Village Idiots

"It's not my fault!"

It Takes a Village to Raise a Kid: Why Does Everyone Blame Mom?

A recent study concluded that as working moms raise the numbers in the checkbook, they’re also raising the numbers on the scale for their kids. The study showed that children of working moms had a higher BMI and likelihood of obesity than kids of non-working moms, especially when these moms worked evenings and weekends. Though the children of moms with long-term 9-to-5 jobs fared best among dual income families, BMI was highest when moms returned to the workforce during their children’s fifth and sixth grade years.

The study suggests that working mothers’ reliance on unhealthy fast food contributes to kids’ higher weight, as well as the fact that these moms are not around to steer their kids away from the TV and keep them active after school.

I'm gonna have to pick up the phone and dial B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T.

Both of my parents worked full time. I was a latchkey kid. And I didn't get fat (as a kid; gotta be sure to qualify that one). That's because I did not WANT to sit behind the television when I got home. In fact, I didn't actually want to come home. I wanted to go to a friend's house and try to build a bike ramp big enough to jump over a house. Or take off with our pellet guns and go kill small, innocent woodland creatures. Or play football in Wayne's front yard. Or... Well, you get the idea.

This whiny piece of journalistic string cheese is endemic of the problem: lack of parenting "want-to" among a generation of girls who were brought up by Disney Productions. Little Miss Corporate doesn't actually want to raise the children, taking responsibility for them early and drilling good decision-making behaviors into that tabula rasa between their darling little ears. No, she wants a live-action doll that will walk around and make cooing noises after she dresses it in the latest fashion from Macy's.

If your kids are making bad choices, it's not the kids' fault, it's not the teachers' fault, and it sure as hell isn't the fault of food manufacturers and video game salesmen. It's your fault, cupcake. Speaking for "the village," I didn't ask you to reproduce; I'm sure as hell not taking any responsibility for the fact that you have spring-loaded hips.

Suck it up and be the adult. Lock the fucking video game in a cabinet, set up time-limiting software on the computer, and tell your flesh-colored beach balls to bounce their fat asses outside and climb a goddamned tree. They might fall and break an arm, they'll probably get dozens of minor injuries every month, and they'll almost certainly eat dirt and torture bugs. That's called "childhood." It doesn't have a warning label on it.

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(If, dear reader, you'd like to read more infuriating evidence of victimhood mentality and weepy chest-thumping, just pick any other article on the linked site. It's a huge pity party for suburban princesses. Might want to get a barf bag ready.)

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