2008 - The good, the bad, the ugly

In taking stock of this past year and what went well and what didn't, what I'd like to change, and what I'd like to hang onto, I'm not sure I have any really outstanding conclusions. I think that New Year's resolutions are basically lame--I can barely remember what I've resolved, much less remember to actually execute the resolutions. However, to paraphrase Oprah, here are some things I (pretty much) know for sure, based on my experiences this year:

1) Deciding to stay at home/work part-time was the right decision. I was very very freaked out about it at first, but I think it was the right choice for this moment in my life.

2) Deciding to be more active in church was also a good one. Being at church at 8am on Sundays to make it to choir practice is a drag, but hopefully it's one of those things that will lay up some bonus points with the Big Man Upstairs. (Ok, probably not, but here's hoping.)

3) It's important to have some other dimension to your identity, especially if you're a stay at home mom. For me, it's my novel, as well as the evaluation/research that I do. Ok yeah, the novel hasn't been going so well lately, but it's nice to feel that I have something else going on--I have a Supergirl suit on underneath the yoga pants and spaghettio-stained T-shirt, so to speak.

4) It stinks to be alone most of the time. It stinks to have left virtually all my friends back in Raleigh, and not have really any new friends here. I think we're at the stage in life where it's really tough to make new friends. People like what they're used to--the friends they already have, as well as the routines that they've created with their kids and current church buddies. It also doesn't help to be an anti-joiner, essentially an introvert. I'm going to work on that in the coming year, though. It may kill me to take a yoga class/dance class/Bible study class, or whatever, but I have really got to meet some new people. Adam is getting really tired of having me pump him for every little detail about his day and whatever conversations he might have had. (Me: so how is Brandon? How is his truck? How was HIS weekend?)

5)It's good to be four. It's also good to be one and a half. But it might be even better to be 34, and have a life that's beyond anything I ever hoped for, much less counted on.

So prospero año y Felicidad, everybody....

You're a mean one, Mrs. Grinch...

So I had talked to Adam about scaling down on our Christmas spending this year, following the lead of 98.7% of American consumers, since we have less money this year as I'm working only part-time. This idea was not well received, and various names (Grinch, cheapskate, Scrooge) were floated as personal descriptors. This discussion came, interestingly, after a month of MASSIVE expenditures, after which we were in the black only because of an abnormally large paycheck (I was paid out for my annual leave since I stopped working full-time--my check was like 6 times what it usually is!) Since we are both incapable of balancing a checkbook, every month opening the statement from the bank is like playing Let's Make a Deal, except that there's almost always a can of Lemon Pledge behind Door Number 3, and never a new car or even a 4 day 3 night trip to Cancun. But I have to say that God in His infinite mercy saved our sorry asses with that check from NCSU.

I guess the whole country, unfortunately, has been in the same boat as we are, sort of coasting along, assuming everything is going to turn out all right. What's that old tag about Fortune favoring the foolish? Or perhaps I mean the one about how God takes care of children and fools? I suppose we're all hoping for a little of that kind of Christmas magic this year. I suppose it could happen...I mean, who would ever have believed that under a Republican administration, we'd have essentially nationalized a number of major financial institutions? Who would have thought that North Carolina could elect a black man for president? Who'd have thought that a large number of Americans (though perhaps not a majority) could distinguish between Iraq and Iran? I guess it's a year for the unexpected. Perhaps the Grinch's heart will grow this Chrismas, and perhaps not. In any case, I expect the Grinch will be showing up for the party...adding machine in hand.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Whenever Ginny is in the car, I am under instructions to put on one of three things: 1) "The Jesus CD" (think songs like "THE B-I-B-L-Eeeeeee") or 2) one of the stations that is now playing ALL CHRISTMAS ALL THE TIME, which wouldn't be so bad if they ever updated their playlists or didn't jam George Michaels songs right up against "O Holy Night," which is just plain wrong on many many levels.

Option 3 is one of the Ramona cds. One cd is a recording of Ramona the Pest, which Ginny enjoys because Ramona is so very awfully bad--Ginny can relate to Ramona but also to Beezus, who is deeply exasperated by her bratty little sister. The other cd requires you to skip forward in time about three years so that Ramona is 7 years old and her father is out of work (Ramona and her Father). Ginny likes this one because Ramona still does dumb stuff, like sticking a crown of burrs on her head, but so do other people, like Picky Picky the cat, who eats the family's jack-o-lantern. Ginny also likes hearing the story of Ramona's inadequate sheep suit, because it gives, I think, a voice to Ginny's own difficult-to-articulate 4 year old existential rage. The kind of rage that makes a little person sulk in the corner, smash a less-than-perfect Lego tower, fall on the floor weeping over having received one less marshmallow than was promised.

Ginny is becoming deeply aware of the monstrous injustice of the world. Example: yesterday she was in the Mt. Holly parade with her classmates and was looking forward to wearing her new Christmas tree dress. However, Adam made the executive decision to keep her in her school clothes since it was so cold (I was presenting at a conference). After sitting on the float for about two hours, Ginny finally passed the place where Adam and Dan were sitting. Instead of waving to her family, sources report that Ginny stood up and hollered "We COULD TOO wear DRESSES!" and literally gnashed her teeth at the crowd. Excellent.

But other things get her riled up too, and sometimes there's just not much we can say:

After a family visit -- "Why does Grandma pay more attention to Dan than me?"

After packing Christmas Child boxes -- "Why doesn't Santa Claus love the poor children?"

After being told that hurting other people is wrong -- "But what if you're in the army? Is God going to be mad at the army men who hurt other people?"

But sometimes, as with Ramona and the sheep suit, we require an act of grace to reconcile us with our destiny: a mascara-blackened sheep nose, a Cinderella sticker after a dentist's visit. Thank goodness for God's grace, for the fact that, as Faith Hill says, a baby changes everything. As an adult it's far too easy to be oblivious about all that is both right and deeply wrong with the world. It's easy to be focused on the tasks at hand, with coping with the daily grind, just getting by. A lot of people natter on about the beauty of the season, the wonder of Christmas, etc, etc. But give me the kid in the lousy sheep suit, the sensitive child who asks the tough questions, the one who is convinced that the second verse of "Jesus Loves Me" says that Jesus "diapered all the children of the world." Hers is the faith that I'm looking for this season.

Celebrate good times--come on...

We just got back from my cousin Matt's wedding in Chicago. It was interesting, watching them pledge to love each in sickness and in health (yada yada). Even though I know they both sincerely meant those words and will do their very best to honor them, everyone knows (everyone with kids that is) that all bets are off when the kids come along.

Really, there should be a wedding vows upgrade that happens when you leave the hospital with Baby #1. The new vows should read something like "I promise to love, honor, and cherish you a moderate amount during the hours of 7am to 9pm, and will try not to nag or otherwise browbeat you. However, I will not be held responsible for anything said after lights-out, and am entitled to hate your everliving guts if you say one more thing about how I don't load the dishwasher right, or how 18.5 months of MY rocking the baby every SINGLE night are somehow cancelled out by YOUR rocking the baby at night for one week."

Well, it's a suggestion, anyway.

This weekend, we're going to Adam's annual Christmas office party in Raleigh, which I'm really looking forward to. I'll let you know how it goes....

Thanksgiving

As much as I like to gripe, I'm thankful for a lot of things this year.

I'm thankful for my family and home. To wit:

I'm thankful that Daniel is learning to use a spoon to feed himself, and not just to fling food around, even if that means he holds the spoon in his right hand, and puts one kernel of corn into it with his left.

I'm thankful that Ginny is gentle with her brother, at least when I'm watching. I know she takes a swipe at him now and then when my back is turned, but it's a real drag to put everyone in timeout every five minutes, so I appreciate not being absolutely forced to witness the violence.

I'm grateful in fact that the kids love each other so much, in the same way that the Wild Things love Max: "Oh please don't go--we'll eat you up, we love you so."

I'm thankful that we're making the bills, at least the ones that I'm able to find at the end of the month (kids like to take stuff to color on, which can be a problem.)

I'm thankful that we have our jobs. Period.

I'm thankful for our health, even though I'd like to get rid of the caffeine addiction and stop feeding my kids Little Debbies. However, mental health is also important so those two things might have to stay.

I'm thankful for our friends, for those that call and those that don't.

I have been so busy this month that I haven't had much of an opportunity to write, but I plan to get back into it...I hope. The baby just woke up from his nap--a sign?

Ok, I'm back.

I'm grateful for so much and wish that I hadn't spent so much of my time this year complaining or repining. I hope that I can make a resolution to spend more of my time this year celebrating and counting my blessings. Of which I have more than my fair share, without a shadow of a doubt.

Octoberfest

Fall is supposed to be a reflective time--you know, the waning of the year, etc, etc. What it boils down to for me, mostly, has been dealing with kids more in the dark, since the sun rises later now, which I guess is good for being reflective, if I could remember the things that I'd been ruminating on in the dark. Sigh. It's also been a really busy month for us and, since I haven't posted in over two weeks, I thought I'd give an update on what's going on with us:

Work

Same old same old, pretty much. DPI apparently lost a report I gave them 2 months ago, which totally freaked me out (and made me look bad, of course, since the implication was that I didn't ever give it to them.) But on the positive side, the new hire at work is a woman about my own age with 4 kids, one of whom is 4, like Ginny--and she's super-nice. The site visits to our schools are about to start up, so I'll get to travel about, making nice with school folks, and trying not to say inappropriate things to them (hard nowadays, because I hardly ever talk to anybody, so I blurt out dumb stuff sometimes, as in "It's so good to be here--where did you get that belt?? It looks like a Gucci which I can't imagine could be the case in this god-forsaken economically depressed hellhole of a town!")

Family

Ginny had her birthday, which went well--she got a bike, which is both scary and inspiring, as well as the subject of many a tantrum, as the chain tends to pop off at inopportune moments. Damn Wal-mart Chinese crap.

In fact,this is a big birthday month for my whole family--Happy Birthday to Lynn, Rob, Dale, Larry, Pop-Pop, and...me. (Sigh--I'm getting too old for this.)

In other news, my two of my extended family members did something really crazy a few weeks ago. I won't elaborate, but the whole family has been in a tizzy about it.

One of our cousins lost a preterm baby this month--a very diffult time for them.

Dan is going to have another eye procedure done in a few weeks, which will suck, as he has to go under general anesthesia. But at least we won't have to battle the constant winter eye goop.


Extracurricular

So I joined the choir, which is fun, and Adam has had to put the kids to bed on Wednesday nights when I go to practice.(BWHAHAHAH).

We accidentally got our Sunday School teacher in trouble, when we blew up over politics in the class again, and were a little more vehement than we intended. (Had to call people back and apologize. Not good.)

But the main thing we've been doing over the month has been gearing up for (read: cleaning, fixing, and cleaning) Ginny's birthday party (yes, there WAS a bouncer and no broken arms) and last weekend's Halloween party. We are not the shining social successes we'd like to be, but at least now our friends and coworkers owe us an invitation or two. (Right? Isn't that how it works? I guess I shouldn't wait by the phone with baited breath...)

So it's been a busy month, with lots of stuff going on. If only the Robocalls would stop, especially when I'm trying to get the kids to bed. Then again, if they did, I might not find out WHAT KAY HAGEN IS HIDING...

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

John Steinbeck once said that there are only really two stories: Man's Fall from grace, and Cain & Abel. The more I think about it, the more I have to say that he was right.

In creating this little mini-Eden of ours, I have to acknowledge that the human version comes up short: we can barely afford this place (not-so-big as it is), and it's still not finished. Then there's the location--middle of nowhere has its perks, but it also has its downsides, especially when you're a stay-at-home mom.

But more intriguing to me lately, as an only child, is the issue of sibling rivalry, and how it is playing out in our family. It's obviously early days yet to make any pronouncements about how close our kids are, or how competitive they are for our attention--who knows how things will turn out in the long run? But I do know that Dan's first word in the morning (after "NO!") is "NINNY!!!" and Ginny loves to slip into Dan's room in the morning before he's awake because she can't wait any longer to play with him (that is, wrestle with him. That's his main form of play.)

I also know that poor Ginny has had to vegetate alone on the couch in the afternoon, against her will, while I'm holding and cajoling Dan as he goes through his witching
hour, when nobody and nothing but Mommy Mommy Mommy will do. I know that Ginny has had to watch Dan tear up her drawings and books and knock down her precious Lego towers--and she's definitely not above fetching him a swipe or two when she thinks nobody's looking. (Although she can also be infinitely patient with his hair-pulling and even the biting that goes along with it sometimes. You'll notice that her picture shows Dan drooling and pulling out her hair--did you notice that her symbol for Dan is the sun, and her symbol for herself is the moon? I swear I didn't tell her to do that.) I have seen my children literally fighting over and beating each other with a large zucchini. I have also seen the little one bite a child who took a toy away from his sister.

I don't actually know what to make of the whole sibling situation, except to say that my little Cain and Abel are both alive and well for the moment. And perhaps, just perhaps, if the original siblings had been allowed to beat the stuffing out of each other once in awhile, then the murderous rage that lurks in us all might have been allayed...or maybe not. (Who knows--maybe Abel ALWAYS got the big zucchini?) Above all, I do believe that there's something to the idea that we are all our brother's keeper. When Adam and I are gone, these two will have each other, for better or worse. But I'm hoping for better...

If you're happy and you know it, think again...

Recently sociologist Robin W. Simon published "The Joys of Parenthood, Reconsidered” in the American Sociological Association’s journal Contexts. In this article, Simon argues that survey findings suggest that non-parents are happier than parents, controlling for other variables, including age and income. Hmmm.

Given that all living beings exist to increase and multiply (true whether you're a creationist or buy the evolutionary point of view), this is a very interesting idea. It might just tick off people, especially people like me who have altered their career paths to accomodate parenthood, who haven't seen a movie in almost four years, because it's so hard to get a babysitter, who don't own a white shirt that doesn't have Spaghettio stains on it. But it's not going to shock us. This information is not like being blinded on the road to Damascus. We're pretty aware that parenthood has trade-offs.

I think that all parents have at least considered the "what ifs" of living child-free. What if we'd never had the kids? What would our lives be like? It's kind of taboo to talk about that, but I would bet money that pretty much everyone has thought about it. We'd probably take more trips, spend more time at work, have a better-decorated, possibly cleaner, house. We'd go to more restaurants (Oh, how I miss The Hot Point in Raleigh), more concerts, know more about popular culture besides when Thomas the Train will be at Tweetsie.

I know plenty of people who don't have children (not a random sample, obviously), and many of those who don't have children have, in my estimation, made the right choice for themselves. There are a LOT of people who probably would not be very happy as parents. But for most of us who have children, considering what life would be like without them is kind of like saying, what if I'd been born with two heads, instead of one? What would that be like? What would it be like if I had three arms, like that guy in Hitchhiker's Guide? I could get a hellava lot more stuff done.

What I find more interesting is the a) definition of happiness that Simon used and b) whether she tested for non-linear effects for time/age. She does concede that parents seem to derive “more purpose, more meaning, and greater satisfaction from life” than do nonparents. (Which begs the question, what DOES she mean by happiness, if that ain't it?? ) But I'm also thinking that happiness and parenthood may follow a U-shaped curve, with a big dip during the adolescent years, rising again in the adult years, bursting through the roof with grand-parenthood. (Oh, how I look forward to that.)

Anyway, it's something to think about.

Regression to the mean

Without getting too nerdy, I think it might be helpful to note that according to Wikipedia, "Regression toward the mean, in statistics, is the phenomenon whereby members of a population with extreme values on a given measure for one observation will, for purely statistical reasons, probably give less extreme measurements on other occasions when they are observed."

Or, if we are to be more literary, as Flannery O'Connor would have it, everything that rises must converge. Or, if you are living in my house, everyone who rises must converge. My sweet, highly verbal Ginny o' the morning will be the wailing, thrashing Ginny o' the night. My wailing, slow-rising Baby Dan will be a triumphant wrestling machine by day's end.

And so it goes with all of life. My academic career, peaking (perhaps) with my dissertation and an academic award in 2003-04, has come to this: I am the maid of all work, the wiper of tails, the reader of Clifford board books. Forget about the Canterbury prologue--I can now recite Sheep in a Jeep from memory. I was once happy about my ability to thread together a complicated literature review from any given theoretical standpoint on short notice. I am now thrilled to be able to find a clean shirt and pants for three people on short notice.

It's not all bad, of course. Staying at home wouldn't conform to the law of regression to the mean, if there weren't some perks to go along with the inevitable downsides. I get to spend unlimited time with my kids, who do seem to be less stressed these days. I think my house is cleaner--if you don't count the things that are just too hard to do with the kids around (dirty bathtubs, for example). I think in some ways I am less stressed--I do still do my job part-time, but I'm less wrapped up in it than I was, which is probably a good thing. I'm also having a little more contact with some of the other moms that I'm friends with--which I hadn't had time to do before.

But you'll also notice that I haven't posted for a month. There's a good reason for that. I'm still trying to find time to do my own stuff, which is hard to come by. I'm hoping that I'll find some way to manage my time better, or else I'm going to do more than regress to the mean--I'm going to regress all the way to pure T biyatch.

Swing low, sweet cheerio...

I've been thinking about how much of life is about misperception, about how things aren't always what they seem.

I guess there are lots of illustrations that I could give--how, for example, a part-time contract doesn't mean you actually work part-time (apparently). Or how paying a gazillion dollars to build a house doesn't mean that your well pump always works (we have no water today.)

But the thing that stands out in my mind really has to do with church--which I don't generally write about. Two weeks ago, I told my Sunday School class (in the middle of a long, long political discussion during which I was mostly fuming) that I was a registered Democrat and planned to vote for Obama. All I wanted to do was to curb the whole "he's really a Muslim, he's for a one-world-order, he's the fourth horseman of the Apocalypse" type talk that was going on. I mean, really. But after I lobbed that verbal grenade into the conversation, you could have heard a pin drop. It's like I stood up and said "I'm a Democrat, a card-carrying member of Satan's entourage. My goal in life is to make sure every American woman has an abortion. Preferably two."

Soon after, the class dismissed, and I was absolutely certain that everyone in the class now thought that I was a) crazy b) possibly demon-possessed, or c) both.


Now, keep in mind that we now live in a very conservative area. I know this. If North Carolina is a red state, Lincoln county is, like, infrared. And I value that fact, in many ways, insofar as conservativism has something to do with individual rights (although obviously the two are not identical). I mean, I get po'd at the guy who flies his rebel flag at the end of my driveway, but by golly, I support his right to do it. Still, I really regretted saying anything--I mean, we're new to the area, and since I've worked from home all this time, it's hard for me to get to know people. Should I have stayed in the closet?

I was really dragging my feet about going back to Sunday School this week. I felt sure that everyone was going to avoid me, or at least treat everything I said with complete suspicion. But see, this is where misperception enters in.

When I got there, everyone was really gracious and loving. That's not to say that they don't think I'm a) crazy b) possibly demon-possessed, or c) both. Possibly the kindness they showed was the sort given to very feeble-minded senile people, who simply aren't responsible for their actions. But in any case, I appreciated the fact that they are loving the sinner, if not the sin. And who knows--maybe there are other closet Democrats in there?

As Ginny's version of the song goes,

Swing low, sweet cheerio,
come in the fort to carry me bone...

Or as she sings at other times,

Jesus loves me this I know,
for the Bible tells me so,
little ones can be long...

We can be long, and we can be wrong. But He loves us anyway. And, apparently, at least some of his children follow His lead. We're trying, anyway. ;^)

Having it all...and then some

So these past two weeks, I've been doing the part-time contract at work, although really I've been working full time, trying to finish up a couple of reports that were part of my original contract. But by the end of the month, I'll be at home with Dan, and will hopefully be able to work out a part-time slot at Ginny's daycare, so she'll have the best of both worlds. Anyhow, the gradual slow-down with my work (I mean, the idealized future slow-down, as it hasn't happened yet) begs the time-honored question: can anyone truly have it all?

I know it's a hackneyed topic, but this question is something that people, and perhaps women especially, really wrestle with. Case in point: my dear friend Ashley is looking for a job (this is the rock star girl, the really young Ph.D). She wants something that will fulfill her academic potential, but will also be flexible when she gets around to starting a family. Not actually an easy task. Academia, and even your average College of Education (the context she and I are most familiar with), is still somewhat hostile to women with families. Of course, there are very successful moms working in these places, but getting and KEEPING a tenure-track job is tough, and when you have to take time off for maternity leave, etc, it can be difficult to keep up with your male peers.

My situation is a little different, as I've always had a non-tenure track job with the university. Still, I know I'm nowhere near as productive as I was BC (before children). Does this mean that my male colleagues are superior employees? No, actually--most of them have some sort of personality disorder, or are pretty good at pushing their work off onto their lower-ranking female colleagues, which keeps us treading water career-wise, in perpetuity.

But I don't mean to be negative. The question of 'having it all' is more of an existantial problem. We are finite beings--we cannot occupy more than one space at a time. Yet, paradoxically, we occupy the past, present, and future, all at once. We have ambitions that outpace our abilities; our reach always exceeds our grasp. Yet, we still feel that more is more. It's part of the human condition.

So maybe we can't ever have it all. Maybe it's just not possible, or even desirable, when you get right down to it. But maybe the point is to die trying.

Summer reading - Adam's reviews

Some people are interested in what other people think about my summer reading list. Ok, actually, I was badgering my husband about those books on my list that he was able to make it through (there are lots of books that didn't make the cut for either of us, but he is pickier about what he reads than I am). However, like Jack Aubrey, he can flash out a good thing now and then, given time, so I thought I'd give him a chance. (Or, more to the point, he's grudgingly tolerating me asking him questions about my books, so I'm seizing the chance...)


1) Landsman (Peter Charles Melman).

"This book was satisfying in exactly the way Cold Mountain was not satisfying. The most annoying thing about Cold Mountain was that Charles Frazier's main goal was to write literature, not tell a story. In Landsman, the quality is because of the story told, whereas Cold Mountain feels like Charles Frazier was willing it to be literature, line by line. Landsman gives you what you want without being dumb or cheesy. Cold Mountain has the depth and breadth--it's a bigger novel, whereas Landman is more succinct; it doesn't have the same scope. Still, Cold Mountain *couldn't* give you the ending that you wanted, because Charles Frazier teaches at Carolina, and he's too good for that."

(It should be noted that Adam is an NCSU grad, and likes Cold Mountain only if he doesn't think about a Carolina employee writing it.)

2) In the Company of the Courtesan (Sarah Dunant) Books with dwarf-tossing are at least worth a try. Really, dwarves and hookers--who could really complain?

3) Next (Michael Crichton) If you took 10 books by Crichton and stood them in a pile, Nextwould be a 3 on the Crichton-o-meter, or Crichtometer, if you prefer. Or, put another way, if Jurassic Park=actual novel, Next=Cliff's Notes.

4) The Apprentice (Libby) Understated, surprisingly satisfying, obviously the smartest man in the Bush camp. A good change of pace for your summer reading schedule. You don't want to read it in the winter because everyone in the book is cold.

5) Rendezvous (O'Brian) Who cares about this? If you haven't read the Aubrey/Maturin books, go buy them. Rendez-vous, forsooth. Adam declares that he will finish this when he finishes his 20th read-through of the Jack books.

As for the other books on my list, Adam responded with a scornful, Hell no, he hasn't read them and doesn't plan to. (My apologies to the other authors.)

However, he says that the Epoxy Book by System 3 is scintillating.

[Edited to add that he says I now owe him another night's labor on the boat.]

[Edited to also add that I don't know why the block quote is green. Can anyone tell me how to make it not green?]

Dr. Not-Appearing-in-This-Project

Tomorrow is the first day of my part-time contract--I'm scared to death, but I'm hoping that being a mostly stay-at-home mom will be a good experience.

As Adam says, it's the first day of the rest of my life! AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!


I'll keep you posted!

the boat: an apology

I wanted to clear my conscience and get a few things off my chest. More than anything, I wanted to take this moment to apologize to my husband for my lack of faith in his most current effort to live deliberately: the boat. Or, to be more precise, the boat-refurbishing project.

I apologize for calling it a horrible rat-infested (or to be precise) rat-urine soaked waste of time. I acknowledge that buying things off Craigslist on a whim, driving miles out the way to pick them up, and paying (admittedly very small) sums for what you could conceivably be PAID FOR hauling away are all part of the innocent past-time that I have come to know, if not fully appreciate, as you do.

When you got calls from random old geezers with this same strange (to me) obsession, giving you advice about how to salvage the boat with the GIGANTIC hole in the bow by stripping off its outer covering, replacing several wooden parts with ones newly crafted by you in our basement, and covering the whole by a process that somehow involves a stapler, I apologize for vowing to myself that you would take my children on the open water in this contraption over my dead body.

I apologize for continually complaining about once having to help you unload the boat (or shall we say the once and future boat?) from the car by placing my half on my head. I also apologize for continuing to freak out when you told me that this object, which I had already placed on my head, had housed two rat nests in it, you discovered.

I apologize for complaining about the unbelievably loud noises coming from the basement in the night, as our children slept fitfully, suffering from teething pains and requiring frequent rocking and soothing. A bandsaw is, apparently, a useful and necessary device, and I should not have condemned it as universally as I did. I also apologize for my reluctance in holding various wooden things while you ran them through the machine, making some sort of part in fulfillment of the old geezer's advice.

Most of all, I apologize for not understanding that you need a hobby, and that it doesn't matter if it ever pans out or not, and I will stop professing to believe that it won't. So there.

Beach Bums

At long last, here are some of the pictures from the epic Independence Day beach trip. Note: the last picture was taken on the last day, and represents our vacationed-out selves.

Great Expectations

No, keep your shirt on--I'm not pregnant, nor am I trying to get pregnant (just wanted to get that out of the way, in case you were mislead by the title of the post).

No, today I was thinking about how things so often turn out differently than we planned.

For example, after all those years of scraping through math, and trying to find a decent paying job with my English background, I do math for a living. (Take that, Mrs. Bond--you know who you are!)

Similarly, I always thought I'd be one of those parents who played Mozart cds to my unborn child, and would use sign language to my infant, who would grow up to be tri-lingual. Actually, none of those things happened as expected, unless you consider ebonics and Lincoln-county-ese to be additional languages. Still, I continue to be amazed at how many different ways I can be humbled by the fruit of my own freaking loins.

For example, Ginny was a sweet toddler, very well-mannered and compliant (notice I said TODDLER--she's not that compliant anymore). But we were on her like white on rice, always correcting, always redirecting. Dan appears to be part human, part chimpanzee, with a penchant for pulling hair and flinging food. I guess this shouldn't come as any surprise, since his rearing versus Ginny's has been so different: like a Pollock versus a Vermeer. Or if we're being literary, like Dickens versus Austen.

Ginny's teacher told me this week that she alone of all the kids at school knew that the Israelites were fed manna and quail in the wilderness. (Actually, to quote Ginny, they got little pancakes and birds--but that counts, right?) However, from Dan's teacher, I got the note in the photo above, which says "Dan has had a pretty good day. I am having a problem with him tackling the kids and sitting on them."

I think the note speaks for itself. Although I'm not sure I want to know what he's doing on the not-so-good days.

Of course, sometimes things are exactly what we'd expect: for example, the first time my mom read my blog, the first thing she pointed out was a pronoun/antecedent disagreement.

Overall, life doesn't have many surprises, on the macro level. We get born, we live, we reproduce, we die. That's pretty much the way it goes for all of us. But it's the little twists that give us pause and make us reflect--it's the little things that make us realize how far we fall short of our own ideals, and by how much we are capable of surpassing them, without even trying.

Reading (redux)

To return to my former post, I wanted to say that since I wrote about Landsman last night, I have received a number of requests for more information about the book. As Peter Melman's new honorary publicist, all I have to say is--look people, stop being such cheapskates, and go buy the book, for crying out loud. I hate reviews that say things like "If you liked A, you'll like B," as it seems to downplay the originality of B. To me, if you're a thinking person who likes books, you'll like this one. How highly do I recommend it? Let me just say that I respect it to such an extent that I removed the jacket before reading it in the bath. THAT's love. :^)

Before I leave the subject of my summertime reading list, I did want to mention a couple more items that I think are worth sharing:

9) Mr. Emerson's Wife by Amy Belding Brown. Brown explores the imagined life of Lydia Jackson, Emerson's second wife, who gets frisky with Thoreau in this very respectably written little novel. This does come a little closer to the kind of book that gets on Oprah's list, as there is an actual romp in the hayloft, but don't be deterred--it's still a good read, especially if you're obsessed with mid-19th century writers and their world, as I am.

10) Girl With a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier. This is pretty much as close as I got to seeing a movie this year. The opening chapters of this book are its best, but I still recommend it highly...it's one of the few books I think I've read lately that I'd describe as stylistically restrained--actually, The Apprentice would fall into that category as well. I'm not sure if less is always more, but in this case it would seem so.


OK, this will probably doom me to some sort of writerly hell, but I will also tell you about a couple of books to avoid:

1) The Poe Shadow by Matthew Pearl. Trust me.

2) The Da Vinci Code. I'm pretty much the last person in the whole country to read this book...except, oh yeah, I read it already when I read Angels and Demons in 2006. I guess it pays to pick a formula and go with it. Anyway, the letters to the editor in your local paper about this book were waaay more interesting than the book itself.

3) According to my husband, who wishes to spare the world from the torture of reading Umberto Eco, the most important book to avoid is Baudolino. According to Adam, he actively mourns the hours he spent reading Baudolino. However, The Name of the Rose has been granted a stay of execution--it's not as good as all the unspeakably tedious essays by French postmodernists would have you believe, but it's definitely enjoyable. Actually, now that I come to think about it, at least some of those horrid essays were written by Eco himself. Hmmm.

4) Atlas Shrugged. I refer to my earlier experience:
http://livingdeliberately-amyo.blogspot.com/2008_05_18_archive.html

Baby Daniel has my back on this one.

Happy reading!

Reading

Ok, we're back from the beach once again. When I've recovered sufficiently (and have downloaded the pics), I'll post about that. For now, I'll just set up this little word problem for you: There are two children. One is 3, and one is 1. If the drive from the beach is 4 hours long, and Mommy has only had 1.5 hours of uninterrupted sleep per night for the past 10 days, and an average of only 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep for the past 14 months, how long before she slaps Daddy for making her hold the Nalgene bottle between her knees, because it is too large to fit into the cup holders, which already contain a rotten sippy cup of juice, and a disintegrated paper cup from Moe's? Take your time. I think you can work this one out on your own.

Anyway, in one of my horrific wee hour rocking/nursing sessions, I found myself hazily reflecting on one of life's minor annoyances: the polite fiction of the "summer read," or the "beach novel"--you know, the sort of book that gets put on the front table at Barnes and Noble, the sort of thing that gets breathy reviews on NPR, and tends to make Oprah's book club reading list. It annoys me for two reasons. One, most of the books that are "beach novels" are pure T crap, and those that aren't are defiled by association, which is unfair. The other reason is that nobody can actually read at the beach. For one thing, it's too hot, and in my current reality, would be tantamount to infanticide.

A former coworker once said that his goal was to read 10 good books every year, and see 10 good movies. Since I haven't seen 10 movies in the past 3 years, let alone 10 good ones, I can't really respond to the second part. But I have tried to keep up with my reading, with varied success. Most of it happens in the bathtub or at other undignified moments. But these are some of the books I've read this year:

1. Landsman by Peter Charles Melman. About a Jewish guy during the Civil War--an extraordinary book. Better than Cold Mountain, in my view, and that's saying something. Totally satisfying.

2. In the Company of the Courtesan. About a courtesan (surprise!) and her servant during the 15th century in Venice. Very good read, very well researched, though so plot-driven it may not bear a second read in the near future.

3. Mothers of Invention. This is a set of historical essays on the role of women during the Civil War--also very interesting, especially if you're into that period. (Obviously I am.)

4. Dreams From My Father. I wrote about this already--if you want to know about Barack Obama, you gotta read this. If you love him for his views, you may end up hating his guts for writing better than you ever will.

5. The Heart of Confederate Appalachia. Also a good read, and has more specific information than #3, or at least more information that was new to me. It wasn't exclusively about NC, but did provide lots of information that made it easier to envision life here during that period.

6. Next by Michael Crichton. Predictably disturbing, though rather poorly written, compared to his earlier fiction. This one is about the limits of genetic engineering, and the issue of individual rights. Actually, his notes at the end of the novel are more interesting than the novel itself. I'm thinking he could spare himself a lot of trouble if he'd just write straight-up essays, though his publisher might not be too hot on the idea.

7. The Apprentice by Lewis Libby. You might not think it possible that a senior member of the Bush Administration would be sufficiently literate to not only read but also WRITE a book, but you'd be wrong. This little novel, set in Japan in 1903 (but curiously non-dependent on its setting) is a well-crafted gem.

8. The Rendezvous. If you're into Patrick O'Brian (who wrote the Master and Commander series), this will be a surprise--these stories are nothing like his novels. Very dark, very pessimistic, though humorous at times. Some are excellent, some are too heavy-handed. They're the sort of thing that Stephen Maturin would have written in his later years, if Diana hadn't thrown in the towel and married him.

There are others I'd like to discuss, but I'll have to break for now...hopefully next time I'll have some pictures!

Traveling in Concord...

My good friend Ashley got married recently, and is about to defend her dissertation this week. I was thinking about how many great things are in store for her, and how many great things I've been fortunate enough to be able to do, especially before we had kids. That newly-wed, newly-degreed period is such a precious moment in time. The cone of possibilities has scarcely descended on my friend (who is super-young to be earning her Ph.D--she's a rock star!), and I'm really excited for her.

And because I'm depressingly nostalgic, I wanted to post a few pictures of the vacations that we've had, mostly because I know I'm not going to see these places again in person for a good, long time, for obvious reasons.

VACATIONS THEN
Vernazza, one of the Cinque Terre:

Windward shore, Oahu, Hawaii:

The Pantheon:


Yellowstone Falls:














VACATIONS NOW


Surfside Beach, SC:


Memorial Day, Garner, NC:





Surfside Beach, SC:


I'm sure you notice a pattern. We go to all the best places. Or, at least, where we are is the place to be, or so we think. As Thoreau would say, we've traveled a good deal in Concord, and found that there's still much to be learned, much to be discovered.

two for the show...

You should know that I'm an only child. Actually, both Adam and I are only children, which is somewhat unusual outside the People's Republic of China, or so it would seem, judging by all the advice that I've ever received about how the life of a sibling is oh, so very different than the life of an only child. A few years ago, I would have thought that everybody else was full of crap, but as it turns out, they were right.

When I was pregnant with Dan, our families kept making dire predictions about how Ginny would react. (Translation: everyone believed she was extremely spoiled and needy.) True, it hasn't been a walk in the park, but then again, comparing her childhood to mine is basically impossible. I craved--and got--my parents' attention. She craves--and gets--her brother's. Which is not to say that Adam and I not important, but that we're firmly in the supporting cast, as opposed to the starring role. We're like the eternal Robert Duval/Joan Cusack to her and Daniel's Will Smith/Julia Roberts, and I think that this is pretty much going to be the way it is forever. I know my own mom is super close to her sister, and my dad doesn't talk TO his mom nearly as much as he talks ABOUT her to his brother.

But all that begs the question--are only children able to have happy lives? Is part of living deliberately and respecting the earth limiting the number of your offspring? Yes, and yes. That said, I don't know if Ginny is better off for having Dan, but I know I am (and I have a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't send him back, even if she could...)

a different drummer...

They say there's nothing new under the sun, and perhaps that's true. It would be nice to think that it's possible to be original, to carve out some new ideological or artistic territory, but it's not as easy as it sounds.

I've been working on a novel for over a year, and some days, it seems like all I'm doing is munging together all my favorite novels, and retelling bits of them--poorly. As if I'd kind of jammed the Little House on the Prairie books together with Gone with the Wind, and sort of stirred in some Sylvia Plath. Not so good. So instead of being original, perhaps I'll just have settle for being eccentric.

Perhaps that's how Thoreau felt, on his bad days. I feel quite certain that as he strolled through the streets of Concord, the little kids craned their necks to stare at the old bearded weirdo who was squatting on some guy's patch of woods--you know, that crazy dude in the crapola cabin that cost like thirty bucks. That nutjob. Freak.

Probably Thoreau knew they were saying these things, and probably he enjoyed it, on some level. I mean, you don't write a long plotless book about living in the woods, unless you had a serious bone to pick with society and/or liked crafting a reputation for nonconformity.

And being an eccentric isn't all bad. Sometimes it just feels good to march to the beat of a different drummer. (And, if you're my kids--if it feels good, you do it. Apparently.)


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magical realism

Piaget talked about our initial understanding of the world as "magical realism." When we're little, we accept non-rational explanations (by adult standards) of the world and how it works, as long as the explanations make sense to us--as long as they follow an internal logic of their own. Subsequent developmentalists have nitpicked Piaget's research and argued that his theory doesn't adequately explain the mechanisms by which development occurs, yada, yada, yada. And I guess they do have a point.

However, I don't think that we can argue his point that children see the world in ways that are fundamentally different than the ways that adults see it. And once we grow past that perspective, there's no getting it back, short of the use of mind-altering drugs.

For example, Ginny asked me this morning whether Cinderella's mice were really helpful, or whether she was just saying they helped with the chores to keep from hurting their feelings. Because if you watch them, they actually cause her lots of problems. (This was Ginny's point.)

I had to tell her the other day that the Big Bad Wolf was just pretend. I expected this revelation to make her feel better, but her next tearful question suggested otherwise: so what other stories that you've told me are just pretend? Are the Jesus stories just pretend too? And Ramona? Enter the backtracking adult...

I suppose we all tell ourselves stories to explain the world around us, to provide comfort, to take the hurtful edges off a painful experience. Who's to say that, in the end, these gentle fictions aren't real? Jesus said to let the little children come to him--but I doubt they had as far to go as we do...

PS--the painting is Ginny's rendition of Noah's Ark. V. cool, in my opinion. But then, we've already established that I think my kids are geniuses, hee hee.