The United Way got this one very wrong.

I was in the car tonight with the radio on as background noise. I heard a baby-like voice talking, so I turned the radio up in time to hear a commercial that said something like this:

"I cry because I can't talk. But if I could talk, I would tell you that at the daycare where you drop me off everyday, they put me in my seat and leave me alone all day. I would tell you that I'm not learning anything."

It was an ad for the United Way of Central Indiana's Child Care Answers service. And it made me angry.

Here's the TV version of the ad:



The radio version was more offensive, I think. There was no cute baby to distract me from really hearing the words.

The service is a good one (at least the idea is -- I've not actually used the service myself). It can help parents make informed decisions when choosing a child care provider for their precious charges. That's a good thing.

What is not a good thing is the United Way's decision to stick the knife in the collective gut of every working mom, to play on a parent's fears and guilt, instead of appealing to their desire to make the best choices for their children.

The United Way could have taken this path to getting the message out:

"We know that you want the best for your child. Our Child Care Answers service can help you determine what that is when it comes to choosing a child care provider."

If they wanted to use the voice of child, they could have had the same child in a vibrant care setting saying "Thanks Mom for using Child Care Answers."

The ad goes on to say that even if you are using vouchers to pay for child care, your kid deserves quality. What that says to me is that United Way knows their target audience includes economically-challenged families, likely single mothers, for whom the question to work or not work isn't about being able to afford a summer vacation or a new minivan, but who work to keep the lights on and food in the refrigerator. In my book, that makes sticking in the knife and turning up the fear and the guilt even worse.

I've been a supporter of the United Way every year for the past 7 (since I went back to work and began having my contributions deducted automatically from every paycheck). I believe the work they do in my community is important. But their misguided efforts in this ad campaign will make me think a little harder about how they go about doing their business and how much I want to support that.

Guilt and a dead guy

I'm enjoying a glass of wine while writing this post. We don't usually have alcohol in the house, but this was left over from a movie night I had with a friend earlier in the week and I'd hate for it to go to waste.

Tonight was to be a movie night as well. A very fun, very BIG movie night. I had the opportunity to see a sneak preview of "The Wildest Dream," an IMAX movie about two men who attempted to climb Mt. Everest, 75 years apart.

While I was really looking forward to the movie, I was feeling guilty about leaving the boys with a babysitter. They'd been with a sitter all day while I was at work. I wrestled with what to do for most of the day. Go and make it up to them tomorrow? Or not go and miss the chance to see the film for free and to turn it into a post for the Indiana Insider?

After unsuccessfully trying to give away the tickets to another Visit Indiana blogger, I asked about bringing the boys with me. Turns out, that was just fine.

Sweet! I could see the movie that I wanted to and that I'd planned to blog about later without feeling guilty about leaving the boys home with a second babysitter for the day.

So I picked them up from the sitter and told them we had a special night planned. We drove downtown, keeping our eyes open for any strangely dressed folk attending the massive Gen Con gaming conference. (The boys were disappointed that there weren't very many in costume.)

We took advantage of the free parking at TGI Fridays/Marriott complex (I thought about you, Joanie!) and went there for dinner. After dinner, we walked around the grounds of White River State Park for a bit, including walking along the canal, where I just KNEW that Robbie was going to fall in. Ok, sometimes I'm wrong...

Safely away from the water, we checked out the county sculptures built into the facade of the Indiana State Museum (never did find our county), and then finally -- much to the boys' delight -- headed in to get our seats for the film.

Before the movie started, Robbie was a little antsy and I wondered if we would make it through the whole thing. He was quite fidgety as Indianapolis native and Mt. Everest conqueror David Carter spoke for about 10 minutes before the film.

While Robbie was busy being bored, I was fascinated with the history of George Mallory, the 1924 Everest climber who died, along with his hiking companion Sandy Irvine, on the face of the mountain, never to be found until 75 years later.

With Robbie bored and me fascinated, Charlie was getting anxious. He's in a phase right now where he has some anxieties about death. He said, "Mom, if they start talking about dying in the movie, can I go out?" No, I told him, but he could pull his sweatshirt hood over his eyes.

Soon the movie began with some gorgeous shots of Mt. Everest, big as anything on the IMAX screen. Within a minute or two the word "died" was spoken. I looked over and Charlie was hunched under his sweatshirt.

The film went on to begin to explain how, in 1999, climber Conrad Anker found Mallory's body, still intact, frozen on the mountainside. Only it didn't just explain the finding. It showed, in recreation, Mallory's partially exposed body, face-down in the rock. I looked over and the opening of Charlie's sweatshirt hood was pulled tightly closed over his whole face.

I watched another 5 or 10 minutes of the film, casting frequent glances in Charlie's direction to see if he was warming up to the story. Nope. Not even a little bit. I leaned over and asked him if he was all right. He shakily said, "Not really..."

Poor kid. I felt bad about trying to make him stick it out, even for just that short time. So, it was guilt that got me to take them to the theater with me and guilt (ok, and love) that got me to take them out.

I tapped Robbie and told him that we were going to leave. Not really being a documentary-type of fellow, Robbie was more than happy to get up and asked if we could watch Bugs Bunny when we got home.

At least that's not something I feel guilty about.

Friday Frags & Leftovers: Did I really say/do/eat that?

Ladies & gents -- It's pre-7am on a Friday morning which means it must be time for Friday Fragments and Friday Night Leftovers (which at this time of day really should be Thursday night leftovers, but I won't split hairs). Thanks once again to our gracious hosts Mrs. 4444s and Danifred.

On this very dark and too-cold-for-Spring-Break Friday morning, I'm asking myself, "Did I really say/do/eat that?!"

Say: It's a tradition at our kids' school that the 7th graders host a graduation reception for the 8th grade class. Guess who volunteered to coordinate that? Yep. Yours truly. Did I really say "yes" to that request?

Do: I finally got my butt back to the gym. With Mike being in the hospital and then unable to drive for a while, it was too easy for me to stop going. It felt good to be back, but did I really go two whole weeks without setting foot in the gym?

Eat: The last of the Girl Scout cookies are gone, finally. None in the freezer. None hidden in the pantry. But, did I really have to polish off an entire sleeve of Thin Mints just to get them out of here?

Say: Are you ever just on the edge of total frustration and you say something you ordinarily wouldn't? I told one of my kids to "shut up" this week -- twice. In the world of good mommyhood, that's practically a felony. Did I really say that to my kid? Guilty, as charged.

Do: Last night at the Mexican restaurant with my girlfriends, I carried on a "conversation" with the waiter. I had no idea what he was saying and I don't think he knew what I was talking about. But we both smiled and laughed and nodded our heads like we knew exactly what the other person meant. Did I just advance international relations in my little corner of the world?

Eat: Burrito. Chips & salsa. Queso. Guacamole. Coronas, with lime of course. ¿Yo comí realmente todo el eso?

Lunch time guilt

One of the blogs I've recently started to follow, Cop Mama, hosted "Mama Guilt Monday" yesterday. I'm a little late to the party, but as soon as I saw the topic, I was immediately transported to last Thursday when I was covering Charlie's classroom so his teacher could enjoy the Teacher Appreciation Luncheon for Catholic Schools week.

Overall, the experience was enjoyable, as evidenced by my Facebook updates (courtesy of my trusty iPhone):

Covering the 4th grade class for the teacher luncheon. Too bad I didn't think to bring my coat in for recess duty. Brrrrrrr!

I've been informed by the 4th graders that I am "cold" because I threatened to pop the balloon one kid was playing with when she should be reading.

Self-selected reading time and my kid is looking at a Scooby Doo "where's waldo" book. Technically not reading, but I'm letting it slide b/c I'm totally playing favorites.

Revolution on my hands b/c word is out that the other classes are watching movies and having fun while this class is doing journal writing.

What I didn't put out on Facebook was what happened in the lunch room. Sixty some 4th graders, all sitting around with lunches big enough to feed a third world country. (No hot lunches that day so the cafeteria staff could go to the luncheon, too.) Then there was my Charlie, sitting at his table with his Target bag lunch sack and a lonely peanut butter sandwich and carton of chocolate milk.

"Charlie, where are the apple and the carrots that were with your lunch?" I had made the lunch ahead of time, putting it loose in the refrigerator, so all he had to do was put it in a lunch box or bag and take it to school.

"Well, I ate the apple for a snack and I didn't get any carrots."

Can you say sinking, I'm-just-a-terrible-mother guilt? This is my kid who is always complaining about being hungry. Sure, his menu of acceptable items is limited and he only eats what I term "crappy" meats -- chicken nuggets, hot dogs, hamburgers. And if he chose not to take the carrots I had bagged up for him, that wasn't my fault.

But still, in the face of all those kids with potato chips and lunchables and cookies and applesauce, my kid with his measly PB & honey sandwich made me want to cry.

I felt guilty because I hadn't thought to pack him a separate snack (they are allowed to bring one daily) so he didn't have to pilfer the apple from his lunch. I felt guilty because I didn't just put the elements of the lunch in a sack or lunch box so he would be sure to at least have all 3 things I'd planned for him to eat at lunch. I felt guilty that we didn't have a lot to pack at home because money is tight, which led me to think that maybe money wouldn't be so tight if I made wiser choices about how to spend the money we do have. It was basically one big spiral of guilt.

So what did I do with it? Well, after wallowing in the guilt for a few minutes, I walked around the lunch room. I noticed one kid with an overflowing lunch box at Charlie's table who was basically playing with his food. So I said, "Hey, if you're not going to eat some of that, can you share it with Charlie because all he has is a peanut butter sandwich."

I know you're thinking, "Oh no you didn't!" And I'm telling you "yes, I did!" Shameless, I know, but as I saw a wrapped package of string cheese make it's way across the table to my kid, I felt a little less guilty.