and Joseph slipped away to Egypt, and somehow, down the ages, those other babies and their weeping, scared, scarred parents have been relegated to second place in the story. Well, I’m remembering them here.
Thinking about this story, I’ve noticed something this time round that I’ve never noticed before. The Magi. They’re meant to be the good guys. Wise, rich, exotic, generous, journeying patiently, seeking diligently, wearing fancy crowns. But they did a bad thing. They went to see Herod on their way to Jerusalem. They were warned in a dream not to go and see him on their way home, but it was too late by then. The damage had been done. Why did they do that? Why did they go to Jerusalem? Couldn’t they just have steered their camels to Bethlehem? They must have known that Herod was bad news.
I think they went to see Herod, because that’s what powerful people do. They like to hang out with other powerful people. No doubt they were well-received, and treated royally, and who doesn’t like to be treated royally? And listen to what they said: “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the East, and have come to worship him.” Yes. Because we all like people to know when we’re about our religious business. If you’ve made a big effort to go on a spiritual journey, it’s a shame if other people don’t know about it. Especially if it has involved a bit of hardship and a few trials. But Magi, my friends, your desire to be kingly and to have your mission weightily appreciated may well have cost the lives of fourteen thousand babies.
I’m disappointed in the Magi, frankly. It’s disconcerting when you see the flaws in the good guys. I’ve always preferred them to the shepherds, actually. I mean, they had to trek across nations following a mysterious moving target, while the shepherds were conveniently right there just by Bethlehem, and had the benefit of a skyful of angels telling them what was what. All they had to do was straighten up the tea towels on their heads, and walk down the hillside. They're always depicted with a lamb or two, but let's think about that for a minute. They would either have taken the whole flock with them (bit cosy in the stable), or they'd have left someone in charge on the hillside, in which case they wouldn't have needed to take any with them at all. Maybe one of the heavenly host tipped them the wink. "Psst. Take a lamb with you. You know... A lamb...? For the symbolism...?"
My favourite character in the story, though, is Mary. And I’ve seen something new about her this time round too. When she and Joseph escaped to Egypt, how horrible that must have been for them. They must have felt such awful, dreadful relief at having protected their precious baby, their firstborn, from Herod’s henchmen with their instruments of death. But I’m sure they felt horrible guilt too. Can you imagine? Escaping when fourteen thousand didn’t? The news of the slaughter must have reached them, and they must have been sick at heart. How did they cope with it? When they returned from Egypt and went to Nazareth, did they avoid Bethlehem? I bet they did. To have a living child among such bereavement would have been a most terrible burden. The lesser burden, but a terrible burden nonetheless. Terrible, and so lonely.
We’re not told very much about Mary at this point, but we are told that she “kept all these things, pondering them in her heart”. I love that. If there’s one thing that I’ve learnt from all the mummy blogs I read, it’s that there is quiet pondering a-plenty that goes on in a mother’s heart. I suppose Mary had more to ponder than most of us, what with the visitation from the Angel Gabriel, and the donkey ride, and the shepherds, and the Magi. And just think of the pressure you’d be under to look your best after the birth, if you knew that your picture was going to be on Christmas cards for several millennia?
Yes, I think Mary must have had very many lonely and difficult days. I'm glad she had Joseph. Obviously a great bloke, choosing to stick with her and look after her, though she was carrying a child who wasn't his own. We're thinking the Dad from Little House on the Prairie meets Atticus from To Kill a Mocking Bird.
Whatever you think of the historical reality of the Nay-tivity, you’ve got to admit, it’s a great story. Tell me, who’s your favourite character?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Running deep
Bloggy Peeps, I wish you'd been here this evening. You would have enjoyed the moment.
I was at my book club, and the member hosting the evening was offering us all drinks. She offered water, and said
"I have water or sparkling water. In fact, let me offer it to you as they do in England. Would you like stale or sparkling? I tell you, that was quite a shock, the first time I heard that. We were in London at a theatre, and in the intermission we went to the bar, and the bar tender asked us if we'd like stale or sparkling water. Didn't sound very nice: stale water! We ordered sparkling."
We were all chuckling merrily about the eccentricities of the English, which I don't mind at all, because it's a hundred per cent kindly meant, and actually, I quite like being called upon to represent an eccentric nation. "Ha ha ha, no, doesn't sound very nice at all, does it? Stale water, ha ha ha". But then gradually I became aware of a sensation in my head that felt like a memory knocking at the door, asking to be let out, and the cogs of my brain started turning slowly... slowly... until... Ping! I had it.
"STILL!" I declared. "Still water. Not stale water. Still water!"
I am a little worried that it took me a minute to access this information, and that it wasn't automatic. I am crossing rather too many lines. But the delay allowed for some nice comic timing, and there was much ensuing hilarity.
Just wish you'd all been there, Bloggy Friends.
I was at my book club, and the member hosting the evening was offering us all drinks. She offered water, and said
"I have water or sparkling water. In fact, let me offer it to you as they do in England. Would you like stale or sparkling? I tell you, that was quite a shock, the first time I heard that. We were in London at a theatre, and in the intermission we went to the bar, and the bar tender asked us if we'd like stale or sparkling water. Didn't sound very nice: stale water! We ordered sparkling."
We were all chuckling merrily about the eccentricities of the English, which I don't mind at all, because it's a hundred per cent kindly meant, and actually, I quite like being called upon to represent an eccentric nation. "Ha ha ha, no, doesn't sound very nice at all, does it? Stale water, ha ha ha". But then gradually I became aware of a sensation in my head that felt like a memory knocking at the door, asking to be let out, and the cogs of my brain started turning slowly... slowly... until... Ping! I had it.
"STILL!" I declared. "Still water. Not stale water. Still water!"
I am a little worried that it took me a minute to access this information, and that it wasn't automatic. I am crossing rather too many lines. But the delay allowed for some nice comic timing, and there was much ensuing hilarity.
Just wish you'd all been there, Bloggy Friends.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Farewell, red mullet
I have a little curly red mullet on the back of my neck. I do. Thing is, I got really very used to having thick curly hair, and I loved it. It’s now reverted to straight and thin, and almost all the waves have gone. There are just a few tight curls left at the bottom, at the back, and I haven't been able to bring myself to have them trimmed off. I also Clairoled my hair red, and hit lucky on a colour that is very nice (though I say it myself). I even remembered to keep the top of the box, so that I can buy the same one next time.
I’ve been loathe to cut off my curls. I didn’t like them at first, but as time passed, I got very fond of them. Having cancer seems to involve endless rearrangement of your mental furniture. I’d rearranged it to embrace the idea of curly hair, and then I had to go about re-rearranging it to re-embrace the idea of getting my straight hair back. I knew it would revert over time. I just didn’t know “over time” meant a few weeks. I thought it would be months or even years. By the time I’d got to like having curly hair, it was time to U-turn back again.
Losing your hair is a big deal. In a way, though, it’s no bad thing. It's easier to focus on losing your hair, than on having cancer. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s not really an inevitable side-effect of the drugs, but a result of some product that the medics deliberately add. Maybe they know that thinking about losing your hair is the easier option, and consider it an act of kindness to make that happen.
So yes, I enjoyed my curls, but I’ve held onto them for reasons beyond the curliness itself. There’s a feeling that they’re a part of me now. Somehow cutting them off feels like the end of an era. It’s not an era I liked, but it was an era. I didn’t have any photos taken of me when I was bald – I didn’t want to preserve the look for posterity. But I wish I had. That was me, whether I liked it or not, and I wish I had a picture to look back on and say “yes, that was me”. But I have got photos of the curlicued Iota. I’ll be able to look back and say “ooh, get me with my curly 2010 hair!”
But even I can see that an aging diminutive curly-at-the-bottom red mullet is not the most attractive of looks, and so the little hoops must go. It’s one thing to enjoy a season of ringlets; it’s quite another to go around in polite society with straggles dripping down your neck. In the past year, I have gone through so many looks: Gandhi, Sinead O’Connor, Obama, Showaddywaddy. Time to take control, and get me to a salon.
Here’s a photo of them, though, for you to enjoy before they go.
Farewell, little curly red mullet.
Top photo credit: Philippe Guillaume, Flickr
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