(intro)
Here’s a song about my son
He’s seven and a half years old
He calls me pretty, still nestles in
When we snuggle these moments are gol-den
We put on K.C. and the Sunshine Band
And boogie around the room
We wrote this song together
When we sing it my heart goes zoom, zoom.
(chorus)
I love you more than you love me
I love you more than you love me
I love you, I love you
I love you more than you love me
Let’s agree to disagree
Let’s agree to disagree
Let’s agree, let’s agree
Because I love you more than you love me
You will grow older and smelly
Dark hairs are gonna grow on your belly
You’ll be sullen and morose
And when I try to hold your hand you’ll pull away saying, “Gross!”
“Mom, I don’t think so. Ugh. Don’t even touch me. Infact,
don’t look at me, okay. Just stop. Ugh, go away. Leave me alone.”
You’ll hold your head down and mumble
When I ask how was your day you’ll simply grumble
I know all you can think about is sex
But would you look me in the eye and just stop text-ting "for one minute? Would it kill you to look at your mother
and tell me one thing you did in school? Just one thing?”
“Okay, here’s one thing. I thought about how much I hate you.”
“Honey, that’s sweet. I love you, too.”
“Stop saying that!”
“Sweetie, we can agree to disagree. Hey, let’s sing that song we wrote together when you were little and wanted to marry me and held my face in your hands and told me I was pretty several times a day.”
“Go to hell!”
“Dinner’s in an hour!”
“Fuck you!”
I love you more than you love me
I love you more than you love me
I love you, I love you
I love you more than you love me
Let’s agree to disagree
Let’s agree to disagree
Let’s agree, let’s agree
Because I love you more than you love me.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Invention Convention
Recently I had the extreme pleasure of attending the Invention Convention at the South Mountain Elementary School. Every third grader had been encouraged to come up with a pressing problem that needed solving and then present his proposed solution to the public, comprised mostly of her peers. Long tables ringed the outside perimeter of the gymnasium, with 3 to 4 inventors behind each table. They waited-- some patiently, some anxiously-- for folks to wander up and ask them what they had to offer. Then, like olde time snake oil peddlers their eyes brightened as they let go a sales pitch that would make Ronco proud.
Clearly having practiced, their spiel was down to a science. I would walk up to a huckster, and he or she would take a deep breath then lean towards me a little, gearing up for the big sell. Most of them began the same way, “You know how when…”, regardless of the age of the listener. I liked that I was one of them; sharing their problems, feeling their pain. When you get down to it, aren’t we all just simpatico souls looking for answers?
I walked up to a fair-haired girl who looked in my eyes and asked, “You know how when you’re on the monkey bars and your hands slip?”
“Yes,” I said in all earnestness. It was an irksome predicament.
“Well, these gloves are sticky on the palm for wearing on the monkey bars.” I looked at the proto-type. “Awesome,” I said. And I meant it. Slipping off the monkey bars can ruin any gal’s day. But it doesn’t have to now, not when you’re wearing Stickeroo Gloves.
Looking at the pretty, colorful charm bracelet dangling from the next inventor’s wrist, I asked, “What have you got there?”
She answered matter-of-factly, “It’s the Eraserlet. All the charms are erasers so you just wear it to school and you’ve always got one near by.”
“Genius,” I said. I couldn’t help it. I thought it was. In fact, they all were.
There was the Jump Rope Soaker wherein small holes have been poked in water bottles for handles which sprinkle water to keep you cool while you jump rope, and the Wheel of Fun, which you spin to help decide what to do on a playdate. There was the No-Hands Rabbit Feeder and the Semi-Automatic Bed-Maker which helps you make your bed by dragging the sheet, blanket and comforter up to the top of the bed in one all-attached rope handle with multiple clips. He even demonstrated it’s semi-automatic action on a doll’s bed. It was amazing. I would have placed an order on the spot.
There was the Stuffed Animal Holder for keeping your stuffed animals from falling out of bed and onto the floor at night while you sleep, and the Backpack with Interchangeable Decorative Covers. There was the Remote Finder, the Lollypop Saver and the Toothpaste Pump. These were the pressing dilemmas of a nine year old and here were their obvious solutions. They were so creative and so sure of themselves-- hawking their wares like Javitz Center pros-- that I knew that our national sales and promotions culture had a robust future. But mostly I was proud of their creativity and imagination; proud beyond belief and they weren’t even my kids. I wanted to linger and ask if they’d considered spending their summer applying for design patents, but I was short on time and didn’t want to miss any.
Some ideas were clearly born from hearing grown-ups kvetch and although those inventions secretly cracked me up, I was just as impressed. Like the good people-pleasing co-dependants some kids—mostly oldest children-- become, they had fashioned solutions for an adult world, hoping to cut down on the carping they have to overhear while playing video games; half in their world, half in ours. Or maybe they just want to be helpful.
There were the Thorn Avoider Gardening Gloves and the Mop with Hollow Handle that you pour water into and then squeeze into the floor sponge as needed. There was the Toss-A-Meal Dinner Decider spinning wheel, and the removable and washable Dirty Tissue Jacket Pockets that velcro inside your jacket so that you can pull a clean tissue from one pocket, then return it used to the other. One girl had designed a hollow secret-key hiding place inside a flower pot which could house actual dirt and flowers, and a future funny-man demo’ed his Nail Holder for holding nails away from the hammer so that you don’t hit your fingers, while wearing a fake, bloody, nail-through-the-finger bandage on his finger. Points for visual drama and gross-out humor, kid. Way to know your audience.
I left the Invention Convention with a bounce in my step and a chuckle in my heart. I know that China’s going to clobber us in told and untold ways for many years to come, but our can-do spirit is alive and well in our elementary schools. These students were polished and passionate, creative and industrious, and I’m anxious to see what they come up with next. Until then, put me down for a pair of Stickaroo Gloves and a Lollypop Saver—make it two.
Clearly having practiced, their spiel was down to a science. I would walk up to a huckster, and he or she would take a deep breath then lean towards me a little, gearing up for the big sell. Most of them began the same way, “You know how when…”, regardless of the age of the listener. I liked that I was one of them; sharing their problems, feeling their pain. When you get down to it, aren’t we all just simpatico souls looking for answers?
I walked up to a fair-haired girl who looked in my eyes and asked, “You know how when you’re on the monkey bars and your hands slip?”
“Yes,” I said in all earnestness. It was an irksome predicament.
“Well, these gloves are sticky on the palm for wearing on the monkey bars.” I looked at the proto-type. “Awesome,” I said. And I meant it. Slipping off the monkey bars can ruin any gal’s day. But it doesn’t have to now, not when you’re wearing Stickeroo Gloves.
Looking at the pretty, colorful charm bracelet dangling from the next inventor’s wrist, I asked, “What have you got there?”
She answered matter-of-factly, “It’s the Eraserlet. All the charms are erasers so you just wear it to school and you’ve always got one near by.”
“Genius,” I said. I couldn’t help it. I thought it was. In fact, they all were.
There was the Jump Rope Soaker wherein small holes have been poked in water bottles for handles which sprinkle water to keep you cool while you jump rope, and the Wheel of Fun, which you spin to help decide what to do on a playdate. There was the No-Hands Rabbit Feeder and the Semi-Automatic Bed-Maker which helps you make your bed by dragging the sheet, blanket and comforter up to the top of the bed in one all-attached rope handle with multiple clips. He even demonstrated it’s semi-automatic action on a doll’s bed. It was amazing. I would have placed an order on the spot.
There was the Stuffed Animal Holder for keeping your stuffed animals from falling out of bed and onto the floor at night while you sleep, and the Backpack with Interchangeable Decorative Covers. There was the Remote Finder, the Lollypop Saver and the Toothpaste Pump. These were the pressing dilemmas of a nine year old and here were their obvious solutions. They were so creative and so sure of themselves-- hawking their wares like Javitz Center pros-- that I knew that our national sales and promotions culture had a robust future. But mostly I was proud of their creativity and imagination; proud beyond belief and they weren’t even my kids. I wanted to linger and ask if they’d considered spending their summer applying for design patents, but I was short on time and didn’t want to miss any.
Some ideas were clearly born from hearing grown-ups kvetch and although those inventions secretly cracked me up, I was just as impressed. Like the good people-pleasing co-dependants some kids—mostly oldest children-- become, they had fashioned solutions for an adult world, hoping to cut down on the carping they have to overhear while playing video games; half in their world, half in ours. Or maybe they just want to be helpful.
There were the Thorn Avoider Gardening Gloves and the Mop with Hollow Handle that you pour water into and then squeeze into the floor sponge as needed. There was the Toss-A-Meal Dinner Decider spinning wheel, and the removable and washable Dirty Tissue Jacket Pockets that velcro inside your jacket so that you can pull a clean tissue from one pocket, then return it used to the other. One girl had designed a hollow secret-key hiding place inside a flower pot which could house actual dirt and flowers, and a future funny-man demo’ed his Nail Holder for holding nails away from the hammer so that you don’t hit your fingers, while wearing a fake, bloody, nail-through-the-finger bandage on his finger. Points for visual drama and gross-out humor, kid. Way to know your audience.
I left the Invention Convention with a bounce in my step and a chuckle in my heart. I know that China’s going to clobber us in told and untold ways for many years to come, but our can-do spirit is alive and well in our elementary schools. These students were polished and passionate, creative and industrious, and I’m anxious to see what they come up with next. Until then, put me down for a pair of Stickaroo Gloves and a Lollypop Saver—make it two.
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