Sept. 12: Mommy don't

My son has picked up the awful habit of banishing his mother from his bedroom when it's time to go to sleep. He will allow us both in to change him into his pajamas and the nightly prayers, but after that he wants some alone time with me. His mom says it doesn't hurt her feelings, but I kind of think it does.

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She should not be offended. My son merely picked up my genes. When I was a kid, I didn't want both my parents in my bedroom at the same time. They had to say goodnight to be individually. I guess kiddo and I both have a little OCD.

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As luck would have it, Ash and I just finished watching a movie called TRAP. The premise of it is that a serial killer and his daughter are attending a pop concert. The police know he's there so they set up a trap, ensuring that every male adult is interviewed by police before they're dismissed. In the end, we discover that the man's wife suspected him and so she tipped the police about it. 

Mom of the year, I tell you. "I just found out my husband is a serial killer. This would be a wonderful time to send him to a concert with our teenaged daughter."

Oh please, mommy, don't.

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Earlier this month, I was re-watching Quentin Tarantino's Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, which provides a new historical narrative for the Manson killings. There's a scene where a stuntman (played by Brad Pitt) takes a hippie girl (played by Andie MacDowell's daughter, Margaret Qualley) to the Spahn Ranch, which was the headquarters of the Manson family. The year was 1969 and my mom would have been 18 or 19, which means that she would have been young enough to be a hippie on that compound. But that would never happen because my mom was a whip-smart class valedictorian from small town Saskatchewan and Charles Manson was a yucky psycho murderer who thought the Beatles were the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

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It bothered me that the media paid so much attention to Charles Manson after his arrest and subsequent incarceration for his involvement in the murders. He wasn't a messiah or a wise guy who was able to see the world the way it actually was, he was just an evil charismatic homicidal crazy guy. He should have been tossed in solitary confinement and allowed absolutely no contact with the outside world. 

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As I write this, an episode of Caillou is playing in the room. (Note to my readers: Since I tend to write these notes at night and since my Caillou is my son's comfort viewing, Caillou is a constant background noise. I wonder how many of these notes have been subconsciously influenced by Caillou.) The current episode has Caillou on a road trip with his family. Caillou has asked the family to stop the car because he has to pee. Of course, the word "pee" is not used in Caillou, even though it should be because all kids who watch Caillou are familiar with peeing.

Plot twist: There's a moose in the area. The family goes to a camp and a friendly bearded guy named Pierre tells the family what what they can expect, though he says it's not very likely that they're going to see a moose, even though there was a sign that said moose are prevalent. The family goes swimming but Caillou is scared of the minnows in the water. Then he complains (because that's what Caillou does best) that the water is too deep and too cold but mommy encourages him to go into the water and they splash each other for a bit.

I have seen this episode before so I will cut to the chase and tell you that the family sees a moose in the river. Then Rosie screams at the moose and the moose runs away. 

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It strikes me that Caillou is a diverse show. Caillou is a white kid who has a Chinese friend, a Jewish friend, and a black friend. No LGBTQABCDEFG representation but I suppose there's only so much we can expect from 1990s French Canadian cartoons.

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Ash would scold me for making fun of Caillou. She would point out that Caillou is our son's hero and he wouldn't be at all happy if he heard me mocking him. Point taken. And Goodnight.