Looky-Loos and Dirty Gawkers

I have a cute kid. Actually, she's not just cute; she's downright adorable. It's a scientific fact that has been proven. Seriously. And, as anyone with a cute kid knows, people love to look at your kid. Sometimes though it's not just a 'Aww, isn't she sweet' look, it's a strange look. What I would would characterize as a 'gawk'. Maybe it's just me (and it probably is), but these 'gawks' seem to outnumber the nice, polite glances sometimes.
I do realize that I may look a little strange to some people around here. You would think that living near a college town people would have seen folks alot stranger looking than a 26 year old girl with short hair and moderately large plugs in her ears. Maybe they're not allowed out that often. Maybe there are more important things for them to watch on Fox news, who knows. Whatever the reason, when I catch these 'gawkers' I can see their wheels turning. I know they're thinking a myriad of things like:

"What is that 12 year old boy doing with that baby?"
"What is that lesbian doing with a kid? I didn't think they could reproduce..."
"Look at that hippie freak-o with that baby strapped to her. I bet she's a dirty commie..."
I love it when when I catch these people staring. Actually, I hate it. Nothing makes me more angry than these people in their minivans sitting there judging me while I struggle to cram a kicking and screaming child in a Ford Focus. I need a new approach. I need to look at them right in the eye and smile. It'll creep them out so much. I'll feed on their fear much like sharks, bears, rabid dogs and small children.

But, worse than the 'gawkers' are the scourge I call the 'looky-loos'. The 'looky-loos' are usually people over 45 who have either grown children or grandchildren and find it perfectly normal to go out of their way to come over touch your child while giving you unsolicited parenting advice. Target, restaurants, the grocery store, no place is off limits to these people. They will hunt you down on the bread aisle to touch your kid with their (probably) unwashed hands and say things like:
"Look at that red hair! Boy, you don't look like your parents do you..."
"What a cute little boy! Oh, she's a girl? Well..."
"She can't be an only child! Oh, no matter what you say now, you will have more..."
"Is she walking yet? You know my kids walked at 8 months..."
"Can she talk yet? Well, my kids could recite the Gettysburg address at 10 months..."
My kid is never dirty, hungry, unloved, or inappropriately dressed, but according to these people, I am absolutely failing as a parent and as a human being and it's their responsibility to passive-aggressively tell me. Thanks Grandma for the pep talk. I think I'll call DCS immediately and relinquish all my parental rights.
Thank God there are people out there like this; otherwise, I might think I'm a decent mom to this kid.

Codewords

Valentine's Day. The one day of the year where a grown man can buy a woman roses, chocolates, underwear, and a giant stuffed animal without getting a restraining order in return. Speaking of Valentine's, did you know that St. Valentine was not actually one person, but the name given to several martyred saints of ancient Rome? Interesting fact, huh? Which brings me to the Story Of The Week.
Let me begin with yesterday afternoon. Bubba called me on his lunch break to see how The Kid was doing, how my day was, etc. During the course of this conversation I asked "Did you see my Facebook status? I finally started my blog!", to which he replied "I saw that. That's interesting." "What does that mean?" I reply. "Nothing. I haven't even read it yet." he says. (Note: He really did mean 'nothing'. Bubba does think I'm a nerd, but he's a nerd too, so we're made for each other.) Ok. No big deal, right?
Later that night, Bubba and I conned my parents into letting The Kid stay with them so we could go out and have a nice dinner. Since misery loves company, we invited Bubba's next-to-oldest sister and her husband to join us. I love Bubba's family, and his sister and I are pretty close, so we always have a good time. I'm very excited about the fact that I'm no longer 'computer retarded' so I ask sister-in-law if she's seen the Blog. "Not yet" she says. "I told Bubba about it" I said "He said 'That's interesting'." "Oh no." she says, and laughs. She laughs and so does her husband.
"What?" I say.
"When you say 'that's interesting', well, that's codeword for 'that's lame'."
What?!
When did this happen?!
So, I got to thinking. 'Has interesting always meant lame? What if it has? When I did miss the memo? Was it that one day in Kindergarten when I was late because Dad had to get me ready for school because Mom was sick and I went to school in a sweatsuit with a sideways ponytail? This is all his fault!' Then I calmed down, stopped talking to myself like Mark David Chapman and began to really think. I thought of all the times I told someone something I thought was really awesome or informative and was answered with a "That's interesting".
"Did you know it takes 10 gallons of water to make one t-shirt?"
"Did you know Harley-Davidson made their first motorcycle in a shed in 1903?"
"Did you know that the polar bear is the heaviest breed of bear?"
"Did you know that hummingbirds can fly backwards?"
"Did you know that you can perform an emergency tracheotomy with a ballpoint pen?"
..."Wow. That's Interesting."
Now that I've thought a little harder on it, I realize that being 'interesting' isn't bad at all. Usually the people who tell me that only say that because they don't understand what I'm talking about. Like that kind of people who don't now what apartheid was or don't get most of the obscure references on Family Guy. So, I think I'll keep being 'interesting', and go around with the wonderful air of self-importance that comes with the knowledge that I rock at Jeopardy! because of it.

Hello.

Here it is. My first blog post. If you're reading this you're either:

1. My Family
2. My Friend excited to read what I have to say
3. My Friend who is excited to make fun of what I have to say
4. Someone with a 'Mother' fetish who accidentally came across this. (If so, my apologies. Pervert.)
   

So, if you want to know what it's like being a 26 year old wife and mother with no gainful employment, welcome. You might like, love, hate, relate to, or find funny some of the stuff I have to say. If not, well, too bad.