Toys, noise and the Quality Women.
Sep. 29th, 2016 08:37 amThe interesting thing about the current "Elly can never seem to understand how children think" arc is that the whole thing is touched off by Elly's overweening need to keep children from 'wasting' their lives playing when they could spend it usefully and beneficially by cleaning up and sitting very still. The reason for this is that Elly is still hampered by the need to be taken seriously by an in crowd instead of doing what's best for herself and those aroud her. Mike had to struggle through trumpet lessons she'd made into unrewarding torture because she wanted something to brag about and Lizzie has to jump through hoops so that someone she doesn't know will finally make Elly feel like a good parent by telling her she is. As I've said before, this falls nicely into the category of 'destructively futile endeavours' because, as Needlenose Lizziecoddler showed us, the consensus is that the dozy, panicky and angry loudmouth the dentist married tries so damned hard to impress people, she's totally lost sight of what should be the most important part: raising children who can cope with life's demands.
What this means is that Elly would be pretty much incapable of recognizing herself when other people describe her. As by way of example, if we were to look through a passage of some random person's biography, we'd probably get something like this:
While Harriet was relieved tohat Meledy was getting over her shyness, the problem with Melody's friendship with Lizzie Patterson happened to be dealing with Lizzie's mother. While Mrs Patterson kept a reasonably tidy, quiet home, it was obvious that she seemed to want to believe that she was living in some sort of a war zone...as was evidenced by her despairing lecture about how ill-used and hated she must be because Lizzie had left her Space Babe on an end table. She clearly didn't see the random appearance of a toy left where an adult could see it as a homey touch that reminded people that she had children but as some sort of disgraceful thing that somehow proved that she had failed to exercise control over her children and she couldn't allow herself to be reassured that a toy not picked up wasn't the end of the world. What a sad life this woman must lead, thinking things like this. What a sad future Lizzie would probably have thinking that this sort of thing is normal.
This, of course, left us to Foob Fact Seventeen:
Fact: The more Elly tries to reassure the world of her competence as a parent, the more the world tends to see her as a sad, crazy woman chasing her own tail for no clear reason.
What this means is that Elly would be pretty much incapable of recognizing herself when other people describe her. As by way of example, if we were to look through a passage of some random person's biography, we'd probably get something like this:
While Harriet was relieved tohat Meledy was getting over her shyness, the problem with Melody's friendship with Lizzie Patterson happened to be dealing with Lizzie's mother. While Mrs Patterson kept a reasonably tidy, quiet home, it was obvious that she seemed to want to believe that she was living in some sort of a war zone...as was evidenced by her despairing lecture about how ill-used and hated she must be because Lizzie had left her Space Babe on an end table. She clearly didn't see the random appearance of a toy left where an adult could see it as a homey touch that reminded people that she had children but as some sort of disgraceful thing that somehow proved that she had failed to exercise control over her children and she couldn't allow herself to be reassured that a toy not picked up wasn't the end of the world. What a sad life this woman must lead, thinking things like this. What a sad future Lizzie would probably have thinking that this sort of thing is normal.
This, of course, left us to Foob Fact Seventeen:
Fact: The more Elly tries to reassure the world of her competence as a parent, the more the world tends to see her as a sad, crazy woman chasing her own tail for no clear reason.