“Spill-Proof” and Other Lies

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SpillProofBaby #3, in an attempt to disprove everything I thought I learned from her older brothers, has decided she doesn’t like traditional sippy cups. Nope, not her thing. She likes cups with straws. Now I was competent with sippy cups: I knew which kinds I liked, which ones were a nightmare to clean, and which ones leaked so much there was no point even using the lid. But straw cups? Not so much. My first attempt brought us a cup that baby girl liked, but milk managed to squirt out the top at all the wrong times. So I went back to Target. This time, I opted for a cup that promised its revolutionary technology made it completely spill-proof. When I got home, I handed baby and cup to Grandma, and baby’s approval was immediate. After she quenched her thirst, she stuck her tiny finger in the top of the straw, because like her nostril, it was a perfect fit. Then she slowly bent her finger out, creating a perfect arc of milk that landed right on Grandma’s shirt. She giggled. Grandma laughed. So she did it again. Spill-proof? Not in my universe.

And that got me thinking about all the LIES I’ve been told since becoming a parent. Of course I didn’t really think the cup was going to be spill-proof, because five years of purchasing children’s products has taught me the hidden meanings of the promises marketers slap on their stuff. Here’s a few:

“Spill-proof”: Our highly-trained engineers could not figure out how to get one-drop of milk out of this cup. Your toddler will have the contents dumped on the rug before you can finish throwing away the packaging. The packaging, however, is spill-proof…and parent-proof, too.

“Mess-free”: Is not.

“Safe”: Absolutely, if used according to the directions. Your toddler doesn’t follow directions, though, so this is probably lethal in her hands.

“Washable”: Yes, absolutely, you can wash whatever this gets spilled on. That doesn’t mean the stain will wash out, but have fun trying.

“Educational”: Repetitive. Terribly, terribly repetitive. Yes, they will learn three words in Spanish. Those words will go well with the Corona you’ll need when the song cycles through for the thousandth time.

“Soothes Baby”, “Comforts Baby”, and “Helps Baby Sleep”: Is it a boob? No? Then don’t waste your money.

“Easy-to-Assemble”: Go ahead and buy the whole liquor store. You’ll need it. And grab some earplugs for your kids while you’re out…otherwise, they’ll repeat every word you say to their preschool teacher tomorrow. And you don’t want that. Seriously, you could have a phD in engineering, and this assembly process would be beyond you. But your three-year-old will take it apart in thirty seconds.

“Doctor-approved”:  They don’t say doctor of what.  Just saying.

“Mom-approved”:  Granted, the mom who approved it hasn’t had young children in thirty years.  Does that matter?

“Kid-approved”: The Ivy-League educated engineers who still live with their mothers think this is great. Go ahead and put it at the bottom of the toy box. It will stay there.

Anything that promises “lively music”: Go ahead and bang your head on the wall a few times. This is what you’ll do every time that toy gets turned on.

“Batteries included”: Yep, and you’ll burn through them in two days. Then you’ll spend three-thousand dollars putting batteries in a ten-dollar toy. The faster a toy burns through batteries, the more popular it will be.

Even the pictures they put on the packaging are misleading. When my boys were under two, I bought them one of those water tables. The box promised hours of mess-free fun, with several nicely-dressed toddlers playing neatly with the water in the table. I don’t know where they found those models, but I don’t think they are real kids. I let my kids wear clothes the first time they played with our water table, but never again. Water tables are best used by children who are stark naked because most of the water you put in will be out before you can count to ten. But at least you’ll know how to count to ten because the lively, education music toy has ingrained that particular song in your head.

Forever.

My expectations are increasingly realistic when I purchase a product for my children; wouldn’t it be nice if the packaging was realistic, too? Just tell me it won’t leak too badly, that my daughter won’t play with the stainless-steel dishes, but she will bang them on the floor. Sell me the sleep-training product by promising it will at least give me hope, if not any actual results. Just tell me the truth, people!

And look at that, my three-year-old just climbed into his sister’s “safe” baby doll stroller, and it tipped over and dumped him on the ground. I’m pretty sure the engineers never tested that.

What about you, what marketing claims have you learned to take with a grain of salt?

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