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.

today with the boys

So Greyson started soccer camp today. And CHARLES had a fantastic time! He just jumped right in, ran around with the other kids, and was generally so cute and funny. He even made himself a little friend, a kid probably only a few months older than he was, and they were just laughing together and having so much fun! Greyson, unfortunately, was not so thrilled. I don't know if he was just tired because it was right at their usual naptime, or not feeling well for some reason, or got confused because there were so many other kids, but about 25 minutes in (of a 45-minute class) he decided he wanted to go home. He did tell Daddy later that he had a good time, and several times today mentioned learning how to dribble (which I actually saw him doing and he did very well!), so hopefully tomorrow will be better now that he knows what to expect.

Their nap was very short, though. So short that Greyson actually fell asleep in the car on the way home from Target in the late afternoon, something that hasn't happened in well over a year. Then he decided he wanted to drive around and go back to sleep—but he didn't actually sleep, so Charles missed his second nap because we were driving around during the time frame.

Our first day of "no TV from 4-6" actually went really well. I read them part of a Paddington book, they played outside and downstairs, we had a "picnic" with popcorn and played "The Three Little Pigs" with Greyson's castle, and the TV didn't go back on until 7.

Then they had a nice long bath, coming out so soft and clean, and had to look at a new game of Daddy's before bed. Finally, about 10 minutes ago, we heard their door open (over an hour after they were put to bed). I sent Lou upstairs, and he came down a minute later and told me I had to come up. I figured he was just too much of a softy to yell at them, but then when I got to the top of the stairs I saw Greyson's alphabet puzzle put together and lying on the floor outside their room. Apparently, he put it together for me and put it out there so I would see it when I came up to bed, and made a big deal that Lou should not pick up "Mommy's present". I could cry—he's such a sweet little boy. So I went in and gave him a hug, and he was so proud of himself and so happy to have made me happy. What a great kid!