A Burgeoning Interest in Boobs, My New Motto, and a Book List for When Life Pushes You Hard.

Ugh...what a week.  Up and down, across and sideways, back and forth.  And a nasty cough to boot. There are just times when life pushes you along and you have to let it.  Don't waste physical or emotional energy trying to push back...just go with the flow, so to speak.

I say this knowing that while there are a few times a year I let this happen, I'm not good at feeling okay about it.  I usually get to the end of the week and feel a lot of guilt---how I should have tried harder.  How I could have changed things. blah, blah, blah.  Guilt...jeesh...I'm a Catholic married to a Jew...the guilt is built in at this point.

So, it is at these times that I look to two things that get me out of my head--my kids and a certain group of books.

So here is the first thing I realized this week about my kids, or one of them, that knocked me for a loop and out of my head.  My 10-year old son is really starting to notice, well, I'll use a less than "PC" term, "stacked women".  I guess there is a mom at school who has been favored with large and perky ones, and who only dresses in little tank-tops (don't know her, but hate her).  Our son, according to my husband, is constantly scoping her out with these little side looks, while trying not to walk into the flag pole and such.  So once forewarned, I too started noticing and boy howdy!  After seeing him do this to a young runner in the neighborhood, I mention it as subtly as I'm able--while laughing--and while he does get appropriately embarassed, I also see that the embarrasment of being caught ogling doesn't completely wipe away the curiosity that compels him.  OMG...the boy is growing up.  We did however, have a talk about respect and women and bodies that mostly was about making me feel better, but hopefully the right bits will get through to his little pre-adolescent brain.

I have a new motto for life, courtesy of my 7-year old daughter.  We were walking, holding hands, into dinner and she looks up at me and says, as serious as she can be, "I wish it was the future."  I, of course, ask why, and she replies, "Because in the future, I'm awesome."    Yes you will be, mon sweet petite.  But now I have this new motto, perfect for those weeks when absolutely nothing goes according to plan...."In the future, I'm awesome."  No doubt less awesome than her, but still...it's a worthy goal.

Tonight though, I will go home to a house full of kids--both are having sleepovers--and when they are fully ensconced in a movie, I will have a glass of wine and pick from this group of books. Because they make me laugh, cry, think and sometimes all three.  Whatever, they take me out of my own head...and that's a good thing.

The Hotel New Hampshire, John Irving

Cod, Fish That Changed the World, Mark Kurlansky

Anything by Lisa Kleypass because I love a good lusty, funny romance

Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen

Push Not the River, James Conroyd Martin

Rivethead, Ben Hamper

Geek Love, Katherine Dunn

A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole

And, if it's a really, really, really bad day.

The Truth About Chuck Norris:  400 Facts about the Worlds Greatest Human, Ian Spector

What a Way to Go: The Guillotine, the Pendulum, the Thousand Cuts, the Spanish Donkey, and 66 Other Ways of Putting Someone to Death, Geoffrey Abbott

And, if it's a really, really, really, really, really bad day...Movies:

In Search of the Holy Grail, Anchorman, the dinner scene in Talladega Nights, Airplane, Reno 911 The Movie, Office Space, Support Your Local Sheriff, any of the Bourne movies, the first and second Mummy movies and finally, Oh Brother, Where Art Thou

R.I.P: Big Spitty

When we got him about 5 years ago at the age of 10, his name was just "Big".  Because he was, well, big.  Big and fat and cuddly.

Unfortunately, he had a penchant for hair balls.  Lots of them.  So our daughter renamed him "Big Spitty".  Fitting...and funny.

His meows sounded very much like talking due to an accident when he was a kitten, his previous owner told us.

His favorite places were:  under our bed, on our son's bed, on our daughters bed and lately, on the new cushiony foot rest in the living room. 

He liked to head out into the night...around 10:30 pm.  And would wait patiently until we opened the door.

He was gracious about three houses, two moves, two dogs and various war games.  He typically played a POW in the games the kids played, although there was an incident where they tried to mount a nerf gun to his back.  That did NOT end well.

He went softly as the poem goes.  And for him, the clocks are stopped, and the dog is not barking with a big juicy bone.

He was old.  He was content.  He was a favorite.  He was well-loved.  He is being well-missed--as indicated by the two valiantly soft voices stating unequivocally that they should not have to go to school today given the fact that "I could break out crying at any minute." 

Well played.  But no deal.  I'm sure there are books on this subject, but we don't have them and for this, we don't need them.  Cuddles, stories over dinner and time.  That'll do it.

See ya later, Big Spitty.

Staredown at the Oval Table, A Dinner Too Far, or Hush Up and Eat!

We've all been there.  At the dinner table staring down a plate of something you find objectionable, as well as the stone-cold stare of the meal maker.  A battle of wills where there is rarely a winner.

For me as a youngster it was cow tongue and roasted pumpkin...one night I made it to midnight...my four brothers and sisters already off in dreamland. My mother and I angrily facing off...she gave up/in and I was jubilant and smug.  Only to face it the next morning for breakfast--cold. I shiver just thinking about it.

Now as a mother, I find myself facing this more and more.  I don't serve tongue or pumpkin or liver & onions, but a nice range of foods from a nice range of cultures. So I don't see the problem.  My kids however, see a big problem, each from a different perspective.

For my son, it turns out we can sometimes be a bit too fancy.  This was in repsonse to a garlic chicken and raosted brussels sprouts in a pesto sauce over rigatoni.

For my daughter, it is the opposite.  A self-proclaimed "foodie" at seven, my cooking can be a bit dull for her newly refined palate.  Sweet and Sour Chicken, Roasted Pork Chops...when these are on her plate being ignored, we ask what's wrong and her answer, like the other night is invariably in the vein of:  "Mom, I'm all about food.  Good food.  Better tasting food." 

And she leaves this hanging, waiting for me to 'get it'.  I choose, often, to ignore her mom-baiting.

Rather than have it turn into an epic standoff, our children are asked to put their leftovers in tupperware, and to make themselves a sandwhich.  For my son, it is the classic fallback...pb&j and a giant glass of cold milk (like mother, like son). For my daughter, she puts together a plate of self-made 'amuse bouche'...strawberries upon gouda, brie wrapped in turkey, grape topped almonds, apples and chedder.

They eat, but I find it irritating and wasteful.  So, in order to stave off these utterly frustrating evenings, we have started family cooking--sort of like our version of the family bed, but with knives and fire.

Our guide is either the original "Art of French Cooking", which is surprisingly simple in it's writing.  Or, a great cookbook for the family, "The Family Kitchen" by Debra Ponzek. Easy to follow, but with a sophisticated grouping of tastes.   The product description on Amazon.com says it best:  ...simple enough to please kids, refined enough to satisfy parents..., chapters include 125 flavorful crowd-pleasers such as Pan-Seared Pork Chops with Green Apple–Cranberry Compote, Honey-Glazed Carrots, and Double Hot Chocolate with Homemade Marshmallows. This is food you and your kids will want to eat every day—and not a smiley-face pizza in sight!"

Evenings are not all sweetness and light, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  The kids do tend to enjoy the food more when they've had a hand in it.  And, I let them name it.  Let's face it, what kid isn't going to choose "Green Eyed White Dragon" Soup, over Zucchini and Leek Soup.  Or Bloody CreepLoaf (kay, which made me not want to eat....).

However, I have found nothing, including sound effects, which have turned brussels sprouts into a favorite. Oh well, more of Jolly Green Giant brains for me and hubby!

Mother's Day, With a Twist

There were two things I said I'd never do when I started this a while ago...first, no writing anything about work and second,  that I wouldn't write things like this--a blog about Mothers on Mother's Day or Fathers on Father's Day.  You know, the ones that seem to cheesily overpopulate the blogosphere in May and June.  But here I am, breaking one of my two rules....oh, well.

I started thinking about this today because I was told that my daughter couldn't finish her 'state sponsored' Mother's Day card at school because, in her words, she had developed 'writers block'.  And, that because of this she had to miss recess!  She was not happy...and somehow this had turned into my fault.  Great---I broke my rule because my daughter was pissy at me because I wasn't interesting enough to write about for a 7-year old.  What's next...a gallon of JeanNate Body Splash and Bonnie Bell Lip Smacker from the Walgreens up on the corner?  Happy Mother's Day!  (Seriously, would love the Lip Smacker...never developed a liking for JeanNate, so matter how many gallons we bought my Mom....)

But the thing I focused on was the writer's block...not that I didn't understand it.  I did, I do..completely.  I write a lot for work (Shit!  I'm now two for two) and for pleasure and I get the mocking silence that comes with the blank page.  I asked my daughter about it at dinner and she said that it was not only too noisy in her classroom, but that she didn't think she had the right words in her brain to say what she wanted to say.  She slays me.  She also made me think of my own mother, and her mother, my grandmother and how we pass down both the good and the bad to our children.

My mother is scary smart--not that you'd know it.  She has the art of self-deprication down to an art.  I have that same trait.  We employ it the same way--usually when we are being recognized for something and totally ruining whatever people are trying to say.  My daughter and my grandmother?  The exact opposite.  My daughter owns her greatness, as did my Grandmother...both to the nth degree.  Big, bold personalities with brains and confidence and charisma, oh my!

However, when it comes to writing the gene pool did some rearranging. I get my chops from my Grandmother for whom I'm named...we both love/loved writing and put pen to paper (or in my case, fingertips to keys) often for both work and pleasure.  We find/found joy from having these ideas and words in our heads and the process getting them down in the right order, with the right tempo...and to have it feel the same way on paper as it did in our heads.

With my mother and my daughter though, they fear the words themselves, or rather their perceived lack of them. One will email me a letter she is writing on behalf of someone--usually a high schooler she is helping, with the plea to help her get the words right.  I read it and it's honest and simple and perfect in it's straightforwardness.  The same thing happens with my daughter when she is trying to get her thoughts down on paper..neither of them wastes time and paper with a lot of useless adjectives and the idea they are trying to get across is much cleaner and more powerful because of it. But because they fear the simplicity of simple words they lack the confidence and joy found in words and writing. Silly wabbits!

There are many more ways the three of us are intertwined with characteristics and mannerisms popping up in the oddest combinations...not to mention our penchant for hair dye...but that's for another day.

But in celebration of my Grandmother, the incomparable ball-buster Lorene; my Mother, the stunning and stunningly strong Karen; and my daughter, the unbearable lightness of  Monkey, and for our love/hate relationship with words and writing, a list of words on or about Mothers and Motherhood...Not the definitive list, sadly lacking in international titles and in no particular order and NO self-help books allowed.  Also, I tried to list the ones that aren't that well known, or you might not think of right off the bat, with the exception of anything by Amy Tan because of course, she gets it.

The Bonesetters Daughter or the Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan

Breath, Eyes, Memory, Edwidge Danticat

Mary's World, Richard N. Cote

Victoria's Daughters, Jerrold Packard

The Fifth Child, Doris Lessing

Ladder of Years, Anne Tyler

Operating Instructions,  Anne Lamott

Paula, Isabel Allende

Girlwood by Claire Dean

Vengeance is Mine, Brandy Purdy

A Mountain of Crumbs, Elena Gorokhova

Ramona and Her Mother, Beverly Cleary

Dumbo (Duh!)

Getting a Life, Helen Simpson

Why Did I Ever, Mary Robison

Choke, Darnella Ford

The Yellow Wallpaper, Charlotte Perkins Gillman

Troubling Love, Elena Ferrante

Movies: Mildred Pierce, Mask, Terms of Endearment, Mother Goose (yes, I mean that one)

"Of all of the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable"

Thank goodness for Plato--he puts it all into perspective you know?  My 10-year old son is an enigma wrapped in cranky jackass rolled in brainy-ness dipped in goofiness and finally layered with sweetness and light.  I'll throw in a heavy coating of conditional hearing loss while we are at it (although let's face it, they don't grow out of this trait). 

I've been told that's this is pretty normal for kids who are 10, with boys just being a bit 'more' of everything--I agree, with my definition of 'more' being the daily dose of performative drama that is the basis for all activities in their life--whether it is asking them to set the table, to come in for dinner or to remind them to not pass the pile of clean clothes on the stairs for the 57th time.  Every interaction at this point in their life comes with dramatically large interpretive body movements, vocalizations and handy props.  It's exhausting just to watch, much less engage.

There are days when I look at my husband and wonder where this angry dervish came from...who is this whiny, pissy boy stomping up the steps and slamming doors because I asked him to feed his cat.  Wait, he's back and he's dressed up at Hillary Wan Knobi and he's fighting for freedom everywhere until he knocks over a bunch of stuff with his light saber and stomps up the stairs, slamming his door because it wasn't his fault.  Wait, now he's playing his electric guitar singing about cows and world peace, until I compliment him and he's slamming his door and yelling about privacy.  Wait. He's offering to ride his bike with his sister...nope, that's over now too..something about her telling him what to do and yup, back up the stairs. So close..... Now he's mad because we want him to read instead of playing his DS...or is it the other way around, or because he can't have the 4th cookie, or because I made ________ for dinner instead of _________ or because he has to wait and watch the Pacific on Saturday or because I asked him about a girl, or his socks, or his underwear....

I asked him once if he every yells at me in his head to just "shut up Mom" and his answer was a sweetly phrased, "All the time Mom, all of the time."  I tell him I feel the same way and that we know this is a phase and that we love him and that we are never going to stop talking to him about emotions and choices and responsibility and family and.... I look at him and he at me and I know that he knows that I know that he's doing that thing inside his head again.   So I shut up.  And now it's me getting the 4th cookie cause I'm feeling like I like him a little less right now.  

And yet, everything is colored by the fact that he is my sweet, sweet baby--and I remember the joyful abandon of his first "big boy pee" (off the back porch, of course).  Of knowing that he is absolutely amazing with his sister and always has been.  That we love to fish together.  That he's funnier than shit most of the time.  He loves his pets deeply (don't ask about Greyback the Russian hamster).  And nice?  There hasn't been a sport he's played where a parent from the other side hasn't made a point of telling us what great sportsmanship our son has.  He loves talking to his Grandpas and Grandmas.  He is a keen reader like his mom and a poet/songwriter with phrasing that I cannot comprehend. He stands up for his friends at school, loves to talk about democracy and US history and even has set up a number of 'votes' in various classes about issues and races he's felt strongly about.  Like his Grandpa John, he's never met a stranger in his life.  Like his Dad he feels and thinks deeply and strongly. Like his Grandpa Marty he is a keen recorder of life through photos and video.  Like his Grandpa Dan he loves his sports and history and science shows on TV.  He is, I am proud to say, an amazing kid.

Even when I find his socks in the kitty litter box, his army men in the washing machine and that he's only worn one pair of underwear all week.  After all, he's 10. And a boy. Right?

Debating God(s) at Midnight

He had her at 'polytheistic'.

My husband sat on the edge of the bed at my request, as mine and my daughters' conversation had deteriorated to a series of "Nu-huhs" and "Uh-uhs".  He was attempting to clear up some confusion that he had caused earlier in the day about the historical reality of Christianity versus Judaism versus Buddhism. 

My part of the conversation started only a few minutes earlier when she turned over and asked to ask  '...just one more question'.  It had to do with the Holy Trinity and that God was a man, but then what were the other Gods, and so on and so forth.  I parsed her commentary and went with what I thought was easiest...that there were many religions in the world and they were all different and good, but that Christians/Cathloics believed that there was only one God. 

"Nu-huh...Daddy said Christians believe in many gods."

"Well," I said carefully.  "I think you might have heard him wrong, or be confused by his answer because that isn't right."

"Uh-huh" she said.  Now I was confused...was she Nuh-huh and I was Uh-huh. Or was it visa-versa.

"Dad!".  We'd go straight to the source.  Looking back, that was a bit of a mistake.

I explained the issue quickly and he, this loveable man of mine, launches into a discussion about the the difference between polytheistic and monotheistic and how religions throughout history had changed over time and that.....

She was, ironically, in heaven...this is what her questions in the deep dark were meant to do--commence a conversation that kept her intrigued until she tired out, typically far later than the rest of us.  I harrumphed and turned over and let them, my own little Colbert and Carell religious debating duo, go at it for a while.  She was crossing herself like crazy and talking about what "he" looks like because 'girl gods give her the creeps', oy vey. 

While they "chatted" I thought about it and I knew it was time to bring the books back out...you see, we are a blended faith family.  I am Catholic, my husband is Jewish. We each follow our faiths in our own way and we are together in trying to teach our children about each religion and those of the world. 

This results in lots of questions that we can't always answer, or in a situation where we (she says snarkily) don't answer the questions in a manner that is in any way helpful.  Polytheistic. Wtih a 7-year old. Really?! 

So, the two books that I think do the best at explaining the conundrum that is religion to children are  Old Turtle by Douglas Wood and What is God? by Etan Boritzer.   Old Turtle comes at it from a naturalistic fable point of view, with a wonderfully strong plea for universal acceptance.  What is God? does a fantastic job of explaining about the different belief systems, their similarities and differences, their persona, their 'books' and more.  Separately they are great and beautiful, with wonderful illustrations to boot.  Together, they are fantastic--especially if you want to ground your children in knowledge, but not close down their natural curiosity about such a vast subject.

Anyway, back to last night.  Finally, they wind down, we shut it down, and, with a combined heartfelt plea, beg for her to go to sleep! Kisses all around and then dark and quiet and cuddly, just the two of us again.

And then I heard her whisper, "I am smarter than you".

And then it was my turn to talk to God. Harrumph again

One Is NOT the Loneliest Number. Well It Is, But That Can Be A Good Thing

Being a "one of one" and "one of many" has been a constant struggle in my life.  Early on I grew to love the act of being alone.  You'd think being on a ranch miles from anyone and anywhere it would be easy, but with two brothers and two sisters and constant chores it was rare.  But I was driven and sneaky and found ways to slip away with snacks and books and discovered, as listed in an earlier installment, a number of great places on and around the Ranch where I could just be alone and quiet.  Angst or anger would drain away and then I could go back to the pentultimate "loud" family and play my role as loud and happy as the rest.

At college it was practically impossible--and then I grew to love the comraderie of a small but wonderful group of people who were able to see more than my periodic bullshit.

After college I found the quiet again...then lost it with a vengeance, thinking that I shouldn't like being by myself so often.  I found myself at places and with people when I really wanted to just be at home...and at times, I really should have listened to myself on that one. 

Looking back I married the perfect person--as he himself will often say to this day that he doesn't actually like people much, which is so wrong, because he is a charming and thoughtful conversationalist.  Pre-children we were close and cozy, very happy to be just the two of us.   

Now with two active children who Karma has vengefully decided are social animals (and with friends come their parents...who knew?!) and after we make time for us as a couple (which according to our counselor, we maybe shouldn't be in each other's pockets so much...what?!  I love his little pockets.), we sometimes find ourselves competing to see who can have that hour or two, or a real 1/2 day or (gasp) full day alone.  A-lone.  aLOne. Alllloooooonnne. 

Not only because we want the peace and quiet...although it definately is a part of it.  But because sometimes you need both the physical and emotional space to just get certain things done.  Not shopping or errands.  But real things--things that matter.  Personally, I do my best 'self-editinig' as I'm organizing the office or doing bills.  Walking through the house alone and fiddling with the bookshelves is when I'm best at figuring out why I'm on-edge for no apparent reason.  Dead-heading the flower garden without being asked to time this race or watch that amazing skateboard trick or answer whatever odd question popped into my daughters active brain is when I can plan the various household movements of the next month...getting it emotionally organized so to speak.  When I'm travelling, I love eating alone in a nice restaurant with a book and a place to make a list...this is when I create my own "big ideas for my life" list.  It is satisfying on many levels.

And, we are trying to teach this to our children.  Far past the age where any of their friends are forced to endure "quite time" it is something we try to do a couple of times per week--everybody needs to find a space, no electronics except music, and just "be".  It's easier for our son than our daughter--she fights it like she fights sleeping--but eventually she gets there and it's amazing.  The creativity or self-reflection we see later is a thing of beauty--and quite often hysterically funny.

I mention all of this because I ran across this article in the New York Times yesterday:  Embracing a Life of Solitude.  While they focus on the extreme cases--and the only young person mentioned quit for lack of women--you do get a sense of the pleasure these folks find in a life away.  And's for me, that's the key thing--a life or a moment or two away is a good thing--especially in today's overly connected world.  (I say this while mocking myself as I've got one eye on the damn Facebook chat bar where I have three people pinging me.)

Anyway, so while I don't have full day to myself until September 17, 2012 at 3:45,  I am looking forward to the 15 minute drive home, and Saturday morning from 9:45 to 10:30 when hubby will be out picking up the children from their sleepovers. I have big plans for myself then.  Big Plans.