The Perfect Baby Handbook » Lunatic Parenting

Perfect babies, perfect parents, and FAILure

dale — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 04:49:12 +0000

“My child must succeed! I will give her every opportunity to succeed! She will learn to write tricky words like ‘constitution’ in a lovely, calligraphic hand, but her vocabulary will never include ‘failure’!” It was such modest claims that inspired me to satirize competitive parenting in The Perfect Baby Handbook.

OOPS: Originally conceived as a guide to abstinence.

Now, it turns out, that while I was busy satirizing and you were trying not to be too easily satirized, the verb “fail” was turning into the noun “FAIL” (always capitalized) and becoming a cultural phenomenon.

Exhibit A: The website, FAILblog.org, launched in Jaunary, 2008, by the same ingeniously simplistic people who brought you LOLcats. FAILblog invites users to submit images of things that have been done badly, horribly, or disastrously. You might, for example, be able to spot a certain, subtle flaw in this book cover (right).

Exhibit B: This weekend, The New York Times magazine devotes an “On Language” column to the phenom, reporting that Americans are applying the “FAIL” concept to everything from CNN’s coverage of the Iraq protests to clumsy cows, from Bill Clinton to Amazon.com snafus. The recession, one observer tells the Times, has only fueled the temptation to see the world through FAIL-tinted glasses:

“It really started to take off when the financial industry decided to — ahem — fail…Talk about the perfect storm.” The fail meme met the financial crisis head on at a Senate hearing in September, when a demonstrator held up a sign reading “FAIL” behind Henry Paulson Jr., the former Treasury secretary, and Ben S. Bernanke, chairman of the Federal Reserve.

“Shut up, shut up!” you may be saying. “What about my baby?” Well, just make sure you don’t send him or her to this not-so-august institution:

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The hottest baby invention of 1945: The lab-rat crib!

dale — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 03:54:33 +0000

Cozy-looking, isn’t it? Conceived by Harvard behavioral psychologist, BF Skinner, for his second child, Deborah, this “crib” was born of the best intentions. Observing the heavy toll his wife’s parenting regimen took on her, Skinner set out to simplify it. Though not by pitching in himself…

HOME, SICK, HOME: Climate controlled!

He created this baby-sized room, known as the “Baby Tender,” in which the new infant could live—more or less continuously. Sound-proofed, self-cleaning, and climate-controlled (“78 degrees, with a relative humidity of 50 percent”), it reduced the family’s laundry load: “Why not dispense with clothing altogether,” Skinner posited, “except for the diaper and warm the space in which the baby lives?”

Too warm? Cool it down before little Deborah fusses or cries, vastly reducing Mrs. Skinner’s need to soothe her. (Scroll down for a touching image of mother, child, and box.)

The crisply designed “apparatus” got a bad rap right from the start. When Skinner enthusiastically but nerdily outlined its merits for the Ladies Home Journal in 1945, the article, titled “Baby in a Box,” raised eyebrows. Since BF’s other big invention was a case for testing animals (and rewarding them with food-pellets), people assumed the worst.

Rumors flourished that baby Deborah, “locked” in her box, failed to appreciate its comforts. According to the stories, she promptly became psychotic, growing up to sue her father and commit suicide.

Not so, declared a distinctly undead Deborah decades later, in a spirited defense of her father’s methods published in the (U.K.) Guardian.

Still, it’s easy to see how folks got the wrong idea. When Skinner published his Journal piece, Deborah had been in the “Baby Tender” box for 11 months, and, as he noted, not everyone sensed its brilliance:

A few critics have objected that they would not like to live in such a compartment—they feel that it would stifle them or give them claustrophobia. The baby obviously does not share in this opinion. The compartment is well-ventilated and more spacious than a Pullman berth, considering the size of the occupant.

Another early objection was that the baby would be socially starved and robbed of the affection and mother love, which she needs. This has simply not been true. The compartment does not ostracize the baby. The large window is no more of a social barrier than the bars of a crib.

Despite its roominess and obvious potential to increase his daughter’s social circle, the box, he admitted, was hardly a long-term solution:

How long do we intend to keep the baby in the compartment?….almost certainly until she is two years old, or perhaps three.

Even then, once Deborah had achieved the “wider range and variety of behavior” that comes from living without clothing—”our baby acquitted an amusing, almost apelike skill in the use of her feet”—the plan was to let her wander away from the prototype occasionally and really see the world:

After the first year, she will spend a fair part of each day in a playpen…

Or even “outdoors.” Rechristened the Aircrib when it was commercially produced in 1957, Skinner’s box mysteriously failed to catch on.

SKINNER'S CRIB IN ACTION: Note slide-out tray, pivoting display-case window, and little Deborah's evident bliss.

(Via DaddyTypes, via BoingBoing)

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New York Times food critic comes out as a “baby bulimic”

dale — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 04:00:20 +0000

Or, more precisely, a “toddler bulimic.” In this Sunday’s New York Times Magazine, esteemed restaurant critic Frank Bruni confesses, extensively and juicily that, from an early age, he was an insanely motivated eater.

BRUNI: As troubled blob.

And a violently needy one. By Bruni’s account, adapted from his forthcoming memoir Born Round: The Secret History of a Full-Time Eater, if denied a third hamburger or a 144th cookie, he would work himself into a tormented tantrum and throw up —more or less on his mother.

…I’ve always wondered, in retrospect and not entirely in jest, if what she had witnessed was the beginning of a cunning strategy, an intuitive design for gluttonous living. Maybe I was making room for more burger. Look, Ma, empty stomach!

Though traditional bulimics are a tad more furtive about their purging, Bruni clearly realized that his piece would generate more buzz (and web-traffic) with the headline “I Was a Baby Bulimic” instead of “I Was a Kid With Bizarre Eating Issues.”

Calculation aside, the story (and companion audio-slide show) is fascinating. According to to Mediabistro, Bruni is quitting his Times’ post to promote his book so if you were hoping to see him projectile vomit at The Four Seasons while gorging himself critically on grilled octopus with minted eggplant, sorry, you’re out of luck.

Every kid needs a Swiss Army Knife—or does she?

dale — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 04:00:49 +0000

Delightfully stressful scenario: Some 9-year-old who’s already drowning in possessions invites your kid to his or her birthday. You need an appropriate gift, but what? My friend Julie thought she had it nailed: A Swiss Army Knife! Classic, cunning, status-y, and besides, didn’t Angelina Jolie buy Maddox one?

Big mistake: The birthday child’s mother reacted poorly. Namely by glaring, sputtering, and insisting her offspring return the scandalously dangerous gift. See if you can guess which of the following models provoked such a reaction:

1. MY FIRST VICTORINOX by Victorinox Swiss Army, $23. The classic entry level knife, created for kids. As one Amazon.com reviewer raved: “After [my grandson] used the blade to open boxes the presents came in this Christmas, he went outside and used the saw on some small trees and bushes in the yard. Unfortunately most were ornamental. We are still happy with the purchase though. It is sturdy and with modicum of care will last him, I think, into adulthood.”

2. CYBERTOOL 34 by Victorinox 125th Anniversary Collection, $120. A more advanced model, it features a bottle opener, a wire stripper, a “sewing eye,” and, somewhat inappropriately, a corkscrew.

3. GIANT KNIFE by Wenger, $1400. While this compact two-pounder does suggest that the Swiss are crazy obsessive freaks who are too busy carving, jabbing, and unscrewing things to, say, read a book—and, thus, poor role models for a 9-year-old—it does features both a laser pointer and a flashlight.

Children at risk from Jon Gosselin’s “clothing designs”!

dale — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 03:55:13 +0000

WORST & CO: The sub-chic Jon & Hailey

Just when you thought Jon Gosselin, of “Jon & Kate Plus 8″ fame, couldn’t get any more loathsome, People magazine reported that he’d signed a new deal to design kids’ clothing for the Ed Hardy label with help from his new girlfriend. This seemed unfathomable and was later refuted by the rigorous journalists at Entertainment Tonight:

A rep for the clothing designer denies previous reports that the two were designing a new line together, telling ET, “There is no children’s clothing line in the works with Jon and Christian [Audiger, who designs for Ed Hardy]. It is untrue.”

With this respite, the world made sense again. I mean, seriously, have you clocked the way Jon dresses? Is there anyone less qualified to conceive youthful, innocent style except perhaps Jeremy Piven (“Entourage”) or Hulk Hogan (“Brain-Addled Wrestler”)? Has Jon absorbed some important life-lesson by leaving his spouse for Hailey Glassman, 22, the daughter of his wife’s plastic surgeon that might inform his sense of color and proportion? Do louts know how to sketch?

But damn: Turns out the People story might be true. And, if its original reporting stands, it gets worse. Much worse: The poor Gosselin sextuplets will be drafted to wear Jon’s fashions in ads. And his girlfriend is to uncreatively collaborate:

Glassman will also have a hand in creating the kid-friendly fashions. “She’ll have a lot of input with Christian,” Gosselin told PEOPLE of Hailey’s involvement.

Old Hailey can’t even choose sunglasses that flatter her strangely pointy face (though, in her defense, apparently she hasn’t let her plastic-surgeon dad give her an artificially squared-off face.)

Incidentally, People’s report on this development is hilariously even-handed, as if its reporter felt the need to hedge her bets in case women still find Jon adorable. Is that even possible?

Why insanely costly private schools could (but don’t) charge even more

dale — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 03:47:46 +0000

FUNNY HA-HA: Fieldstone grads

In the middle of the most recessive recession in decades, you’d think attendance at private schools might dip a bit. Nope, reports the Economist in a semi-horrifying story that makes you want to drown someone. In fact, even more parents are scrambling for the right to pay surreal, bankruptcy-inducing amounts:

Compared with last year, applications are up 14%,” says Mark Stanek, the principal of Ethical Culture Fieldston, a private school in New York. All through the application season he and his board of governors had been on tenterhooks, waiting to see if financial turmoil would cut the number of parents prepared to pay $32,000-34,000 a year to educate a child…

How unnerving for the board of governors! Those tenterhooks can really hurt. Overall, the Economist finds “little sign of a meltdown in private schooling” in America, while finding a nice smattering of signs that such schools will raise fees by 2-to-4 percent this fall. Two theories: 1) Parents fear the recession will further shit-ify public schools; 2) They assume that application rates at the snoot-schools (which are really selling college-placement guarantees) will be down, increasing their kid’s chances.

After amassing proof that these institutions could get away with charging way more (in much the same way that Rosemary’s Baby’s heroine amasses evidence that her husband’s in league with Satan), the report offers a nice reality check:

So why aren’t fees even higher? [The likely explanation] is that schools’ quality would decline if they simply sold places to the highest bidders. Part of what they offer is the chance to learn with clever classmates, and if fees were too high the pool of brainy potential pupils would become too shallow.

Whew! That was close.

Michael Jackson doll—as seen in hands of his bereaved son!

dale — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 04:00:48 +0000

BENDABLE LIMBS: Blanket and doll

Trust it to a website called “Droolicious—Modern Design for Modern Parents” to find a product to drool over in the middle of Michael Jackson’s memorial.

The site’s post titled “What Was Blanket Holding?” dispenses with eulogistic ponderings and zeros in on the revelation that Jackson’s youngest son, Blanket, was gripping a “1995 Official Triumph International Michael Jackson doll” that “you can pick up” for between $260 to $1500, depending on whether you’d like it to sing.

No one at Droolicious seems to find it at all curious, notable, or (I dunno) heart-rending that this child is holding a plastic, miniature version of his plastic, full-sized dead father—something that’s never really been seen before. John F. Kennedy, Jr., for instance, didn’t have a JFK doll to help him mourn.

It’s as if Barbie’s daughter is attending Barbie’s Dream Funeral. A version of which, I just found out, was recorded for this 2007 YouTube video. Given Barbie’s parallels with MJ—both emaciated pop icons, born in the late 50s, given to makeovers and blank expressions—this clip disturbed me. I actually gasped at 00:28.

Goodbye, Barbie/Michael.

Related Posts:
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“The Best Kids’ Books Ever”—as chosen, in a willy-nilly manner, by Nicholas D. Kristof

dale — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 03:59:13 +0000

I.Q. PROTECTION: Buy now!

Want to scare parents? Claim that their children’s brains start disintegrating every July, unless the kids are pried away from computers, televisions—and (presumably) diving boards and climb-able trees—and forced to read the 13 children’s books that New York Times’ op-ed columnist, Nicholas D. Kristof, vaguely remembers from his boyhood, or has read to his own kids. He’s horrified by this inevitable cerebral rot:

I was aghast to learn that American children drop in I.Q. each summer vacation — because they aren’t in school or exercising their brains.

Unsurprisingly, his totally unmethodical list, titled “The Best Kids’ Books Ever,” currently tops the “most emailed” story ranking on the Times’ website, as in “Oh my god, Gerald, our offspring’s brains are in jeopardy. Please pick up all 397 titles in the Hardy Boys series—including the graphic novels Abracadeath and Dude Ranch O’ Death! on your way home from the office.”

Yes, bizarrely, lazily, Kristof feels the Hardy Boys belong in the pantheon of children’s literature*:

Yes, I hear the snickers. But I devoured them myself and have known so many kids for whom these were the books that got them excited about reading. The first in the series is weak, but “House on the Cliff” is a good opener.

if Kristof’s list had been called: “Crappy Books that Get Children Reading, Which is a Good Thing in the Grander Scheme of Things,” fine. But I’ve read The House on the Cliff. Recently. I went through a masochistic phase where I wanted to understand the historic appeal of formulaic children’s mysteries, from Judy Bolton to Trixie Belden. (For a fascinating, insider look into just how soullessly the Hardy books, along with The Bobbsey Twins and the [more defensible, proto-feminist] Nancy Drew series, were churned out, read Leslie Garis’ devastating memoir, The House of Happy Endings.)

And if you really want to give your kids a persuasive reason to avoid stupidity, have them read the transcript of Sarah Palin’s resignation speech.

*Kristof, whose middle name is Donabet, also likes Charlotte’s Web. If you have several spare hours, check out the 2000-plus reader comments his hit-and-miss list inspired.

Why Evian’s roller-skating babies terrify me

dale — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 03:47:04 +0000

Already a YouTube phenomenon, this new Evian commercial suggests that mineral water is so rejuvenating, it will transform you into a vaguely thuggish, roller-skating infant.

Evian clearly thinks this ad sets new standards of cuteness. These babies redefine precocity and outshine squirrels for agility as they one-up each other with funky roller moves—a reference to the late-70s jam skating scene in New York’s Central Park, set to the 1979 hit, “Rapper’s Delight.”

And it is freaky-cute, up to a point. Namely 00:26, when several of the babies leap in the air and cling to a wire fence like rabid dingoes who’ve watched West Side Story (or Thriller or The Lost Boys) a few too many times. And then it dawns on you: These babies have no parents. Why?! Have they perhaps killed their parents?

OVERSIGHT Responsible parenting in action

Who will stop these bundles of roller-skating joy if they turn rogue and swarm out of the park? If they begin leaping on cars and roller-skating their way up the Empire State Building? Will the U.S. Air Force be able to neutralize them in time? (Compare this illustration, right, from page 66 of my book, The Perfect Baby Handbook—although this infant is also dangerously mobile, at least his flustered dad is attempting to supervise him.)

On another level, the Evian commercial disturbs me because it suggests just how ruthlessly the new generation of aggressively educated, genius-ified babies may render the rest of us obsolete. Of course, it may not be too late.

Facebook updates about babies bring both joy and heavy sarcasm

dale — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 15:38:00 +0000

Witheringly funny website alert: If you haven’t visited STFU, Parents, a new blog which celebrates the peculiar inanities of parents’ Facebook updates, proceed with caution. It is a 100 percent sentimentality-free zone.

The site works like this: Someone submits a screen-shot of a gushy parent’s Facebook page to STFU, which posts the screen-shot and relishes it absurdities. Or, as in this case, its punishing monotony:

Thanks to Friend of Perfect Baby Handbook, Marjorie Ingall—mirthful, brainy mom of two—for suggesting the site.