Poultry Media

I admit it: I don’t watch much in the way of news. I don’t seek it out without specific intention: not only do I not have the time, but also it gets in the way of my DVR programming, which is already greatly reduced by the amount of children’s programming that seems to find its way onto one tv (or iPhone or iPad or Kindle) or another.

I manage to tune out much of the celebrity gossip, reality tv in most of its incarnations and the latest political propaganda.

I admit it: I even avoid much of the Olympic coverage. There is some shame there, but had I known previously that the Trampoline was in fact an actual event, it might have been a different story.

But the proliferation of poorly-spelled poultry -laden nonsense has been a little insane. I am not saying I don’t see there are some topics within that mess that people want to talk about.

I just think that a moral platform, regardless of your beliefs, built on a foundation of chicken grease, public ignorance and highly processed animal goo tends to have a level of ridicule accompanying it… not to mention gas…in which whatever actual communication may be in there drowns.

Serving up your hate on a bun makes it no more palatable, and it is insulting to the poor chickens.

I would honestly rather watch Sesame Street.

“Keep Trying, Keep Trying, Don’t Give Up, Never Give Up…”

Maybe like me, you’ve had that Yo Gabba Gabba song pounded repeatedly into your consciousness – or maybe you are far luckier and have been busier catching up on True Blood and Modern Family. As a working mom, I don’t get too much TV time, and sadly far too much of what I watch are the kiddie shows. But sometimes, even as adults we can learn a lesson or two from watching them.

Life is Hard. You know that, I know that. Lately, I’ve had some things going on in my life that have been a bit overwhelming. I will save you the drama of the detail, but suffice it to say there have been days (and days and days) where I want to throw the towel in and hide under the bed. I make stupid mistakes at work, my body refuses to downsize, I never feel like I am giving enough time to my kids or myself. I try really, really hard in all those respects, but sometimes? It just doesn’t seem or feel like I am enough, or that I will ever be enough, or that I am even up to the challenge of another day.

I keep falling down on my face. Hard. And sometimes? I don’t want to get back up. I want to lay there. It feels like too much. It hurts.

I watch my daughter. She is whip-smart, and a stinker to boot. But she doesn’t like to not be good at things. She doesn’t want to ride her bike if she’s not good at it, if it’s not easy. I tell her all the time that we have to learn how to do things, and that sometimes those things are hard. It is a constant battle. But she gets up and she tries again.

And if I don’t get up again when I fall, how can I expect to teach her to wipe off her bloody knees and get back up on the damn bike? How can I sing Yo Gabba Gabba songs to her and expect her to buy into them if I refuse?

Every day we have on this earth we have to make a decision, and sometimes even getting out of bed seems like a hard one. Standing up and looking at our awful messes is hard; facing our failures and trying again is painful. Convincing ourselves that we truly can be more, get better, and improve after so many years of trying is a challenge.
But I owe it to my kid, and I owe it to myself to persevere: to push what I can really do and who I can become. I will keep trying. I won’t give up.