Tacky, tacky, tacky...

Well. Being sick sucks. Being sick at the same time as your baby REALLY sucks.

I had pretty much thought Sam would never get sick. Sure, we have had runny noses and problems with teething, but for the most part, he hasn’t been sick. I attribute this to breastfeeding and all the leafy greens I ate when I was pregnant. Anyway, he’s a super-healthy baby. Never around cigarette smoke, gets plenty of sleep, drinks a lot of water, and eats a lot of lean protein and vegetables. Sam is Super Baby. But apparently, he has come into contact with some kryptonite. He started getting a runny nose and a cough last week, and we thought he was getting better, but last night he started running a fever. Husband took him to the doctor this morning, and the poor little guy had to have a chest x-ray. He has a lot of congestion, caused by allergies, which caused an infection. So now he’s on an antibiotic, and has free reign to drink as much juice as he wants.

Other than the congestion, though, you never would have known he was sick. He wasn’t cranky, and he continued to sleep well. Such a good boy. He waved at everyone in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, and played peek-a-boo with the x-ray machine. He doesn’t like his medicine too much, so we have a system that involves a juice box (the reward), my cell phone (the distraction), and his soft blanket (for comfort). He’s going to be fine. The doctor did tell Husband that Sam is very strong (which we knew) and quite beautiful (which we strongly suspected). We like that doctor.

We went to Paris Mountain yesterday to celebrate Memorial Day. We’ve done this for the past three years, and I think it’s a grand tradition. We pack a picnic of fancy cheeses and lovely crusty bread, sparkling cider and hummus, strawberries and grapes. We pack this lovely picnic in our fancy-schmancy picnic backpack with the matching cloth napkins and tablecloth and cheeseboard, then we spread everything out on a quilt, and enjoy the outdoors.

Allow me to clarify: We are not an outdoorsy family. We like our nature with a fine patina of Disney charm. We do not camp. We only hike far enough to find a picturesque spot to spread our quilt, and that’s good enough for us. We don’t “garden”. We find no joy in yard work. We do, however enjoy the outdoors as a nice backdrop for a pleasurable afternoon of fancy cheeses and lovely crusty bread.

I have nothing against nature per se…I love sitting on my mom’s back porch, watching the river through the trees. I love floating down that river on an inner tube, drinking a cold beer and feeling the sun warm my skin. I love swimming in the ocean, I love clear water and white sand. I will spend hours on a playground (outdoors!) and walk miles and miles through the park, pushing Sam in his rugged, all-terrain jogging stroller. I love a scenic vista as much as the next person. I just hate dirt. I hate gnats. And I hate humidity. With no shame, I admit that I love pavement. So there.

Anyway, we spent the afternoon at Paris Mountain, where we enjoyed our picnic and our lolling about, and there was much grand redneck-viewing to be done. I wonder, sometimes, whether or not these people have friends. Real friends, I mean, to tell them things like, “Honey, do NOT wear those plastic shoes,” or “Girl. Those jeans? Not for you.” The world would be so much more sensational if someone would just step up and tell these people to stop going out in public in their pajamas, to put some makeup on, and to pay attention to some basic freaking hygiene. Let’s just say that there were some people at the lake yesterday who should NOT have been wearing bikinis. Past a certain age/BMI, it isn’t just unflattering, it’s in poor taste. And poor taste, like, hurts my feelings. The word I would choose to describe this behavior/ apparel is “unfortunate”.

There were also a disturbing number of families consisting of a “me-maw” (usually in her early forties, tops), a teenager in bikini top and some tacky shorts with, like “Tinkerbell” or something written across the butt, and a dirty baby (if it’s a girl-type baby, it’s practically guaranteed that she is also wearing a bikini, and it’s more than likely a hideously tacky American flag print) who is, of course, not wearing any sunscreen. They all, of course, are drinking Mountain Dew. This? This is why I don’t have complete faith in humanity.

This is not to say, by any means, that all people who have babies in their teens are doomed to perpetuate this cycle of bad taste/ judgement. I have known many women who made the best of the situation, finished school, and taken that opportunity to step up and become adults. Their children are well-adjusted, wonderful contributions to society, and the world would be a sadder place without them.

But then there are the baby-mamas who I overhear in the grocery store, yelling things like, “Desiree! You get your butt back here and put them donuts down! You know better than that!” Really? Does she? Wherever did she learn it? Truly horrifying.

And, I’m sorry, did I miss something, or did all of South Carolina miss the memo that tanning CAUSES CANCER??? Cancer, people. Cancer. Tacky, tacky, tacky…

I realize, as I’m writing this, that the thing I cannot tolerate is not, as I previously suspected, stupidity. I mean, it bothers me when people can’t seem to grasp the difference between “your” and “you’re”, or when people wallow in their own ignorance, making statements like “I just don’t like the taste of wine,” or “Shakespeare is so boring.” Here’s some advice, free from me to you: if you feel this way, for heaven’s sake, keep it to yourself. Broadcasting this information makes you look like a moron. But I digress…

As I was saying, stupidity is something I actually can tolerate. I don’t like it, but I accept that it is a part of our world that I cannot change. What I cannot tolerate is tackiness. If you’re going to be stupid, by all means, go right ahead. But don’t wear it on your t-shirt. Don’t yell it across the grocery store. And don’t force it on your children.

As a bit of a community service, here is a list of things that I, personally, find tacky. It is by no means all-inclusive, so feel free to add suggestions as you see fit.

Here goes:

Acrylic nails, synthetic fabrics, all-over animal prints, being proud of watching a lot of tv, wearing pajamas in public if you’re over the age of three, blonde hair with black roots, permed hair, poufy 80’s bangs, tattoos of fairies/Tweety Bird/ dolphins, drinking wine coolers, t-shirts that read any of the following: Naughty, Bad Girl, F.B.I.: Female Body Inspector, Your Boyfriend Wants Me, etc., materialism, bigotry, homophobia, racism, misogyny, Nicholas Sparks, wearing clothes that are clearly too small for you, Burger King, tanning beds, Thomas Kincaid (the painter of light), political jokes, wall-mounted singing fish, unnecessary lawn ornamentation, contact adhesive, telling pregnant women how big they are, Playboy bunnies as anything but statements of irony, Mountain Dew, silk flowers, visible panty lines, reality tv, Hungry Man dinners, temper tantrums in anyone over three, physical violence, cruelty to animals, talking about money, the American Pie film series, touching a stranger’s baby, choosing movies over live theater, Doritos, rudeness, starting a sentence with the words “I know it’s not P.C., but…”, thinking all Southerners are inbred and uncultured, making fun of my accent, being intolerant of people of other faiths than yours (yes, this does mean that if you are an atheist, it’s tacky to make fun of Christians; that’s not very liberal of you), Fox news, flat-screen televisions, SUVs, middle school, socks with sandals, dragons, video games, Twitter, souvenir resort wear, picky eaters, injustice, kids wearing those stupid wheeled sneakers, high-fructose corn syrup, sweatpants with words across the butt.

That’s all I can think of right now.

But I’ll keep you posted.