Under the Rug

Last night I saw a commercial for the new Hugh Grant movie (who stole my heart with "About a Boy" and gave it back with "Music and Lyrics").  I was horrified by the brunette astroturf on his head.  I admit, I'm obsessed with the scalps of all actors.  If you can see the scalp through the part, you know for sure the hair is real.  Compare the parts of actors and actresses in any movie.  With the women, you can see their scalps 98% of the time.  With the men, I'd say about 40%.  I've lost track of many a movie plot because of my rug obsession.  (But seriously, who could not be distracted by that dead squirrel on Robert Redford's head?)  (To a lesser extent, I'm also obsessed with seeing if an actress can pull her eyebrows together.)  To be fair, sometimes an overzealous hair stylist can fluff around the part so much that you can't see through it.  In "All the President's Men," the young Dustin Hoffman in quite a few scenes sports a bouffant which obscures his part.  In other scenes, though, you can clearly see his scalp.  I try to keep this in mind, especially when I examine George Clooney's head.  My sister's friend reminded that George's dad still has a full head of hair.  Still, I worry.     

Words to the Wise

The three best bits of advice I've heard (so far):

1)  From my younger daughter, then in the second grade:
I had volunteered in her classroom, and I was my regular, slightly impatient self.  Afterwards, she said to me, "Mommy, you have to try to be nice to everybody or else they won't be excited to see you."  The next time I went in, I made a point of saying something nice (and sincere) to every kid and calling each by name.  Sure enough, in a matter of weeks, they loved me. 

2)  From a long-haul trucker I heard on the radio:
After Hurricane Katrina, I was listening to NPR's coverage of the clean-up efforts.  A bunch of truckers had volunteered to shovel out the debris.  The reporter was discussing this with one of the truck drivers, a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, and she asked him how one actually goes about cleaning up a mess of such huge proportions.  He paused a moment, then answered, "You start at the front, and you work toward the back."  Yes, you do.

3)  From my mother:
"Never underestimate the male ego."

The Cowardice of My Convictions

I cringe when I think about how many times when I was younger I let a man make me do something I really didn't want to.  Yes, I know, no one can make me do anything.  But in my twenties, I just didn't have the confidence or the gumption or maybe the self-respect to say, "No, that's not happening."  I assumed that, these years later, since I like and trust myself more now, I would easily be able to stand up for myself.  More so, I would have bet the farm that I would stand up for my daughters.  And yesterday I didn't.

I am not an anti-vaccine zealot, nor do I believe it causes autism.  My (almost) nine- and (just now) eleven-year old girls have been vaccinated up the wazoo (actually, just in the upper arms).  Yesterday, at my older daughter's checkup, the pediatrician told her she'd be getting four shots:  the H1N1 (at my request), the tetanus booster, the bacterial meningococcal booster, and the first of three doses of  Gardasil.   Gardasil, of course, protects against HPV and cervical cancer.  Having dealt with HPV myself, I certainly would love to eliminate that risk for my kids.  But I've spoken with a lot of friends about Gardasil (which I admit doesn't exactly count as research), and I have several reservations.  My first concern is long-term effects.  I don't want to be like those mothers who took DES during their pregnancy and consigned their daughters to adult cancers because the longitudinal research wasn't in.  Further, a friend whose daughter has some neurological issues said that her neurologist said "absolutely not" to Gardasil, because of seizure and migraine possibilities.  I had pretty much decided to wait on the Gardasil vaccine until my daughters were older, giving the research time to progress.  Since my one girl is just eleven (and still very child-like), I'm certain she has some time before she'd really need it. 

When I told their pediatrician that I had some concerns about Gardasil he said, "I have a concern about Gardasil, too.  I'm concerned about parents who are concerned about it."  He then told me that it's been successfully used in Europe for twenty years and that plenty of research backs it up.  He added that his daughters had been vaccinated.  Then he gave me a look that said, "Gotta problem with that?"  And I gave in. 

I haven't told anyone about the Gardasil, because I'm so ashamed that I didn't say no.  I had made a decision that I thought to be in her best interest, and I allowed myself to be bullied out of it.  Now, since she's had the first of three doses, I figure that I have to proceed.  If I've hurt her, at least she should have the immunological protection.   Almost as much as I worry about her future health, I worry about her having a mother who can't (or won't) stand up for her.

Dieting for 8 Year-Olds

My 8 year-old daughter has put herself on a diet.  She is a big girl, tall and sturdy and strong.  She's the fastest runner on her softball team (and I have the times to prove it).  The pediatrician said her weight is fine and that people just come in different shapes.  But her friends are those tiny wraiths with toothpick arms and countable ribs.  So she put herself on a diet, which scares me to death.  She said she wants to eat healthier, and who could complain about that?  She's been chosing to forego her evening snack, and certainly nobody really needs one.   A few days ago, she said, "Mommy, look at my belly.  When I was chubby, it was out to here, and now I'm skinny.  I'm so happy!"  I gulped and said, "Honey, you know I don't care about that.  I just want you to be healthy and strong.  I always think you're beautiful."  But I know how I feel when I'm skinny (and I know how I feel right now when I'm not).    What am I supposed to do?

Last night was Halloween, and my husband and a few neighborhood dads took their daughters trick-or-treating.  One of the dads mentioned to my husband (in I assume a congratulatory tone, though I didn't ask because I didn't want to get even more pissed) that he could tell that our 8 year-old had lost weight.  Fuck him.