I assume everyone’s seen the commercials running in every t.v. break for Playskool’s Rose Petal Cottage? This playhouse for girls is supposed to be every little girl’s dream house and comes with a stove and optional sink, washing machine, nursery set, muffin baking set, and lounge chair (which she should need after cooking, baking, doing the dishes and laundry, and taking care of the baby, right?).
Compare this with Tonka’s Scoot n’ Scoop which “helps boys transition from crawling to walking, then converts to a ride-on toy for added fun!” Hasbro seems to be suggesting that while boys need their toys to help them learn skills like, I don’t know, walking, girls’ toys should teach more developmentally appropriate skills like housekeeping. Every time I see the commercial for the Rose Petal Cottage, all I can think is that I never once remember wanting to play “laundry” or “dishes” as a child. For that matter, I prefer not to play those games even now. Maybe I was raised on the wrong types of toys? Like books. And Legos. OK, and Barbie… and I still love me some fabulous shoes.
In other commercial news, I am fascinated by all of those people who are calmly sleeping while that glowing green toxic butterfly dances in over their heads. All I can think is that between the sound that wings that size make flapping over your head and its bright green glow, it’s a wonder these people’s neighbors can sleep.
As for me, the closest commercial to my day-to-day this week has been that Cymbalta ad… “who does depression hurt? Everyone.” The fiance’ seems to have hit another slump and has spent the greater part of two days on the couch staring at the television or staring off into space. Before I get 1,000 comments about him needing mental help, I assure you he is in regular therapy, his therapist is aware that he gets this way, and he is receiving excellent care. The reason he doesn’t work is because he lost his last job due to a similar “slump” where he couldn’t get out of bed, at which point we agreed the best thing was for him to pursue therapy and get help rather than keep the cycle going. It is that decision that gives me hope that he is really trying to get to the bottom of his mental health needs and issues, as well as pursue medication options if his doctor recommends that path. But really, some days I just want to come home to the person he is on a good day- laughing, silly, smart, talkative, interested in my life as well. And not knowing when the bad days are coming can really be a drag. The selfish part of me wants to say things like, “If I have to pay all the bills, you could have at least done the dishes today.” But I bite my tongue. Because if depression hurts everyone, then it hurts him too. And the least I can do is minimize the hurt we inflict on eachother.
I’m off to sort the laundry for an afternoon laundromat run tomorrow. Unfortunately, no one ever bought me a Rose Petal Cottage. Me and my dreams will have to grow outside my house.