Dykes on Segways and other signs of cultural demise

After last year's holiday ice skating spectacular in San Francisco, starring Brian Boitano skating to the music of Barry Manilow, I have been on the lookout for additional signs of impending Armageddon and our equally disturbing cultural demise. If one only opens one's eyes, the signs are plentiful and obvious.

• Dykes on Segways, logo'd and recently seen in Rockridge, whizzing along with the wind in their facial hair and causing the leather fringe on their jackets to flutter in the breeze
• The Hottie and the Nottie makes millions overseas both in theaters and DVD release; foreigners readjust their views of Americans. And not in a good way.
• 30-second national spot advertising Spam, the official meat of the islands, during the Oscars telecast earlier this year
• Duke University's Women's Center, Student Health Center and Women's Studies Department's sponsorship of a "Sex Workers Art Show" at which nearly-nude artists danced for students and provided critical commentary through performance art that included a woman's eating "excreted" dollar bills from a man's ass

Feel free to share your own signs of cultural demise or Armageddon in the comments. And just get ready to grab my steering wheel when it all comes down. Because I'm going to be laughing my ass off while all those devout Christians go poof and leave us Spam-eating, Paris-loving, sex-working-supporting sinners here to rule the world. 

Was that the wind?

As I lay in bed recently with one child shoving the other off of me with a howl and a kick, both clinging to my neck and other body parts with proprietary ferocity ...with the cat kneading my left shoulder with wickedly sharp claws...and the dog's head up inches from mine, desperately trying to lick me...Gregg said, with all sincerity, "it's nice to be so loved, isn't it?"

As mothers we can sometimes feel superior to all other beings because our children are still young enough to consider us the center of their world. We are loved, we are needed, we are...suffocating. It is an awful burden to bear when no other adult or being in the world is capable of filling even the most basic need. 

SJ: I would like some milk, please.

Gregg: I'll get you some.

SJ: Mama, I want milk.

Gregg: I'll get you some.

SJ: Mama, where's my milk! Why are you being mad to me? WHERE'S MY MILK????

If Shawn Joaquin asks a question that's answered by any other adult, he is incapable of hearing them. He stares intently at me and waits for my response, even if the other adult is sitting next to him and I am on the other side of the room. They are just so much lint on a chair, while I am the glowing sun and source of knowledge and center of his little world. He is in physical pain if he's not able to cuddle with me and spend copious amounts of time with me, a situation made difficult by his need to go to school and my need to start work even earlier. He wails with near physical agony if I shut my office door and begins to sound like a baby jaguar as he is pulled away from the door knob. 

Every morning I am pinned to my bed by obligation and love, unable to rise until Shawn Joaquin has made his appearance and had his cuddle time. If I dare get up to use the bathroom and he arrives in my absence, the screams can be heard by the neighbors as well as his previously sleeping sister.

In recent days we have begun bribing Shawn Joaquin with new, cool Gymboree clothes. For once, his obsession with just the right clothing - not too tight, not too "hard", not uncool - has paid off. For every day that he does not ignore all others and every night that he is able to go to bed without multiple "mamas" and rise without wailing/whining/pummeling me as he fights his way into our bed in the predawn hours, he receives a cool new shirt, underwear, or non-binding pants. So far he has won a skull-and-crossbones shirt with matching underwear, knit cargo shorts, a soccer shirt, camouflage underwear and a new pair of jammies. I have won uninterrupted sleep and a reprieve from unintelligible whining and keening in the wee hours of the morning. 

I'd like to say that I miss his insistent need for me at every minute, but I do not. I enjoy the freedom to move my arms in the morning without being accused of non-cuddling, the ability to use the bathroom without punishing screams, and to know that others are capable - however nominally - of fulfilling his basic needs. Amen.