Why ridiculous stories do well

So today I had a piece up on Washington Post On Parenting about my hilariously bad grocery shopping habits.

I pitched it as a funny blog bit, and that's what I wrote, style and form and all. I mean, I used the word poo-splosion in the Washington Post, and I'm thinking not many people have been able to pull that off.

Now, why on Earth would I do such a thing? Does it get any more boring than grocery shopping?

I didn't think so. Until I posted a picture of my carriage on my private facebook, to show my friends how full it was. (My facebook is SCINTILLATING, let me tell you about it.)

Anyway, in true fashion, I got about 250 comments telling me about all the ways I was doing it wrong, with varying degrees of outrage, disgust and empathy. It was a pretty great thread, not going to lie.

And I've learned a few things about the Internet:

1) Facebook doesn't lie. If people wanted to talk about my groceries on Facebook, they probably wanted to talk about my groceries in a national newspaper.

2) You don't have to be serious all the time. The tone in this blog (and in that piece) is pretttttty different from the tone I strike when writing a story on something actually relevant to anyone's life.

3) People LOVE to feel superior to other people, and I love to help them make that happen.

This grocery shopping post was number one in the parenting section all day, and it was the fourth most read story on the Washington Post site itself during business hours. My husband was thinking that, damn, a whole lot of people must think they grocery shop wrong and want a companion, but that's not it. I mean, surely some people were there for that, but I've no doubt most of the clicks were hate clicks. People can look at that carriage and read my little comedy bit about the process, and they can feel better than me. And I don't mind! Grocery shopping rates right alongside bowling with things I wish I could do really well at. So if I'm able to fill that I'm-better-than-you void with some puffy writing, all the better for both of us.

But, yeah, if anyone was wondering, it's a thing. It's not clickbait. I mean, nothing in the title, I grocery shop all wrong, screams click me. It's not important. Nothing leads anyone to believe it is. And other than click bait and importance, we're left with two reasons people click things:

1) Hate click. Their friend read it and shared it with the "OMG HOW IS THIS IN THE POST" label.

2) Superiority. They read the headline and figured they'd be able to feel successful about one area of their lives.

And that's how a blog-like grocery post got so popular on WaPo.

The end.

Shopping for fancy dress -- Contributor post

I’ve known about my husband’s office holiday party since early November. It’s at a swanky downtown hotel. The invitation specifies semiformal dress.

I translates this as “suit and tie” for him and “cocktail attire” for me.

I’m going to throw up.



Me: Short, postmenopausal round with chubby retail feet and roadmaps for legs. My hair is streaked gray. I’m starting to jowl.

Wardrobe: Work uniform, jeans, t-shirts in the summer and long-sleeved t-shirts or turtlenecks in the winter, hoodies, sneakers. I usually pull my hair back with a clippie. I always wear fake gold hoop earrings because I tend to lose anything that’s real.

A few years ago, at my husband’s urging, I splurged on two “just in case” outfits – two tweed jackets, two matching tops, two pairs of matching pants, two pairs of matching shoes. I haven’t worn any of them in over a year, maybe two.

Clothing makes me anxious. Oh, I can window shop and say that X is cute or that’s a really nice cut/design/color, but you have no idea how anxious it makes me. I can’t afford nor can wear most off-the-rack clothing with any kind of panache. Younger overweight me’s vomit-inducting body anxiety eventually exchanged itself for full-blown panic attacks in the middle of our local mall or refusing to attend whatever-it-was because I needed this particular item and I didn’t want to spend the money or admit that I was THAT size.

I’m nowhere near as overweight now but the anxiety still clings. Nowadays I treat clothes shopping as a military mission. Browsing makes me anxious because what’s the use of browsing if most clothing, nice clothing, doesn’t fit you, especially if you have a disappearing waistline?

Jeans, t-shirts, sneakers. It’s easy and I don’t have to think about it.



So back to this holiday party. One day my husband and our housemate tag with me to Expensive Department Store With The Widest Selection Of Evening Wear.

I’m automatically drawn to the sleek uncluttered dresses made for six-foot stringbeans crooning standards in a Las Vegas nightclub.

They steer me toward the separates. “You’re smaller on top than the bottom,” my husband whispers.

“The trouble with tops,” says our housemate, “is that they’ll fit her at the waist but the shoulders will be too big, or vice versa.” She picks out several spangled tops and sends me into the dressing room.

This makes me feel like a sausage. Hate the color. Too low cut. I’d need a strapless bra (ack, MONEY) to wear this, Spanx (SPANX? ME?!?) to wear that. Too tight, too short-waisted, I’m swimming in this, too tight…

I feel queasy and sit down.

An hour later I’m staring at the floor trying not to cry, piles of shiny sequined bedazzled fabric at my feet.



They eventually find a top while I stare at the floor: It’s an explosion of rich red lace with beribboned roses sprinkled with small red sequins here and there. My husband knocks on the dressing room door and hands it to me.

Oh god no, it looks like something my GRANDMA would wear! No…wait a minute, it’s got some give. Oh, OK, it’s not THAT low cut. Three-quarter sleeves, narrow black ribbon makes it sort of peplum which means it’d give me waist, maybe? Hmm.

I slide it on and peek at myself in the mirror.

Ohhh, I LOVE this color! It’s not too low cut. It’s…holy crap, I HAVE A WAIST! OK, the shoulders are a little big, but maybe…if I pull it down like this maybe?

I keep gazing at my reflection as I turn one way, then the other. I don’t hear our housemate knocking at the door. She exclaims in delight and leads me out so my husband can see. He beams.

Suddenly my mouth feels very dry because OMG, I actually own a bona-fide evening-type fancy top…|ME?!?!?





Then there’s the tale of the skirt for this top, but I’ll save that for another time.



...

Kathi Bourke is a guest contributor on Parentwin.

Target Targets Pregnant Women

You're pregnant! How do you break the news? Some women buy baby balloons. If there's a child already, they can put him or her in a big brother / big sister shirt. Some women actually bake buns and put them in the oven for their partner to find (I saw this somewhere. I never would have thought of it myself.)

I decided on "crying, sit down when I tell you this, oh my God, what are we going to do" approach, but I realize not everyone can be that romantic.

Or, you know, Target could accidentally spill the beans before you get around to telling anyone.

For the link-shy, basically, Target connects all purchases you make to your name and uses the information to determine what is going on in your life. They then send you coupons for things you might need based on your recent and overall purchases.

One of their biggest gains using this technique is the "baby on board" campaign, where they send pregnant women coupons for baby stuff. They've gone full-throttle, and as a reward, gained much of the baby market.

On the one hand, it's brilliant. I love their ingenuity. On the other hand, it's creepy. Really creepy.

Hospitals and doctors are required to keep medical confidentiality, patients sign HIPAA consent forms and have strict limits on who can access their files, and pregnancy is one of those medical issues that spans over the guardian - child relationship so that the child, if under 18, has the right not to inform her parents.

But Target can.

In the case referenced by the story, an irate father stormed to Target customer service with the coupon packet in hand, demanding to know why Target was sending his underage daughter baby discounts. He later returned and apologized. His daughter was pregnant. Target knew, but he didn't.

And I'm not the only one side-eyeing them. Target's marketing committee found that when the store sent out pamphlets containing nothing but coupons for items they actually need, people didn't use the coupons. They were too freaked out.

So, Target began interspersing the useful coupons with random coupons and ads for things that the customers wouldn't need. A lawnmower next to the baby bag, making it appear like a random assortment of coupons that everyone on the block received.

Bingo.

They started using the coupons again.

So now, Target knows everything about you, and is pretending that it doesn't. ...stalker.

Apparently, it realized this practice, while ridiculously successful, is also a little off, because the reporter doing the story got one great interview with them, and then they shut off communication entirely, even prohibiting him from going to headquarters.

Of all the flags raised by this story, that right there, for me, is the biggest one. Whatchoo doing, Target?

Anyway, I'm not saying don't shop there. I know I like their products. I'm just thinking maybe I'll use cash next time.

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Moment of the Week - 78: Helmet Heads

Yesterday, we went to the store to buy my friend some presents for her birthday. The girls did so well making it past the toy section. When we got to the very end, though, some helmets called to them.

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What Is Up with Sizing?

I don't know what size I am.

This is not because I've changed size. I've been the same weight and shape, basically, since my teens.

Now, I started out in a size 10-12, but I wore my clothing much looser back then (per the fashion), and it was a revelation to me that I was actually an 8. And I'll believe it (why not?). I'll believe that I've been an 8 this whole time. Sure.

That's basically what I've been wearing since I found that the size fits me.

But then you get the stretch material. In stretch material, I can pull off a 6. Because of the forgiving material, I don't bulge, and the way the fabric fits, it acts like a little makeshift corset, toning and curving, not squishing and jamming.

Yay! I've gone from a size 12 to a size 6, just by wearing differently styled clothing. Amazing.

And I'll take it. Why not?

What I won't accept, what I cannot accept is that I am a size 2. That I am an extra small. What the hell? That's not even complimentary, that's just confusing.

Last summer, my husband bought me a pair of white shorts and a little black dress from White / Black. He checked my closet for appropriate sizing and bought me size 10 shorts and a large dress.

They fell off. Literally fell off.

He was so disappointed.

So, I went back to the store to exchange them. I tried the 8. Then the 6. Then the 4. Then the 2. I'm a 2.

The dress? I tried the medium. Then the small. I got the small, and it's still too big. But I just could not imagine that I would be an extra small. I should have gotten the extra small.

Me.

I'm five-foot, nine-inches tall. I weigh 145 pounds. I have 42-inch hips.

I think this gives a fairly accurate representation of my size.

This has nothing to do with self-image or confidence. I'm happy with myself. That doesn't change the fact that I am not a size two, and I'm not an extra small.

Vanity sizing is out of control. I mean, I know you can just try stuff on, but wouldn't it be nice to kind of have a range and not have to eyeball it and then be completely wrong? It's harder for me because with twins, I'm either shopping with them or during nap time, so sometimes I don't try things on at all. I just accept that I'll probably have to bring them back.

I'm thinking about this because I went shopping last week and got a skirt and a pair of shorts. They had two sizes on them. In Australia, they were a 12. In the United States, they were an 8. And I was confused. I ended up getting them, after asking the associate if the 8 was a true 8. She said yes, that the clothes there fit her in her normal size.

Lies.

They're too big. By far. And that's strange to me. Because with my hip size, I simply should not be smaller than an 8, unless we're going to redo the whole system.

Simply put, if I'm an extra small at Black / White, what the hell are the 50 percent of the people who are smaller than me wearing? Do they have to go to children's sizes? Negatives? Nano sizes?

I guess I should just relax about the whole thing and enjoy my new status as fashion-model size.

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Questions to Ask Yourself when Buying Presents for Your Kids

Stop! Put that back on the shelf. Click it out of your Amazon cart.

Now, think. Gifts are great, but they soon turn from presents to pasts, so make sure that thing you are buying is going to last (and not drive you insane).

These are important questions. Ask them before you make that purchase.

1) Is it age appropriate?

Last year, I bought the girls a giant tub of Play Doh. The first time we used it, the situation became me making them things out of Play Doh. And they watched. And demanded. And watched. And tantrumed. They had me trying to make a carousel before I finally put it away for good. A carousel. Out of Play Doh. We didn't use the stuff for another six months, when they were older and better prepared for it.

2) Do they really want it, or do they just think they want it?

I bought them an Alfie for their birthday because every time we went to one of our friend's house, all they wanted to do was play with "the robot." Seemed like a shoe-in, right? Well, little Alfie has been on the bookshelf collecting dust since August. Sure, we break him out every once in a while (usually I or my husband have to make him interesting to the girls before they'll play), but what the twins were really into wasn't Alfie. It was going to their friend's house.

3) Where are you going to put it?

Buying a bicycle is a great idea. Until you're still seeing it against the wall of your living room months later because you've got nowhere to store it.

4) Does the gift-receiver have siblings close in age? If so, how many of those siblings are going to die over this present?

5) How likely is this present to drive you insane?

I have a drum set I am going to return. I prefer my hearing and both of my girls alive over being deaf from drum beats and terrified screams as one of them pulls the other one's hair out for her turn.

6) Is it a consolation gift?

Don't buy it. That's the drum set. The drum set is supposed to be a play kitchen. But they didn't have any. So I bought something impulsively that I thought they would also enjoy as their big gift. Don't do this. All or bust. A replacement is most likely going to feel like just that.

7) Is it within budget?

Remember, your kids don't really care about what they are getting. I mean, they do, but not as much as you do. If you can't afford the expensive iPadTouchThisWithGold this year, get them other things they'll enjoy that won't break you. The holidays aren't about going into debt, no matter what the stores would have you believe. They're about living, loving and being around family.

Don't forget in your mad rush to get the perfect gift that your perfect gift is already in your home with the bonds you're forging over carols and cookies.

The Morning After

Well, I finally did it. With the stores moving up Black Friday from 5 a.m. to 3 a.m. to finally midnight, I can actually go. And I did.

I skipped WalMart. It was my first year. I didn't need to be trampled. Plus, I didn't do this right. I was just going to see what I could see. I didn't have any pamphlets, or a schedule, or a store map. I was just looking. Hah.

So, I went to Target. And, you know, it wasn't bad. Okay, first I had to park a million miles away. I got there at midnight exactly, but apparently people don't celebrate Thanksgiving anymore. They just line up and camp outside of stores. How American.

Then I stood in what I thought was the line. About fifty of us did this for about 20 minutes. Surely, we thought, Target would not have us line up around the building standing in a dark alley. But, that's exactly what they were doing. I decided to go check it out, and took my place in the murky depths of the unlit alleyway.

The line was moving fast. Know why? Apparently they were selling TVs for, like, a penny. Everyone who was in there early was coming out with a 42" TV, and only that. I saw only one brand. Then that one sold out and I saw only another brand. These people are pros. They know what they're doing. When I made it into the store, Target had signs saying "TVs this way." Swear to God.

I sighed as I thought of the small Toshiba I paid $500 for a few years ago. Good thing I'm not in the market for a new one. I can only imagine the girls would break a bigger TV. I don't like them too big anyway.

So, I made my way to the toy section and got a few gifts for the girls. Drums for half price, Magnadoodles for half price, Cooties and Match for $3 a piece. I got my husband a...oh wait, he reads this blog. Well suffice to say it was, like, 70 percent off. I saved $120. Win.

I did not go into the electronics section. At all. I didn't even stray within 20 feet of it. One of the benefits of buying for toddlers. I got to skip that madness.

And I got some Christmas stuff. A new tree! Right now we have a tiny, tiny fake one. Perfect for little babies who would knock a tree down. Now that the girls are the sage old age of three, I went for it. I bought a 7-foot Christmas tree with lights attached. For $30. Score!

Then I waited in the checkout line that wound through every aisle of the store for about an hour. Store attendants flagged us through.

"Continue to B31. You in line? B 31."

"Okay, you're halfway through now. Continue to A 12."

Wow. But, still it wasn't bad.

I mean, we used to stand in line for rollercoasters for more time than that.

And a great perk of Black Friday is how alive everyone is. It might be 2 in the morning, but it feels like 3 in the afternoon.

All in all, I enjoyed myself. I've got more shopping to do, but I'm glad I went out.

It was my first time. If they keep the midnight thing (meaning I'm still up instead of having to wake up) I'll do it again.

Toddler Tricks - 53: The Toy Store

Problem: It's finally happened; you find yourself needing to take your toddler to the toy store. I quaked in fear as I realized there was no way around it. We're busy today, and I couldn't sneak away alone. Dragging two almost-three year olds to Toys R Us was the only way. Believe it or not, this was their first visit. I keep them out of toy stores. I'm just mean like that.

Solution: Toys R Us (and Target, and Walmart, and I'm sure a lot of other places) have sectioned off a cheap toy section right at the front in a mutually beneficial sales tactic. They get to sell some cheap junk, and you don't have to either go home with a $40 toy you don't want or drag a screaming toddler puddle through the checkout line and out the door as you're leaving. Talk up that cheapo section; the kids don't know the difference. Let them roam around the more expensive toys, let them climb into those $300 toddler cars, but keep distracting them with little balls and whistles and whatever else is over in the cheap section. Then when it's time to go, give them a task. "If you want a toy, go pick out any one you want and carry it to the counter for me." Done.


Problem: Your toddler realizes they have a cheap light-ball in their hands and they are no longer sitting in the car that they wanted. They protest. "Hey, where'd my car go?"

Solution: Appeal to their generous side (hoping they have one that day, I know it's a toss up.) "Oh, we left it there so that other little kids can use it while we're gone. We'll go back and see it later, but you are so nice to let other kids use your car!"  This usually works. "Oh!" They usually say, "I'm nice, mama, I'm a nice girl." And they are placated and start bouncing their balls again.


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Smells Like Home

I hate buying stuff online. This goes for anything. It's hardly ever what I imagine it to be when I order, and not only am I out money for the crap item and shipping, I'm totally disappointed in my purchase.

Even more, I hate buying things from companies that seem to spring up out of nowhere and require my friends to advertise for them and hound unsuspecting social-network goers to buy stuff from these companies, so that my friends can see a penny or two. I'd rather just give you the five bucks instead of buying that shitty sticker set, know what I mean?

I don't want to go to your facebook party. I don't want to buy their crap from you so that you may eventually have the privilege of trying to get me to sell for them, too. I've seen this before. Before the days of the common internet, in fact. I have a Pampered Chef strainer that's collecting dust in a corner because it broke within moments of my using it. I just don't feel like buying crap from a company using my friends as pawns to stuff money in its own pockets.

All that being said, every once in a while, if I happen to have extra cash that day, and a friend of mine really and truly believes in whatever product they're peddling, I'll shell out for them. Last month, I agreed to buy some Scentsy from a friend of mine. I scrapped together 25 bucks, thinking that should be enough to buy a respectable product. Haha. No.

$25 is apparently nothing to this company. This company is high society. Get it together, Darlena, if you're going to try to shop Scentsy, okay?

So, I'm put off even further than usual, but I'd told my friend I'd buy something, so I searched the site looking for what I could afford. I passed by page after page of cute warmers, packages, combinations and scent bars. Nothing.

Finally, I found some little smell packets that you hang from a car mirror or a hook in the closet. I could afford two! But which scents did I want? As I looked at my options, I began to laugh out loud. Scentsy offers aromas like "Home Sweet Home" and "Kailua Bay." (These were the two I bought.) Way to not tell me at all what these actually smell like. Seriously, no descriptions or anything. It's like, take a gamble on a smell up in there.

But, here's the thing. You need to do this. Take a gamble on a smell. You won't regret it.

I expected some tacky car air-freshener type deals, but I got little fabric pillows of scent that actually look classy. I was impressed. I opened my mystery scents, expecting to laugh my head off because how dare a company presume to know what home sweet home smells like to me? How could a company bottle the smell of Kailua Bay, Hawaii? Impossible.

Only, Scentsy did it. I opened Kailua Bay and was transported to my father's house on the Big Island of Hawaii. I hung it in my closet.

I opened Home Sweet Home and I fell in love. It smelled like the house I grew up in. It made me want to do chores and go to church and rake leaves and do science homework, and not in a bad way. It's this potpourri-like smell tempered with something to make it less annoying and powdery and more authentic.

It's perfect. It's like some genius in their marketing department researched trendy scents in the 80s and decided "we need to bottle this up. People in their mid to late 20s are going to want this in their homes for nostalgic purposes."

And I do. This is what I want my house to smell like. Scentsy has won. They said it was home sweet home, and by God, it is home sweet home. This is the scent I want my children growing up with. This is what I want them to remember as they go out into the world, too.

This is what I want my house to smell like, and I didn't even know it.  You can bet the first opportunity I get to scrape together $40, I'm buying a warmer and brick of Home Sweet Home.

So, long story short is, I recommend Scentsy. And this is a recommendation coming from someone who hates this kind of stuff.

If you're interested in gambling on one of their ridiculously named scents, go here.


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Things Should Cost What They Cost

I can't coupon. I'm too stupid to coupon. It's true. Any time I try to save myself some money - be it by using discount codes or signing up for junk mail to get a special deal - I mess it up, end up paying at least full price, and wasting hours of my time. Then I get the glorious after-effects, which usually involve five emails a day trying to entice me to buy more crap I don't need for prices I won't get.

I even managed to mess up Groupon. Somehow I signed up for Orlando Groupon. I don't live in Orlando. Not to mention, I never even bought anything through them, meaning I'm getting their deals (ie. junk mail) in my box three or four times a day and I never even saved 90 percent on anything ever.

I tried to get reward points through Southwest when I bought tickets to Connecticut. But I didn't feel like I got enough of them for the major purchase I made (four tickets.) So I went back and ordered them all separately, thinking if I used my name on each separate purchase, I would get points for each one. Nope. You only get points on purchases made with your information for yourself. Now, had I read the instructions thoroughly, I probably would have seen something somewhere about that. But I didn't. So, now I have four different itinerary numbers, four different tickets, I had to sign off on my kids because they can't "fly alone." The whole thing took me an extra ninety minutes to coordinate.

I can't coupon.

It is most likely because of this that I feel things should cost what they cost. If something costs X amount of dollars to make with material and labor, and you need to make Y percentage of profit to keep your business afloat, then the combination of X and Y should be what that item costs the consumer.

I don't want to play games with you. I don't want to clip little slips of paper, scour the internet for codes, go through manufacturer deals, store deals and outside party deals to pay for your item. To pay what your item should have cost in the first place.

And you're right. Sometimes you'll give out Coke for 3 cents a bottle, or mustard for a nickel and those products do cost more to make. But I don't care about that. In fact, I would ask that you just not do that because the reason you are able to pull stunts like that is because you've been overcharging me for other products for years and you have enough padding to gimmick it up. Just charge me what it cost you to create the product plus what you need for profit margin and I will buy what I need, okay?

This is in no way bashing those who can and do use coupons regularly. It's not against the extreme couponers who get a million items and the store pays them. That's great. This is the way the world is, and you have cashed in.

But for those of us (and maybe it's just me) too impatient and too stupid to figure out the savings schemes, sign up for the right deals, and win the right contests, can things just cost what they cost?

I really feel that things should cost what they cost.


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Shoe Dazzle

 

I love shoes. I have always loved shoes, and I feel confident that I will always love shoes.  It started when I was a little girl, staring all all the awesome heels in my mother's closet that I was never allowed to wear.  As I grew older, and eventually grew to her shoe size, I was surprised to find that I was still forbidden from her shoe stash.  At the time, I really resented it.  What a waste!  She hardly wore those shoes, anyway.

Now that I'm a mom, myself, I can almost see where she is coming from, though.  I mean, the reason she never got to wear any of those amazing shoes was me (and my siblings).  It makes no sense to wear a chic four-inch heel to gymnastics practice or a PTA meeting. And to then turn around and lend those shoes to the very person who prevented you from loving them?  It'd take a very selfless person, I think.

Anyway, once I went to college, I started my own shoe collection.  Weird emo things that were cheap and sometimes used.  I worked with the spare change I had and my slightly off sense of fashion.

As I aged, I graduated, got a job, and remained single.  Suddenly, I had money.  Suddenly, I had shoes. Glorious, glorious shoes. Ankle boots, spike heels, wedge sandals, strappy numbers, mary janes, squared toes, ballet flats.  You name it, I had it.  I could drop $120 on a pair of boots and be happy for weeks.  I knew I was wearing quality.

I wore heels everywhere, for everything.  I wore heels until my poor pregnant feet would no longer fit into them.  I wore heels on a 2-hour commute every day, in a standard.  I wore heels on location, in the mud, on a mountainside.  I wore heels.

The next part of the story, you already know. I had twins. My money dwindled as I started having to worry about adult things. My shoes grew dusty and I bought some new flip flops.  $120 on boots?  Try groceries.

So, imagine my elation when I got out to the mall during a nap time over the weekend and found there was a shoe sale.

That room is clean now, by the way, but the important thing is the shoes!  I got these four pairs plus the sparkly pair up top for about $20 a piece!  Now, they're basically crap, of course, but they'll do well for the first three or four times I wear them.  And with twin toddlers running around, I'm sure I'll only get a chance to wear them three or four times in the next few years. (Sad face).  And it's a perfect solution to my mom problem.  If by some chance, they're interested in wearing these shoes 15 years from now (assuming the shoes are still in good shape), I'll be able to lend them out without pause, knowing that they're cheaply made and could stand to get stepped or spilled on.

For now, I'll just look at them sitting in my closet and imagine scenarios in which I would wear them.  But not all is lost.  My twins have already found uses for shoes I no longer have chance to wear.

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Colorless Thoughts on Black Friday

I don't like Black Friday.  It's not the starting at ridiculous a.m. that gets me.  It's not the notion of big, bad capitalism taking over the holidays.  It's not the fear of being run over by thousands of parents who need just the right talking baby doll for their littles ones.

It's a timing thing.  Each year, it seems Black Friday creeps further up on Thanksgiving, and we don't have much wiggle room left.  On Thursday, we are expected to bask in the warmth and ease of our family and loved ones, giving thanks for all we have.  On Friday, and recently, on Thursday night, we are made to forget all of that thanksgiving and concentrate instead on what we don't have, on what we need, right this second, at 70 percent off.  The turkey isn't even cold on the counter before many families turn their attention from laughter and forgetting to bargains and strategy.

To be a successful Black Friday shopper, one must have a route planned out.  Store visits are put on deadline.  If we don't get out of Toys R Us at 5 a.m., we'll never stand a chance at Kohls!  Do people even go to bed on Thanksgiving night anymore?

And what about the moms and grandmothers in all this?  Somebody had to make that dinner for 18 people.  Somebody had to fret over getting the turkey just right and setting the dip out on time, and hiding the bread loaf that didn't rise.  After all that stress, the peace and tranquility that comes after the meal is needed to preserve the day's meaning. 

I've got nothing against consumerism, but when it encroaches upon and nearly redefines a holiday I love, I do feel a bit put upon.  Even if you choose not to partake in the event, someone in your family is going shopping, and they are going to tell you all about it.  Memories of your beloved ones, talk of family ties, and chit chat about the day tend to be drowned out by anticipation of standing, cold, in line for eight hours to get that new computer. 

Why not put a little space in between them?  Would Black Saturday be such a bad idea?

I'm not saying everybody should stay home and buy presents at full price, or make little trinkets themselves.  I'm not saying the rush is necessarily a bad thing.  I'd just like a few hours to enjoy my Thanksgiving before being flooded with news stories about maulings and arrests. 

Thanksgiving is for being grateful for all you have; Black Friday is for ignoring all that you have in favor of all that you want.  I simply think they are too close together.


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Targeting Target

The babies and I just got back from a "shopping spree" in which I bought them shoes, slippers, nighties, socks and jackets.  Gone are the days of meandering through boutique after boutique looking for purses, perusing the dress selection and impulse-buying that adorable centerpiece.  When you're shopping with toddlers, you've got one shot, and you had better make it count.  We chose Target.

The trip went well - no meltdowns, no screaming, no merchandise ruined - but I still came away with a few complaints:

1)  You cannot find anything.  Why is it that toddler socks are not near toddler shoes, and that toddler shoes are not in the regular shoe department, nor in the toddler clothing department, but hidden away in a little off-the-beaten-track nook?  I have twins sitting precariously in a Target shopping cart.  We don't fit into nooks.  Someone should rearrange the children's section so that it makes sense.  Everything should be out in the open, and one item should transition to the next.

2)  Everything looks ridiculous.  All I wanted for my kids were a few solid jackets in neither pink nor purple.  What is it about a two year old that screams "I need polka dots and stripes!"  Nothing matches polka dots or stripes.  When you finally do find something in a solid cream color, for example, you rejoice until you notice the garrish Cinderella, Winnie the Pooh or Dora the Explorer emblem in neon colors on the back.  In contrast, the little girls' section has more fashionable items than the women's section - cute little coats with belts, newsboy caps and trendy jeans mocked me, all being just a little too big for my girls.  Apparently, four years old is the age for fashion, these days.

3)  Everything is ridiculously expensive.  When we finally did find the socks (a lucky break - I spotted them while we were on our way to the checkout), I had the option of bright pink and green patterned socks in a pack of three or days-of-the-week socks in a pack of (obviously) seven.  They were $6 and $10, respectively.  Meanwhile, a large bag of little girls' socks beckoned to me at $5 for 10 pairs.  Again, way too big.  Why the mark up for toddler-wear?  Less material is used, after all.  Perhaps they're more expensive to cover the costs of the silly designs and colors used to make them.

In my dream world, a Target or a Walmart or a Kohls would have every item I wished for in the same section.  They'd at least give me the option to buy my kids normal-looking clothing, and they'd knock the price down to a rate comparable with the rest of the merchandise in the store.  Of course, while I'm dreaming, maybe they could potty train my kids while we're there.