Normally I’m not one to discuss celebrity news stories here on this blog. Don’t get me wrong – I love me some celebrity gossip. I’ve been known to comment on celebrity stories on Blogging Baby. However, the celebrity beat usually isn’t my thing for this blog. But lately a few celebrities and their pure idiocy have pushed me to the point that I can no longer contain my opinions.

Britney & KFed: If these two don’t personify the shallow end of the gene pool, I don’t know who else does. They have a son under a year old, and now the news has leaked that Britney is pregnant once again. Rumors have spread that she wanted another baby to save her marriage. Others say she just really wants a girl.

Whatever the reason, these two are a perfect example of why parents should require a license. So far, their son has endured a concussion, a drive down the highway in the driver’s seat on his mother’s lap without a restraint, and outings with an uninterested mother while the nanny cares for him. Poor guy, not even a year old yet and already his mom is uninterested in him and focusing on her next.

Yes, they’re in the public eye, and yes the media hounds them. Too bad. When you decided to become a celebrity, you signed on to the public being interested in you. It’s just a shame you’re not more interesting persons, other than for scandal.

Tom Cruise & Katie Holmes: This one scares me. A lot. See, as a teenager I found Tom Cruise to be a hottie. Just like Katie, I grew up thinking he was one of the sexiest men alive. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I watched Far & Away.

However, ever since this whole baby thing, Tom is about as attractive to me as Karl Rove & Cheney offering a 3-some. There’s this crazed look in his eyes now. At first I couldn’t place it, but now it’s clear to me. It’s the look of a man in control, and I don’t mean control in a good way. I know this look – it’s the look my father always has.

Since little Suri was born, Tom has been seen at every movie premiere, bragging about being a new dad. Yet while he was in Europe, where was the baby? Back home, of course, presumably with Katie. Tabloids are also reporting that Tom has been pushing Katie to start working out to get back into shape.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to get back into shape. But two weeks after having a baby? Again, my thoughts drift to my father. He insisted my mom stay in shape. My mother had to always be dressed nicely with her hair done and makeup applied when they were together. He restricted her food while she was pregnant, and belittled her to get her to shape up after I was born. My mom breastfed me for only a couple of months, because my father didn’t like her breasts being functional. He thought it was primitive and gross, and so I was switched to formula.

And today, we saw pictures of Katie at her first outing. She’s slim and beautiful. She’s still sporting a small belly, but otherwise, she looks amazing. The first thing I noticed, however, was the lack of milk-producing breasts. Look closely at the pictures – those are NOT working boobs. No way, no how. Sure, they’ve travelled south a bit, as most post-preg breasts do, but they’re way too deflated to be in production.

It makes me sad to think that they most likely never even tried breastfeeding, probably because it would be inconvenient for Mr. Cruise. He needs his girl to be looking just right for all those premieres, and leaky boobs wouldn’t be the look he was going for. Nevermind that breastfeeding boobs would have been three times as big, and guarantee that everyone was looking at Katie, or well, at least her rack. Oh wait, Tom wants people looking at him, not her.

Once they finally show the baby in public, I will bet nearly anything that he will be the one showing Suri off while Katie stands quietly behind, waiting to change Suri’s diaper or give her a bottle. How do I know? Again, Mr. Cruise and my father have that exact same look in their eyes. While my parents were married, my mother wasn’t allowed to touch me other than to stop my crying, change my diaper or feed me. She did all the work, and other than that, I was his little prize to show off to his friends. He bragged to his friends about being a dad, but did nothing to prove he did anything other than provide half of the genetic code.

You’ll notice that any news of TomKat has come from Tom. Katie no longer has a voice. He announced that her name is now Kate, which is a name better-fitting a woman who has given birth. Had this come from Katie herself, I would have given it more credit. But she has become invisible, showing herself only when Tom wants her to.

I could be totally off on all of this. I know that the seedy underbelly of the media can twist facts to present celebrities as heroes or villains. We don’t know what goes on behind closed doors. However, I have a strong feeling I’m right, just based off of the look in his eyes. Katie, dear, it’s not too late to get away. You don’t need a man to tell you what to do and where to go. Be a strong woman, and provide a good role model for your daughter. Don’t hide behind a man who speaks for you.

My daughter is at that wonderful stage where she talks nonstop, but most of it is nonsense babbling. Real words, however, seem to find their way out of her mouth at random times, and sometimes in random arrangements. I am curious just how much she really understands about what she’s saying.

Two days ago, we reached a new milestone: the first sentence. It was while we were in the car:

Cordy: (holding hands palm up and out to the side) Where?
Me: Where what?
Cordy: Where go?
Me: We’re going to Miss Lisa’s house, and you’ll get to see Ben.
Cordy: Oh no!

We repeated this entire conversation, word-for-word, three times before we arrived. I don’t think she meant the “Oh no!” since she was happy when we got there. But it was interesting to actually have a full conversation with her.

She’s also still in the “no” phase. If you ask her a question, the response is “no” 90% of the time. It’s done nothing but teach me to not ask her questions, because the response is entirely unreliable:

Me: Cordy, do you want a banana?
Cordy: No.
Me: OK then.
Cordy: Waaaa! (now upset that I’ve mentioned banana, but not produced one for her to eat)
Me: (getting banana and offering it to her) You need to say yes when you want the banana. Now, do you want to eat a banana?
Cordy: (as she takes a bite) No.

But of all the things we hear from her, the oddest phrase came from her tonight:

Me: I think it’s time to get you ready for bed, Cordy.
Cordy: abwabenu I’ll kill you nebrunentos.
(stunned silence)
Me: Did you hear what I just heard?
Aaron: I think I did.
Me: Did she just say I’ll kill you?
Aaron: That’s what I heard.

Maybe it was just nonsense babble that we interpreted as “I’ll kill you”. Maybe she really didn’t want to go to bed. Who knows? I have no idea where she would have even learned those words, since we don’t say that, and her TV time is strictly supervised.

And then right before bed, she climbed into Aaron’s lap and said “Kiss me”. Again, stunned looks from both of us.

If she starts spouting political theory or biblical passages tomorrow, I’m calling in an exorcist. Just to be safe.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves…

I took some new pictures of Cordelia today, and as I browsed through older pictures of her on Flickr, a thought occurred to me:

This kid should be doing product promotions.

I’ve gone too long letting her promote the wares of various large companies for free. It’s time to start asking them for payment for these services! After all, this little girl will need to go to college someday, and we’re certainly not rich enough to pay her way. She’s cute, she likes the camera, and she’s always willing to show off new products. Perfect!

So, for you corporate giants perusing this little blog, here are some ideas of just what she could do for you.

Avent sippy cups – for the toddler with discriminating taste.

Diet Coke: Tastes great and fun to stack!

The Children’s Place socks: Not just for feet!

Kleenex tissues are the only tissues I’d use!

The Britax Marathon: the perfect carseat for not sleeping all the way to Chicago!

Are your eyes this beautiful? If not, then try Acuvue colored lenses!

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See? The possibilities are endless! Why, I’ve even used Cordelia in my own shameless self-promotion:

You know you want a t-shirt for your own little blog fodder.

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As you can see, Cordelia can advertise nearly anything. (Promoters of spinach, vacuums, and Santa need not apply.) So, hurry and book this kid for your next promotional gig! Operators, er, mommy is standing by!

Little girl: Mommy, will you buy that for me?

Mom: I’m sorry, dear, you can’t have it.

LG: But why?

Mom: Because I said so. When you’re a grown up, you can buy whatever you want.

LG: Yes, when I’m all grown up I’ll buy whatever I want!

Mom: Of course, you’ll have to get a job first.

LG: Why?

Mom: Because you need to work to have money to pay for things.

LG: But mommy, YOU don’t work.

Mom: Um, well, daddy works so we can buy things.

LG: Oh, OK. Mommy?

Mom: Yes, dear?

LG: When I grow up, I’m going to have a daddy work so I can buy things!

(I was trying so hard not to laugh as I walked past these two.)

Please welcome my guest blogger Vicki from Spells with… for the May Blog Exchange! I’m hanging out over at her site today, so be sure to come visit.
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My mother’s mother was not a part of my life, so much so that I don’t even call her my grandmother most times. My only memory of her was of her lying in a hospital bed, possible in a coma, but I was so young I couldn’t possibly know the difference between napping and coma. My mom was distraught, and I was confused for many reasons. Though it seems obvious now, why my mother would be so upset, the world was black and white to me then, and the things I knew of my grandmother made me very curious about my mom’s reaction to the visit in hospital.

My confusion was partially because I simply didn’t really understand that she was dying. She may have died that very day for all I knew. My brothers and sisters and I didn’t go to her funeral, and though I am assuming that my parents went, there was no talk of it. I feel as though my grandmother was always talked about in the past tense.

The other reason that I was so confused by my mother’s sorrow, was because of the family folk lore surrounding this woman. She was a horrible woman, as my father would tell it. She was responsible for making my mother’s childhood a nightmare. He even had little anecdotes he would pull out of his back pocket just to demonstrate what a zealous fanatical fundamentalist nut she was.

A family standard: The Rolaids Story. My parents were visiting my grandmother and grandfather for dinner one evening. Afterwards, they sat on the porch and attempted to have stifled conversation. My dad begins to complaining of a stomach ache (And no, its not a part of my dad’s story that this might’ve been a little bit impolite to go on about a stomach ache after eating a dinner that my grandmother had cooked for them). Without any word, my grandpa walks off the porch. He returns a few minutes later, having walked to the corner store. And hands my dad a packet of Rolaids. As legend has it, my grandmother now went postal on my grandfather, for having interfered with the will of God in regards to the stomach ache.

Eh hem….If I hear that story one more time, I’m gonna need a packet of Rolaids. The stories all took this basic format. Someone just a perfectly natural thing, and grandmother goes postal on their ass.

And so I was confused. I thought that if my mom didn’t have contact with this woman, it would clearly be for the better. She would be happier, right? Why was she so sad sitting here in this hospital next to my grandmother’s bed? Everything was played out exactly in that way. And after years and years, I think that my father’s folklore of my grandmother probably prevented my mom from having the grief and mourning time that she needed. It certainly prevented her from ever really speaking about her mother. My father would tell his tales, and she would sit in silence, as if she didn’t even know the person he was speaking of.

My mother’s mother was an over-zealous fanatical fundamentalist nut. There was no mistake about that. Even my mother and grandpa would admit that. But she was a mother. And she was my mom’s mom. She was the one who comforted her when she skinned her knees, and the one who brushed out her hair, and the one who sat next to her while she said her nightly prayers.

About a year ago, my mom came out to visit me for a few days surrounding Little A’s dance recital. And one morning, she told me that her mother hadn’t been so bad. It was both shocking and not. My father wasn’t there to contradict and tell his tales. And she had plenty of her own stories about how strict her mother had been. But she also had stories about dresses that her mother made for her. Time they spent cooking and crafting together. She had stories about love. Love that all mothers and daughters have. And that no husband with endless legends or anyone else can obliterate.

This post is a part of our May Blog Exchange on the theme Mother May I. Click around to read some of the other posts: Nancy, Vicki, Julie, Chase, Stacy, Christina, Jen, Mabel, TB, Mel, Izzy, Mayberry Mom, Amy, and Laurie. If you’d like to participate in the June Exchange, please email Kristen at kmei26 at yahoo.com. Enjoy!