Notes From the Looney Bin

Just a couple tidbits to start the day:

1. 
   
   Why do we look like this at the end of practically every meal? Is it the result of poor parenting? Is this healthy exploration? Must he know what oatmeal feels like in his nostrils before he can fully appreciate its taste? All I know is, one minute everything is fine and all of us are respectable, then I turn around and one of the three of us looks like this.
2. 
   
   Chris left for a business trip by train on Monday. Nicky and I saw him off and Nicky was so excited by the sight of his first real train that he was shaking a little while incessantly whispered "choo choo" under his breath. Now he keeps saying "Dada choo choo" over and over. I think this is pretty neat because perhaps he thinks his father is an engineer, which I'm sure is Nicky's ultimate dream job.
3. 
   
   Just like Michael Scott on The Office, I need to get back on top around here. With the onset of spring, Nicky and the dog have both officially stopped listening to me and all of either of them want to do is stand in the street and explore our neighbors' driveways. Most evenings at around 6:30 you can find me in the street, begging the two of them to please come in, wouldn't they like some cheese? I am fully aware that this is poor, bribing parenting.
4. 
   
   Nicky has a scraped knee. Well, actually he has two, but thank goodness he's only aware of the one. The drama! Whenever he notices it he launches into "Uh-oh! Boo-boo! Uh-oh! Momma! Uh-oh! Ouchy! Boo-boo." This continues for quite some time. This morning he was vehemently against wearing pants, I guess because of the boo-boo. I assume this because he was screaming "No! BOO-BOO!" as I tried to pull them up over his tush. Note to self: may need to rethink the cheese bribery sooner that anticipated.

Happy hump day!

On My Nightstand

Do you have a reading problem you're trying to overcome? Can you not stop reading? Do you buy too many books and stay up too late at night working your way through them? If so, I have your solution: start a blog dedicated to your narrative forays. I guarantee you'll cure yourself of the ailment in no time.

Just kidding for the most part. I'm still at it, I'm just kind of all over the place. Take a look at the stack I woke up to this morning: (from bottom to top) April 2010 issue of Vanity Fair, The Baby Book by Dr. William Sears, Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert, and old faithful Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris.

I've picked up where I left off in Then We Came to the End and, just like previously, I am really enjoying it. The problem here is length. It's so long, too long. The type is small. I've never opened up about this, but, as much as I love reading, I really appreciate a short novel. I like the quick gratification that comes from reading a 150- to 200-page book. This is also a key part of my attraction to volumes of poetry and short stories. They're short. I have this annoying, self-imposed rule about finishing everything I start. This means that if I start a long book, damnit, I will see it through to completion, even if it means laboring through it for months. I've always been a bit embarrassed by this fact. Aren't we always taught that if you really love reading, then you really want to read books that also double as doorstops or (in my case) bassinet props? Well, I am officially outing myself as a wussy lover of the small, digestible book.

Second from the top is Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert. What to say ... this book wasn't supposed to find its way to my nightstand, especially not in hardcover edition (I am very picky about making a hardcover investment). Then one day I found myself magnetically drawn to the perfectly clementine cover (really, it's exactly my favorite color) on the Costco book table and a couple weeks later, here I am in Elizabeth Gilbert hell. I think of Elizabeth Gilbert novels like Cinnabons. They sound so good, but half-way through you realize you were never really interested and now you have a stomach ache. It was just the idea that was so enticing. I think I would love to travel with Elizabeth Gilbert. I would love to be her friend. I bet she has great jewlery and cool clothes that I would compliment and maybe get to borrow if we became close enough. I would like to talk about her travels and her career over a long dinner and a couple glasses of wine, but then we could both part ways and go about other, more important things. I read Eat Pray Love and I enjoyed the first half or so, but the lengthy descriptions of her meditation trials at the ashram? I just lost interest. This second novel held my interest for only the first chapter or so before I found myself asking, "Why should I care?" As much as I like and admire you, Elizabeth Gilbert, I think this puppy is headed for the local Book Exchange.

Next, the Baby Book by Dr. William Sears. I used to pour over this when Nicky was an infant for great tips on entertaining and stimulating baby, mixed with some tough love on being a working mom and the risk of detachment (it's always been a bit of a love-hate relationship with this one). Anyway, now having given up mom guilt, I return to it when I need a reminder that tantrums will pass and that I am a lucky ducky because my high-need child is so in touch with his wants and needs. I've needed that reminder in the past 2 days.

And finally, good old Vanity Fair. Before I had Nicky I would read each issue from cover to cover. Now I buy one once every 4 months and I read a couple articles before recycling it. I'm sorry I had to pick this one, it's really lame (but still, thank you husband for picking it up for me!!).

What's on your nightstand??

A Mannered Man

On Thursday afternoon Nicky brought me my first flower from the garden as I was cooking dinner (he was taking instructions, but STILL).

On Thursday evening, he pulled the recycling wagon all the way down our drive for me.

This morning when I sneezed he said "bless" clear as a bell.

Seems he's becoming quite the little gentlemen.

Okay, so right now he's bashing two toy trains into his rocking horse's head while repeatedly screaming "BYE", but STILL.

Happy weekend!

Punt

I've been knocked-out sick twice in the last nine days and, of course, the universe paid this no mind and things solidered on as I lay in bed. Result: I am up to my freckled nose in just about everything. I've missed my blog, but since I haven't quite carved out the time, I'm punting you over to one of my favorite places to check out the sweetest post I've read in awhile. It's eye-watering wonderful. Enjoy!

A real, not-ripped-off post to come. Promise.

This picture has nothing to do with anything. It's a recent shot of my son looking like he's about to give me a hard time. He, like the rest of universe, saw no need to slow down in light of my illnesses. He never slows down.

Chuff Chuff

Chris and I are operating like a well-oiled machine these days. We accomplish so much at night -- dinner, play, bath, bedtime stories, dishes, laundry, sweeping, toy chucking, lunches and coffee for the next day, often a little work, tea and a little TV in bed. Whew. At some point in January, in the midst of all this daily minutiae, I misplaced my reading time. I think I'll find it again once the days are longer and the screened porch is calling. Oh the lazy days of summer, they will be a welcome respite from these productive weeks.

Though the adult reading has been pushed to the side, I'm still willing to wager I read more on a daily basis than ever thanks to Nicky. His favorite thing, being given given cheese and blueberries, is to grab a book and crawl into your lap with it (he doesn't crawl into it so much as he backs into it). Just recently, he started to want to read things over and over again.

Last night, in addition to a Cars (the movie) calendar that we must have "read" at least 20 times (not at all high-brow enough to warrant blog space ;)), we read Freight Train by Donald Crews about five times. This has been on Nicky's top 10 list since around age 1 and I love it. The illustrations are wonderful and there's so much room for imagination. Plus, at about 10 sentences, it's a pretty easy read. It requires constant chuffing and choo-chooing, but Nicky handles most of that.

At bedtime we read Hug Time by Patrick McDonnell. I picked this out for Nicky's Valentine's gift after falling in love with delicate watercolors. I really love the gentle, environmental message, too, and the fact that Nicky has the attention span and patience for a rather quiet narrative like this just tugs at my heart. It's an undeniable sign of his exploding maturity. The sweet little rhymes get lodged in my mind, so that as I'm doing the dishes and making Nick's lunch, I'm thinking:

"Hug the whole world, will that make it better? As Jules nodded yes, Doozy helped with his sweater."

Or

"The world is SO big, and yet so small. It's time that we embrace it all. That's something that we all can do. Start with the one who's closest to you."

I'm looking forward to checking out McDonnell's other books, especially Art.

Oh, I love childrens books! Happy Thursday!

You Know That Feeling You Get When ...

you accidentally walk in on someone in the bathroom? Not in a public bathroom, but in a situation where you'll have to look that person in the eye afterward, be in the same room with them ... that feeling. Are you familiar? It's one of the most uncomfortable situations I can conjure. It's the feeling I get reading Miranda July's No One Belongs Here More Than You.

If you walked in on one of July's characters in the bathroom, they would probably rejoin you in the living room completely naked from the waist down. "Here," they'd deadpan with a blank expression. "Take a closer look."

Yep, it's that weird.

But I like a little freaky in my life here and there. I also like the wonderful sense of detachment that accompanies July's descriptions of some of the most intimate thoughts and actions. Detachment and intimacy, not easy bedfellows, but she does it magnificently. And as odd as some of the stories in this collection are, they are masterfully written and I find myself returning again and again to certain sentences, certain images. I don't have the book with me at present, but one of my favorites was a character likening the act of trying to remember a special dream as she went about her day to walking gingerly with full cup of water, trying not to spill. It's much better in the book, but hopefully you can appreciate the idea.

So long live the odd and women bold enough to write and publish it. We're all the better for it.