The worst school shooting since Sandy Hook happened three weeks ago – and the news has all but forgotten about it. Apart from the few updates about victims continuing to die, we’ve somehow accepted the narrative that a popular, attractive boy snapped because of some heartbreak or bullying — and the best thing that we can all do is move on and let the families heal.
Everything plays out in the media now. Everything. The radio silence that has occurred since this shooting is sending a rather loud message to our children — and it’s one that we should be very concerned about.
Should we be happy that this shooter wasn’t vilified in the media like every, single other school shooter in our history was? Should we be comforted with the image of one of the only surviving victims smiling with a pop star? Should we be glad his ex-girlfriend — the one he sent a gun selfie to before he shot five of his friends and turned the gun on himself — is so nonplussed about being connected to a killer and this tragedy that she keeps an image of him on her public Facebook page and writes loving messages to him that she knows the world will see?
“We’ve heard a lot from actresses recently about how difficult it is, but we should never be saying that it’s difficult because we are so bloody lucky. It’s just not an OK thing to share. It’s always a juggle, but isn’t it for every working mother?”
Yes, it is. And it’s refreshing for someone with money and resources to basically admit that money and resources makes it easier.
I’m not saying rich and/or famous mothers aren’t going to royally screw up their children just like the rest of us and don’t need to worry. All I’m saying is, don’t be surprised if the rest of us who don’t have those resources want to punch you in the face when you start complaining about how difficult it all is. There is a hierarchy to this. Someone who has it way worse than me is totally entitled to tell me to STFU, too.
I don’t care if you’re Supernanny, you should never discipline other people’s small children. You have no idea what is going on with a child who is behaving poorly. Assuming you do and intervening is ridiculous. When and if you decide to comment on a child’s behavior — address the parent, not the child.
A post I read about a woman’s plane ride from hell begged the question, “Is it ok to discipline another person’s child on a flight?” The author, journalist and novelist Lee Tulloch, recently experienced a horrible flight filled with screaming children. There was one child in particular who was completely out of control. Tulloch claims the child had a seven hour tantrum. From Traveller.com:
The little girl threw a seven-hour long tantrum, interrupted by a blessed hour when, so wound up, she fell into a coma of exhaustion. The parents didn’t seem to be disturbed by this at all. They tried to get her to calm down sporadically, but when she cycled out of control, they put her down in the aisle and let her run wild.
Sometimes she flung herself on the aisle floor, fists balled. Other times she flung herself at her father in his aisle seat, sobbing and begging him to pick her up. The flight attendants didn’t help and just moved her out of the way when they were rolling their carts down the aisle.
I’ve never been on a plane where flight attendants let a toddler roam the aisles by herself. That and the unbelievable seven hour tantrum are sort of making me question how much of this story is based in truth, and how much of it is an overreaction to a child misbehaving in flight. Regardless, disciplining someone else’s tantrumming toddler on a flight will probably not end well.
It’s very awkward and uncomfortable to be breastfeeding and have some people stare at you and give you dirty looks. This is why I have taken the time to round up some of the most effective covers I could find, that will make the experience of breastfeeding in public more comfortable for everyone.
1. The Basic
Look at this! No fancy material, no excessive heat – you are totally in control of what you see. Not leering at a breastfeeding woman has never been easier!
2. The Fancy
focal point/ Shutterstock
I’m so fancy! You already kno-ow – your boobs are so distracting, I can’t get my laundry done. Hummed to Iggy Azalea’s Fancy, obviously.
3. The Nap
Kill two birds with one stone; hide your offended eyes and catch a few Z’s. Being offended for no reason has never been more relaxing.
Sure, my infant child gets nutrition out of the deal and stays alive, and that is a bonus – but the real reason I breastfeed is because I am an exhibitionist. Also, I know there’s a man out there whose internet connection in his mom’s basement is spotty at best, and he need to see boobs, too. I’m doing it for him, obviously.
The internet understands my plight. There was a story about breastfeeding moms who took over an Oklahoma park and held a breastfeeding demonstration. Some may think that these women were protesting society’s ridiculous sexualization of the most normal, necessary practice in the world. Nope. I’m sure these moms don’t care a lick about that. They really just couldn’t shake the thrill that publicly showing the tiniest glimpse of their nipples gives women. It’s really a rush I can’t describe.
The following comments really illustrate how much society as a whole understands women, biology, and nurturing. We are not feeding our babies! We’re getting a sick thrill out of flashing our boobs. WE DO IT FOR THE MENZ!
Seriously! Have some decency! I know your baby’s mouth and head is totally covering up your entire breast, and the general public can only imagine what your boob looks like – but feeding an infant is gross. Cover up!
When I saw the Headline, In Praise Of The 42-Year-Old Woman on an Esquire link this morning, I had little hope that this article, written by a man, would make me feel any other emotion besides rage. I was wrong. It was too stupid to elicit rage.
Let’s face it: There used to be something tragic about even the most beautiful forty-two-year-old woman. With half her life still ahead of her, she was deemed to be at the end of something—namely, everything society valued in her, other than her success as a mother. If she remained sexual, she was either predatory or desperate; if she remained beautiful, what gave her beauty force was the fact of its fading. And if she remained alone… well, then God help her.
And so it begins. Tom Junod tries to understand how women have pushed back against the shallow constraints society has always imposed upon the ticking time-bomb that is their age and beauty. How have they conquered the stresses and stereotypes of age? By working out and staying beautiful of course! Spoiler alert; there’s nothing alluring about a 42-year-old woman unless she manages to look 30.
Mrs. Robinson was forty-two. And so if you want to see how our conception of forty-two-year-old women has changed over the last five decades, simply imagine The Graduate remade today, with Cameron Diaz in the part made famous by Anne Bancroft. Or Sofia Vergara… Or any of the forty-two-year-old women now gracing our culture… In the right hands, it would be funny; but even in the wrong hands it couldn’t get away with what Mike Nichols and Dustin Hoffman got away with: a movie that turned on the hero’s disgust with himself for having an affair with a forty-two-year-old woman.
In actuality, Mrs. Robinson wasn’t 42. Bancroft was 36 when she played the role that would become synonymous with “predatory old sex fiend” forever. She was just six years older than Hoffman in “real life.” And while we’re on the subject, did we see the same movie? Because I’m pretty sure Hoffman’s character was disgusted by the fact he was sleeping with his fiancé’s mother – not because he was putting his penis in what Junod clearly thinks is a dried up old vagina.