Don't Tell Mothers How To Parent

My 7-month-old daughter is watching The Ellen Show as I type this. Feel the urge to tell me how horrible I am for letting her watch TV? Want to quote studies that say she'll become a serial killer if I don't shut the television off right now? Don't. I don't care if you're right. All I know is that I've been a parent for less than a year and I've already read and heard enough advice telling me that no matter what I'm doing I'm RUINING THE BABY that I'm about ready to ship the kid off to Angelina Jolie to see if she can do any better.

It started the day my daughter was born, with the pacifier vs. no pacifier debate. Some people told me to give her the pacifier to keep her from sucking her thumb and that it was the best way to calm her at night. Then other people told me that it would be a nightmare to get the pacifier away from her and it could mess up her language development if she insisted on having it in her mouth all the time. I had no idea what to do. Luckily, the baby was born with a definite opinion on the subject and spit out every pacifier we gave her. She chews on her fingers now, and if anyone else tells me that it'll be hell to get her to stop sucking her thumb, I may start throwing punches.

After the pacifier problem, I decided to stop reading baby advice. Well, I check for specific questions questions that come up--what's that rash, what are good games for her age, is she hitting her developmental milestones--but for aspects of parenting that are more nebulous, like sleep schedules, nursing, and independent playtime, I just make it up as I go along, since it became clear that's all the "experts" are doing.

But don't tell anyone that I parent through gut instinct. I have learned that family members, friends, aquantainces, the entire internet, and random people on the bus have very concrete child-rearing philosophies and if you deviate from the path in any way, they are morally obligated to tell you exactly how you're RUINING THE BABY. I don't know quite when or how it happened, but there's a general assumption these days that mothers have no goddamn clue what they're doing and need your help whether they want it or not. But you know what, strange lady on the street? You really don't need to ask me why my daughter isn't wearing mittens. She's not wearing mittens because her hands aren't cold. Know how I know? Because I'm her mother and I checked.

I know it's tempting, especially when you're around examples of truly shitty parenting, like the woman I saw who teased her daughter until she cried, then yelled at her for crying. Well, that wasn't so much an urge to give advice as an urge to grab the poor child and make a run for it, but that's not the point. The point is: it is not your job to be the parenting police. If you don't feed, clothe, love, and discipline a child, you don't get to have an opinion about how she's raised. Fair? Maybe not, but one of the very first things a parent has to teach a child is that life's not fair.

So the next time you open your mouth to tell a new mother that you read a report that said that unless she breastfeeds for at least a year, her child is at risk for lungworm? Stop, think about how you'd feel if the whole damn planet was trying to tell you how to do your job, and don't say a word.

Don't lie about allergies

My friend Katie is very allergic to all nuts and legumes, from peanuts, to sesame seeds, to anything with soy. She can't go into any Asian restaurant, because there's soy around there everywhere, and she had to get a special steak dinner at our friend's Indian wedding (seriously, steak at a Hindu wedding). She has to ask questions whenever she orders pancakes at brunch, because there is frequently nut flour in some of those multi-grain pancakes and as she has discovered, a Sunday morning trip to the emergency room isn't exactly the most relaxing beginning to a week. She also happens to really hate cilantro, and always tries to make sure that it's not in anything that she gets. However, do you know what she never does? She never claims to be allergic to cilantro to make sure that there isn't even a tiny leaf of it on her plate. Because she knows that you just should not lie about allergies just to make sure you get something that you don't like.

Every chef and restaurant cook I know say that they roll their eyes when they get a ticket that refers to an allergy, because they get so many people who are obviously lying about being allergic to something just because they don't like it. Like the people who claim to be allergic to corn and need to get the potatoes as a side, but are happily chowing down on the chips and salsa. Or those who say that they have a wheat allergy but are eating bread at the table. And then there are those vegetarians out there who think that it's perfectly fine to say that they have a egg allergy so that they won't accidentally get eggs that they don't want to eat. And of course, there are the crazy people who say that they are allergic to butter just because you're trying to stay frighteningly thin.
Do you know what all of this does? It just makes life more dangerous for people like my friend Katie, who actually does have a life threatening allergy.

When people go around lying like this, it does two things. First, it decreases the importance of an actual allergy, so that people don't take them particularly seriously. If a little chicken stock gets in the food of a vegetarian, they may be upset and mortified, but they won't have to go to the emergency room like my friend Beth would (poultry allergy, seriously). So if you believe someone who is lying about their poultry allergy, and then find out later that there was chicken stock in there, you may just assume that having an allergy is not a big deal, so the next time someone comes to your home who you're cooking for or your restaurant and says that they have a poultry allergy, you won't have to worry about that chicken stock that's in the risotto.

And even worse, it makes people assume that everyone who claims to have an allergy is just lying about it, or at least exaggerating. So they won't worry about the egg that's in that housemade aioli, or the pepitas ground into that delicious mole, because they assume that as long as you can't see it, or can't really taste it, you'll be okay. And sure, they'll learn their lesson as soon as someone goes into anaphylactic shock in their restaurant, but I'm sure that that person who it happens to won't enjoy being the one armed man to teach that person a lesson.

So the next time you are thinking about explaining to your waiter that you have an asparagus allergy, just so that you won't have to deal with that asparagus pee, just stop, think about that person who will break out in violent hives at the table before even getting a chance to pee, and don't do it.

Tuesday Quickies

Late Quickies this week because Tuesday is so lame I thought it was Wednesday.

Don't resist; it's futile:
Borg Cupcakes (Wil Wheaton, appropriately enough)

I don't believe someone actually got vajazzled. SIGH:
I Got Vajazzled and Had a Camera Crew (The Luxury Spot) (NSFW for photos of the sparkly STD)

Don't think it's possible to write a kickass rap about a treasury secretary? You're wrong:
Lin-Manuel Miranda Performs "The Hamilton Mixtape" at the White House Poetry Jam (The White House)

Don't ask people to anonymously tell you what's wrong with you. It's a recipe for heartache:
Don't Worry. Nobody's Perfect. (failin.gs)

Don't believe that meme about Olympic athletes having tons of sex during the games? You should:
Athletes have been "gettin' busy" (Market Watch)

We don't like NBC's Olympic coverage. And by "we" I mean "everyone:"
How We Hate NBC's Olympics Coverage: A Statistical Breakdown (TechCrunch)

Don't do any of these things in a movie theater:
Movie Theater Etiquette (Ken Levine)

Don't fall down the rabbit hole:
The Entire Story of Alice In Wonderland Via Tattoo (Nerd Salad)

Don't name your restaurant this:
27 Really Terribly Boston Restaurant Names (MC Slim B)

Don't be mad that this guy won a $10,000 iTunes gift certificate and you didn't. He sounds adorable:
"I've never won anything!" (EW)

Don't Take Trash Talk Personally

And so, the Olympics closed last night - with help from Shatner! - bringing to an end two delicious weeks of Olympic Fever here at Don't Do That. The Olympics give the whole world a chance to try on the guise of a sports fan for a couple of weeks, and isn't it fun? The three of us here have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, throwing ourselves into learning the ins and outs of curling, biathlon, snowboard cross and all the other totally bonkers sports that show up during the Winter Olympics, not to be seen (by us) again for another four years. We have also been doing some trash talk - which you may have noticed - which is something that comes with the territory. If you're not a regular sports fan, this may come as a shock to you, and so we are here to tell you, if you're going to remain a sports fan outside of the feel-good-ness of the Olympic Games, Don't Take Trash Personally

We were (okay fine, mostly I was) involved in a bit of an internet kerfuffle this weekend. To start with, emotions were already running high and there was some shit-talking going on (on both sides) about the USA -Canada gold medal hockey game. (Sidebar: How awesome was that game?? So much fun, even though the ending wasn't what we were hoping for.) Some of the problem was that a few of the people involved in the conversations clearly weren't used to being on A Side in a sporting contest and were a bit taken aback by all the partisan noise. A hint for those folks? Cheering for your team and against their opponent is not bad sportsmanship. It's part of loving sports and, if you want to get all Olympic about it, part of loving your country. And if you're going to love sports, you have to develop a thicker skin.

(Note: This is taking it a tad too far.)

Here's an example. I don't know where you're reading from, but if you're anywhere in the Midwest, you likely understand a little bit of the hatred between Wisconsin and Minnesota, specifically the University of Wisconsin Badgers and the University of Minnesota Gophers. I happened to go to my first Gopher hockey game at two months old, own a button that says "I Cheer For Minnesota And Anyone Playing Wisconsin," and my dad told my sister and I that we could attend college - which he would pay for - anywhere. Except Wisconsin, upon penalty of death and financial ruin. Even adding my name to the mailing list - jokingly - would have likely given my dear father heart failure. (As it was, he ended up with heart failure five years later, but I don't think it can be blamed on Wisconsin. If it could, it would be, trust me.) However! My grandparents, who I love fiercely, met while students at Wisconsin and my grandpa (who is almost 87) remains a Badger - and Packer, God forbid - fan. We talk shit to each other all the time - as much as you can talk shit with a grandparent, of course - but we don't take it seriously or personally. In fact, when I asked at Thanksgiving if he had a sweatshirt I could borrow, he gleefully told me he had "just the one!" and pulled out his red and grey Wisconsin hoodie.

But Roxy, you say. That is a family member! Of course you guys can tease each other with no hurt feelings! And that is true. But it's also true that, when Daisy told her Yankee-fan best friend that she was thinking of getting married at Fenway Park, her friend told her that was great, but that she was going to wear a pinstripe dress. And it's true that Brownie and a friend got into it when her team (Niners!) beat his in the playoffs, but that was many playoff seasons ago, and they're still pals. One of my best friends cheers for a different Big Ten school than I do, but since they suck at the sport I care about, and because my school sucks at the sports she cares about, it's generally not too big a deal. I have family members that are die-hard Cubs and Bears fans (I heart the Twins and the Vikings, but please don't ask me about Brett Favre), best friends who are Blackhawks fans, and a husband who lives and dies with the Broncos.

But when you're a fan of a team whose coach gets caught on camera making this gesture at the officials (if that's the coach, just imagine the players), a team whose linebacker gave his own tight end brain damage and crushed his eye socket (and that's just the beginning of that particular rap sheet), or even a team that is just obnoxious in all its "glory", you should probably be prepared to have some vitirol thrown at you. And really? Throw some back! I would be shocked and even disappointed if I was spouting my mouth off to Badger - or Sioux or Packer or Canadian hockey - fan and they didn't spout back with cracks about my team's goofy name, our inconsistency, the Mullet, or whatever other shit people are saying about Minnesota teams these days. (But hey, at least we can take some smack talk. Wisconsin.)

Just because we're not on the same side during the game doesn't mean that we hate each other as people. We can respect each other as fans, without loving - or even respecting - the team that the other person cheers for. That's part of the fun of loving sports! You can get overly emotional, hyperbolic and melodramatic about something that has nothing to do with you and that you have no control over. It's a wonderful respite from the real world, but only if you are able to tell yourself that at the end of the day, it's just a game - for you and for the fans on the other side of the field.

So if you've found a team that you've decided to follow (I recommend the Gophers, of course, but also throw some love to Ryan Miller and the Sabres), but in a week or a month (or tomorrow, during the Red Wings/Avs game - talk about two teams that hate each other) you find yourself getting your feelings hurt by someone who's pointing out the cheap hits or crappy goaltending or nepotism of your team, just stop, think about what keeps you a fan of this team, and don't take it personally. (And talk some smack back!)

Don't Expect Me To Be Mature About the Olympics

I adore the Olympics: the drama, the grandeur, the petty squabbles, and the unexpected triumphs. I get sucked into everything from curling to cross-country skiing and spend two weeks pretending I can talk intelligently about Shaun White's halfpipe skills. But you know what I love the best about the Olympics? Mocking foreign countries.

Okay, disclaimer: I love the world, boom de yada, etc. I enjoy traveling, I have friends around the globe, and my favorite part of my last job as a copywriter at a vacation company was learning new and cool stuff about other cultures (none of which I could use, sadly, because tourists want to hear about New Zealand's snorkeling opportunities, not traditional tattoo designs or historical treaties).

But I also love me some broad humor, as does my husband, so it's been like the Catskills up in Daisy Razorville this past week. The jokes boil down to a pretty simple formula: Pick a country, then list the first three or four things that pop into your head about that great nation. No matter how much you know about the place, I guarantee your first few associations will be completely absurd. Like for New Zealand, I would not say Maori culture and world-class sailing. No, I would say hobbits, sheep, and Karl Urban. I just realized that I don't even know if New Zealand has a Winter Olympic team. Oh, they do! Somehow, I am surprised Karl Urban is not on it. Moving on.

Next, run with your ridiculousness! Roxy and I were discussing Sven Kramer from the Netherlands, who was disqualified for a lane violation from a race in which he'd not only won, but also set a world record. Tough break, especially for him, since apparently speed skating is SERIOUS BUSINESS for the Dutch. That their national sport involves athletes wearing body condoms is silly enough, but the rest of what Holland is known for, according to Roxy and me? Flowers, dikes, windmills, clogs, and hookers. Meaning it must be great to be a famous speed skater in the Netherlands, what with all the free tulips and clog-dancing whores you could ask for.

Sometimes the athletes make it easy. When the Israeli ice dancers came out for their traditional/folk dance, I started singing Hava Nagila, like the insensitive jackass I am. Then their program started and it wasn't a joke anymore--they really skated to Hava Nagila. Mr. Razor cracked that for their free dance they'd be kicking it to Fiddler on the Roof. I don't think even he would have tried a joke involving what turned out to be their actual, no kidding, free dance music: the soundtrack from Schindler's List.

Lest you think we're complete xenophobes, believe us, we mock the Americans too. But it's not as absurd since we're not on the outside looking in. Other countries don't have that problem. I still snicker about the time a guy in a London pub asked me where I'd left my gun and cowboy hat. Apparently the British think all U.S. citizens hail from Deadwood circa 1880. And you know what my friends in Ireland say when you ask them to list four things about the US? Paris Hilton, Cops, Brangelina, and deep fried twinkies. Those are our exports, people!

All right, I thought I'd get to the end here and have some sort of deep thoughts on celebrating our differences through humor and how laughter is the universal language or something, but really I just want to make another dumb joke. Ready? My baby daughter is French-Irish-German-Greek-Syrian. I can already tell you three things at which she'll excel: Drinking, fighting, and insulting people's mothers. Thank you and don't forget to tip your server!

Don't spend your life stuck in your smartphone

I know, believe me, I know. Your iPhone is so cool -- it has all of these apps! You can find anything on it! There's Yelp and Twitter and Facebook and a million games and even books. Oh, I'm sorry, you have a Blackberry? I bet you love it just as much! It has apps too, and comes in fun colors, and constantly buzzes with emails and texts coming in. I know, it's hard to keep yourself from looking at it every thirty seconds. But HELLO, HI, HII, IT'S ME OVER HERE, ACTUAL PERSON, TRYING TO TALK TO YOU. No, not one of those imaginary people coming from inside of your phone, but a real flesh and blood person right in front of you trying to talk to you. Please, people, don't spend your life stuck in your smartphone.

Look, people. This man was on his iPhone while giving his child a bath. Playing CHESS on his iPhone, okay? Enough is enough. Now, I understand the need to escape from normal life sometimes, and I totally understand loving the ability to catch up on blog reading on Google Reader or play Scrabble with lots of people on your commute. I love my iPhone too. But when you're doing things that could, you know get your children killed, it's time to put the phone away. I've given baths to small children, and they're pretty hilarious, with the splashing and the babbling and the bubbles and the bath toys.

And it's not just when you're doign something dangerous when you need to be detached from the phone. At a dinner party? Out to drinks with friends? Put the phone away and be with people. You know, drink a beer, chat about your day with people instead of just writing messages on their walls, flirt a little, laugh a lot. Aren't those times fun? Isn't that more fun than pulling your phone out of your pocket every 30 seconds to see why it's buzzing, or hitting refresh on that website, or playing WOW?

But you could be missing something! No. No, you're not missing anything except for that cute boy over there who is trying to catch your eye and just gave up, or your friend's funny story about seeing that celebrity fall down. Needing to see Doc Jensen's recap of Lost the moment it goes up, or be FIRST! to comment on that blog, or see the next poetic tweet of Ruth Reichl is a little pathological. (Okay, maybe not that last thing. Did you see her story about the oysters on the snow? Wait, I digress, I blame that short attention span on my iPhone). When you care more about seeing every bit of media that can come by and knowing a tiny little bit about everyone on all of your social networks than your actual friends, soon your only friends will be the people who live inside of your computer.

And also, please, stop being so rude. Didn't anyone teach you manners? Sure, sometimes people are boring, but the thing to do then is politely listen to their story and excuse yourself to get another drink, not ignore them while you check to see who was fugged today. And if these are people that you actually like, it's not a chore to pay attention to them instead of getting your new Foursquare badge. I have been tempted more than once to smack the phone out of someone's hands when it was obvious that they were not just telling another friend of ours where to meet us, but in their own little world. Keep doing that, and I promise, your friends will hate you.

So the next time your friend is telling you that piece of juicy gossip and you just want to pretend that she's a TiVo and press pause while you casually check your email, just stop, think about how you really don't want to be knocked off that barstool by an annoyed friend, and don't do it.

Thanks to Nora for the inspiration. No, she didn't do this, I promise.

Tuesday Quickies: Olympic Edition

Welcome to Don't Do That's weekly link round up, in which we bring you everything from the ridiculous to the sublime. Why? Because Tuesday is the lamest day of the week, and we could all use a quickie.

Don't mock the Norwegian curling pants, for they are awesome:
Norwegian curling pants: If you can't beat 'em, blind 'em (Seattle Times)

Don't pretend 'O Canada' isn't a kick-ass anthem:
Canadian fans sing 'O Canada,' Canadian curling team wins (Yahoo Sports)

Don't forget to practice safe sex, hottie Olympic athletes:
Cold days, hot nights: Olympic village secrets (MSNBC)

Don't like sports? You can still get into the Olympic spirit with Etsy's Olympic-themed crafts:
Etsy Finds: Who's your Olympic favorite (The Storque)

Don't you wonder why the medal bouquets are green? Now you know:
There's quite a story behind the Olympic flowers (Yahoo Sports)

Don't mispronounce 'Kikkan' or she'll ski you down:
Kikkan Randall interview (Baby Names Made Easy)

Don't underestimate NBC's commitment to schmaltz:
Olympic sap-o-meter (Slate)

Don't skip meals, especially if you're an athlete:
New muscles and pounds fuel Tanith Belbin's ice dancing (New York Times)

Don't look at your sister like that, it creeps us out:
How ice dancing siblings handle the ick factor (WSJ)

Don't try to tell us Johnny Weir isn't hugely frickin awesome:
Johnny Weir answers questions; red carpet interview; with Stephen Colbert!!! (NBC)

Don't Talk Yourself Out Of Being Awesome

So, I just spent the weekend with my husband's brother and sister-in-law and our two nephews, who are four-almost-five and 16 months. My sister-in-law is kind of my hero. Not only has she helped introduce her oldest to the wonder of Lady Gaga with only a little bit of shame (he asked, by name, for "Just Dance," "Poker Face" and "Bad Romance" and then knew good chunks of the words), she has also recently gotten involved in roller derby. She just passed her skills test last weekend, and will be drafted at the end of the month. She's kicking around derby names (Jabba the Slut, Princess Slaya, Yid Viscious and Gaza Strip are all in the running - your votes are welcomed!) and says she doesn't think she's ever enjoyed anything in her life as much as she enjoys this. She's a 35-year-old lawyer and she was also absolutely terrified going to her first practice all by herself.

If you're like us, you've spent the last week and a half watching incessant Olympic coverage, crying at all the heartwarming human interest stories and wondering what life would be like as an elite athlete. If you're like me, you've continued to sit your ass on the couch and just marvel at that kind of dedication, feeling a little bit bad that you're not more motivated. But you know what? It's not necessary to leap into 8-hour training days and an 8,000-calorie diet to be awesome. You can be awesome in a thousand other ways that may not have even occured to you.

Brownie, for example, swam a mile for a women's cancer charity about three months after she started swimming regularly. Daisy tried out for Jeopardy! and qualified (she didn't make the show - turns out they might not like it if you swear when you miss an answer). Between the three of us, we have friends who have travelled around the world alone, learned a foreign language at 40, started competing in marathons and triathlons and quit their well-paying jobs to start their own business. We know and love people who've learned - as adults - go-go dancing, belly dancing, a musical instrument, aerial silks and how to roller skate. And they all have one thing in common - they didn't talk themselves out of it, no matter how scary it was.

It's easy to doubt yourself, to not go to tryouts or the intro class, because you think you're too old or not in good enough shape or that you lack rhythm. I'm doing it right now, in fact - the roller derby league in my city has drop-in nights every Sunday, and I'm making every excuse I can think of. It's too far away. It's ten whole dollars. I don't know shit about it. I'm not tough enough, not cool enough, and I haven't been on skates in a thousand years. But you know what? I've wanted to do it for what feels like ages, my friends and my husband - not to mention my sister-in-law - are encouraging me, and I just might love it. If I don't? That's okay. At least I will know that for sure, instead of just deciding that I won't love it without ever trying it. And so next Sunday? Look for me at Drop-In Derby Night. I'll be the terrified-looking one in the rented skates attempting to not fall on her ass.

As for you, take a moment, and think about it. Think about the thing that has always sounded interesting to you but that you've always dismissed for whatever reason. Cooking school. A walkabout. Glassblowing. Whatever it is, the next time it comes up, just stop, think about the balls it takes to cut through your own bullshit and go for it.

Don't Have a Baby If You Value Your Mind

The trickiest thing about parenthood is that it's so easy to start to believe you've got the hang of it. You go, Hey, she's been sleeping through the night for two months! I'll start a blog!

And then the kid develops Olympic Fever and refuses to sleep for more than two hours at a stretch for five straight nights.

Which is to say, no post from me today, which stinks, because I was all excited to tell you guys how going on vacation by yourself can be awesome. Next week, I promise!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to letting the baby watch curling.

Don't hesitate to cook something delicious for yourself

Whether you live alone, your husband or wife is away, or your roommates are out of town, all of us have those nights where we want to eat something super delicious, and we're all alone. And you know what? Too many people use being alone as an excuse not to make something super delicious for themselves. I understand being too tired to cook for yourself on some nights, or wanting to curl up on the couch with some Indian takeout and a full TiVo. But one thing that I often hear from people is wanting something fancy and fussy, but "I don't want to go to all of that fuss just for myself" or that it's not worth the hassle to shop and cook just for yourself. And to that I say, don't say that! You are completely worth a great lasagna, a slow roasted prime rib, or a fantastic chocolate cake. Don't think that there's something wrong about cooking something fantastic for yourself, because you could not be more wrong.

First of all, cooking for just you is a chance to experiment. That wacky recipe with that ingredient that you'd never heard of? The cheese souffle that everyone says is easy but you just know you'll make it fall? The lemon curd that you want to try but you just know will turn into scrambled eggs? Make it for yourself! The worst that can happen is that it doesn't turn out well and you end up eating canned tuna for dinner, and no one has to know about the failure. But if it turns out great, then you have a fantastic new thing in your repertoire, and the confidence to know that you can make it again and again.

Secondly, cooking for yourself is a time when you can eat anything that you like, without paying attention to someone else's preferences or food issues. You love stinky cheese? Indulge with it stirred into a risotto. You adore the salty, briny flavor of anchovies? Add them to a fantastic pasta. You've always wanted to try that chicken with 40 cloves of garlic? Now is the time to do it. I have a friend who rushes to the kitchen to cook and eat a whole crab for herself as soon as her allergic to seafood husband goes out of town, and another who makes spaghetti carbonara when his non pork eating wife is working late. It's fun for food to be just for you sometimes.

And, hey, cooking for yourself is kind of like masturbation: sometimes you just need to please yourself. Sure, sometimes you wish you could share it with someone when it's fantastic, but then again, sometimes you don't want to have to think of someone else's needs, just your own. Hey, we all have needs, it's better to just be upfront about it. Those molten chocolate cakes are sometimes even better when eat them all just for you, and can ooh and ahh to your heart's content.

If you're in need of a cooking just for you primer, the woman who discovered Julia Child recently wrote a book all about that, so you're in excellent company, and there's a fun food column in the Washington Post all about cooking for one.

So the next time that you look at that recipe for crab risotto and think that it's not worth it to do all of that stirring just for yourself, just stop, think about how pleasing yourself is just as important as pleasing other people, and get to cooking.