So she likes to drop clues for me. Some are blatant though occasionally resistant to abductive reasoning: a certain stink in the air usually portends a diaper change but can signal merely a passing of wind. Rubbing her eyes might mean she is tired, but sometimes is just a ploy to score some more nursing. At the table, handing me her sippy cup is often a red herring, asking for more juice rather than evidence of thirst quenched.

But some clues are unambiguous and escalating. First the undesirable food elements are dropped plop plop on the floor, then the plate is rubbed (food surface down) on the top of her head (especially if spaghette was on the menu), and finally the bib ripped off and handed imperiously over. Today I caught her after the plate and before the bib. 

*I only watched the first four episodes of Downton Abbey last year, and now that everyone loves it, I feel even more reluctance to finish, though that is probably cutting off my nose. I finished the Inspector Lewis on Netflix too quickly and resorted to buying the fourth season on iTunes (and I’m wondering about Inspector Morse on half.com). I’m trying Midsomer Murders, but though Barnaby’s voice is mellifluous x 10, I’m not hooked yet. Can you help a hopeless Anglophile out? What’s your favorite British TV?

** Oh, and thanks to Tara for the Inspector Lewis heads-up!

Dear Stephenie,

Did you catch the second episode of the new (almost-as-good-as Alias, probably-like-X-Files) show on Fox, Fringe? I know you’re sad, sad, sad right now about the internet-leaking of Midnight Sun, and probably you have better things to do than watch House and Fringe on Tuesday nights. Like write. Or play with your three sons or talk to your husband. But some of us don’t (or, we do, but, our husbands have Scouts on Tuesdays anyway, and the kids are asleep/snacking/screaming in their rooms, and writing isn’t getting us anywhere that it’s taking you).

So there I was, watching my new show Fringe, and I have to tell you that Bella’s pregnancy and delivery in Breaking Dawn was my favorite part of that book. I loved how Re-gag-me was a vampiric parasite, much like all babies, who leach the calcium from their mother’s bones and who, if you’re Rh-negative and have a husband who’s Rh-positive, all of your kids will be A-positive and you have to get two extra shots and even more blood drawn so your body won’t turn on them. Which, if you think about it and you think that vampirism is like a virus or blood disease, really makes sense.

Photo from Fox.com. You can watch full episodes at hulu.com or Fox.com.

Anyway, the good people writing Fringe totally stole your idea of the baby who develops, in utero and out, much faster than normal. Of course, they followed the logical conclusion that aging and death would also come prematurely, whereas you came up with some ducks machine about development stopping at a very auspicious time, say, right when Re-gag-me would be a perfect age for the imprinting/newly-vampirphiliac Jacob.

I think Pacey would make a good Jacob, actually, which is another sign that you’ve been talking to J.J. Abrams lately. Or maybe you need a good copyright attorney.

Yours,

Stumble This!

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Watching American Idol has brought us much closer as a family. And our musical know-how? Off the charts. But tonight Sally (7) and Susan (3 1/2) nearly came to blows. Sally says she’ll throw up if David Archuleta loses and if he wins, she’ll “scream so loud in the house” (it’s hard for me to tell which of those outcomes she thinks is better). Susan, getting a little tired towards the end, was livid. It was pretty heartbreaking to see our poor Cook falter a bit in critique.

Embarrassing as it is to have embraced American Idol so unreservedly, I have to say that music is what’s working for me lately. Dick and I didn’t have a song ten years ago. In fact, whenever we played newlywed-type games (not often, thank goodness), we made a point of proclaiming our songlessness. Suddenly, though, we are enjoying similar songs. Dick says my taste has improved, but I think it’s his that has improved, dramatically. He has always liked Bjork, after all.

Also singing my song are my iPod, iTunes and the new iLive docking station boombox I got for Mother’s Day from my favorite father-in-law (thanks Grampa!!). The only speakers in our house for years have been our wimpy computer speakers, and since I also love live radio, the iLive is awesome! I found it for $58 at Overstock.com (hope you didn’t pay more than that, Grampa).

The whole iOrganism could seem almost incestuous and repulsive if you didn’t consider that it’s Apple’s response to the evil Microsoft Empire. And frankly, once you invest in the iPod (or have a generous family member; thanks, Grampa! Again!) and iLive, the ability to buy one track at a time on iTunes is nothing short of nirvana. And for iTunes, gift cards can show up in your stocking; thanks Liz and Sean! Basically, the iWorld is an opportunity for people to give you stuff, again and again.

So, we’re downloading American Idol songs on iTunes (Carly Smithson’s I Drove All Night & Blackbird, Brooke White’s I Am, I Said, David Archuleta’s Imagine, David Cook’s All I Really Need is You, The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, Innocent & I’m Alive). From that list, it’s clear I should be texting like mad for David Cook. But Dick and I agreed to not vote. His votes and my votes would just cancel each other out, right?

As for our song? Lazy Eye was the first song I downloaded that Dick wanted for himself. We’re also playing the Estonian Kerli (who’s all international, eh?). Coldplay’s new Viva la Vida is awesome. But my favorite new artist is Ingrid Michaelson. Talk about an organic rise to fame. If you buy that whole thing about how she was just putting her stuff up on YouTube until the Grey’s Anatomy people discovered her. I love The Way I Am, Breakable, Die Alone, Far Away, and Starting Now.

Susan, who will do the motions to Once There was a Snowman, but will not sing the words to save her life, knows the chorus to Keep Breathing. And will sing it. I know, it’s an easy chorus. But still.

Susan’s Keep Breathing from jane on Vimeo.

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At first I wondered why Rocks in My Dryer and Musings of a Housewife were so indignant. I agree that a 15-year old appearing topless in a magazine is cause for outrage, but I can’t see that it’s cause for surprise.

Unless you rejoiced in the relative wholesomeness of Hannah Montana and bought into her image, her family-friendly vibe, and her insistence that you can have “the best of both worlds,” as her hit song proclaims. The best of both worlds being, one assumes, stardom and a Christian, down-to-earth family life. I think it’s safe to say that one can have anything one wants, but not everything one wants, as my dad says his brother Herb always said.

It’s interesting to see who bloggers and commenters think is to blame for the photo. Is a 15-year old responsible for her own choices? Should her dad have made a different decision for her? Is it Vanity Fair or the celebrity photographer Annie Leibovitz or Disney who most exploited a child? Billy Ray’s heart is probably achy breaky tonight, knowing that he’s definitely winning the blame game, especially in Shannon at RIMD’s estimation.

But one thing about the handwringing bothers me. While I can only imagine how hard it is to have to explain to young sons about topless photos, I think we might miss a great teaching moment as parents if we approach it as Shannon seems to, angry that there’ll have to be an “unpleasant conversation in our house tonight, about modesty and decision-making and growing up too fast.”

Now that I’ve figured out what I want my kids to learn from this experience, I’m almost regretful that Sally, at 7 1/2, hasn’t shown enough interest in the Hannah Montana DVD Grampa sent for Christmas for a lesson on modesty and decision-making and continuing-to-make-good-choices-no-matter-what-our-age to be relevant. My almost-tween still likes Dora and Curious George and Arthur. And guess how eager I am for that to change? Right.

First of all, the conversation could be pleasant, I think. When we’ve talked about modesty with Sally and Susan, it’s been in the context of that other great Disney invention, the Disney Princess. We talk about how we can like Ariel and Belle and Jasmine even if we don’t like what they choose to wear. We can love the person and be happy for their good choices while recognizing that they might make some bad choices or choices that aren’t right for us. It makes viewing a Disney movie a little bit more complicated, but the lesson of the complexity of people — loving them, being happy for their good choices while choosing not to imitate their bad choices, translates well into real life.

But I think the greatest lesson to be learned here is about peer pressure, and how it can trick even parents, even sophisticated (one imagines), fame-experienced grown-ups. This is what Miley said originally about the photo:

I think it’s really artsy. It wasn’t in a skanky way. Annie took, like, a beautiful shot, and I thought that was really cool. That’s what she wanted me to do, and you can’t say no to Annie. She’s so cute. She gets this puppy-dog look and you’re like, ‘OK.’

Saddest words I never want to hear out of my daughter’s mouth: “you can’t say no to Annie.” She’s famous, she’s intimidating, she’s emotionally manipulative (puppy-dog look?). Miley’s dad Billy Ray had a chance to be a real hero on that photo shoot, to stand up and say, “No. In our family we don’t take off our clothes in public.” And then to his daughter, he could have said, “Honey, you can say no to ANYONE. You never have to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, and if anyone ever asks you to, I hope you’ll come to me for help.”

If he wanted to get real mushy, he could’ve added, “Miley, you and me, and your mom (and sisters and brothers). We’re a team. We decide what’s right for us, and no matter what anyone else thinks or does or says in the world, we can do what’s right for us.”

But I’m jaded about the Cyrus family business. I’m afraid they’re probably more concerned with spinning the blame and soothing fans to spend time correcting their daughter’s erroneous belief that “you can’t say no to Annie.”

Yesterday my 7-9 year-olds Sunday School lesson was on following the commandments. When I asked the kids for examples, one boy suggested traffic laws like “stopping at stop signs.” I started listing the 10 Commandments and got stuck on number two, explaining what an idol is. Another boy said, “Like American Idol?” and I said, “Oh no, like a statue that you worship instead of God.”

But the next minute I wondered. And now I wonder more. Who are our idols? I think God wants our children (and us) to have good role models, to look up to people who do amazing things and magnify their God-given talents. And those people don’t have to be perfect. We’re not perfect. Of course. But this photo is not the best of both worlds. The best of both worlds would be the opportunity to share one’s talents AND encouragement/support from one’s parents to always make right choices.

Show me that best, and my daughters and I will enjoy more from Miley Cyrus than just a great object lesson in the perils of peer pressure.

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Do you think that you’re a better mother to your children than your mother was to you?

Uh, yeah, like a million-trillion times NOT. My mom is great — besides the usual mommy-wonderfulness, she’s the kind of person who, if she were on that LOST show, everybody would have gotten back home in Season 1. I don’t know what awful things my kids did before this life to get stuck with me. I was going to feel bad for suggesting that my sweet, innocent little babies had ever done anything wrong, but then Susan (3 1/2 yr old Susan) had her third potty accident of the day, and maybe the question I should be asking myself is what did I do wrong?

Anyway, Dick has YM (church youth group) tonight, so I let Sally and Susan watch American Idol with me. If you want a recap of the entire thing, head over to Musings of a Housewife. And for a serious anthropological/fashion question, see Tara Thinks. I’m just gonna hit a couple highlights.

Of course, the 80s were the golden age for music, so this week had a lot of potential for greatness, but, tragically, no one sang Jesse’s Girl or Wild Boys or David Bowie or U2 or anything from Flashdance or Some Kind of Wonderful or — I could go on all night. Not much to say about Guys night because David Archuleta was good, but not fantastic-awesome-goose-bump-inducing. I actually liked Jason Castro a lot. Love the song Hallelujah (first heard on House) and love his eyes, but, please somebody cut those dreds. Loved the Simple Minds song by Michael Johns.

The best part of tonight was getting Sally’s take on Simon. Dick thinks Simon is a god and always right about everybody. I do not have enough musical talent to judge music, so I really appreciate that Simon talks in simple, colorful words that tell me what to think. And I love Paula because when I was thirteen some girlfriends and I did a lip sync to He’s a Cold-hearted Snake, one of the great songs of Western culture. Our choreography was smokin’ too.

Amanda Overmyer actually looked like someone I might trust to take my blood tonight. And she sang well, too. After hearing Simon’s praise of Amanda, Sally said, “I thought she sounded kinda screamy, like a little girl.” ‘Cause she ought to know how screamy a little girl can sound. Carly Smithson was fantastic; might have to download I Drove All Night. Can we take up a collection to get her tattoo removed? Oh, you think that since she does tattooing for a living she probably likes it? Oh, well. hmmm.

Brook White was good again, but why does she keep her eyes closed so much? I agreed with Simon (’cause I’m cool like that) and really liked the acoustic-ish (there still was a full band, with serious guitar-ing) version. That technique is great on such an iconic song. My mind can provide all these great associations and accompaniments, and like Randy (’cause I’m cool like that too) said, I can focus on her voice. Which is great and not pageanty at all.

When the show was pitched, Pierce Brosnan’s character was supposed to be a figurehead in the show as well as in the detective agency, but fiction mimicked TV plotting, and Remington Steele became a major character and a major headache for Laura Holt.

I feel like my feminist instincts (admittedly lazy and often dormant) should be offended that a woman (Stephanie Zimbalist) alone could not only not front a detective agency, she couldn’t carry a TV show.

But I just love it: the corny romantic elements, the (unintentional?) double entendres, and the hokey murder investigations with early-80s special effects and dramatic red herrings.

The music is great and sometimes the suspense is almost Hitchcockian. And, oh! The dialogue is some of the best ever. Witty repartee? Zinging one-liners? Fun bantering? Love it.

Here are a few lines from just one episode (Season 1 Episode 13, A Good Night’s Steele):

(reasons for suspecting a doctor/salesman of murder)
“Well, for one thing, I hate people who are abusively nice.”

(while infiltrating and investigating a Sleep Clinic)
“I’d say good night, but honesty prevents me.”

(picking a lock, unsuccessfully)
“Patience, Ivan. Fatigue has blurred my natural gifts.”

I think I can work all those lines, with minimal modification, into my daily speech. Do you have a favorite classic TV show?

Drive to the library: seven minutes with surprisingly quiet kids (maybe they hit the Benadryl?)

One library card: free with proof of residence and one nation’s tax dollars

Remington Steele Seasons 1-5: priceless.

Here’s a classic clip that reminds me of that other great classic, Murder By Death.