Help! I opened up my blog window to find that January has disappeared from under my nose. The calendar says it's the 31st. The 31st!?! The freaking 31st of January!?!
Well, as long as that little thief keeps his hands on my creamer...
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Humble pie a la tiramisu
Do you ever find a product that you thought you could live without, but no longer can? Mine is creamer. Used to always think I was beyond creamer. Who needs creamer? I'd say haughtily. It's all hydrogenated oils and nasty artificial flavorings. Milk and sugar for me, all natural as the day is long.
Until gingerbread creamer came along. And then chocolate peppermint. And now? Tiramisu.
So I'm eating my words, washed down with a nice hot cup of coffee, weak, with a healthy dose of fake tiramisu loveliness, carefully protecting my indulgence from my coffee loving kids (you think I'm joking? See M's trip to the dentist, but it really needs little K begging "Fa-fee! Fa-fee!" for the full effect. But I swear, decaf and now organic per my sister's kind guidance). I feel like I'm hiding a drug habit.
Until gingerbread creamer came along. And then chocolate peppermint. And now? Tiramisu.
So I'm eating my words, washed down with a nice hot cup of coffee, weak, with a healthy dose of fake tiramisu loveliness, carefully protecting my indulgence from my coffee loving kids (you think I'm joking? See M's trip to the dentist, but it really needs little K begging "Fa-fee! Fa-fee!" for the full effect. But I swear, decaf and now organic per my sister's kind guidance). I feel like I'm hiding a drug habit.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Coping mechanisms
So, being the second time we've been sick in two weeks, I'm getting better at the whole sick-life. Here's a few suggestions when that first sniffle shows up:
1) Cancel all activities for the rest of the week. This includes sleep, regular meals, and whatever little bits of work you leave for nap times.
2) Start taking Vitamin C, Zinc, Echinacea, and crack (per sleep cancellation in #1).
3) Designate your back pockets at Kleenex receptacles. Keep clean ones in the right pocket and used ones in the left. Or was that clean in the left and dirty in the right? Oh look, now kid#2 has a runny nose.
4) Practice telling yourself, It's just one video. Also tell yourself to ignore the fact you've said that four times already.
5) Make coffee. Lots of coffee. Run out of creamer? Just throw in some Red Bull (unless you really did start taking that crack).
6) Run a load of laundry, because the one time you saw your kid wipe his snotty nose on your bathroom hand towel was probably not the only time it was done.
7) Set up blankets on the couch and put new batteries in your book light. You'll be at the coughing stage before you know it.
8) Practice telling yourself, It's just one movie. Also tell yourself that movies and videos are not the same thing and should not be counted as cumulative time. Luckily, you're so sleep deprived by now that you might actually believe this.
9) Come up with catchy responses to your kid's public displays of illness, such as, "Oh, did you get choked on something?" or "What is with this nose of yours today?" Keep handy for that run to Trader Joe's.
10) Plan fun out activities like eating in the car outside daddy's office and driving around the block. It's like going places, but less work.
11) Remember that next week is going to be business as usual. So open up that Hansen's, climb under those covers on the couch, and read or watch or sniffle/cough together. Aren't you always wishing you had more time to lay around anyway?
1) Cancel all activities for the rest of the week. This includes sleep, regular meals, and whatever little bits of work you leave for nap times.
2) Start taking Vitamin C, Zinc, Echinacea, and crack (per sleep cancellation in #1).
3) Designate your back pockets at Kleenex receptacles. Keep clean ones in the right pocket and used ones in the left. Or was that clean in the left and dirty in the right? Oh look, now kid#2 has a runny nose.
4) Practice telling yourself, It's just one video. Also tell yourself to ignore the fact you've said that four times already.
5) Make coffee. Lots of coffee. Run out of creamer? Just throw in some Red Bull (unless you really did start taking that crack).
6) Run a load of laundry, because the one time you saw your kid wipe his snotty nose on your bathroom hand towel was probably not the only time it was done.
7) Set up blankets on the couch and put new batteries in your book light. You'll be at the coughing stage before you know it.
8) Practice telling yourself, It's just one movie. Also tell yourself that movies and videos are not the same thing and should not be counted as cumulative time. Luckily, you're so sleep deprived by now that you might actually believe this.
9) Come up with catchy responses to your kid's public displays of illness, such as, "Oh, did you get choked on something?" or "What is with this nose of yours today?" Keep handy for that run to Trader Joe's.
10) Plan fun out activities like eating in the car outside daddy's office and driving around the block. It's like going places, but less work.
11) Remember that next week is going to be business as usual. So open up that Hansen's, climb under those covers on the couch, and read or watch or sniffle/cough together. Aren't you always wishing you had more time to lay around anyway?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Oh K
K's latest obsession (other than paying by credit)? The little (and not so little) boy in Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree. We don't just read "Tree! Tree!" over and over again. We have to pause on each page and give the boy a kiss. But I promise she's not allowed to date until she's two.
And she gets cold headaches. Which has nothing to do with The Giving Tree or kissing boys. But it's been on my blog back burner ever since we found out, and I'm tired of waiting around until I can think of some better premise. So she gets cold headaches. She also still confuses hot and cold, apparently, since she reacts by crying, "Hot! HOT!" then gulping down water. Unless maybe she gets hot headaches. Which makes no sense at all.
And she gets cold headaches. Which has nothing to do with The Giving Tree or kissing boys. But it's been on my blog back burner ever since we found out, and I'm tired of waiting around until I can think of some better premise. So she gets cold headaches. She also still confuses hot and cold, apparently, since she reacts by crying, "Hot! HOT!" then gulping down water. Unless maybe she gets hot headaches. Which makes no sense at all.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Zero percent parenting
K pushed the CREDIT button for me on the card-swiping machine at Henry's this morning.
"Look at that," said the bag boy. "She already knows just what to do."
"You'd be amazed how quickly they pick up things like that," I said.
Then, as I handed back my signed receipt and thanked them both, I heard the checker say to the bag boy, "I try to tell parents not to do that. Wouldn't want to teach kids bad habits so early."
I'm sorry: bad habits? What would those be: paying for groceries, or pushing the button instructing PUSH HERE? Is there really some concern that I am teaching my daughter something bad because she understands that we collect things in a store and must then swipe our credit card instead of just walking off with them?
Look, I firmly believe that my kid would have picked up on the system whether I let her push a button or not. She wants to push the button because she sees me do it, and by gosh, buttons are the bomb. She knows I have to swipe my little card and push that little button before we get our blueberries and bunny mac & cheese. She just wants to play a tiny part in this whole dance--and that's all it is, because K can't even wrap her mind around the concept of paper money let alone credit--and I like for her to feel like she can. God help me, I've ruined her already.
"Look at that," said the bag boy. "She already knows just what to do."
"You'd be amazed how quickly they pick up things like that," I said.
Then, as I handed back my signed receipt and thanked them both, I heard the checker say to the bag boy, "I try to tell parents not to do that. Wouldn't want to teach kids bad habits so early."
I'm sorry: bad habits? What would those be: paying for groceries, or pushing the button instructing PUSH HERE? Is there really some concern that I am teaching my daughter something bad because she understands that we collect things in a store and must then swipe our credit card instead of just walking off with them?
Look, I firmly believe that my kid would have picked up on the system whether I let her push a button or not. She wants to push the button because she sees me do it, and by gosh, buttons are the bomb. She knows I have to swipe my little card and push that little button before we get our blueberries and bunny mac & cheese. She just wants to play a tiny part in this whole dance--and that's all it is, because K can't even wrap her mind around the concept of paper money let alone credit--and I like for her to feel like she can. God help me, I've ruined her already.
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Icing on the Cake
M and I took some special time together this weekend at Legoland. See, we all have passes to Legoland courtesy of B's grandmother, but it's not quite as fun for K, who is still too short to ride most of the rides. Which means we spend a lot of time watching M and listening to repeated me/mine commentary, as if we just weren't thinking and had forgotten all about putting her on the ride too. I'm glad to know the kids already doubt my competency that much.
We had a fantastic time, a very liberating time, a time when we could run and play and feel a little bit more free without that diaper bag and stroller and pesky younger sister. And I got to give him all that special attention that he doesn't remember having once before, but oh, how do I remember. He and I will always have a special bond, because I found motherhood a little bit like being pushed out on a tightrope in complete fireman gear. You think you will never make--this cannot be possible to manage--but you manage it anyway, because it's do or die. And we did, M and I together, from those first days in the hospital to the return to graduate school, through nursing woes and nursing wins, solid foods and sitting up and sleep training. It was us against that tightrope. He and I made it, together, because he was figuring it out, too, how to be in this new world, just the same as me.
Saturday was such a blissful reward for us. Not just because it was the first long chunk of time we'd spent alone since K's birth, but also because it seemed to mark all the successes we'd made. We were running together, riding big kid rides, sharing lunch and conversation like two old friends. Which we are, of course. I couldn't have made it without him. I have made it, in large part, because of him.
And still, every day, he's teaching me something new. Like when you want to get away without that darned stroller and you make a promise that if M gets really tired you will carry him, you should be prepared to be carrying said 31 pound boy around Legoland for a good portion of the day. See: something new. Two somethings, really, because the back ache came free of charge.
We had a fantastic time, a very liberating time, a time when we could run and play and feel a little bit more free without that diaper bag and stroller and pesky younger sister. And I got to give him all that special attention that he doesn't remember having once before, but oh, how do I remember. He and I will always have a special bond, because I found motherhood a little bit like being pushed out on a tightrope in complete fireman gear. You think you will never make--this cannot be possible to manage--but you manage it anyway, because it's do or die. And we did, M and I together, from those first days in the hospital to the return to graduate school, through nursing woes and nursing wins, solid foods and sitting up and sleep training. It was us against that tightrope. He and I made it, together, because he was figuring it out, too, how to be in this new world, just the same as me.
Saturday was such a blissful reward for us. Not just because it was the first long chunk of time we'd spent alone since K's birth, but also because it seemed to mark all the successes we'd made. We were running together, riding big kid rides, sharing lunch and conversation like two old friends. Which we are, of course. I couldn't have made it without him. I have made it, in large part, because of him.
And still, every day, he's teaching me something new. Like when you want to get away without that darned stroller and you make a promise that if M gets really tired you will carry him, you should be prepared to be carrying said 31 pound boy around Legoland for a good portion of the day. See: something new. Two somethings, really, because the back ache came free of charge.
Friday, January 16, 2009
The forest you do not see
I was having dinner last night with a group of friends when the topic of kindergarten came up.
Most of M's friends fall very close to the cut-off for starting the school year, which in California is December 1. This means that if you have your birthday before December 1, you may start kindergarten, even though you will be four and the rest of the kids will be five. You will turn five in the first few months, but you will still be nearly a year behind the oldest students.
A friend, whose daughter is already close to the cut-off date and will therefore be one of the youngest in her class, was detailing her plan to send her daughter at the age of four to a couple years of school, then have her skip second grade so that when she switches from private to public education, she can go straight into the GATE program (Gifted and Talented Education).
Seriously? Already got your daughter set up to skip a grade, even though she will already be months and months younger the kids in her class? Seriously?
But then, maybe we don't each see how our little interests or obsessions or idiosyncrasies are setting our children up for therapy later in life. Because we are all--mostly--trying to do our very best. I'm sure she feels that her daughter will easily be up to the challenge, and that this push is really better for her daughter. I'm sure she probably thinks that I am too easy on my kids, or that I'm making them germ-phobics, or that I don't push them to be physically adept.
Also, we all see so little of how other people parent their children--and vice versa--that it becomes very easy to pinpoint "problems" in other peoples' methods. But it's like picking out one book from a person's bookshelf and defining them solely based on your selection. The book may complement or challenge the whole. The book may be indicative of a person or the lone exception.
I sometimes feel that I have a heightened awareness for how I am judged by the very few glimpses people have of my whole. Perhaps it's because I'm shy and self-conscious that I constantly pick up on feelings such as "I shouted at my kid so they must think I yell all the time" or "My kid's got chocolate on his/her face and therefore must eat sweets often." I end up inwardly reminding myself why my actions are the exception to the rule, why it doesn't matter what rule others think I follow anyway, or why I broke my own rule in the first place.
But last night, I was the one making that same leap, the one I'm so sensitive about. I'm glad I kept my mouth shut. I'm glad I kept myself open to the fact that I was seeing only a small piece of the whole. I hope others, sometimes, offer me the same grace when I feel those eyes upon my back. And I hope that I truly don't care whether they do or not.
Most of M's friends fall very close to the cut-off for starting the school year, which in California is December 1. This means that if you have your birthday before December 1, you may start kindergarten, even though you will be four and the rest of the kids will be five. You will turn five in the first few months, but you will still be nearly a year behind the oldest students.
A friend, whose daughter is already close to the cut-off date and will therefore be one of the youngest in her class, was detailing her plan to send her daughter at the age of four to a couple years of school, then have her skip second grade so that when she switches from private to public education, she can go straight into the GATE program (Gifted and Talented Education).
Seriously? Already got your daughter set up to skip a grade, even though she will already be months and months younger the kids in her class? Seriously?
But then, maybe we don't each see how our little interests or obsessions or idiosyncrasies are setting our children up for therapy later in life. Because we are all--mostly--trying to do our very best. I'm sure she feels that her daughter will easily be up to the challenge, and that this push is really better for her daughter. I'm sure she probably thinks that I am too easy on my kids, or that I'm making them germ-phobics, or that I don't push them to be physically adept.
Also, we all see so little of how other people parent their children--and vice versa--that it becomes very easy to pinpoint "problems" in other peoples' methods. But it's like picking out one book from a person's bookshelf and defining them solely based on your selection. The book may complement or challenge the whole. The book may be indicative of a person or the lone exception.
I sometimes feel that I have a heightened awareness for how I am judged by the very few glimpses people have of my whole. Perhaps it's because I'm shy and self-conscious that I constantly pick up on feelings such as "I shouted at my kid so they must think I yell all the time" or "My kid's got chocolate on his/her face and therefore must eat sweets often." I end up inwardly reminding myself why my actions are the exception to the rule, why it doesn't matter what rule others think I follow anyway, or why I broke my own rule in the first place.
But last night, I was the one making that same leap, the one I'm so sensitive about. I'm glad I kept my mouth shut. I'm glad I kept myself open to the fact that I was seeing only a small piece of the whole. I hope others, sometimes, offer me the same grace when I feel those eyes upon my back. And I hope that I truly don't care whether they do or not.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Bleak is the new black
Hi Diana:
Thank you for submitting to [unnamed literary magazine]. Unfortunately, we're going to pass on this as it's a little too bleak for us. Please feel welcome to submit again in the future, though.
Best,
[unnamed literary magazine editor]
Editor-in-Chief
But he read it! I know that, because it was bleak, just a little. But hey, the kid didn't actually die in the end. Alright, maybe I should get some more sunshine. Or just pick a literary magazine that doesn't.
Thank you for submitting to [unnamed literary magazine]. Unfortunately, we're going to pass on this as it's a little too bleak for us. Please feel welcome to submit again in the future, though.
Best,
[unnamed literary magazine editor]
Editor-in-Chief
But he read it! I know that, because it was bleak, just a little. But hey, the kid didn't actually die in the end. Alright, maybe I should get some more sunshine. Or just pick a literary magazine that doesn't.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Excuse me while I open another window
Just when I'm tired of the dreary fog and fifty-degree days and patchy drizzle, here it is: the reason why I put up with traffic and expensive houses and tourists year round. Summer in January. Just a few days of a blissful warm dry breeze to remind me that it's worth it all year round. It carries on its breath the promise of a spring, summer, and fall up ahead just as delightfully temperate and cheerful.
Plus we have California burritos. Puh-lease. San Diego rocks.
Plus we have California burritos. Puh-lease. San Diego rocks.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Hallway Triangle
What is it about bed that makes a kid wake up? M can be lolling around, his eyes half closed, nearly asleep on his feet. One quick stop to the bathroom before nap, and then we're tucked into his soothing, dark, cool bedroom where the bed is all ready with his favorite stuffed animal and his turtle nightlight and fresh ice water. Then...
BING!
The eyes are open, the energy is amped, and I'm left wondering when he took a power nap between the living room and here. Because I want that power nap, yes sirree, I'm ready to drop onto the fifth dimension if that's where he takes it because I do not have that kind of energy pop in the afternoon.
It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't need the nap. Sure, I like the quiet time in the middle of the day, but if we could make it from morning to night with that kind of energy, I'd accept our fate. But no, the napless wonder will be dragging around again come four o'clock, when I will have to avoid car trips longer than two seconds and soothe him through crisis after crisis just to manage a half decent dinner before he crashes into deep sleep oblivion. If I didn't have energy before, I sure as heck won't have energy enough for that. Well, I will. Necessity is the mother of all energy boosts.
But what gives, seriously? And why am I not getting any too?
BING!
The eyes are open, the energy is amped, and I'm left wondering when he took a power nap between the living room and here. Because I want that power nap, yes sirree, I'm ready to drop onto the fifth dimension if that's where he takes it because I do not have that kind of energy pop in the afternoon.
It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't need the nap. Sure, I like the quiet time in the middle of the day, but if we could make it from morning to night with that kind of energy, I'd accept our fate. But no, the napless wonder will be dragging around again come four o'clock, when I will have to avoid car trips longer than two seconds and soothe him through crisis after crisis just to manage a half decent dinner before he crashes into deep sleep oblivion. If I didn't have energy before, I sure as heck won't have energy enough for that. Well, I will. Necessity is the mother of all energy boosts.
But what gives, seriously? And why am I not getting any too?
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Splitting hairs
Finally tried styling K's hair this morning.
I obviously need a little help. I see all these little girls--girls even younger than K--with darling ponytails and pigtails and half-up hairdos. How? HOW??? I can't even put a straight line down the back of my daughter's head, let alone get it in the center, let alone style it. Is there some correspondence course they're all part of? Or am I just the least capable girl-mom on the planet?
I obviously need a little help. I see all these little girls--girls even younger than K--with darling ponytails and pigtails and half-up hairdos. How? HOW??? I can't even put a straight line down the back of my daughter's head, let alone get it in the center, let alone style it. Is there some correspondence course they're all part of? Or am I just the least capable girl-mom on the planet?
Friday, January 9, 2009
Silence is overrated
It would be a whole lot easier to work on writing if the boy wasn't using his monitor as a talkie-talkie instead of taking his nap.
Also, when the boy wanders out from said (nonexistent) nap and you promptly pick him up, return him to his room, and tell him that he needs to stay in that room without waking up his sister or he will feel your wrath--to which he bursts out laughing--you will begin to suspect that you (A) are not going to actually get any writing done today and (B) seriously lack cred.
At least he was laughing with you and not at you, right? And who said parenting was easy? And what's cred really worth anyway? Ah, little things, little things...
Also, when the boy wanders out from said (nonexistent) nap and you promptly pick him up, return him to his room, and tell him that he needs to stay in that room without waking up his sister or he will feel your wrath--to which he bursts out laughing--you will begin to suspect that you (A) are not going to actually get any writing done today and (B) seriously lack cred.
At least he was laughing with you and not at you, right? And who said parenting was easy? And what's cred really worth anyway? Ah, little things, little things...
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Don't make me ruin Curious George
I've been seething all day about something from this morning. See, I'm part of an online group called Parent Connection. It's really just a message board where San Diego parents post questions and give advice to each other. All very useful, when you need a recommendation on a new stroller or want to find a reliable contractor.
But, being a place where parents preach a little, it invariably hosts the occasional dialogue about television/video games/vaccinations/etc. You know, those touchy topics that seem to draw out the worst of our judgemental tendencies.
One such discussion is currently taking place. At first I was appreciative at the way everything was handled. First, a parent posted stating that they were finally ready to let their three year old watch television. Since they were unfamiliar with children's programming, they wanted suggestions from parents on healthy/unhealthy options. A variety of responses popped up, most including a virtual pat on the back to the parents who waited so long before turning on the boob tube.
(For the record, I'm not writing as one of those parents, and this isn't one of those posts. I have plenty of opinions on that particular subject, which I'm more than happy to keep to myself. It's the only way I keep my own judgemental tendencies in check.)
Personal opinions, kindly and fairly rendered, very nice indeed. Then I read the most recent response. In it, the parents urged their peers to shy away from television and turn back to the tried-and-true fairy tale--Grimm Brothers, to be exact. They contended that these stories had been around for ages, standing the test of time, and were much better for development than modern offerings.
If I had fur, it'd be bristling.
Turns out I studied a lot of literature in college and graduate school. A lot of children's literature, especially, and pop culture as well. And the thing that became clear to me as I studied children's literature and culture is that there's a surprising amount of subtext in even the most simple of stories. Now, I'm trying to hold back my own judgements on what parents should read or watch with their kids. I think that's a decision that each parent needs to make with his or her own family. But I do want to point out that you should never accept anything at its face value. You should never accept a story just because it's been around for a long time. You should never watch a show just because everyone else says that it's okay. I can come up with many examples right off the top of my head--Peter Rabbit, Goldilocks, Babar--of classic stories with disturbing subtexts. I even delivered a paper at a conference on the dangerous subliminal messages in Veggietales. Veggietales! They're talking Christian vegetables, for pete's sake!
Here's the thing: just because they're cute, classic, or even Christian does not make them okay. What makes them okay is if you sit down and read them, think about them, and consider how they fit in with your values; if you talk about them with your children, working through messages that you find unappealing; if you decide that they are okay for you and your children.
It's so much easier to just ask other people. And I'm not dissing that in the least. Get advice, by all means, but when it's all said and done, lay that advice out on your own kitchen table, make the best decision you can, and then make it work for you. We still watch Veggietales, occasionally, despite the paper and its very convincing findings, and Peter is a favorite around here, too. But I'm too aware now, and I cringe to think that others might blindly take advice without making sure that it makes sense, not just in general but for them and their family.
Geez, this soapbox is making me queasy. I don't rant often, so I hope you'll forgive this one. I just find it frustrating that after studying this topic for seven long years, I still see people offering up opinions that don't relay all the facts. If you had a question about that stroller, you wouldn't want answers from a person who'd never used one. If you had a question for that contractor, you wouldn't want your CPA to respond. So why is it that in questions about literature and culture, everyone's suddenly an authority? I know, I know: we all read books, we all create the culture. But we all have homes, too, and don't pretend like we know how to build them. I can at least hope that if people aren't going to consult an authority on this topic, they will at least enact their own analysis in its place.
But, being a place where parents preach a little, it invariably hosts the occasional dialogue about television/video games/vaccinations/etc. You know, those touchy topics that seem to draw out the worst of our judgemental tendencies.
One such discussion is currently taking place. At first I was appreciative at the way everything was handled. First, a parent posted stating that they were finally ready to let their three year old watch television. Since they were unfamiliar with children's programming, they wanted suggestions from parents on healthy/unhealthy options. A variety of responses popped up, most including a virtual pat on the back to the parents who waited so long before turning on the boob tube.
(For the record, I'm not writing as one of those parents, and this isn't one of those posts. I have plenty of opinions on that particular subject, which I'm more than happy to keep to myself. It's the only way I keep my own judgemental tendencies in check.)
Personal opinions, kindly and fairly rendered, very nice indeed. Then I read the most recent response. In it, the parents urged their peers to shy away from television and turn back to the tried-and-true fairy tale--Grimm Brothers, to be exact. They contended that these stories had been around for ages, standing the test of time, and were much better for development than modern offerings.
If I had fur, it'd be bristling.
Turns out I studied a lot of literature in college and graduate school. A lot of children's literature, especially, and pop culture as well. And the thing that became clear to me as I studied children's literature and culture is that there's a surprising amount of subtext in even the most simple of stories. Now, I'm trying to hold back my own judgements on what parents should read or watch with their kids. I think that's a decision that each parent needs to make with his or her own family. But I do want to point out that you should never accept anything at its face value. You should never accept a story just because it's been around for a long time. You should never watch a show just because everyone else says that it's okay. I can come up with many examples right off the top of my head--Peter Rabbit, Goldilocks, Babar--of classic stories with disturbing subtexts. I even delivered a paper at a conference on the dangerous subliminal messages in Veggietales. Veggietales! They're talking Christian vegetables, for pete's sake!
Here's the thing: just because they're cute, classic, or even Christian does not make them okay. What makes them okay is if you sit down and read them, think about them, and consider how they fit in with your values; if you talk about them with your children, working through messages that you find unappealing; if you decide that they are okay for you and your children.
It's so much easier to just ask other people. And I'm not dissing that in the least. Get advice, by all means, but when it's all said and done, lay that advice out on your own kitchen table, make the best decision you can, and then make it work for you. We still watch Veggietales, occasionally, despite the paper and its very convincing findings, and Peter is a favorite around here, too. But I'm too aware now, and I cringe to think that others might blindly take advice without making sure that it makes sense, not just in general but for them and their family.
Geez, this soapbox is making me queasy. I don't rant often, so I hope you'll forgive this one. I just find it frustrating that after studying this topic for seven long years, I still see people offering up opinions that don't relay all the facts. If you had a question about that stroller, you wouldn't want answers from a person who'd never used one. If you had a question for that contractor, you wouldn't want your CPA to respond. So why is it that in questions about literature and culture, everyone's suddenly an authority? I know, I know: we all read books, we all create the culture. But we all have homes, too, and don't pretend like we know how to build them. I can at least hope that if people aren't going to consult an authority on this topic, they will at least enact their own analysis in its place.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The resolution realization
You know that gusto you have at the beginning of the year? This one? The one that starts off so well meaning and then wanes about three days into the first work week?
It's kind of like ordering a gi-normous submarine sandwich and then trying to eat the whole thing at once. Before you know it, you're pitifully trying to keep a few shreds of lettuce in your mouth while the meat, cheese, tomato, and bread all scatter upon your feet. Let's not even mention the mayo ring you have on your face.
But it looked so good! You just wanted it all at once! You thought, with all that gusto, that maybe your mouth was up to the task!
No, though, your mouth is still the same size it was last year. But lettuce-y and salivating, because all the good stuff's on the floor. Three second rule, anyone?
It's kind of like ordering a gi-normous submarine sandwich and then trying to eat the whole thing at once. Before you know it, you're pitifully trying to keep a few shreds of lettuce in your mouth while the meat, cheese, tomato, and bread all scatter upon your feet. Let's not even mention the mayo ring you have on your face.
But it looked so good! You just wanted it all at once! You thought, with all that gusto, that maybe your mouth was up to the task!
No, though, your mouth is still the same size it was last year. But lettuce-y and salivating, because all the good stuff's on the floor. Three second rule, anyone?
Monday, January 5, 2009
Happy 2009!
New year, new colors, same vague feeling of dissatisfaction. But only with the colors. And the title. And the layout. Paltry things, all told.
On the up side, I'm happily welcoming the new year with a vigor I usually never experience. 2009! I have so much to look forward to that my little fingers twitter in anticipation: K potty training (and the corresponding smaller, cuter purse I've had my eye on), our ten year anniversary (and the corresponding, ever more fantastic than a cute purse trip to Belize), more play dates, more swimming, a four-year-old's birthday (!). Another defrosting spring and warm dry summer, another crisp fall to arrive when the change will once again be freshly exciting.
I believe I will make myself into a writer this year. I believe I will let go of the past, or at least a few troublesome pieces. I believe I will fail at parenting and forgive myself anyway. I believe I will mend existing relationships and tend budding new ones. I believe I will learn a million new things that I don't know now, yet always needed.
I'm also walking around with the sinking suspicion that each day will be my last, because honestly, isn't this what every endearing heroine says right before the piano falls smack on her head? But at least now you will all know I died happy! Painfully conscious of the irony, yes, but happy too!
On the up side, I'm happily welcoming the new year with a vigor I usually never experience. 2009! I have so much to look forward to that my little fingers twitter in anticipation: K potty training (and the corresponding smaller, cuter purse I've had my eye on), our ten year anniversary (and the corresponding, ever more fantastic than a cute purse trip to Belize), more play dates, more swimming, a four-year-old's birthday (!). Another defrosting spring and warm dry summer, another crisp fall to arrive when the change will once again be freshly exciting.
I believe I will make myself into a writer this year. I believe I will let go of the past, or at least a few troublesome pieces. I believe I will fail at parenting and forgive myself anyway. I believe I will mend existing relationships and tend budding new ones. I believe I will learn a million new things that I don't know now, yet always needed.
I'm also walking around with the sinking suspicion that each day will be my last, because honestly, isn't this what every endearing heroine says right before the piano falls smack on her head? But at least now you will all know I died happy! Painfully conscious of the irony, yes, but happy too!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.JPG)