Sprite's Keeper

Memories of Rick

My Monday got off to a keen start.

John kept a sick Sprite home for the day and I had the luck of actually reaching the office before I finished my coffee, a rare feat which made the drive that much smoother added to the fact that I wasn't battling a three-year-old for -and losing- control of the radio/ dvd player. Already, a wonderful beginning to a beautiful day.

Then, taking a quick break from the daily toil, I clicked onto ABC News to see this.

Let me take you back, folks. Back to the late 80's, in my Girl Scout days, being shuffled forward by our pack leader Andrea, meeting a young television news reporter by the name of Rick Sanchez at one of the local events in my city, which was still considered a "town" back then. I had the honor of shaking his hand and being told, by his truly, that I was lucky to be meeting him since someday he was going to be a big deal.

I hated him right away. In fact, my mutterings as he walked off to preen for the camera may have been, "What a jerk."

And it only took twenty-something years for his prediction to come true.

From the "lowly" field reporter spots, he finally made the coveted anchor chair on WSVN Channel 7 a few years after our meeting (which he remembers, of course), however, the station he was working for was more known for it's "sensational" take on the news. (The color yellow was frequently associated with their coverage.) They could have matured their content since then, but I stopped watching long before I left Fort Lauderdale, so I shouldn't be quoted on that.

When Hurricane Andrew came about in 1992, devastating the Miami/ Homestead area, everyone else was hunkered down in their spots of safety listening to Brian Norcross, a meteorologist on the local CBS station, who actually became widely known, and regarded as a hero, for his coverage during the storm and all the help and much needed comforting voice that he offered to Floridians who were literally one mattress away from complete exposure to the storm as their homes caved around them.

Lucky us, the only channel that came across in our home was WSVN and Mr. Rick Sanchez, who was the network's choice to run this coverage. I'll never forget watching with my dad, laughing my fifteen year old fool head off as he proclaimed sometime in the middle of the night, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are in the middle of a major earthquake."

Really?

I've watched his career move from WSVN to MSNBC to CNN, not with interest, mind you, but only when his name would come up in the headlines for making some big mistake or mispronunciation here and there, like that one time? when he mistook the Galapagos Islands for Hawaii? yeah, that was fun..,  always going back to that momentary greeting when his big hand took my small one and promised me he would be the biggest thing ever and I was so lucky to be standing in that spot at that time.

Lucky lucky me.

Well, Rick Sanchez got his wish. He is a big deal now. Making headlines over all the major news sites, except the one he just got fired from. Really big deal.

Somehow, I don't get the feeling that this was the big deal he wanted to be known for...

(Being Jewish, some people may believe my being tickled about the rise and fall of Rick Sanchez is because of his comments about Jews not deserving to be considered a minority group. Actually, no. I believe his comments, as ignorant, and stupid, as they were, were trying to make the comparison that his background was more tragic than Jon Stewart's, and it just came out REALLY WRONG. But seeing as this guy has his own personal history of tasting shoe leather, it was past time he was called out for it.)

Random Recall Tuesday Trivia

Nah, it's just Random Tuesday Thoughts, sponsored by the lovely and Canadian Keely over at The Un Mom!

Wanna join me? Too late. The door's closed. You might as well have a seat..

I was surfing the blogosphere and wandered over to Zipbag of Bones where Cat was regaling us with a story about a tween boy who ended up walking into the ladies room by mistake. You really should head over there to read it since she tells it so much better, but it reminds me of an incident that happened when I was a teenager myself. My dad had chaperoned a group of our friends on a baseball game outing back in the days when the Marlins were a brand new team and seats in the "Fishbowl" (nose-bleed section) cost about five bucks. The game was pretty boring (Remember! New team does not equal good team...yet.) so my father and I walked around the outer area where the food stands and restrooms were all situated. Now, the restrooms at Pro Player Stadium have those U-turn entrances so there are no doors involved.
It was getting close to the Seventh Inning Stretch and a fan, obviously full of piss and vinegar, (okay, piss and beer) was booking it for the men's room. I, who had just discovered the powers of snark and how to use it, called out, "That's the Ladies's room!" as he dashed by and into the entrance. He pulled the ultimate Fred Flintstone impression as he tried to brake in his sneakers and ran smack into the wall of the men's room. I thought my dad was going to have a fit with my little joke, especially since he had witnessed it firsthand. Instead, he doubled over in laughter. Two memorable things happened that day:
1. I learned that my dad actually had a wicked sense of humor. (At least, it was wicked compared to what I thought it was.)
2. Both he and I reacted the same way. We fled the scene. 

Really Long Random Tangent ahead:

They should have named it Private MAL-Practice. I have been a Grey's Anatomy fan for a while now. When Addison came to Seattle Grace and uttered those famous words about being Derrick's wife, I thought, okay, this storyline is overplayed, but maybe it will be good anyway. And it was. Good.
However, seeing the potential in the star power that is Kate Walsh, they decided the Derrick-Meredith-Addison triangle had seen its last go around (when clearly it had a couple more loops before people cried "Foul!") and sent Addison to L.A. to spin her own storylines. So, I watched, thinking, Bonus! A Grey's spin off! By the same writer!

I watched as the plot-lines took a course into dangerous terrain, the frankly unbelievable, one episode in particular that chronicled a day in the office. (Please pardon any omissions or changes in context as I'm going based on my memory and actual interest.)

In the morning of a typical office day, a couple comes in and finds out their baby has a rare genetic disorder, a medical death sentence, which has been passed down by one of them. They both tested and it's determined neither one has the trait AND(Bum bum bum!) neither one is the child's biological parent. (Yeah, because blood tests come back that quickly in real life. At a doctor's office. While you wait. I don't think they take Aetna, do you?) Back to the snory, I meant story. One of the doctors, Taye Diggs, I think, ran through the records of all the babies born in the same hospital on the same day, because he was able to push all of his appointments aside for the day and still get paid, and discovered another couple that had also given birth to a baby girl. They brought them in (because this other couple just snaps to attention when a doctor calls, even if the guy is not THEIR doctor, on a week day, during working hours...exactly what I would do.)

So, they run a blood test on the other couple and their baby (because they allow it, even though they're not being told why. But a doctor asked! Therefore it's okay!) and it turns out that they are the biological parents to the baby with the death sentence while their own now former daughter is perfectly fine and the husband of one of the couples switched the babies at birth since he knew there would be a problem with his own kid and he wanted one without a glitch, and they've all been caring for each other's babies since. Now, they found this out all in one day. How do I know this? Because none of the characters changed clothes. And we all know that in the prime time drama world, a character changes clothes quicker than they change lovers. (Unless you're watching Desperate Housewives. The theory could be challenged on that show.)

So, to wrap up this one (only one?) episode, the couples switch babies again by the end of the day, completely giving up the daughter they've known and loved for about a year, and the baby switching daddy is arrested. Because the police also respond to a doctor's call immediately and don't bother to open an investigation and obtain a warrant for an arrest. Because in TV Land, they're allowed to make their own rules. Because the only way I wouldn't have bought the story line was if one of the involved babies was a boy.

This show has gotten more and more ridiculous every time I've suffered through it. They brought on prime-time aged soap hunk Grant Show as Addison's brother last week and then tried to convince the audience that he and Addison are closer than bubbles in a bath, never mind the fact that she's never mentioned him before.. Oh, and by the way, let's give him an inoperable brain tumor which actually turns out to be worms. WORMS BREEDING IN HIS HEAD!!! Excuse me while I jump the snark.

So, ABC has been pushing a crossover event for weeks, most likely hoping for a defibrillator to jump start Private Practice's viewership, and promised the event would happen last week. So I stayed on, wanting to see the old Derrick/Addison chemistry which made the Grey's triangle so juicy.

Nothing happened. Those marketing bastards. They're going to get two weeks of my time just so I can get through this stupid plot of worms breeding in Addison's brother's head, so I can find out if he lives and joins either show as a regular or dies and tries his luck with the 90210 gang since he seems to like prime time soap hopping.

Although, if he dies, Heather Locklear and Jack Wagner may appear for cameos at his funeral.

Private Practice, you're on my short list of shows to be dumped. Frankly, you're not worth the co-pay.

Damn. That rant completely took over my Random Tuesday! I oughta sue..

Remote Control Confessional

(First things first: You only have until 12:01AM Saturday morning to get your comment in for the fabulous quilt give away! Nothing else like it in the world! Do it now!)

Since the beginning of the "Movement of Self-Awareness" (at least, that's what I call it), TV has become the public foe and secret friend of parents everywhere.

(I still find the irony funny that you weren't giving your infant the head start they needed if you didn't buy "Baby Einstein" DVD's in the 90's. Now, you're rotting their brains if you place them in their bouncy seats for a half hour or classical music and bright colors.)

The American Academy of Pediatrics has been telling parents to reduce TV time for their kids or else their kids will have more problems behaviorally, academically, and physically. (Of course their studies were based on homes where 2/3 of the children involved had TV sets in their own rooms.) The study said to get the kids outside. Play more. Interact with others more. Yeah, I can jive with that.

But, (And everyone has one.)

When did this reduction of TV time hit the other extreme and become the taboo subject among parents? Now, it seems the less TV you allow, the better a parent you are. (Or maybe that's just the way I've been reading it and this entire post is just a reaction of my overly sensitive defense mechanism. There's that too..)

When I tune into a blog these days, the biggies and the not-so-biggies, parents will talk about their child's favorite shows, but follow this information up with the disclaimer chaser "but we only let her watch about 30 minutes a day" or "he gets one cartoon segment and then the set goes off" or "my little Billy has never seen a commercial in his life!". There are alsothose parents who proclaim proudly that they don't even have a TV. (I'd be driving by their house to look for evidence of a satellite dish to back that statement up, but that's just me.) I admire these folks, sincerely I do. But I have a hard time believing things are as strictly enforced as they're saying.

Therefore I am going to lay my life(style) on the line. Here is my admission on TV time for Sprite:

On the way to daycare, her DVD player gets turned on. Why? Morning rush hour is hard enough without a screaming toddler demanding a cheese stick every five seconds. (Yeah, the cheese stick thing. For some reason, the kid likes cheese, especially in stick form. Dairy Counsel has nothing to worry about when it comes to her daily milk ingestion.) It's easier for me to focus on the crazies around me rather than the potential crazy in my backseat as I navigate the road, my coffee cup, my breakfast, my phone, my iPod, my reading, and my cat. (I kid!)( I don't have a cat.) TV time: 30 minutes.

On the way home, I sometimes try to engage her in conversation as I encounter the same crazies again, only this time they've all been through as hectic a day as I have, their blood sugar levels are a little more precarious, and their attitudes a little less forgiving. Our talking lasts about a minute before she throws another cheese stick demand into the front seat. (Oh, and sometimes? She'll switch it up and ask for a cookie! Keeps me on my toes, that one!) On the DVD goes. What's playing? Eh, Curious George, Cinderella, Leapfrog educational DVD that ended up in our collection somehow and is actually kinda cute, whatever seems to be playing. TV time: 45-60 minutes. (If everyone would get the hell out of my way, that time would be much lower, but I don't think the excuse of reducing my daughter's TV time would hold up for running a red light... Should I try it?)

Once we get home, dinner needs to be made. (Or nuked. Most likely nuked.) (See? I'm being honest.)The TV goes on and Imagination Movers or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse get pulled from our DVR's memory to distract her so I can let the dogs out, work my way around the kitchen, and maybe switch a load of laundry out. Granted, her attention does not stay on the show after a few minutes. She generally loses interest and wanders into her room, hunts for Blue or Harry, or tries to scale the kitchen cabinets, so TV time: 30 minutes, give or take 25 minutes. (You think I'm going to count the parts where she's in her room or interrogating a canine? Pfft!)

My big rule with the TV? When dinner is on the table, the set is either off or the show is paused. John is usually still at work during dinner time on the weekdays, so this is the one rule I keep. It's hard enough to keep Sprite's attention on the meal when dogs are looking for a handout or she thinks dipping her fingers in her milk cup and then sucking the drips off her fingers is just the COOLEST THING EVER I BET SHE LEARNED THAT AT DAYCARE!, so why do I want to compete against Mickey instructing us to count ducks while I readdress our latest discussion on "Green Beans: Good for the mouth, not for the floor"?

Sometimes, on those days where my energy level is low, and dinner only makes me more tired, I will cave in (after the meal is done and the clean up crew is working) to a request for Sleeping Beauty. TV time: roughly 30 minutes.

Our weekends are a crap shoot. Sometimes, our schedule is so jam packed with park trips, visiting relatives (both here and elsewhere), play dates, and errands that the TV never gets a first glance. Sometimes, we have nothing but time on our hands and decide a Disney movie is just what we need to start the day off. It varies.

So there you have it. My two year old gets about two and a half hours worth of exposure to the demon tube in a day's time. (I'm even being generous with the parts of the day where it's just on, whether or not she's focused on it.) The recommended guideline for children and TV says it should be an hour per year or under two hours total. Result: I fail.

I still consider myself to be a good mom. I color with her, play with her, talk to her, and read to her almost every night. She hates to see me leave her in the mornings, hugs me tight when I pick her up, and even grants me kisses once in a while.

Am I mother of the year? Hell, no. I don't even think I'm registered to vote in that election. But the fact that I let my daughter get some time in front of the electronic babysitter shouldn't have other parents reaching for their soapboxes to add some height to their scorn for my decisions on how much TV my child is allowed to see.

I've been wanting to address this for a while. The final straw came for me when I was approached by another mother at Sprite's daycare who thought it was so cute that Sprite liked to sing "Once Upon a Dream" from her favorite Disney flick, but expressed some concern that maybe Sprite was watching it too much since she seemed to know the words so much better than a two year old should. It took all the control I had to reign my snark in, even though my answer would have shut her barely disguised criticism down quickly. This mother did not know that Sprite happens to like the song so much because John and I sing it to her often (not because we're brainwashing her with repeated showings until she knows the stupid movie word for word) and I really didn't feel the need to explain myself or my parenting skills. Although I could have easily slipped it in when Sprite came up to me right then and demanded, "Mommy! Sing 'I know you'!"

I know I'm not alone in this. I know there are moms and dads out there who allow more TV time than we do. I know there are those who allow less. I want confessions. I don't want "Here's what you should do" and "Here's what you're doing wrong", I want an honest answer on how much TV you allow for your kid(s). Just be honest. Get it off your chest. And if you don't have kids, how much TV do you allow for yourself?

How do you HONESTLY feel about it? Should it be less? Maybe more?

Maybe, again, I'm just reading way too much into this. Or maybe I'm just in love with the word "honestly" today. Could I have peppered this post any more liberally with it?

And hey! Today marks 365 days of posting! I think I may take Sunday off!

Video Killed The Radio Star

John and I ran across this last night. We both had a pretty good laugh at it and thought it was worth sharing.

 Please understand, no animal was in any danger during the filming of this video, back when Sprite was 2 months old. I was kidding when I said it. (Yes I was.)

(Was too.)

A Place Where Nobody Dared To Go..

I know I wasn't quite ten, but I knew what love was.

His name was Sonny Malone. He was a rebel, an artist, a dreamer. He was a master on wheels and wore those red jogger shorts and that red koi fish shirt like no one's business. I worshiped him. But he only had eyes for Kira. (That bitch.)

Okay, stop rolling your eyes. And "Don't walk away." This will be good.

Beth Hering over at Momformation wrote this post about "Grease" and its 30 year anniversary which brought back memories of my childhood and the outlandish stuff I used to sigh over.

"Grease" was a definite favorite. I now own the Anniversary Edition with the Jacket over the cover and everything, but it made me remember another movie which ties into my afore-mentioned crush.

I loved "Xanadu" as a kid. Every time it came on tv, my sister and I were in front of it, memorizing the lines, trying to pin down Olivia Newton-John's somewhat ambiguous accent. We practiced dancing to it in our living room, usually with me picking Lee up and twirling her (on demand). (Yeah, that. Lee Ann may have been older, but I was stronger. Her hair weighed more than she did.) We sang the songs. We dreamed about naming our future daughters Kira. (No, that's not Sprite's real name.) (..You were wondering.)

We drove our parents crazy with reciting lines and pestering my dad to replace the needle on the record player to the beginning of certain songs so we could hear them again. (My dad was anal about his stereo and would rather hear the same drek again and again than the telltale scratch of a certain minor about to be grounded for daring to move the sacred needle.)

We owned the VHS to this movie and "Grease" and both got more play than any other movie in the collection. (And VHS was expensive back then. A collection of 5 raised eyebrows. 500 these days would be status quo. 5,000 would be worrisome as people would be wondering what you really do with your time.) 

I loved the music and still remember every word to the songs. There was just something so perfect about the synthesizers, the magical romance, the roller skating, the "Glitz", and the entire genre it represented. It was camp! It completely captured the feeling of my youth and the self-centeredness of the early 80's. I didn't pay attention to the obvious innuendos. Those went over my head and I was happily ignorant as I focused on the Love Conquers All story with a somewhat happy ending. And I would wander away from the movie, satisfied that love (kind of) prevailed in this twisted world of rock'n'roller skates and satisfied that my barrettes with their streaming ribbons were still properly fastened in my disappointedly brunette hair as I fastened up my Strawberry Shortcake skates (Stop laughing!) and tried to recreate the "Magic" scene with dialogue and everything.

I sometimes think back to those days with such nostalgia, it almost makes me weepy. I was able to throw myself into the story lines so effortlessly. These days, it takes more effort and concentration, but I can sometimes still imagine myself skating along at the rink with "Suddenly" blasting through the speakers and the neon lights sparkling above my head as my left leg balances on those moving wheels while my right leg pushes back and up and then I am Kira, barrettes and all, flowing tattered skirts, leggings over my skates, gliding towards my Sonny (or the boy about to wipe out in front of me) and all was right with my world. (Don't worry. These hallucinations don't last too long these days. I'm okay.)

I hadn't seen the movie since I hit the teen years, although I had John download the music onto his I-pod a while back just to hear ELO rock those synthesizers again. I still yearn for it sometimes. It makes me feel like "I'm alive."

I held that movie in high regard for many years until my mother gave me a DVD copy of it. I sat down to watch it one night, heavily pregnant with Sprite. I tried to make John sit for it, but he turned tail as soon as he realized singing and roller skates were more than just passing references in this movie. So, I was alone. And I watched. While I was impressed with my memory of entire scenes of dialogue (Especially, the "Tuesday's Wednesday" speech. Anyone else remember that?), I was also surprised that I overlooked so much of the obvious bad acting and over-the-top plot lines that made this movie everything it was. I found myself fast forwarding to the musical numbers just to relive those particular scenes like Gene Kelly in "Whenever you're away from me". I ended my viewing session wishing I had never seen it again, that I had just listened to the soundtrack and preserved my memory of those days when my sister and I fought over who got to be Kira and who was forced to be Muse # 3.

I wonder if my own daughter will someday wax poetic about movies like "High School Musical". (Yikes.) Will I be forced to hear the same songs over and over again? Will I be forced to memorize lines with her until I'm repeating them in my sleep?...You know, now that I think about it, I probably owe my parents an apology for all that torture I put them through with the endless repeats of these movies. (Does Hallmark make such a card?)

"Meeska- Mooska-

Mickey Mouse!"

At first, the rat sent his girlfriend in to infiltrate our happy home. Now, he's invaded our DVR.

John has started taping episodes of "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" for Sprite so she can watch after dinner when John and I are trying to clean up the kitchen, or trying to talk the dogs back out from under our bed. ("It's okay, Harry. We took the knives away. She's not armed anymore.") (Treats help.)

The show has some songs, dancing, basic problem solving, you name it, right up a 1.5 year old's mental alley.

While most parents are either trying to (or feeling guilty for not trying to) reduce television time for their kids, John and I are going against the grain and trying to encourage it, at least a little bit. We would like to see Sprite sit down on her Elmo couch and pay attention for a couple of minutes so we can resume said chores without interruption.

This has not worked so far. The same child who can sit and read a book in your lap or stack blocks, or click her mega-blocks together for about 30 minutes, can barely last 30 seconds while parked in front of the TV. Usually she loses interest right after the first "Oh, Toodles!" is shouted, so the plot is not really revealed yet and John won't delete any neglected episodes so they start to clog the DVR memory.

Speaking of Toodles, what's with that? They call on that damn thing all the time! I think on this episode, I counted 5 times the phrase "Oh, Toodles!" was shouted out by different characters, making the poor mouska-tool put in an appearance and help them out of their mouska-jam. Actually, make that ten, since Mickey tells everyone to say it after him so you get to hear it twice in a row. I would love to see an episode where Toodles comes out briefly to flip off the Mouska-bunch or appears with a strike sign for more mouska-pay every time he's mouska-called, like when they can't can't collectively find their mouska-way out of a paper bag.

I have to give a a couple of cool points to the show though. They Might Be Giants, a fun, kooky, alternative rock band, around forever, is behind the "Hot Dog Dance", a song/dance performed by Mickey and his friends at the end of the episode. That gives a little edge to this saccharine-sweet kiddie crack that doesn't delve into subjects deeper or more thought provoking than possible cures for Donald's hiccups.

I'm trying to sneak a couple of "Blue's Clues" episodes onto the DVR to mix it up a bit, but I'm not used to Joe and his eyebrows yet. (Yes, I'm a Steve fan.) (I know Steve left before Sprite was born.) (So what if I was watching Blue's Clues before I had a kid?) (Can we move on please?)

Sprite at least pauses for Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She hasn't even considered slowing down to see Blue discover a clue.

I'm told it could be worse though. We could have inadvertently stumbled upon the Wiggles and that's the kiddie version of heroin..