To the very many poor souls who have googled:

Why do people eat corn starch or Argo starch?

and got to me from an August 05 entry, let me assure you, you’re not insane if you’re eating it or anything else strange, like dirt, chalk, talcum powder (aka baby powder), baking powder or baking soda or a host of other things that aren’t meant to be eaten alone or, in many instances, at all.

You have a PICA. You may have a vitamin deficiency and you need to see a doctor. Sometimes people with PICAs crave bleach or lead, both of which shouldn’t ever be ingested because, HEY, they can KILL YOU! Eating dirt or clay can lead to parasite infections and things like toxoplasmosis, which is a devastating health problem and can lead to significant birth defects during pregnancy. PICAs can occur in small children, too.

Some people with PICAs eat string or other indigestible substances, which can lead to a formation in the gut, called a bezoar, which just cannot be pleasant at all (in addition to being terribly dangerous). Sometimes people just crave ice. Regardless, you need to have yourself or your child checked out. A PICA, especially if you happen to be pregnant, can be a signal from your body that you need a certain nutrient. PICAs can also be a sign of overall malnutrition.

Really, I promise. You are not crazy. You or your child do need some medical attention, especially if you are pregnant. Please get help. For starters, read up on it here.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

Edmund Burke, on the French Revolution.

It’s truer than ever today.

We work so hard at being civilized. We’re so busy and full of ourselves and we (meaning me, and including me) motor through our lives with our heads down so we can avoid things that slow us down. We let things slide that we shouldn’t. Sometimes we see people act in ways they shouldn’t and by doing nothing ourselves, we often give the wrongdoers silent approval. It’s so much easier to do nothing and forget about what’s disturbed us. Lookee! Over there! A big rabbit in a top hat!

We also fight our caveman gut instincts in the name of civilization and we might think, when we see a parent yelling at a child in public–I might think–at least it’s not my kid misbehaving. It’s certainly not my place to say anything, we think.

We grow complacent.

I grow complacent. I am complacent.

Atlanta resident Tracie Lee Dean raised her head up and paid attention. On January 15, she saw an unattended little girl in an Evergreen, Alabama, gas station and knew something was wrong. She knew.

I’m linking an article, but be warned–childhood sexual abuse is the topic. No hyperlink. I want you to be aware you’re clicking on something disturbing.

http://www.ledger-enquirer.com/mld/ledgerenquirer/news/local/13705304.htm

Dean called 911 after leaving the convenience store (she was on her way back to Atlanta) and got nowhere. She called everyone she could, including the John Walsh America’s Most Wanted people. I imagine she was treated like a crazy person every step of the way.

She knew something wasn’t right: the little girl clearly wanted to leave the store with Dean. Little kids don’t normally behave that way. An older man with the little girl said, to the girl, “You looking for a new mama?” He said it meanly, Dean says, and she knew something was wrong.

Initial investigation in Conecuh County included an interview with the convenience store clerk, who said that the man, a woman and the little girl were frequent customers, so people had to have seen this makeshift family (it makes me halfway gag to call them a family) and someone had to have gotten the vibe Dean got before she did. I wonder how many people remained head down, travelling in their own worlds.

After getting nowhere, Dean finally called the convenience store to see if she could come back to review the security tapes. She drove from Atlanta to do so and ended up at the wrong store and had to work her way south on I-65 until she hit the right exit and the right store. As luck would have it (’cause she sure wasn’t getting help any other way), a sheriff’s deupty walked in as she was watching the tapes and paid attention.

A man and a woman have been charged with sexual abuse. An abused and traumatized 17 yr old boy and three yr old girl are now in the custody of the state.

Tracie Lee Dean acted where many failed. Perhaps it’s the mother wound,* but I am so moved by this story. Society fails children all day, every day, in so many ways. How horrid it is that individuals often fail them, too, merely by keeping our heads down and motoring on and being civilized.

Tracie Lee Dean did something, over and over, until she got results. She’s a hero.

* Scroll down to the recent entry titled “Mare’s First Doritoes.”

Or: the entry where I wax on at great length about things that have interested me to the point of minor mental obsession in the past few days.

Y’all, I am so over the school selection process. Last night, I had to take both kids to a public academic magnet school open house and we went directly from daycare. McPantses was excited to be there and after sitting relatively calmly through the slide show in the lunchroom/auditorium, she loped into one of the kindy rooms practically bubbling over with glee.

She sat right down at the table and looked up at the teacher.

Parents and children crowded into the room while the teacher talked about how kindergarteners spend their days and about the progress they make through the year. Nervous nelly parents started asking what I considered to be very pressure-laden questions about the testing progress and exactly what their kids need to know for the test. One woman spouted off with “We only started on workbooks in January and we’re not going to be through with them by the time the test takes place! We have got to know exactly what is on this test!”

People we’ve seen at the other two schools we’ve toured were glancing around the room and catching each other’s eyes and finally, when I couldn’t stand another second of parents asking questions they shouldn’t ask in front of their kids (way to stress your kid out there, ma’am), I piped up and said that I had a question about the test. I said, “First, when my daughter comes to test, she’s just going to play and answer some questions and have fun, right? And it’s not stressful at all, is it? She’s going to really enjoy it, isn’t she?” The teacher turned to me and smiled and said, “YES, YES, your children will have a great time.”

Who pulls that kind of nonsense in front of a bunch of little kids, anyway? Last night was the first time the word “test” has been uttered in front of McP, but she doesn’t seem to have paid much attention to the boring conversation parts, so there’s a possibility it slipped right by her. There is also a possibility that she will wake up one morning next week and say, “Do you remember when I was in that classroom at the school with the snake in the lab and the frogs with the waterfalls in the tank? What test?”

McPantses skipped through the school tour. She was high energy, but not in a troublesome way, except when she was walking right under where I had the boychild in a sling, so I couldn’t see McP or my feet and I accidentally stepped on her twice, but the stepping on seemed to cure her of the walking under, so I guess it worked out okay.

In my tour group was a gorgeous, slim, dark-haired woman and her gorgeous husband and their beautiful daughter. The daughter held mom’s hand and walked quietly along with her parents and studied everything as we went through the [somewhat dark, dank and entirely too industrial/prison wall gray]* building–she was the very model of decorum and grace, especially in a 5 yr old.

We know this family. Our kids are the same age.

I guess the go-go-go high pressure of kindergarten academia puts major pressure on people because the mom, whom I have long liked and admired for her kindness and calm nature (she, like her daughter, is the very model of decorum and grace), mentioned more than once how very smart her daughter is and how, when we got to the library, it would be her daughter’s favorite place in the school because her daughter likes to read so much.

Honey, I know how smart your daughter is. I also know how much she likes to read. While it is my nature to be flawed, petty, selfish, boastful and vain (so I never have far to fall when I act horribly), it’s strange to see someone who isn’t normally flawed display a tiny crack in her wall of social grace.

McPantses may not have strolled the halls demurely (she isn’t even demure in her sleep) while holding my hand, but she had a damn fine time visiting the school. I know she’ll walk into any of the schools we’re nosing around and do well. I think her habits (like narrating her life in song), tho some of them annoy the dickens out of me, are the same things that help her navigate through new situations or potentially difficult situations (even 5 yr olds are in them sometimes) with ease.

In addition to the open house and tour last night, McPantses attended playgroup at the school we like best during the afternoon. Parents waited while 8 kids went off with a teacher to read a story, answer some questions and play in centers. There were two dads in the mom mix, one who came with his wife, and one who was alone with his son. The loner dad was nervous–his son didn’t want to part from him and I think, as a group of moms sat and gabbed** and evaluated various schools and dished the school dirt, that he wandered off through the library. On the way out, the anxious dad passed McPantses at the door and said something that made her laugh that I didn’t catch. We were parked next to each other and the dad turned to McP and said, “How are you today?”

She looked at him and said, “I’m great.”

He looked at me and said, in front of his poor son, “She is so outgoing and happy. My son would never answer if someone asked him that. I told him on the way out of the school just now that he could go to school here and she [pointing at McP] could be his girlfriend [McPantses was roaring with laughter at the notion of being someone's girlfriend even tho she doesn't really get what it means] instead of Mommy and he said no, he wanted his Mommy.”

The guy was nervous and he seemed deflated or disappointed or somehow, just plain ill at ease. I know he was worried about his son not wanting to part from him at the playgroup. Some parents say the school evaluates such things. At that moment, I stopped thinking about how he shouldn’t say such things in front of his son, because they’re embarassing and somewhat demeaning (to Mommy, too, right?), and I just wanted to make him feel at ease.

I said, “You know what? Boys are different. Your son said the right thing! I have a 10 mo old son and I want him to say the exact same thing when he’s doing all this.” He laughed, which is all I wanted, and seemed visibly calmer and we all buckled up and left.

What else could I say?

Sunday, the Husband took her to a local indoor kid fun place*** and they stayed for a couple of hours doing everything from bumper cars to skee ball to the bouncy house. A bigger and clearly older girl than McPantses shoved her over in the bouncy house and the Husband watched for a minute to see if McP was okay and what she would do. I can only assume that if McP had been upset, he would have rescued her immediately and drug the other toadgirl out by her hair and presented her to her parents and taken the dad outside and wiped up the parking lot with him.

My little girl turned to the bigger girl and said, “STOP THAT. You hurt me.” and gave the girl a death stare.

The big girl shoved her again and McPantses said, “Daddy, I want to play somewhere else now.” No muss, no fuss, no upset, no drama.****

Then McPantses went to the top of a slide where she sat next to a little girl who was a stranger to her and said, “Let’s be friends and hold hands on the way down.”

She’s something else.

* What is UP with the gray? The posh new school last week whose campus mimics the Husband’s posh college campus to the point that it aggravates the Husband had all gray walls inside, almost! The school we like’s classroom walls are various bright colors, which we love. If you had asked me before all this started, I would have said that wall color at a school doesn’t matter at all, but suddenly, it does.

** The gabbing, ohhhh the gabbing. In the space of 45 minutes, I got a brochure for a clothes show that I can just order from (and skip the show) and I think I somehow agreed to serve on a children’s literacy guild because, you know, I have the free time coming out of my ears.

*** My former neighbor told me after a visit to this place that I would have 47 heart attacks if I went, so I have never been. The Husband assures me that I should never go. Kids of all ages run completely unattended in there–a toddler kept taking balls from the skee ball area and wandered in and out several times with no one following him.

**** I believe more each day that McPantses saves all of her drama for her mama.

McPantses had her 5 yr old checkup today. Though her birthday was back in November, at some point in the past couple of years, we got pushed back until January for the yearly checkup, so Blue Cross dictates that we shall continue to visit in January forever and ever, amen.

She was pronounced sound of mind, vision and body and itchy of skin, but the ped says she’ll outgrow the itchy patches (aka excema). Her cholesterol is swell (it was slightly elevated last year) and the thirstiness isn’t an indication of some larger problem, per her urine.

Unfortunately for McP, she got two shots this year, one in the ham hock and one in the arm. The arm shot was unpleasant and the howl that followed it probably permanently damaged my left eardrum (she sat in my lap for the shots).

I couldn’t very well take her back to daycare during naptime because, really, how much would that bite? Unfortunately for me, she’s at the back of my office narrating life via rock opera.*

Non.

Stop.

Singing.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to print out some coloring pages (My Little Pony and something princess related, of course) for the Tiny Dictator.

* ETA: My misfortune was not in McPantses’ presence at my workplace, understand. She loves to go and she has a blast while there. Rather, the stream-of-consciousness lilting schizophrenic song that seems to bubble from within when it comes to McP makes for strange background noise when I’m answering the phone, etc.

I got a box in the mail yesterday that was about the size of a nice hardback book and I looked at the return address and thought, woooooh, this’ll be good. I also thought, hey, I have a relative with the same name and I always forget to put it on my list of potential kid names.*

My friend in the great white north seems to have become addicted to making things out of felt and felted wool roving. The surprise box was stuffed to the gills with amazing felted goodies, like flower pins and pony tail holders (so cool), a necklace that I want to wear with a starchy button-down shirt and an uptight black suit, just to throw people off (but which, unfortunately, I will have to fight my daughter to keep), an ice cream cone, a small pot filled with violets, and more. I was adultless last night** in a house filled with children and pets, so I don’t have pictures yet, but I will put some up this weekend. Every single thing was felt, including the flowerpot and the ice cream cone. I’m going to attach some string to the absolutely adorable cupcake she made and put it on our Valentine’s tree, along with the stuff that McPantses and I made last year right before the boychild made his appearance.

This package was my first foray into the world of felted crafts and I cannot believe the things people can make with a small wad of roving and the addition of water and a little time and effort. Check out tania’s links, too.

The crafter who sent me the goody box needs a blog of her own. She’s a big reader and an excellent crocheter of nylon pot scrubber things (scroll down to bottom left corner pic and if you want the pattern, I think you just have to register with the site), which is the kind of kitchen goodie that you never knew you needed until you have one of your own, and then you suddenly need a few more, just to hoard.

Check back for pictures. I hid the box away after opening it because I didn’t feel like sharing it with my daughter just yet. I am that selfish.

* I have a host of great aunts and uncles, mostly deceased, with names like Maxine, Harper (not that Harper), Velma, Tate, Nile, Earl Talmer (men with double names! who knew?) and on and on and on, but I suspect anyone from south of the M-D line does, too. The thing that happens after you have a kid, or at least it did for me, is that you keep a mental list of favorite names you’d use, just in case, even if you have no plans whatsoever to have any more kids (or pets or anything) ever ever EVER. Earl Talmer? Not on the list.

** Despite being adultless last night and this morning, the chirrens were strangely compliant and pleasant and downright happy. Even this morning, as I struggled to ready myself for the day, the kids helped out by not waking up insanely early (as in before I’d showered, used the breast pump, dried my hair and gotten almost completely ready) and, when woken, by being happy-go-lucky until it was time to leave. I sent McPantses in to wake the boychild, while keeping a close eye on her because if I don’t, she will attempt to hang off the crib like a chimp, and the boychild squealed with delight when he commenced, at last, to crack open an eye. McP found that rubbing Charlie Crabcake’s back gently was an ideal way to wake her brother. We got to school brushed (hair and teeth, aren’t we something?), clothed cleanly, and with clean faces. We took ballet slippers, tap shoes (it’s ballet day! Whee!), change of clothes (if you want to see a happy McPantses, you should check her out on Friday mornings when she gets to go to school in full ballet garb, down to the filmy skirt). The pets are fed and the kitchen is neatish. We done good.

McPantses on her brother: It’s just like we’re twins who are two different ages!

Okay.

Her brother, on nursing: Hey, I bet I can do this while standing up! Wheeeee!

No. No, you cannot nurse while standing up, boy. I’m sorry that I’m too mean to handle such weirdness. I will pay for your therapy later on and you can work out your mean, mean mommy issues then, but you just cannot nurse while standing up.

Seriously, standing up? No! Nothing on my body, even the decimated bits that are still flobbly from last year’s whelping, stretches far enough for the boychild to nurse while standing in my lap.

Uck.

After rushing pell-mell and willy-nilly to make an open house a week ago, we had to repeat the process again this past Tuesday night. Our favorite teacher came over to amuse the boychild while we hauled McPantses across town to tour another school.

The difference between open houses was something to behold. This second one was poorly organized and there weren’t enough seats for parents and their children in the auditorium. The school itself is much larger and laid out college-campus style. There’s a heavier focus on the arts, which is reflected throughout the school, but the first school was brighter and more cheerful.

My main problem with the second school, besides the fact that the walls are all either industrial gray or white, is the fact that the kindergarteners go to art class, music class, Spanish class and the science lab (and what a glorious lab it is–tons of rodents and small animals and a great grand snake in a corner with a sign on his tank that says “I’M RESTING AND DIGESTING”) once a month for 25 minutes.

Once a month?

They’ll expose my kid to science once a month for 25 minutes? Before they told the touring group* how often they have kindy kids in science, they talked about how important it is that girls be exposed to science and math. When the teacher then interrupted herself to tell us how often that exposure will take place, I might have snorted out loud.

The first school holds each of those classes weekly for kindy students. I think that’s a big deal, especially since McP already has art and music weekly as it is. Why would we want to scale that back?

McPantses was resolute in her decision that she preferred the first school (which is the school the Husband and I like better, too), where they made necklaces (with beads in school colors), until she started thinking about playing in centers at the second school and making necklaces out of Froot Loops and in the end, edible necklaces won.

And there you have a lesson in choosing a school where your kindergartener might spend 13 years, in the eyes of a 5 yr old.

* GAH, the touring group. For some reason, at Tuesday night’s school, there was a very high ratio of older parents, which is fine. In our group, there was a man in a tweed jacket and a scrotty beard who felt compelled to crack jokes and try to chat up the teacher. At the first school, people were relaxed and had a genuine good time. Perhaps it’s my perception alone and my overall mood from this past Tuesday, but people were anxious and stressed out and on high annoyance alert. In retrospect, I find it strange that the first school, which is perceived as the snooty school (but which costs almost the same, within a few hundred dollars, as the second school) had a more inclusive feel to it. Maybe it has something to do with the parents and their kids. Maybe it has something to do with the teachers.

The Husband and I approached this with very open minds. We thought we’d want McPantses to attend the first school, but we were prepared to be wowed by the second school. I wanted to be wowed by the second school because of their arts focus (the Husband? Not so much on the arts, which doesn’t always make the best career choice when it comes to paying the bills.).

One more school is left and we’ll see it next week. It’s a public magnet school and right now, it’s in the running for second place in my mind.

I have no idea how I ended up at Gawker today (and, my, isn’t that a huge fingertip right there, all front and center-like?), but I scrolled down to read about a gal who proudly fessed up in an article in the NY Post that she’s one of a new breed of gals known as Dinner Whores*. In case you didn’t know, and I certainly didn’t, a Dinner Whore is someone who dates men in whom she has no interest whatsoever beyond the payment of a hefty dinner tab. Klassy, no? So very modern.

The girl is an earnest, naval-gazing blogger who tells us again and again and again that she’s a blue-blooded southern belle, down to her debutante roots. Don’t you just know that her mama is thrilled to bits that her daughter’s owned up to such a swell title, complete with photographs? I’d say that in addition to the charming and delightful title she claims so proudly, she can also tack on another one: Publicity Whore.

Give me a good, legitimate, witty Food Whore anytime, thanks. No pretension. No posturing. Just good stuff, perfect for reading while sipping an icy cold Lemon Drop. She’ll even give you the recipe.

The Husband would encourage me to think about my own reaction to the article in the Post and remind me that if I’m talking about this stuff, the Dinner Whore is doing something right, but I’d shoot back with the fact that not many women we know would contribute to an article like that, especially with such obvious gleeful pride.

I must be in the minority in my thoughts, though, because between the two whores, guess who’s got the book deal?**

No matter. I’m going to hold out for a cookbook from my favorite online caterer.

* Come on, y’all, register and read the article. Do it for me.

** Not that the Food Whore is lookin’ for a book deal. I’m jes’ sayin’.