Family of twelve, 1960's style
About this woman who's just had a litter of eight, adding to the six already at home. "I just always wanted to be a mother," she said during a very odd interview, although she had a hard time talking, given her abnormally large lips.
And what are we saying about this? From a hot mess standpoint, she doesn't measure up to Brittney S., but she's the best we've got in the early austere days of '09. We can yearn for those halcyon days of no panties, a flotilla of paparazzi, pink wigs, rotten boyfriends, deluded moms, and the seriously under-reported purple drank, however I think Nadya has her own charms. Those charms are now being minutely examined by that special cheesy press which, like God, lets no sparrow fall without a lot of speculation, pseudo-horrified gasps, and lotsa photos.
For those mystified by the government's hi-jinks, war, and a pig-greedy Wall Street, there's plenty to discuss about Nadya. "Why is her mouth so weird?" my husband asked, as we spent an alarming five minutes watching the evening news. Having checked out a full-face Nadya-view, I had also researched the weirdness of her tiny nose and big chipmunk cheeks. "She's a plastic surgery fruitcake," I told him. I'd already spent a tough couple of hours on the awfulplasticsurgery.com website, and was too enervated to say much more.
While Nadya may love the idea of birthing an entire classroom, my observation of huge families is that they're not the big jolly gathering, portrayed by movies. Not for the kids, at least. My maternal great-grand parents had fourteen kids, with twelve surviving. None of them particularly enjoyed their upbringing, although they understood why their parents considered a crowd of kids necessary. It was frontier Oklahoma; times were hard and mortality rates were high. Not one of those children grew up to have more than three children.
It's curious to me that although we love us some kids in America, we don't seem to care much about childhood...that strange, dreaming condition full of puzzles and bewildered adults.
And what are we saying about this? From a hot mess standpoint, she doesn't measure up to Brittney S., but she's the best we've got in the early austere days of '09. We can yearn for those halcyon days of no panties, a flotilla of paparazzi, pink wigs, rotten boyfriends, deluded moms, and the seriously under-reported purple drank, however I think Nadya has her own charms. Those charms are now being minutely examined by that special cheesy press which, like God, lets no sparrow fall without a lot of speculation, pseudo-horrified gasps, and lotsa photos.
For those mystified by the government's hi-jinks, war, and a pig-greedy Wall Street, there's plenty to discuss about Nadya. "Why is her mouth so weird?" my husband asked, as we spent an alarming five minutes watching the evening news. Having checked out a full-face Nadya-view, I had also researched the weirdness of her tiny nose and big chipmunk cheeks. "She's a plastic surgery fruitcake," I told him. I'd already spent a tough couple of hours on the awfulplasticsurgery.com website, and was too enervated to say much more.
While Nadya may love the idea of birthing an entire classroom, my observation of huge families is that they're not the big jolly gathering, portrayed by movies. Not for the kids, at least. My maternal great-grand parents had fourteen kids, with twelve surviving. None of them particularly enjoyed their upbringing, although they understood why their parents considered a crowd of kids necessary. It was frontier Oklahoma; times were hard and mortality rates were high. Not one of those children grew up to have more than three children.
It's curious to me that although we love us some kids in America, we don't seem to care much about childhood...that strange, dreaming condition full of puzzles and bewildered adults.
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