New Year's Resolutions

I'm trying something a little different this year. Instead of a long list of resolutions that get forgotten about in a week, I'm assigning each month of 2006 (or most of them) a resolution that I will work on during the course of that month. Hopefully by working on them one at a time, I'll be able to make each one separately into a good habit, instead of being overwhelmed by trying to work on everything at once.

January - time spent on the computer. The goal here is to cut down on time spent mindlessly web-suring when I'm feeling bored and/or stressed, and use my time on the computer to keep in touch, research, and write. (Mostly.)

February - time management. This should follow logically from the computer time change—once I'm wasting less time web-surfing, I'll need to develop some ideas on how to use the time I have wisely.

March - exercise. March in New England is a blah end-of-the-winter month. Hopefully focusing on exercise will help make it less depressing ... and give me a recharge on the exercise after the post-holiday good intentions have faded!

April - writing. Must, must, MUST make more time for writing.

May - er, personal time with the other half. Nuff said.

June - more time spent playing with my kids. I have a tendency to let them play on their own a lot, which is great that they can do it, but I don't want to say 5 years from now, "I wish I had played with them more."

July - diet. Working on eating less prepackaged food (especially snack foods) and more items with some nutritional value (like fruits and especially vegetables).

August - money management. Keeping a rein on the stuff I buy, especially toys and clothes for the kids.

September - eating schedules. Trying to carve out time to eat together as a family, even if it's only once a week or so.

October - keeping in touch. I have let a lot of relationships slide over the past few years. I'd like to find out which ones are still out there, and which ones have the potential to be better than they are with a little effort on my part.

November - less yelling! I figure at this point Veronica will be over a year old, and the temptation to raise my voice to get better obedience out of three small kids will be great.

December - relax! Enjoy the fruits of the year's labors.

This is not to say that I will only work on each of these things in the given month, but I really have hopes that taking things piecemeal will be helpful in promoting long-term change for the better.

book report II

Finished The Rise of Russia from an old Time-Life series, The Great Ages of Man. Pretty interesting, really—it followed Russian history from the early Kievan state through Peter the Great. Fascinating man, Peter the Great. Almost too good to be true, really, from his physical prowess through the number of crafts he taught himself to his insistence on rise through the ranks being based on achievement rather than rank. (This was in the early 18th century—not a common opinion for that time!)

Reading will be slow for a while, it looks like, as I have two journals in and will probably be getting a few more before these are finished. My next bedside reading is Nancy Kress, Beginnings, Middles, and Ends, another work on writing. (Ideally as the New Year is rung in I'll be able to carve out some time and energy for writing, and not just on the blog!)

Narnia!

I'm pretty down on the movie-theater experience these days. I figure, why bother paying through the nose to see something I can enjoy just as easily in comfortable chairs in my own home, with decent food (that I didn't again pay through the nose for), and a remote control with which to pause the movie anytime I want? But occasionally a movie comes along that I think might be worth all that effort. The last one this year was Serenity, and the experience of walking out of the theater sobbing in hurt and disappointment nearly turned me off theater-going altogether.

I finally decided to make an exception for The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The fact that it was filmed in New Zealand kept making me think it would be like the Lord of the Rings movies, which were, of course, awesome. But at the same time, I was incredibly nervous that they would get it wrong. So easy to do—to go for the wrong tone, create the world in an overly CGI manner because they could, miscast, etc. And I spent the first probably two-thirds of the movie waiting for them to screw it up.

In the first minute of the movie, I could tell I was going to like it. In the first 5 minutes, I could tell I was going to love it. And so I was doubly afraid that any minute the spell would be broken and there would be a wrong note to jar me out of that world.

Not one. Not once did anything make me say, "What were they thinking?" Occasionally I noticed an added scene, a dropped line, some missing dialogue, but within seconds of noticing the change I could see exactly why it was necessary.

The cinematography was spectacular. The care taken with the important props (the Witch's dagger, the wardrobe itself) impressed me several times. The CGI was damn near seamless—if I didn't know fauns don't exist and beavers don't talk, I would have believed they were real. I held my breath for the first appearance of Aslan, afraid that the casting of Liam Neeson as his voice would ruin the illusion—and even there, no disappointment. Neeson's voice was barely recognizable. It was Aslan speaking, and not a Hollywood actor.

Which leads me to the film's crowning achievements—casting and characterization. Of course, the most important parts, really. What I loved was that not only were the characters true to the books, they exceeded the books. Lewis's characters tend to be on the nursery side—while they are good book characters, it's hard to imagine meeting them in the real world. The makers of LWW managed the nearly impossible feat of maintaining faith with Lewis's characters while also making them into real people.

And the casting. The White Witch was glorious. Perfectly in harmony with the description of Jadis given in The Magician's Nephew, she was in no way a typical theatrical witch. She was cold but not emotionless, clever and witty, restrained from theatricality in quiet scenes and still not over the top in more exciting ones. Just a beautifully acted role.

I was pleased to see that the four Pevensies were all played by children of the right age. Lucy even still had those rounded childish cheeks! Susan was given more of a character than Lewis really lavished on her, although not a huge amount of arc. Edmund did an excellent job as both the greedy, sulky boy and the redeemed and repentant traitor, although the transformation was a bit rushed. Lucy was a delight—fresh, both childlike and wise beyond her years, one minute a trusting child and the next a valiant queen-to-be. And Peter. At the beginning of the movie, he was a soft-looking nerdy type teenager, and I caught myself wondering how they were ever going to turn him into the High King. That was the last time I would wonder. His journey from boy to king was both subtle and obvious in all the right places, and completely believable.

Overall, just an unbelievably good movie. It's absolutely the best movie I've seen in 10 years, and I still haven't completely come down from the high of how much I loved it.

okay, second thing

The thing is, I'm unhappy with my blood relatives on the paternal side. All two of them. Whether my being unhappy with them is entirely fair ... well, I don't know. I can see both sides, I think, and see where I may not have held up my end of the communication with either party. But I have tried. Certainly, I make an effort to write my aunt emails asking about the events of her life whenever I hear from her (to which she never responds). I wrote her a long letter (sent snail mail, even) a month or so ago. (Granted, it had been quite a while since I'd done that, even though I know that's the format she's most comfortable with.) But the thing is this. Even given my shortcomings of communication, I don't feel that either one of them is willing to meet me halfway. I am sad about the loss of relationship with my aunt, as she was one of the people in my life whose respect I most wanted to earn.

The situation with my father is more complicated, both because of my distaste for the life he's chosen and because of his distaste for mine! I felt sad for him as he described the state of the house he'd come home to. I can imagine it readily, and the contrast between the mess and confrontation he must be surrounded by and the color and twinkling lights and warmth I am is pitiful. What makes it worse is that he chose the surroundings he's in. He could have had a part in mine, but he refused to accept my choices, to get to know my husband, to appreciate our children. Instead, he chose to keep his child in the home of a deteriorating alcoholic. Again.

My biggest surprise of the evening came really in how little I care. I feel sympathy for my father. I feel annoyance and dread that Nina has found my phone number. But mostly, I just want everything to go back to the way it was 6 hours ago when they had their lives, I had mine, and the twain met only in emailed photos.

joy to the freaking world

Phone rings. I'm expecting a call from a friend, so I answer cheerily. And on the other end of the phone is my second worst nightmare. My worst nightmare? My mother, calling me from beyond the grave. Second worst? My step-mother, her doppelganger. And yes, of course she had been drinking.

So we stumble through the conversation, while I make sure she isn't calling to tell me something important happened to someone. Turns out the theories of persecution and abandonment are running rampant and I'm in trouble because I'm "distant" and they don't think I want to hear from them. Know why that's so funny? Because they moved. A year ago. And never bothered to tell me. But I'm the one who needs to keep in better touch. Ha ha.

Ten minutes later, she calls again, to let me know that she's emailed me all their new information. Yay.

Day goes on, I calm myself down. Then the phone rings ... and there she freaking is AGAIN! This time she's really drunk and hard to understand. As I'm processing my shock and trying to figure out how best to get off the phone, my father comes in at their house and she hands the phone off to him. So we talk, awkwardly. He gets my daughter's name wrong twice. Claims to have sent me his new email address twice. (For the record, he either sent it to the wrong address, or something else went wrong, because I never got them.)

Here's the thing. Actually, there are two things. The first one is that I am DONE with drunk women. I did that. Many, many times. I will not do it again. He wants to know why we don't have a relationship? Because I will not be on the other end of another drunk's maudlin phone calls. I did that with his first wife, and he left me to deal with her on my own. She is, mercifully, gone now to where hopefully she is finally happy, and so am I. I have earned the right not to have to deal with that anymore.

More on the second thing in a bit. Bedtime for little boys is coming up fast!

in charge vs. in control

So a quick post (while madly cleaning) before my ILs arrive for the holidays.

I noticed while first my aunt and then my MIL were here after Veronica was born that I was insanely detail-oriented. It seemed unusually so ... or I had always been like that and only just noticed, which I'm afraid is the actual case. I'd go out and immediately on coming back would see six or eight things that weren't "right" in my book. Every little thing out of place irritated me. And the fact that small things got to me so badly made me nervous, because I don't want to be one of those people who is so set in her ways that no one can do anything. It's not healthy for me, not constructive for the people around me, and not a good way to raise the kids.

I think the problem is the difference between being "in charge" of my home and being "in control" of it. Obviously, I run the house. But I think during the time after Veronica was born (and, not surprisingly, in general where my MIL is concerned), I was feeling in some way threatened in my basic autonomy.

So the key for me in the upcoming days (because Christmas as a chaotic holiday filled with activity, excitement, and general amounts of mess lends itself to some serious control issues anyway) is to remember that I don't have to be on top of every single detail, and it doesn't all have to be done my way, in order for me to retain my identity as the person "in charge" in my home. Wish me luck!

book report

Just went through a round of fiction: Elizabeth Peters, Night Train to Memphis and Erle Stanley Gardner, The Case of the Howling Dog and The Case of the Velvet Claws.

I read an article about Elizabeth Peters a while back, and her work sounded intriguing (she writes mysteries, and I was looking for a new series), so I picked one up. Made the mistake, however, of choosing the book by the title rather than the jacket description. So I got a book from a series set in the modern world, instead of one from the Victorian series. And I was not all that impressed. As a matter of fact, I was unimpressed enough that I didn't bother to finish it. Her main character seemed very plastic and the plot just didn't grab me. Very superficial, it seemed like, and a little too fast—not that the plot moved that fast, but the main character's voice (it was written in first person) made you wish she'd stop for a breath at some point.

Moving on to Gardner. I've reached the point in my attempt to reread my entire library that I can start on a really fun project—reading the works of prolific authors in the order in which the books were written. (I absolutely cannot wait to start on Agatha Christie that way. I'm saving her for last because I look forward to it so much!) I just finished reading my rather limited collection of Zane Grey in chronological order. I didn't find a lot of difference in his works over time, actually. He remained fairly consistent—but also highly formulaic.

So next up to reread in order, Gardner's Perry Mason mysteries. (They're my car books now, and will be for a while. Gardner wrote a lot!) So I read The Case of the Velvet Claws. And you could really tell it was an early one. Lots of description that's left up to the reader's imagination in the later books, and he clearly didn't have a handle on the sort of dry, factual, just short of hard-boiled style with a California tinge that he would develop later on. What was interesting, however, was The Case of the Howling Dog. I hadn't read that one before, and it was written just a year later than Velvet Claws. Later works don't have to describe Mason's style of lawyering, since the reader knows what to expect, but these early ones really do hit the note of what a different kind of lawyer he's supposed to be over and over. In both books, most of the scenes with Mason and Della Street, and even the ones with Mason and Paul Drake, really consisted of Mason trying to explain to his co-workers what his style is like. I have to say, I prefer the later ones, when he just does it and doesn't talk about it so much!

loss and healing

A dear friend's heart-breaking loss has me thinking about our lost baby. And the changes that have occurred since he was with us.

After Matthew died, I didn't believe I would ever hold my own living baby in my arms. And now I have three of them making my life chaotic, driving me crazy, and filling my home with laughter.

I thought I would feel guilty forever. I thought I should have been able to do something to save him, to take care of him, to keep him safe. I was his mother; that was my job. But over time I have stopped blaming myself, and I truly believe I did everything I could. It was never in my hands to begin with.

I have learned to say—and to believe—that everything happened the best way that it could have. We never had to watch him suffer, but we had him long enough to be able to look into his face. And if ever a person's personality was printed on his face, it was on his.

Writers on Writing

The other bedtime book I finished last night was Writers on Writing: Collected Essays from The New York Times. This was a gift from Lou, and when he initially gave it to me I was apprehensive. Most books "on writing" leave me feeling frustrated, inadequate, depressed, and generally irritable. Mostly because of the fundamental issue—no matter how many different opinions I read about how to write, I still don't have the a) time, b) discipline, c) guts (circle one) to actually sit down and do it. (Also, I'm not very good at taking directions!)

So I opened the book not expecting much. First few essays didn't grab me. But the farther I got into the book, the more delighted I became with what I found. First off, it's not a writer's guide. It's a collection of essays by writers on whatever facet of writing they found interesting at the time. An author named Mary Gordon discussed in great detail her love affair with the pens and paper she uses for writing. David Mamet wrote, essentially, a love letter to Patrick O'Brian. Barbara Kingsolver wrote about the difficulty of writing about sex. It was a glimpse into what occupied their minds, written as though they were writing to an equal, so I left the essays feeling that I had some insight into the writing life, rather than feeling (as often with books on writing) that I had been patronized and talked down to by someone who never thought I would actually cut it.

Some of what spoke to me:

"Never bother to say you'll sleep on anything. In the first place, you won't sleep; and in the second place, you've already agreed in your heart to do whatever you were supposed to sleep on." - Gail Godwin

"There is never enough time for writing; it is a parallel universe where the days, inconveniently, are also twenty-four hours long. Every moment spent in one's real life is a moment missed in one's writing life, and vice versa." - Gish Jen

"Writing novels bears some modest (very modest) comparison to grinding on the higher slopes of the PGA tour, magical afternoons bunkered by afternoons of routine or appalling play and reminding yourself every minute to trust your swing." - Ward Just

"The purpose of literature is to Delight." - David Mamet

"How can I create when I have to go to work, cook my dinner, remember what I did wrong to the people who have stopped calling? ... The answer is, always is, every day." - Walter Mosley

"How do you write? You write, man, you write, that's how, and you do it the way the old English walnut tree puts forth leaf and fruit every year by the thousands." - William Saroyan

and finally, from Susan Sontag, in an essay about the importance of reading to a writer that spoke to me from first to last:

"Is there a greater privilege than to have a consciousness expanded by, filled with, pointed to literature?"

W. H. Auden

I just finished Collected Shorter Poems, 1927-1957, and these are the quotes that caught my attention:

from "1929":

Happy only to find a home, a place
Where no tax is levied for being there.

from "First Things First":

Woken, I lay in the arms of my own warmth and listened
To a storm enjoying its storminess in the winter dark

and from "A Permanent Way":

And what could be greater fun,
Once one has chosen and paid,
Than the inexpensive delight
Of a choice one might have made?

(Finished both my bedtime books last night—I was so thrilled! Next up in poetry, for a little light bedtime reading, Coleridge. Look later for a review of Writers on Writing, which was a delightful surprise.)

give 'em an inch ...

And they poop in it. I let Greyson and Charles have some freedom to run around and play after they went up for naps, since Charles had fallen asleep earlier in the morning and I figured they might not be quite sleepy yet. And it turns out that while I thought they were settling down and finally falling asleep, Charles was removing his diaper and pooping all over the room. So my reward for not being evil Mommy and yelling at them every time I heard them out of their beds for an hour and a half was getting to hose poop off Charles and scrub it off their bedroom floor on my hands and knees. Blah.

weird ...

(Shalaa!)

I saw my father yesterday. ... In the pages of the alumni magazine for our mutual alma mater. It was extremely strange. I had read most of the way through, skipping through the pictures for Reunion 2005 except for the ones from the '90s, before it processed that a) his graduation year ended in 0, and b) I knew he'd been at his reunion.

I'm not feeling particularly sad or sorry for myself that the only time I've seen my father in over a year and a half has been in a picture ... but it was definitely strange!

figures ...

My daughter's best color - is pink.

let it snow!

Some parts of your childhood never leave you—like the feeling you get when you wake up in the morning and that particular shade of white light meets your eyes. The shade of light that makes your heart leap up and your brain say delightedly, "SNOW DAY!" It's nearly impossible to keep from rolling over and going back to sleep, toasty warm and feeling like you've been wrapped in cotton wool. (In a good way!)

Today is the first major snowstorm of the year. And it was so beautiful and perfect this morning: the nice light snowfall, everything covered in an even layer of white, and the world so quiet and still. Now it's more like a blizzard. The sky is dark grey, the snow is coming down hard and blowing hard ... and in the middle of the snowstorm is thunder and lightning. A moment ago there was a blinding flash of lightning and the longest roll of thunder I think I've ever heard. (There may be a power outage any minute. It has that feel.) And it's particularly awesome to be here watching the snow in a warm toasty house ... knowing that I don't have to go anywhere!

SNOW DAY!! :)

entertainment reviews III

Let's see if I can remember what I've finished reading. Ah, yes—

William C. Davis's A Taste for War was well worth the anticipation. I have seen him interviewed on a number of History Channel shows, and he definitely gives a good interview, so I was optimistic about his writing style. And it did not disappoint. Eminently readable, nice narrative flow, but still well researched and information-packed. Definitely up there with Ivor Noel Hume and David McCullough as my favorite historical writers thus far. A Taste for War also came equipped with a section of Civil War-era recipes, specified for the way the soldiers would have cooked, for pretty much everything you could think of, making it a fantastic resource for future writers. (It's replacement in bedtime reading has been a book of essays on writing, from a series that ran in the New York Times.)

Also read The Last Days of M*A*S*H, a photo-essay put out by Arlene and Alan Alda of the taping of the last episode of the series. I love M*A*S*H, think it's pretty much the best TV show ever, and enjoyed getting a glimpse into those days. (I saw Alan Alda interviewed on Conan O'Brien a week or so ago, and was a little startled—I watch a lot of reruns, and I'm used to seeing him looking in his 30s and 40s. He now looks quite a bit older than that! Still the same persona, though.)

And I watched Ninotchka, with Greta Garbo. (I'd seen a clip from it during a game of Scene It, and thought I'd watch the rest.) Unfortunately, the clip I saw was pretty much the best part. It was a watchable movie, definitely not a waste of time, but the chemistry between Garbo and Melvyn Douglas that brightened up the early part of the movie kind of faded as Garbo's character softened. (Also, said character became a lot less interesting as it softened.) The subject matter was quite a bit dated, as well. All in all, I can see it having been a good movie, but it doesn't hold up that well.

time management

I've toyed with all sorts of things. For a while, I had a sheet with assigned activities to assigned hours ... but life with three kids didn't really meld with assigned time-frames, kwim? Bottom line, I have no idea where the time goes or what I do with it half the time! I have my first post-three-kids journal in, so I'm trying to work that in. What I find works best for me is to make a list (I am definitely a list-maker!) and then do one thing, or part of one thing, from it every hour. So, 8:00, choose "Dining room" from the list, clean off the piano. 9:00, dining room table. 10:00, stuff off the floor, and so on. I feel like I let my kids entertain themselves (or make them entertain themselves?) most of the time, and I don't know how to work that in. The other stuff seems easier. The kids are unsurprisingly resistant to being put on a list and done when their number comes up!

I don't know. Right now I feel like my whole life is a self-improvement project. Greater efficiency, development of exercise regimen, healthier diet for us and the kids, better parenting, more patience, more and better quality time spent with the kids, cleaner house, more time for writing ... you get the picture! It's tiring just to think of it, and kind of makes me feel like a failure that there's so much of my life I seem to need so much improvement on. I'd try and tackle one thing at a time, but all of it needs to be worked on in equal levels of importance ... and I'm afraid if I put anything off, it will end up always on the "I'll work on it next year" list. Like writing has been for about 7 years now!

I guess the bottom line is I'm just not sure how to manage time with three kids and not feel guilty that something isn't your top priority. It was definitely better when there were just two - after Charles reached about 18 months. So I figure in about 16 months from now, I'll have a better handle on it! Also ... taking ideas for how to manage time and work on all those improvements in the meantime!

Christmas memories

Continuing with the theme: Christmas is pretty much the only time of year that I actively miss having a family of my own. Both in the general definition of the term, and the specific people, as well. Which is not a reflection on Lou's family—they are (in almost all cases) respectful of our autonomy, enjoy the whole mounds of presents and lots of good food aspect of the holidays (and provide many and much of both!), and just generally do Christmas well. But there's no getting around the fact that they aren't my folks.

So here goes: I miss ... my father's cooking. The roast beef, the mashed potatoes and his fantastic gravy, yum! The Tom & Jerrys and old-fashioned Christmas music with the living room covered in boxes of ornaments as we trimmed the tree. The big Christmas eggnog party with so many different types of people coming to visit. The twinkle in my mother's eyes when she had something under the tree for me that she was particularly enthusiastic about. The house I grew up in (I'm sure there will be more on that someday!). Going to pick out the Christmas tree with my dad—we were both drawn to "Charlie Brown" trees. I remember the one we got that had a nearly right-angle bend in its trunk in two locations. It was a fantastic tree! I still have pictures somewhere of every Christmas tree we ever had in that house.

Now, I grant you, most of those things didn't happen every year. And many of them happen just fine in their own way in our holidays today. And I really love the holidays with my husband and my kids and our own house, etc. But there is that indefinable something—a quality of the light, a set of remembered smells, a certain feel in the air, even—that lives in my head and says Harkey Christmas to me. And I am saddened that I will never have that again ... except in my memories.

Santa Claus

I love the holidays. The snow, the carolers, the food, the presents, shopping for the presents ... from the snowy bucolic bliss of the Dickensian vision to the bustle and chaos of the modern shopping mall and the flurry of wasted paper that fills the living room after presents. I just love the whole thing!

I've discovered that my favorite part—and one of my favorite hats to wear as a mom—is playing Santa! I got to match wits agains the retailers this year, when a toy I had set my heart on getting for the boys turned out to be sold out by December 1st, leading to a late-night journey hunting for it. (Found a crumpled version buried in the toy section at Walmart, then three pristine versions stuck on a ceiling-high overstock shelf back in the boys' clothes section. Felt a glow of accomplishment!)

A couple of years ago, I read a debate on Babycenter about Santa and what to tell your kids, and was completely startled by the concept of Santa Claus as a "lie". There are people who actually think that in teaching your child to believe in Santa, you're lying! I just can't imagine being that literal-minded. I mean, all fiction, all fantasy, all mythology ... it's all lies, if you must look at it that way. But without it, where are we? And Santa particularly is a magical part of a magical time of year. He's not all about the presents—he's about the snow, and the reindeer, and the silvery sound of bells on a moonlit night. I absolutely believe in Santa Claus, even more so now that I am one of the legions of Santas out there! And I can't wait until my kids are old enough to feel the same breathless anticipation and joy at the holiday season—and his imminent arrival—that I do!

so much to say...

So little time! I have a whole list of topics I want to write about, and can't seem to find time to sit down and write. All day long I put it off, figuring I'll have more time after the boys go to bed, but that limited space of time fills up rapidly and I wind up tired and wanting to go to bed way too early these days. (Hoping that's a hormonal thing that will go away once I'm done with the pumping—I miss being alert at night!) My entire to-do list has been neglected pretty much since Veronica was born. I'm trying to get back to getting things accomplished, but it's slow going. I just got in my first post-third child being born journal, so it's definitely time to develop some time organization again. Wish me luck!

a book I'm not keeping

I finished Penne Restad's Christmas in America tonight. It started off seeming like a good, if slow-going, overview of the development of Christmas as we know it, with lots of interesting factoids packed in. And it continued to be that through to the end ... but unfortunately, some of the factoids that I knew something about already didn't seem as well-researched as they might have been, casting a dim light on the rest of the book. I hate it when a nonfiction has this problem. Jay Winik's April 1865 was another case in point—I loved the writing style and the mini-essays in which the book was written, but by the end just didn't trust that the author had all his facts. In the case of Christmas in America, I was really excited about some of the items I read in the first few chapters. For example, according to Restad, Clement C. Moore essentially created the character of Santa Claus as we know him today (reindeer and all) as a composite of a number of earlier references and descriptions—and the first appearance in print of Moore's poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas" was in the local newspaper of a small town called Troy, NY, which is coincidentally home to Lou's alma mater.

However, reading on, Restad made a couple of mistakes in her snapshot of Dickens' A Christmas Carol and in her description of the famous letter to Virginia O'Hanlon ("Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus"). And sadly, once I had questions about the overall reliability of her facts, it really took away from my enjoyment of the book.

So, not keeping it. Which is extra sad, because I hate to have read a book that isn't worth keeping, when there are so many others out there that I want to make the time to read. One of my quirks is that I pretty much have to own any book I read, so I preselect what I buy based on the perceived likelihood that I'll be keeping it. I have a pretty high success rate (and a huge backlog of to-be-read books), so I don't waste too much money on it ... and given how long it can take me to get around to reading any given book, borrowing wouldn't be a good option for me anyway!

(Next up for bedside reading: William C. Davis' A Taste for War, a culinary history of the Civil War. Looking forward to it!)

the "fun mom"

At my mother's group this morning, we were talking about fun in the context of parenting, and it brought up the sense of guilt that always hangs out in the back of my mind.

I always thought I'd be the "fun mom". Down on the floor, pretending to be whatever, surrounded by kids, etc. Truth is, I kind of find playing with the kids boring. Frankly, I'm ashamed. Often when they ask me to do something, my first reaction is a variation on "Do I have to?" And that just isn't right! As a stay-at-home-mom, I should be enjoying the heck out of this stuff, not feeling like it's a chore.

This sense of guilt pops up every couple of months or so, and I worry until either I try some remedy (usually short-lived) or get distracted by ongoing life events. I continue to be hopeful that maybe as they get older, my interests and theirs will meld better. And I keep trying new ideas to work "playtime" into my psyche as a privilege.

mallrants

Well, I did it. Yesterday evening I packed up all three kids and took my first solo trip to the mall. Personally, I like the mall. Fortunately, so do my kids! (Probably not a big mental leap there.) But I wasn't sure how it was going to go, shopping with all of them.

Overall, not so bad. I put the boys in the double stroller and the baby in the Bjorn. She slept the whole time, and the boys and I managed to pick out three pairs of shoes (two for Charles, one for Grey) without any major meltdowns. (I was nervous—in Charles's size there were a cool pair of Teen Titans shoes, while Greyson went home with a plain red and black pair. I expected fireworks, but Grey was happy with his.) We even checked out a couple of other stores and then had a Mrs. Field's cookie, and remained all in pretty good spirits.

Now for the rants (and warning: they may be petty. So be it.).

Why do people selling time-consuming health and beauty products (notably moisturizers and nail care products, from what I've seen) from the kiosks think that a mom with three small kids is going to have time to use their products ... or stop and talk to them, for that matter? Can't they pick on someone unencumbered for their sales pitch? Seems like it would be more profitable.

If you're driving through a parking lot and you spy a woman with three little kids (i.e., all car seat users) JUST opening the door of her minivan, why do you stop and wait for her spot? Seriously, it takes me a good 10 minutes to get everyone out of the strollers and into the car seats—and that's without the stress of knowing someone is hovering in a large machine over my shoulder being irritated because I'm not moving faster! The spot wasn't that great, either, and the parking lot wasn't that full. Heck, the guy could have circled the lot a couple of times instead of blocking half the lane (and creating a more dangerous situation for me, moving around my car, as other cars sped up irritably to get around him), and I STILL wouldn't have left yet.

Ah, well. I was pleased with the boys' behavior ... and am looking forward to Veronica getting big enough to sit in the stroller. Not only was she a little heavy in the Bjorn, it was also darn hot!

tempus fugit

My mental clock for most of this year pretty much stopped at the end of October. The whole year my energies were all geared up for the birth of the baby, with mental milestone markers on the arrival and departure dates of Auntie and Grandma.

So you can imagine my shock to discover that we're now in mid-November! When the heck did that get here? And the holidays are coming! Thanksgiving and Christmas were so far off my radar that I'm a little taken aback to realize that not only are they occurring this year, there are mere weeks remaining. Fortunately Thanksgiving is pretty quiet for us—it'll be just us, maybe Mark, and the biggest challenge will be getting the boys to actually eat some of the dinner.

But Christmas! Whoa. I have way too many thoughts on what to get the boys, and no organization to them. No clue what to get Lou; and even worse—no idea what I want AT ALL! (No idea what to get Veronica, either ... but that's really only because I haven't shopped yet. I don't expect many challenges there except the need to stop shopping!) I can't imagine being ready to get the decorations down from the attic, much less put them up.

Apparently it's long past the point where I need to get with it and rejoin the march of time, since it seems determined to pass whether I'm paying attention to it or not!

autonomy!

Today, everyone was gone. All our helping visitors had gone home, Lou was back at work, and I was alone with my three kids. It was perfect timing.

I really appreciated having family come to visit—I was able to take my time recovering from the delivery, get into and used to a pumping schedule, get Veronica sleeping well enough that I'm getting some rest, and ease into the challenges involved in shepherding three kids around. All things I could never have done if it had been just Lou and myself post-partum. But four weeks is a long time to have visitors! And it seemed like it was confusing for the boys, as well—they always had two voices of authority in the household, often making different decisions; the routines and schedules shifted around; and, of course, in the back of it all was me not being able to be with them and tend to them the way they are used to.

So between the boys pushing their boundaries and me feeling like I was losing control of my own house, it was definitely time for all of us to get back to normal. And today went really well! Normal morning, both the boys in their gym classes, nice quiet nap time, watched a movie in the afternoon. By the time Daddy got home we were all pretty frazzled, but that used to happen pre-baby V, so I'm not too surprised by it. It is nice to be in charge again. (But keep an eye out for a future entry on what a micro-manager I am and how I really need to let go of the reins a little—I'm running the risk of becoming downright rigid.)

book reviews #2

Baby V is now over three weeks old, which means it's time for Mommy to start getting back into her routines—including regular blog entries. So I'll start by catching up on my book reviews.

I finished both my bedside books: a reread of the collected works of Dorothy Parker, and Olivier Bernier's The World in 1800. Parker, as always, was twisted, jaded, and acerbic ... but she knew how to craft a good story. The volume also included her poetry (hit and miss) and book and theatre reviews. She took the book reviews much more seriously, and was clearly passionate about her reading. The World in 1800 was just what the title suggests—an overview of what was going on in the world in the year 1800 and the decade leading up to it. Bernier did a good job, I felt, of remaining impartial and painting the portrait of each different culture. Some, of course, were given more space than others—I'd have liked a little more on Japan and Africa, specifically, and could have used a little less on America and the presidency. (But then, that's the part of the world I already knew the most about, so I don't think I can fault him for that!) They've been replaced at my bedside by the collected shorter poems of W.H. Auden and Penne Restad's Christmas in America.

I had a disappointing round of fiction reading, and by my favorite authors, too. I read Louis L'Amour's Brionne, which packed way too much into a much-too-short volume. The plot points could have stood an extra couple of hundred pages. As it was, the whole story moved along too fast. It read more like an outline than like a finished work. A good outline, mind you, but still, missing a lot of detail.

James Ellroy let me down even further. The Black Dahlia had all the usual elements of his works—the complex twisted web of plot points, the tortured hero cop with antihero habits, the gritty underbelly of early L.A. on parade. But it was missing the inspiration. It felt like "just another Ellroy" instead of "whoa, another Ellroy!" I had expected more, I have to admit.

I've given up completely on Leslie Charteris and the Saint, after reading The Saint in New York. Charteris is a good writer, nice potboiler style, the Saint is a good character. But somehow, again, there's something missing there. The books just don't inspire me to keep reading them.

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's Communion Blood was definitely worth reading—if surprisingly poorly edited. What was going on with all the misplaced commas? In this case I think it was the subject matter. The book took place in Rome after a companion character had died the "True Death" (vampire lit.), and the free-flowing angst just isn't my favorite part of Yarbro's works.

I'm now rereading Behind a Mask, a volume of Louisa May Alcott's short stories (the ones written and sold to "sensation" magazines, so lots of mesmerism and other dark and occult themes). I don't think I've read this particular book for about 10 years, and while I can definitely see what I liked about the stories at that age and time in my life, now I'm looking at them with a more critical eye and they seem somewhat juvenile ... in a way that, interestingly, her other works, which are actually classified as juvenile, do not.

Hoping to have better reports next time I have book reviews to do—it's clearly been a dull reading month!

Veronica!

Usually, I’m not much for the writing of 'birth stories', but this one went so well I wanted to write it up to remember.

<> I went in to the hospital the morning of October 13 for my induction. Got there at 7:15, had the IV in with pitocin drip and antibiotics running by 8. I was 3 cm and soft, ready to go! <>

Dh and I walked the halls for a while, as the contractions started up. They were completely manageable—I was talking right through them. My nurse, Karen, kept coming by to up the pit. One of the sweetest moments was running into Michelle, the nurse who took care of us during our first delivery, the stillbirth of our oldest child. She remembered me and said she had thought about being our nurse herself but didn’t want to bring up bad memories, and I was able to tell her what I’ve been thinking for five years—that it was largely due to her that my memories of that day are treasured and cherished—and to thank her for that. <>

Around 10:30 I started to feel uncomfortable. I lay down for a while, flat on my back. I know that’s not supposed to be a good position, but it felt right at the time! Then I sat up on the edge of the bed, chatting with Karen, dh, and Ruth, a student nurse sitting in. Both of us were glad to have Ruth there—it gave the delivery, our fourth, a sense of newness, as we had the opportunity to both learn with and teach her. At 11:45, the anesthesiologist came in to give me my epidural. I had never been so lucid during that procedure before. Usually, I’d had the epi when I was pretty far gone in pain. This time, the contractions were still very handleable. Ironically, this made getting the epi a much less comfortable experience, as I was aware of each sensation and “with it” enough to be nervous! <>

Once the epi was in, my ob broke my water, about 12:30, and I took a nice nap. At 1:30 I was 5 cm. I could still feel pressure and some heat where the contractions were occurring, but no pain. I lay there for another couple of hours, chatting comfortably. Around 3:00 I could feel the pressure begin to get lower. I tried to stay relaxed and let the baby move down as much as possible on her own, hoping to avoid too much pushing (and the resulting swelling). Around 3:30, my nurse was called out to answer the phone just as a strong contraction made it clear baby had moved down quite a bit. I called out to Karen not to be gone too long, and she apparently relayed the message to my ob, who showed up a couple of minutes later. <>

He started to check me, and then told me not to cough, since the baby was about that close to being born. They quickly got ready for the delivery, and I gave a brief push. Then they asked me to hold off so they could help get the head out with minimal tearing—a request I was happy to agree to! My dh is under strict instructions not to talk while I’m pushing, and we were joking about that while I waited for the okay to push again. Another gentle nudge, and our baby girl was born! <> Immediately, ob, nurse, student, and dh hover around her, exclaiming how sweet, beautiful, and perfect she is. Meanwhile, there’s a large sheet on my belly, so I can’t see a thing! Finally, they lifted her into my arms. Such a small face, with well-defined nose and large mouth, and a good half-inch of dark hair all over. <> We named her Veronica Belinda, and she was born weighing 7 lbs., 7 oz., and 20” long.

Her birth was a really nice experience for dh and me, so peaceful and painless. A lovely way to have our last baby!

motion study

I recently reread Cheaper by the Dozen (the original) and Belles on Their Toes—two excellent biographies of the Gilbreth family by Frank Bunker Gilbreth, Jr., and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey. They're both really good reads from a story-telling standpoint, about a family of 12 growing up in the early 20th century. And I'm also highly fascinated by motion study, which was pioneered by Frank Bunker Gilbreth and his wife, Lillian Moller Gilbreth. She became a pioneer in the engineering field herself after his death, carrying on his business in the 1920s and beyond after his death—no small feat for a woman in that day and age.

Motion study is essentially what it sounds like—the study of how a person can use the most efficient possible motions to get things done in the least amount of time possible. Frank Gilbreth went so far as to time how long it took to button his waistcoats from the top down and from the bottom up to see how long each took (bottom up was faster by something like 12 seconds). I'm anxious at some point to get my hands on Lillian Gilbreth's autobiography, As I Remember, and some of their papers detailing more about their work. I'm fascinated to see how far we've come in the areas of efficiency of movement—at work and at home—in the past 100 years.

projects

Word to the wise: never do more for your first child than you think you can keep up with once you have more! I finally managed to finish all the quilts—a small simple one for Greyson, larger simple one for Charles, and crazy quilt pillow I started years ago got designated for this baby. I still have to frame the cross-stitch birth sampler I did for Greyson, and there is no chance whatsoever I'll have finished this little one's before she arrives. And here I thought I'd picked a nice simple design!

I have absolutely no clue how I'm going to keep up with three baby journals, though. I'm nowhere near filling up either Grey's or Charles'. I suppose in years to come that will be good—they'll have a nice long chronicle of their early years—but for now it just seems like a lot to keep up with!

So I'm madly trying to finish projects, finish journals, and generally get ready for the little one's arrival, which will hopefully be soon. And shortly after that point I hope to get back to having something to talk about other than the size of my ankles, the impossibility (and agony) of rolling over in the middle of the night, and how much I'm looking foward to a merrie bonfire of maternity rags!

false labor

So, spent three hours Thursday night in labor & delivery with contractions that did absolutely nothing. Of course, I wasn't even 36 weeks at the time, so we're okay with the baby not having shown up ... but now, the door has been opened for baby to show up pretty much any day. Any day between now and Halloween! I was perfectly prepared to start keeping an eye out for labor this coming weekend—it has completely unbalanced me to start thinking about it now. Because of course it's ALL I can think about.

Advanced pregnancy has me in a completely foul mood, exhausted, exasperated with my little boys and the sheer numbers of messes they make. I can't bend at the waist because of my heartburn; can't bend at the knees because it cuts off the circulation in my legs. So all the toys and junk wind up just finding a home on the floor and staying there. I can't sit or lie down for even 5 minutes because my hips hurt so much when I try to get up.

All of which is to say that I suspect blog posts will be few and far between until this little one shows up, as my brain is mostly taken up with being irritable, wondering how much longer until labor starts, and wanting nothing more than to go to sleep until it does!

parenting thoughts

I had a very introspective chat about parenting last night with a friend who's expecting her first baby, and it has me thinking. Mostly about the issue I brought up below: the similarities between my "adult" behavior and my 3-year-old's.

I remember thinking way back when Grey was a baby and having trouble sleeping through the night that it was hard not to understand the problem, since I'm not exactly the healthiest sleeper, either. If I have nights when I toss and turn and can't fall asleep, or when I wake up several times, how can I not expect him to? (Especially since, as he gets older, it's becoming ever more clear that he got my sleep habits. He lies awake for a good hour before falling asleep, and spends most of the night rolling around and shifting positions.)

I think it's easy to get caught up in the expectation of good behavior in little kids, expecting them to follow the rules and never complain about them (certainly never whine!). But the more I think about my own reactions in some instances, the more I hope I'm developing understanding of his behaviors. If I like things the way I like them, why shouldn't he? I've been known to throw tantrums because something was done by someone else that I didn't like ... so I should be able to put myself in his place when he has one, shouldn't I?

I'm trying to remember these things in our daily lives together, and simultaneously trying to expect more from myself and put myself in his shoes more often. I'm hoping I can develop more patience—which has never been my long suit!

all-natural/pre-packaged

I often wonder how much my attitudes changed on this kind of thing when Matthew died. While pregnant with him, I very much wanted the midwife technique with a non-medicated water birth. I was completely committed to breastfeeding for at least a year. (I don't think I was ever interested in cloth diapering or making my own baby food, though. )

Of course, when Matthew died I didn't care about my "birth experience", and by the time we got around to Greyson being born I was none too sure what my mental state would be like during labor and delivery. I figured I'd have enough to do to hold myself together emotionally without trying to labor without drugs. And from there it just snowballed—for example, rather than worry about him not growing, I chucked breastfeeding. (Also, I really didn't like it ... I don't know if that would have been different with Matthew or not. I suspect it wouldn't have been.)

The thing is, I am happy with my parenting style now. My kids may not be the healthiest eaters on the block, and they may watch a lot of TV, but they're healthy, happy, and about as obedient and good-natured as can be expected from a 3-year-old and a 2-year-old. And, more than that, Lou is happy with our parenting choices, and I am quite sure his stance hasn't changed from before Matthew was born. (He was going along with the whole water-birth thing since it was what I wanted, but I think he was secretly hoping I'd change my mind before going through with it.) And there's a lot to be said for harmony in parenting when trying to have a happy marriage with three small children around!

All things considered, I suspect that my foray into the 'all-natural' world would probably have been brief, and receded in the face of real life. I just don't have the patience or the passion it takes to spend that kind of time. In the grand scheme of things, I can understand how other moms might look down on me for making the easier, more expensive, more ... processed choices—and I appreciate that I have friends who are okay with overlooking the differences between our lifestyles and parent-styles. I suspect we'll inch a little more to the healthy side of things as the kids get older (and we do, too!), anyway.

football - 3rd week

Not such a bad weekend, finally! Pats and Vikes came out victors, Texans had a bye, and the Titans were definitely contendahs. If McNair had connected with either of his last two passes, it would've been a win.

Next week:
Texans v. Bengals - I really hope the Texans can win this one!
Titans v. Colts - could be a good game—I'd like to think the Titans have a chance.
Patriots v. Chargers - you have to think the Patriots are in good shape for this one.
Vikings v. Falcons - not sure about this one, but it would be nice if the Vikings would win.

(Then again, since the Vikings tanked in the latter half of the season after Charles was born—it took him months before Daddy stopped thinking he was a jinx—maybe it would be better if they'd keep losing until this baby shows up and then suddenly start sparkling to victory every week. :))

And yes, sooner or later I will have something to talk about other than football!

football - 2nd week

Spanked. That's right, again, three of our four teams were completely spanked by their opponents. The Vikings were blown out, 37-8, by the Bengals! The Steelers, as expected, walked all over the Texans, 27-7. And the Patriots lost 27-17 to the Panthers! Penalties were definitely a problem for the Pats.

The Titans, however, did manage a 25-10 win over the Ravens. Woohoo!

Next week: Texans have a bye—at least they can't lose! Titans v. St. Louis—I'd like to think they have a fighting chance. Patriots v. Steelers—looking forward to the Pats juggernaut coming back full force and whomping 'em. Vikings v. Saints—I'm of two minds on this one, but at the very least it'd be nice to see the Vikings playing like a contendah again.

ahhh, pregnancy

Yes, this is going to be a shameless post full of complaints. Feel free to assume you already know what I'm going to say.

Disclaimer past: Agh!! My ankles have started swelling in a serious way the past few days. It's not helped out by all the time I've spent sitting at the table reading journals (I really should have my feet up more). My shoes completely don't fit, and walking is very uncomfortable with my ankle joints about half again their usual size. (Not to mention the feet themselves.) Every time I bend over, the blood flow to my head is constricted ... and I can't bend at the knees very well because those are swollen, too. And with two small people in the house, bending over is pretty constant. The baby is hanging out high up in the chest cavity (no further dropping, and as a matter of fact, she's come up from where she'd dropped to before), so my breathing is all off, as well. The smallest exertion and I have to stop and pant. Sleeping is okay except every time I roll over (which I do a lot) I have to go in very small stages with long pauses because my muscles and ligaments get so used to being in one position that they stiffen up. Plus, I wake up with my fingers so stiff they can't bend very well.

And all this at 34 weeks!!!!!!!!! I can only imagine the level of discomfort I'll be reaching in 4 weeks ... much less 5 or 6, if I make it that long. I feel badly for my poor little guys—I already have so little energy that afternoon trips to the park are few and far between, and that's not going to be getting any better. In some ways, it's good for us all to get used to spending more time inside, between oncoming winter and the baby, but it's definitely been a little too much inside time. Not sure what to do about that. Thank heavens for the back yard! They've been really patient, though.

End of complaint ... for now. I'm so glad this is the last baby!

entertainment reviews II

After having completely freaked myself out about the state of our TiVo when it appeared to mistape the pilots of Reunion and Bones, it turns out the whole thing was my own stupidity. I told it to tape them on a channel we don't get. I'm actually happier about this—my stupidity is easier to fix than TiVo! I'm scrapping Reunion altogether, and taping the second ep. of Bones because I'm almost positive I'm going to like the show. Despite not being Boreanaz's biggest fan. I did manage to correctly tape the pilot of Supernatural, and surprisingly it was quite good. I liked the chemistry between the two leads, liked the plotline of the episode, and overall liked the 'feel' of the show. Not quite so hit in the head with the meta-plot, but then, I never like meta-plots! Despite all this, however, I'm not picking up the show as a regular thing. It was a little too good at its job ... I was still jittery and caught up in the eerieness a couple of hours later. Big compliment to the show, but a bit more unsettled than I need to be by TV!

(As a side note, woohoo! for TV season!)

Read a new (to me) Louis L'Amour, The Lonesome Gods. As well-written as you'd expect, but definitely suffered from the main character being too perfect. This guy was quite the paragon. It really detracted from the book overall, I thought. Also read The Step on the Stair, by a little-remembered early 20th century mystery author named Anna Katharine Green. Good writer, but this again was not her best work. And finally, finished one more in Janette Oke's pioneer series. Light fluff, but enjoyable. I just started The Great Escape, which I'm very much looking forward to. It's a little disjointed so far, but I'm only on the prologue. I expect it'll connect better once I get into the book proper.

oh, lord, I'm a 3-year-old!

It's a really disturbing trend, noticing all the ways in which behavior I find unacceptable in Greyson is very much like behavior of my own.

The needing to have things a certain way ... for example, in him, having to carry his lion up the stairs himself. It irritates me when he whines about it. But I whine just as much when things in the house are done differently from the way I'd do them. There are more that I can't think of because my brain is shutting down, but this one is the one I notice most often.

Now, how exactly do you adequately parent, helping your child to become a more socially acceptable human being, when you know you do the exact same thing?

football season - opening weekend

Overall, not a fabulous opening for the home teams. The Patriots won, yay! As expected. But both the Titans and the Texans got completely creamed, and much to Lou's vocal chagrin, the Vikings had two touchdowns called back for penalties for an ultimate loss. Sloppy. (And apparently not good for opening weekend of Lou's fantasy football team, either. What you get for putting all your eggs in one basket!)

On the bright side, New Orleans won in a last-second (almost literally) tie-breaking field goal. Not only do I like NO and dislike the Panthers, I would not have wanted to be the team that beat the Saints in opening week, after recent events.

Next week: Texans v. Steelers. Not a lot of hope there.
Titans v. Ravens. I like to think they have a fighting chance.
Pats v. Panthers. They better win!
Vikings v. Bengals. Now THAT would be an embarrassing loss!

football season

I'm a little disappointed with myself, I have to say. The first two or three years we were together, my level of football knowledge and interest went up each year. But since then, it seems to have plateaued somewhat. In the last few, I think that's been because football Sundays have been such an excellent time to get my own projects done, knowing that Lou would be home and able to keep an eye on the kids all day.

I think part of me is waiting for a time when I have less to do to get more involved and learn more of the stats and things ... but really—is there ever going to be a time when I have less to do? I think my overall knowledge of football is increasing somewhat every year just from being exposed to it and hearing about the various players, etc. But I suspect once the boys start showing an interest, they'll be eclipsing me in knowledge level in a very short time! Oh, well. That won't be the only area that happens in, I'm sure!

social skills

Mine have been seriously lacking recently! I saw a bunch of women on Tuesday at Grey's preschool orientation whom I hadn't seen in a long while. They were all happy to see me, kept asking about the baby. And there, you see, there's the rub. I was fine until I had to start answering baby questions ... I get so cranky about it! They're always the same questions (when are you due?, do you know what you're having?, oh, you must be so excited!), which is understandable but pretty boring to keep answering. For the life of me, I just can't dredge up the excitement. I'm looking forward to the baby, but the weeks between now and then yawn open like a huge chasm that I can't jump, and every inch of it is filled with discomfort, anxiety, and impatience that I have to crawl through.

Which led me this afternoon to an overall review of the whole social thing and my place in it. I definitely have to do something about finding some new friends, since S. is eventually going to sell her house and disappear to the ends of the earth. But how do you find someone who's that good a fit with you? It's a lot of trial and error, and I'm just not in the mood to waste time on banalities. Especially when I have had such trouble keeping in touch with my existing friends this summer. The boys go to bed, and pretty much all I want to do is sleep.

All of which sort of puts any strenuous effort to find new compatible friends on temporary hold until I have more enthusiasm for social interaction in general. Personally, if I didn't have children, I'd be happy to hibernate and see no one for the next 5-7 weeks! I'm hoping after that I'll have, if not more energy, at least more interest in the outside world.

yay for "Amasa day"

So, after Lou spent much of the last two days putting up the entertainment and stereo system in the basement (football season is almost here, you know—must be able to watch football and play pool!), I got today to get my project list tackled.

Most of it revolved around sewing projects. I finished a large stack of mending; put together the crazy quilt pillow I've been working on for 5 years and put it in the baby's room; and put the backing on the quilt top I made while pregnant with Charles. (This is why I decided the crazy quilt pillow would be the baby's when I saw I was close to finishing it—there was no way I was going to do another quilt quilt! I'd never get it done!) Also, finally bought the mattress pad for Grey's bed, since we keep forgetting to put him in a diaper at nap time and it's only a matter of time until a "mistake" occurs. And got the new curtains (black for Batman) for the boys' room. It's nice and dark in there now, with no more blinds for them to destroy. The old curtains will go in the baby's room. Just have to get some curtain rods put up.

And, finally, did some baby clothes shopping. Because, yes, I really needed to. Honestly. She might have had to wear the same thing twice in her first month! ;) And at last I found the perfect coming home outfit—nice and soft, a little sleeper that she won't have to be changed out of and the most beautiful little cape! And no pink anywhere. Didn't think I'd be able to manage that one! Now, time to try and finish my journal article while watching The Great Escape.

clothes!

I can't wait to wear real ones again. I've been watching What Not to Wear (the BBC version, of course, not the ridiculous American version—Trinny and Susannah are the only gurus worth watching), and being reminded of what it's like to actually go out of the house feeling good about what you look like.

Of course, summer is coming to a close. Greyson's school starts Tuesday, and my MOPS group has an open house on Thursday, and to neither place to I feel comfortable wearing these shorts I've been wearing all summer (the two pairs that still fit) or the old baggy T-shirts. It's not cool enough yet for my fall maternity clothes (which are definitely a step up!), so it looks like I'll be digging out Lou's shirts and hoping it will at least stay cool enough for jeans.

I just really look forward to being done having the baby so that I can start reconnecting with a style, refining it for my current life, and looking like a person who has more going for her than really cute kids! When I put more care into selecting the boys' clothes for the day than I do into my own—well, I think it goes without saying that that's a problem.

(And on the subject of clothes ... still searching for the grail of baby outfits. A beautiful, special coming home outfit for a baby girl . . . . . . . that's not pink! Good luck to me, I know.)

New Orleans

It's just unbelievable. I keep thinking about all the people who have been evacuated, who don't know when or if they'll be able to return to their home city, much less their actual houses ... but can't really get started over somewhere else, either, because they don't know what they might have left or a clear idea how long it might take to get back home. How do you handle that kind of limbo, knowing there's nothing you can do, knowing you have to wait for government and civilian rescue and relief efforts to clear the area ... and constantly watching the news, which is leaving those rescue and relief efforts looking pretty disorganized and haphazard.

I think in a year, maybe two, there will be a New Orleans again—different, but with as much of the original flavor and spirit preserved as possible. It's the American way. We don't give up or take defeat lying down, and since New Orleans is like no other city in the country I have faith that enough people are passionate about it that it will be rebuilt. It's the next two to six months that I wonder about. If we can't even get the city evacuated (or the refugees fed), how are we going to get all the water out, clean up the bodies and debris, and get started putting it back? It seems like every day the situation gets worse, rather than better. In the short term, it looks bleak.

reading program

Lest anyone think that when I said I'd finished two books of short stories last night that I'd actually read them all within the last couple of weeks, I thought I'd explain my reading program. (Also, my most faithful reader might get a kick out of actually understanding the "system", since I think it annoys him!)

I realized a while back that reading one book at a time really slowed down my progress, as I kept getting bogged down in the nonfictions. I really wanted to read the nonfictions, but they definitely require a little more time to get through. So I thought if I could read them a chapter at a time, it would help bump up my speed and still allow me to read all the books that interest me. At the same time, I got depressed because my existing library had grown so big I didn't think I could ever reread every book I owned. So I decided to do it anyway.

So basically I have a few shelves worth (I add a new one every time I get a new bookmark) of various nonfictions, works of poetry, dense works of fiction (like Les Miserables, which I'm determined to finish this time!), etc. I read a chapter (or 5 pages minimum of the poetry) of each book in a "cycle". For every book I finish, I get to read one book of fiction, and I get another fiction for every cycle I go through. (I also add a new book nonfiction every time I finish one, so the total number of books I go through never actually drops.) And at the end of every cycle, I reread one of my "old" books. The short stories fall into the nonfiction category because I can read them one story at a time. It works pretty well, but takes up a huge amount of space!

I have one bookshelf almost completely devoted to books "in cycle". Plus a couple of shelves of nonfiction waiting to make it into the cycle, and a shelf of fiction ditto. On the plus side, I'm down to about 10 books left to reread ... plus my entire mystery section (a long shelf and a half of it). I'm really looking forward to getting into that—I'm leaving Agatha Christie to the very end, and I've promised myself I get to read her entire works in order of publication. I'll be fascinated to see the development of her talent over time.

In addition, I keep two books in the car (usually westerns or mysteries, some paperback that's easy to carry into places like the doctor's office) and by the bed a book of poetry (5 pages a night) and a nonfiction. I constantly get asked where I find the time to read, especially given the seven journals—one once a year, five quarterly, and one bimonthly—that I also manage to read. I think it's a combo of fast reading, ability to pick up and put down a book at will and still hold onto the thread of the narrative, and bloody-minded stubbornness! Also, I tend to consider a lot of what I read research for future books, so it helps me keep focused because it's the most tangible thing I do right now toward my ultimate goal of writing books, along with keeping up this blog.

random thoughts, take 2

Finished two books of short stories last night, by my two favorite prolific authors: L'Amour and Christie. I'd read most of the Christies before in other compilations, but there were a few new ones. The L'Amour stories weren't westerns; they were all set in the Pacific. Nice enough, but not quite the same draw for me.

Started watching Beyond the Sea, Kevin Spacey's biopic of Bobby Darin. Now, I like Darin. And I think Spacey is an incredibly talented actor ... but I just can't get into these highly stylized biopics that spend half their time winking at the audience and have these elaborate framing devices. De-Lovely (with Kevin Kline as Cole Porter) had much the same kind of thing. Beyond the Sea is the better of the two, so far, but that's not saying a heck of a lot. And Spacey's performance so far is failing to grab me.

I'm way ahead on my current journal, and getting really impatient for the others to start rolling in. I want to get them out of the way!

Totally irritated with my entire to-do list, especially the stuff related to my mom's estate. Which is silly, because most of it the hassle involves paperwork that will get us extra money ... but it's still tedious paperwork, and the time frame seems very far away. Just seems like I never get anything actually done without it coming back on me with more to do that's less interesting. Sooner or later I need to buckle down ... and it does kind of need to be sooner ... but mentally and physically I'm just too tired. Where's the nesting? I need to get that surge of nesting energy that has people cleaning their floors at 2 am!

Blah.

baby stuff

Sunday was 31 weeks exactly. I was pretty nervous about it—not that I thought anything was actually likely to happen. Or at least, not rationally, anyway. But still nervous.

So I wake up Sunday morning, and there's blood. Just a little bit. For early pregnancy, it looked completely normal. But I've never had that in late pregnancy. I figured I'd wait and see if there was any more, then either call the office the next day and let them know, if there was no more, or call the on-call ob right then if there was more. Lou, on the other hand, less interested in the waiting and seeing, so he made me call immediately. The nurse says to keep an eye on it, call if there's more, etc. I go about my morning routine. About 20 minutes later, she calls back and says the ob wants me to come in for a nonstress test.

I did several of those with Greyson, so I knew the routine. Go in, get a couple of bands with dopplers attached wrapped around your belly, and sit there for an hour (or so) while the machine monitors baby's heartrate and movements, and any contractions I might have. Which is what happened. Baby was moving in such terrific force that they had to keep me extra because she wouldn't calm down enough to give them a baseline heartrate. End result: no further blood; no idea what caused the little bleeding I did have; baby in great shape; no cervical change. So they sent me home with firm admonitions to keep my eye out for any more bleeding, and to "limit my activities" as much as is possible for a mother of two small boys.

Two interesting thoughts struck me after I was home. One was that it was a nice 31-week present from the baby, the chance to go in and feel her move like hurricane Katrina in utero for an hour and listen to her heartrate!

The other was how completely not worried I was. I know a lot more about pregnancy and pregnancy complications than I have with any previous pregnancy, to start with. But what made all the difference to me was feeling like once I was in the hands of the hospital staff I could relax. I've never had a bad experience with the labor & delivery staff at Beverly, so I trusted the nurse to do her job competently and be my advocate if anything were to have gone wrong; and I absolutely trusted the ob on call to take the best possible care of me and my baby.

The difference it makes in a medical situation to have real trust in the staff taking care of you is so huge ... it's a real shame that everyone can't have that.

takes all kinds

I am constantly amazed at the things people find to write about. There's a journal for everything, and for any little topic you can think of (and about a thousand you couldn't) there's someone who's willing to write 20-50 (or 100) pages on it.

Granted, many of the articles, even on obscure topics, turn out to have at least some interesting parts for a layperson (like me). And I'll admit that probably not everyone would be fascinated by some of the more obscure titles on my shelves (Thomas Jefferson & the New Nation, 1009 pages, or Martin's Hundred, about an archaeological dig near Colonial Williamsburg, come to mind). But it's one thing to read dry, obscure, microdetailed articles and books. The more journal articles I read, the more I am convinced that I am not cut out for serious academia, since I would never in a thousand years want to write them. (Also, where the journals are concerned, I have to say it helps that I'm paid to read them!)

alone at night

Surprisingly, it's been quite some time since I went out by myself after the boys went to bed (my usual "recharge" time). But tonight while Lou took over the living room for his fantasy football draft, I took myself out. Little stuff—sold some CDs at Strawberries, bought the rest of the boys' fall wardrobe, had a snack and dessert at Denny's. Not your sophisticated night on the town!

But driving home I felt so reenergized! Just being out by myself, shopping without having to stop and say "no!" every couple of minutes, and being out at night, especially, was so nice. Like a return to the old me.

There's just nothing quite like being out at night. Now, shopping in suburbia can't compare to long walks in NYC, but then, nothing really does. (As an aside, I find it interesting how much safer I found walking at night in NY than I have anywhere else. Even in my own neighborhood in quiet little Beverly, I wouldn't feel entirely safe walking at night, but in NY I never felt nervous at all.) Even the air feels different, smells different. Night-time makes me feel alert and awake in a way that's impossible with the sun shining. Reason # 745 why I'm never going to be a morning person!

self-image

It's been an interesting day, self-image wise. We had a birthday party to go to, and I felt bad showing up in the usual, tired old T-shirts. (The shorts I couldn't do anything about. I only have two pairs left that fit. :( ) So I stole a golf shirt from Lou's closet. For the record, it's no bigger on me than my own shirts! What I get for marrying a skinny guy. But I have to say I feel better today! I actually feel like I look nice ... and a little different from the way I've looked every other freaking day of this pregnancy. Don't know why looking different is so important, but I hate looking the same every day. Drives me nuts.

Then we were at the birthday party, and talking about the pregnancy. When I told this woman (whom I'd never met before) that I was due on Halloween, she said, "But you don't even look pregnant!" Normally, this would be a good thing. Most women would be thrilled to hear it. But since I know that I've gained as much as usual, my belly's measuring on target, and I definitely feel pregnant ... it was both sad and a little irritating to know that people can't even tell. It's just not what I'm used to at this stage. And since I do feel miserably, uncomfortably pregnant it feels, well, the opposite of validating, to be told that I don't look it.

So in one sense I feel better than usual, and in another not so much. I guess it's a wash!

baby/toddler/child/man

In my favorite moment the other night (the pre-bedtime peek in at my two sleeping boys), I was struck by how easily I could see in them both the baby they had been and the little boy they are now, with some indications of the older child to come. Charles' soft, round cheeks, plump toddler legs, and then his hands, with those long, capable fingers, spread out, looking like the hands of a much older child. Greyson's squashy little nose and plump cheeks, the soft, pure skin, the gangly, tanned legs.

I then started thinking about the two of them growing up, and imagining that someday I would be looking at my 30-year-old sons (not while they're sleeping, of course!) and probably even then seeing in them some vestige of the babies/toddlers/children I treasured. Which led me to think about my own mother, and Lou's—my mother I think saw too much of the baby and toddler ... or maybe "saw" isn't the right word. I think increasingly in the last years when my mother looked at me she saw an image she had created rather than the actual person, no matter at what stage of development. Now, my mother-in-law I think has a fairly good understanding of and appreciation for her sons as they are. Certainly she respects their opinions and choices. But I never really see that tenderness, that memory of earlier years, come out in her. Seeing the way she is with Greyson and Charles, I'm sure that memory must be there, but she keeps her emotions very much to herself. And so I never really thought about it before.

I definitely look forward to watching the little boys in the toddlers unfold ... and in the meantime, plan on getting as many cuddles as I can to store up against the day it's not "cool" anymore!

nervous

The last few days I've been getting increasingly nervous about the baby. Probably it has to do with the 31-week mark coming up—even though rationally I know if something happens, it could happen at any time, 31 weeks still sticks in my mind as the symbolic number. So I wake up and worry: "Is the baby moving less than yesterday?"; "Is my stomach shrinking?"; "What if she isn't growing right?"; "What if something goes wrong and I don't catch it in time?" Etc. I keep half-hoping to go into labor just to have the baby on the outside where I can see her.

It's sad, really, because now that she's dropped I feel so much better physically than I have been. It would be nice to enjoy that more! Hopefully once we get into next week and get past that 31-week mark I'll relax a little more. I just didn't expect it to be a big deal this time around. I guess some of that anxiety just never goes away.

readership

An interesting speculation, the idea of who an online journal is written for. I mean, a journal is kind of private, definitely has some thoughts that you don't want to share with everyone ... but online? Chances are someone browsing has already peeked at my ramblings.

There's also the constriction, not found so much in written journals, of the people I know are reading regularly. A certain amount of self-censorship comes into play when the person sleeping next to you is reading what you're writing! Which does tend to limit the online journal's usefulness when it comes to sheer irrational rants and venting. :)

Initially I figured that an online journal would be the only way I'd get any kind of writing routine going—easier to sit at a computer and type than it is to write these days. (How did I ever manage multi-page essay questions on exams just 8 years ago?! One of the many reasons I'm unlikely ever to pursue an advanced degree!) But I'm actually finding that this issue of readership, and to whom I am writing, is creating some interesting challenges in shaping the way I write what I want to say.

random thoughts

For a somewhat random day!

Greyson pooped in the potty—not only that, but went to the potty entirely on his own! I didn't know what was happening until he called me in to look. Pretty amazing and impressive.

My mother strikes again. Another call from these bill collectors: same goal on their part, different m.o. Still waiting on the paperwork! Still upset by the phone call, as well, although I handled this one better. And apparently the tax thing could take another eight months, so the estate will remain open for who knows how long. Not that it's a huge problem, but I really want to start marking "deceased" on all her mail and close the book on official reminders of her existence. Maybe start coming to terms with her without constantly being irritated about her poor choices!

Speaking of parents ... my father's birthday is tomorrow. Mostly feel guilty because he sends cards and money, I send emails. But really not that guilty.

Having some interesting thoughts about being parented. My MIL likes to send us "reminders" of our familial obligations. But, of course ... the reminders are only noted by me, because I'm usually the one fulfilling the obligations. And it's not my family. So I'm annoyed by the reminders. And yet, I suspect that normal parents send that kind of thing all the time, so if I had some I'd be used to it, which makes the annoyance my problem and not hers. And, of course, no less annoying for all that! It doesn't help that the reminders are almost always on behalf of other members of the family—who all have emails and telephones and could make their requests of me themselves. Maybe while catching up and saying hello? Or is that not a normal family thing either? I think coming into marriage I had a lot of preconceived notions about how a "happy" "healthy" family is supposed to work ... and I think many of them were unrealistically idyllic. I really wanted the family from While You Were Sleeping. Who also probably would have annoyed me! So maybe no family would have made me entirely happy.

Having one of those nights where I'm tired and want to go to bed, but too bored to go. Strange concept, isn't it? Need some new thoughts from somewhere!

of books and babies

Updating my previous review: Manassas turned out to be about what I expected. Not worth picking up the second book. None of the characters were compelling, the plot was banal ... oh, well.

Just finished a book of Louis L'Amour short stories and a novel, Hondo, and am yet again impressed with the man. Unlike Zane Grey, who was nearly as prolific, L'Amour's work is not only gripping from beginning to end, each book is different. There's never a sense of "Oh, this is just like that other book he wrote," which you find a lot in many authors with far less titles to their names!

An upcoming project is going to be culling the kids' book supply for books that will be good to have in the baby's room. Will she necessarily need a well-stocked bookshelf from her first day of life? Well, she will be my daughter and Lou's! Besides, she should have her own books—everyone should, no matter how old. I'm nearly finished sorting clothes, so once I stock the bookshelf, raise the crib mattress, and move the curtains in from the boys' room (where they now clash quite a bit!), the room will be done.

weary, weary, weary!

LONG weekend. Very hot. Not good sleep. Cranky teething overheated overtired toddler with nasty diaper rash. Cranky overtired little boy who nevertheless did really well potty-training in an unfamiliar environment. SUPER-cranky overheated overtired way too large (and did I mention overheated? not pretty) pregnant mommy. Nice Daddy who was also undoubtedly overheated and cranky and nevertheless rose to the occasion. LONG LONG LONG drive home—mercifully, in air-conditioning, which is the only reason we all made it back in relatively good temper! Now, all sleep.

Night-night.

dreams

Lots of dreams last night, but the worst one was the first. I dreamed the baby had died, and we had to start all over again, trying for another one. It was so devastating and depressing that I woke myself up crying, and actually lay there for a while trying to figure out how I was going to handle it before I realized that it WAS only a dream and baby is still there, moving around like a trooper.

After that, I dreamed I was Jennifer Garner in a leopard-print bra. It was nice to feel attractive for once! And then, that I was carrying a baby for Carlos and Gabrielle from Desperate Housewives, which I don't remember being too thrilled about. I seem to recall they were messing with my naming plans ... wanted to name the baby Sofia or something like that. But through both dreams ran the depression and fear of the first one, so I couldn't even enjoy them.

Still feel a little freaked out, honestly! And I got up this morning to a woman on my birth club board asking about the birth center whose "care" I was under when we lost Matthew, so now all that's in my mind, too. It's shaping up to be quite the day!

I know - lazy lazy lazy!

Four whole days and no blog entry. It has been an energy-free week on my part, and not much to say. I'm finding myself increasingly less able to tolerate the heat, which continues to be above 90 and muggy. Sleeping has become more complicated, as my hips are spreading and I sound like a bowl of Rice Crispies whenever I try to turn over in bed. And for some reason in the mid-afternoons this week I've been hit by a wave of sleepiness that's darn near irresistible. I'm thinking it has to do with not getting enough hydration (a particular problem for me, with my habit of nursing my drinks), possibly low iron levels, or both. I have to wait until Tuesday to find out about the iron levels for sure, I think, since that's my next dr. appt. In addition, my feet and hands are swelling—I can't comfortably wear shoes for more than an hour or so, my wedding rings are starting to be too small for my pinky, much less my ring finger, and for the first time ever, my watch is too tight! So that is my litany of pregnancy woes for the week!

All of the above has left my brain feeling pretty much disengaged this week! Hope for cooler weather next week and more energy, and then I should be back, rambling away as usual. :)

bad mommy moment #643

Just have to share last night's "sink into the floor in shame" moment.

I woke up in the middle of the night to whimpering, and once I realized it was Greyson, got up to go see what was wrong. When I got in his room, he was just picking himself up off the floor (his mattress is on the floor, so no harm done physically) and climbing back into bed. I went over, tucked him in, and quietly left the room.

Just as I closed the door, he whimpered again. I waited. Sure enough, more whimpering, building up to full-scale crying. So I go in and ask what he needs. He mutters something about his blanket, and I see one next to the bed, so I put it on. I start to move toward the door, he whimpers that his feet need covered. I cover them, start to move, another blanket. This goes on about 10 times, with me growing increasingly frustrated. (Did I mention I'm in my third trimester and had to pee?!)

Finally, all possible blankets are on him, he's completely tucked in. He mutters something that I can't hear. I say, "What do you want?" Muttering. I say it louder, completely not concerned about waking Charles asleep across the room at this point - I just want to go to the bathroom and back to bed! After the fifth time of me standing over him and yelling, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" I finally understand him to have been saying, "I want a hug."

Bad, bad mommy. I cried, gave him his hug and a few extra, and guilt-ridden and chastened, finally went to the bathroom and back to bed. Poor kid!

fireworks

Tonight was the fireworks show for Homecoming Week. There'd been some question if the city could afford them, so I was relieved to have them go off as planned!

We don't actually go anywhere—we can see them from our own front porch. And as we sat watching, we both thought about the last 6 years of fireworks that we've seen from there. Lou has always been in town for the fireworks, which is a feat in and of itself.

They're particularly special to me because the first night we watched them was the night we conceived Matthew. It was a warm night with just a little rain, and we didn't know there would be fireworks, so as we sat watching them they were like a gift to us. It was nice and peaceful and made that night so special and memorable.

During the 2002 fireworks, we left Greyson (then 2 months) inside playing with his baby gym. When we came inside, he was batting at the animals. It was the first time I had ever seen him use his hands in a purposeful movement.

It was odd to think that this was the last time I would watch them pregnant. But I'm definitely ready to move on to the next phase of our lives! And next year, Greyson and Charles should be old enough to stay up and watch with us. I look forward to seeing the wonder on their faces, and sharing our tradition with them.

my mother

Will she never just go away? She's been dead for 18 months, and I still can't close her estate because I'm waiting for the state of Michigan to get around to processing her taxes. And then some jerk of a collection agent calls me yesterday and claims that I'm responsible (personally, not as estate rep.) for one of her credit card debts. I told him to send me written proof, and he said, "Well, if we send you the proofs, will you pay?" So we went round and round with me saying I refused to commit to making a payment and him asking me why he should send me proof if I wouldn't promise to pay. I'm highly annoyed with myself for letting him get me into an argument, and also for how much this bothers me.

WHY CAN'T SHE JUST DIE!?! Haven't I paid enough price for the crime of being born to that woman?

Isn't it bad enough that I have no family I can lay claim to? I spend every holiday celebrating someone else's traditions because I have no one left who remembers mine. I have no happy memories of the time when my family was together because it's become clear over time that it was all a lie. They never really cared for each other, and certainly they never cared for me enough. My childhood never existed because she insisted on making me into her little companion/carbon copy, and even now, at 30, I still feel like that gawky awkward freak who doesn't have anything in common with the other kids.

I've done a damned good job of making a happy life for myself without letting the fact that I was basically abandoned by both parents define me, and most days I realize that I'm better off without them. But it would all be a lot easier if I could just leave her behind me—exactly how long does she have to be dead before I can stop having to deal with the messes she left behind?!

book reviews

I'm on the fiction section of my to-be-read cycle (too complicated to explain). So I've read Ender's Shadow, Lost, and am now reading Manassas, the first volume in a series covering the major Civil War battles.

Ender's Shadow (sequel to the book Ender's Game, but plotted in parallel) was a fascinating read. At first blush it might seem boring to read the same events from a different character's perspective, but the character was so well-realized and the book remained so completely true to that character's perspective that in some ways I found it a more enjoyable book than the original. Despite the fact that the character in question was not entirely likable—a bit of a cold fish, and definitely somewhat arrogant.

Lost is my latest foray into the fiction of Gregory Maguire. Let me start by saying I LOVE Maguire's novel Wicked. Love it. I also hated Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister. I thought it was as boring and banal as Wicked was fresh and intriguing. I had high hopes for Lost because it was supposed to be on the lines of A Christmas Carol, which is one of my all-time favorite books. Sadly, "supposed to be" isn't always what is. Maguire tried to run together Christmas Carol and Jack the Ripper plotlines, plus added the device of inserting excerpts from his protagonist's "novel", and did justice to none of it. Throughout the book, there were hints—sly winks and nudges—of dark histories for the characters that really made me feel like the author was patting himself on the back for his own cleverness. By the denouement, I was so tired of seeing the carrots dangled in front of my nose that I frankly didn't care anymore. And the ending ... well, I'm still waiting for it, and I finished the book two days ago. I have Maguire's next book, Mirror, Mirror, in queue, but unless it's a tour de force to match the genius of Wicked, I think my relationship as reader to Mr. Maguire's authorship may be over.

Finally, Manassas. Since it's my own ambition to write Civil War novels based around the experiences of one or more families, I was of course fascinated to begin this one. Even more so because the author's blurb identified him as having written several books in the Wagons West series (published under the name Dana Fuller Ross). Those, while not a peak of literary greatness, were definitely a good read if a bit trashy. So I had high hopes. So far, unrealized hopes (I'm only about 100 pages in). Reasoner (the author) seems to be aiming for a higher level of literary excellence than the Wagons West series, and in the process has jettisoned the soap opera-esque elements of that series (at least so far). Which means this is a novel caught betwixt and between—not serious lit., not good trashy fun. Neither boring nor bad ... but not particularly fun or good, either. I'm hoping it has yet to hit its stride. After all, it's the set-up for a 10-book series, so maybe there's just too much exposition being crammed in at this stage.