MMO Essays: Why can't men be more like women? By Nandini Pandya. This is a terrific piece ruminating on the costs and benefits of care-giving, talking especially about the ways women are differentially paying the costs. She comes up with some suggestions for change, among them this one:
"Many women would gladly settle for 75 percent pay if they could work 75 percent of the 40 hour week. Creative flextime, and job sharing arrangements can make this a viable option. In fact, I know this can work, because I have been fortunate enough to work with managers (yes, most of them men) who have seen the benefit of having a committed, passionate, dedicated and oh-so-grateful employee even though she is available only 75 percent of the time."
As always there's great stuff at Mother's Movement Online. This essay by Nandini Pandya (which I found through a link from Miriam Peskowitz's blog) is smart and helpful.
And yet. Why does even smart, committed feminist Pandya assume that it's women who will want the flextime? Why not men working 75% time for 75% pay?
Right now I'm working 100% (or more) of 40 hours a week for 100% of the salary in our house. Mark would love part-time work, but if you think it's hard for women to negotiate that, try doing it as a man. And yet creative types like Mark are among the most likely to want part-time work in some ways: pay some bills, make some art, run some errands--it's the way his life really should be organized.
There's so much more over at MMO that I need to spend some time there myself now. I may be back with more about it later.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Friday, November 11, 2005
New(ish) YA Lit
I don't read as much YA (Young Adult) literature as I should, given that 1) my daughter is a young adult and 2) I teach children's (which includes YA) literature. So yesterday I went on a little rampage and read three books, and they are all remarkable.
They are also all what might be termed "edgy." In a book that got a lot of press about a year ago, Welcome to Lizard Motel, Barbara Feinberg complains that kids' books are too sad, too taken up with "problems." (She cites Bridge to Terabithia, a book I find sad but also uplifting, as an example...) Well, that may be. But then again, life is rather too taken up with "problems" for my taste, and problem novels have the advantage, usually, of being able to solve their problems.
But I digress. These are all, arguably, "problem novels." Weetzie Bat has a baby her partner isn't ready for, her gay friends deal with HIV/AIDS, and her father kills himself. Daisy, in How I Live Now, leaves the States to go live in England with some cousins because her father's new bride is a contender in the wicked stepmother sweepstakes, but she gets caught up in a war. And Michael, in Skellig, moves to a new house and has to face the possibility that his premature baby sister will die.
And yet. They are all fabulous books, lyrical and imaginative and thought-provoking. While I liked all three of them, it's Skellig that I keep thinking about today. I gave it to Mariah right away; it is the most brilliant example of magical realism outside of Latin America that I've ever encountered. At some level it takes up the Darwin vs. Intelligent Design debates, but not so you'd be put off by it from either position. And the writing is just spectacular in a quiet way.
I still don't have a book order list for next semester; I'm not quite sure what books I'll teach in what way. But somehow I've got to get Skellig on the list.
They are also all what might be termed "edgy." In a book that got a lot of press about a year ago, Welcome to Lizard Motel, Barbara Feinberg complains that kids' books are too sad, too taken up with "problems." (She cites Bridge to Terabithia, a book I find sad but also uplifting, as an example...) Well, that may be. But then again, life is rather too taken up with "problems" for my taste, and problem novels have the advantage, usually, of being able to solve their problems.
But I digress. These are all, arguably, "problem novels." Weetzie Bat has a baby her partner isn't ready for, her gay friends deal with HIV/AIDS, and her father kills himself. Daisy, in How I Live Now, leaves the States to go live in England with some cousins because her father's new bride is a contender in the wicked stepmother sweepstakes, but she gets caught up in a war. And Michael, in Skellig, moves to a new house and has to face the possibility that his premature baby sister will die.
And yet. They are all fabulous books, lyrical and imaginative and thought-provoking. While I liked all three of them, it's Skellig that I keep thinking about today. I gave it to Mariah right away; it is the most brilliant example of magical realism outside of Latin America that I've ever encountered. At some level it takes up the Darwin vs. Intelligent Design debates, but not so you'd be put off by it from either position. And the writing is just spectacular in a quiet way.
I still don't have a book order list for next semester; I'm not quite sure what books I'll teach in what way. But somehow I've got to get Skellig on the list.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Nick and Niobe
Nick had to do a project on Greek mythology over the month of October. The kids were allowed to choose any myth, retell it, and illustrate it with a diorama. Now, I hate projects, but Nick is a crafty guy and he was happy about this. We started chatting about various myths--Perseus and the gorgon? Hercules? the birth of Athene? These were all pronounced "boring" because he knew about them already.
So we handed him Bulfinch's Mythology.
And he chose the story of Niobe.
Now, I don't know about you, but the story of a proud mother whose children are killed to teach her a lesson doesn't seem an obvious crowd-pleaser to me. But Nick was firm. He made a mountain of construction paper, placed a (construction paper) rock (Niobe) on top of it, and scattered (construction paper) dead daughters around the shoe box. He got to make arrows to stick into one or two sons who also littered the scene. He made a (construction paper) trickling stream of tears to flow from Niobe-the-rock.
I would prefer not to draw any conclusions about my son's character from this story.
So we handed him Bulfinch's Mythology.
And he chose the story of Niobe.
Now, I don't know about you, but the story of a proud mother whose children are killed to teach her a lesson doesn't seem an obvious crowd-pleaser to me. But Nick was firm. He made a mountain of construction paper, placed a (construction paper) rock (Niobe) on top of it, and scattered (construction paper) dead daughters around the shoe box. He got to make arrows to stick into one or two sons who also littered the scene. He made a (construction paper) trickling stream of tears to flow from Niobe-the-rock.
I would prefer not to draw any conclusions about my son's character from this story.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Flexible Time
I have several friends who've left academe recently, some for secondary school teaching, some for other kinds of positions. People leave academe for all sorts of reasons, and though I'd note that all the people I know who are doing so seem to be women with children, I'm not sure it's because the academy is family-unfriendly in its essence. But I do know that the promise of flexibility which so many of us believe in often fails us. That is, we expect to be able to choose our schedules, to work at home in our pajamas on the days when we don't teach, to be available to our children for school drop-off and pick-up--and then, the department chair needs us to teach an 8:30 or a 4:15 class and there we are, just as tied to a schedule as anyone else.
But this is not, today, a lament. Because today my flexible schedule paid off. While I am inflexible in the afternoons, unable to pick Nick up from school more than once a week, if that, my mornings are often quite open. I teach late in the day but come in early, and thus get lots of unscheduled but necessary things done during normal people's actual working hours. This is a good thing.
The thing is, I don't have to be in at any particular time (well, until my office hours begin at ten, or my class at 12:30). So today, when for the first time Mariah and I missed her bus, I could take her in to school thirty miles away and not worry about missing my own class. We saw the bus driving away at 7:10, as we were still a block from her stop. (I won't go into my frustration about the bus driver's seemingly flexible schedule--some days he doesn't arrive until 7:15, other days he leaves at 7:05.) We went to the stop anyway, just in case it was another bus, but it wasn't...so we just got on the highway and I drove her in to school. Round trip: one hour, thirty minutes; $1.25 in tolls; and don't even think about the price of gas (less than it would have been last month, anyway).
Next semester I have an 8:15 class so all my flexibility will be at the end of the day, and if she misses the bus I don't quite know what we'll do. But this is the first time it's happened in a year and a half, so maybe we'll dodge that particular bullet for another long while.
But this is not, today, a lament. Because today my flexible schedule paid off. While I am inflexible in the afternoons, unable to pick Nick up from school more than once a week, if that, my mornings are often quite open. I teach late in the day but come in early, and thus get lots of unscheduled but necessary things done during normal people's actual working hours. This is a good thing.
The thing is, I don't have to be in at any particular time (well, until my office hours begin at ten, or my class at 12:30). So today, when for the first time Mariah and I missed her bus, I could take her in to school thirty miles away and not worry about missing my own class. We saw the bus driving away at 7:10, as we were still a block from her stop. (I won't go into my frustration about the bus driver's seemingly flexible schedule--some days he doesn't arrive until 7:15, other days he leaves at 7:05.) We went to the stop anyway, just in case it was another bus, but it wasn't...so we just got on the highway and I drove her in to school. Round trip: one hour, thirty minutes; $1.25 in tolls; and don't even think about the price of gas (less than it would have been last month, anyway).
Next semester I have an 8:15 class so all my flexibility will be at the end of the day, and if she misses the bus I don't quite know what we'll do. But this is the first time it's happened in a year and a half, so maybe we'll dodge that particular bullet for another long while.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Ten Commandments a Terrorist Threat
Ten Commandments a Terrorist Threat: "Commandment 10 prohibiting covetousness violates interstate commerce regulations as well as the first amendment protecting the free speech of all commercial advertisers. The freedom to covet is vital to the economic and political interests of the United States. Covetousness has always been a strong indicator that freedom is on the march, both here and around the world. "
there's more if you click the link...
there's more if you click the link...
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Blog Book Tour
My colleague over at Literary Mama, Andi Buchanan, has a new edited collection out, It's a Boy. So I'm joining in her blog-book tour this week.
Here's a taste of what's in store:
The Introduction to "It's a Boy"
An interview with Andi about "It's a Boy"
The writers contributing to the book are:
Stephany Aulenback, Karen Bender, Kathryn Black, Robin Bradford, Gayle Brandeis, Faulkner Fox, Katie Allison Granju, Ona Gritz, Gwendolen Gross, Melanie Lynn Hauser, Marrit Ingman, Susan Ito, Suzanne Kamata, Katie Kaput, Jennifer Lauck, Caroline Leavitt, Jody Mace, Jennifer Margulis, Jacquelyn Mitchard, Catherine Newman, Sue O'Doherty, Marjorie Osterhout, Jamie Pearson, Lisa Peet, Jodi Picoult, Maura Rhodes, Rochelle Shapiro, Kate Staples, and Marion Winik.
Some questions and answers:
From Rebecca Steinitz, contributor to the "It's a Girl" book:
Q: As you read through piles of manuscripts from mothers of boys, did you find any consistent threads? Anything surprising?
A: I was surprised by the sheer volume of pieces I got on wanting to have a daughter instead of a son. Of course, I had felt that way myself when I was pregnant and had been so attached to the idea of having two girls, but I hadn't encountered too many people in my real life who felt the same. So I surprised to get so many essays on being the reluctant mother of a son.
From Sandra of the blog Dance As If Nobody's Watching
Q: What seems to be the biggest thematic difference between boy-centric concerns and girl-centric concerns?
A: For both the Boy book and the Girl book, I received many essay submissions from writers who were conflicted about the sex of their baby, something I came to call "prenatal gender apprehension." But the concerns of writers in It's a Boy were about the otherness of the male gender: What the heck do you do with a boy? Some of the writers in It's a Girl ask a similar question about raising their daughters, but what prompts that question is not the fear of an unknown gender, but of knowing it all too well. Also, in Boy, writers talked about the act of separation -- letting go of teenagers and a mother's changing role as her child becomes an adult. This separation, though, was mainly about adolescents. But in It's a Girl, writers wrestled with letting go of daughters who were five, eight, nine, teenagers, grown women. Clearly – in these collections, at least -- identification and separation between mothers and daughters is a different terrain from that of mothers and sons.
From Shannon at Peter's Cross Station
Q: When I first heard about the project, it sounded like yet another opportunity to make stereotyped claims about gender in children. How have you been able to avoid falling into that old rut? How did you manage to do something new in this book (these books)?
A: Well, as I said in my original call for submissions, my whole idea with this book was to refute the gender stereotypes about boys and girls, and to explore whether or not those stereotypes really exist in actual boys and girls through essays by thoughtful writers. For the BOY book, I was specifically looking for pieces that questioned the cultural assumptions we have about boys -- whether the essayists ultimately embraced the stereotypes or rejected them was not as important to me as whether or not the writers wrestled with them in the first place. So the BOY book has pieces about a mother being surprised by a son's love, since what she experienced with her son ran counter to her expectations of what a boy would be like; about a transsexual mother grappling with how to raise her son in the face of everyone's attitude that her mere presence tips the scale in the direction of him being gay; about a woman nurturing her son's desire for soft, pretty things, even though a part of her wants to protect him from the harsh, messy world that will surely not be so kind; about boys who defy stereotypes, boys who fit them, and the way mothers adjust their expectations to fit the reality of who their sons are.
From Marjorie at MomBrain
A: You have a son and a daughter. How have these projects changed your feelings about mothering a son and mothering a daughter?
Q: I think the experience of having a boy and girl has probably changed my feelings more than working on these projects has. Pre-kid I was a big nurture versus nature proponent, but now having two kids and seeing how different they are, I am more prepared to believe that children pretty much come as they are – both of mine were born with their temperaments, and I feel like my work with them is to help them either cope with that temperament or embrace it. (And that's how I think of the differences between them, by the way, as differences due to temperament, not necessarily gender.) But working on the books did give me a wonderful chance to read so many people's stories about their lives as mothers of boys or mothers of girls, and I found these tales of varied experience quite absorbing. I did come away from these projects with the distinct impression that mothering a girl can be somewhat more . . . intense or personal than mothering a boy. There's something about raising a girl that makes a mother have to confront her own girlness, and brings up her relationship with her own mother. That kind of intergenerational fraughtness just doesn't seem to be there with mothers of boys – at least in the stories in my book.
I'm not all the way through my copy yet, but so far I keep finding myself here and there--like Andi says, I am surprised at how many of us were a little disappointed/surprised when we found out we were carrying sons. And relieved to find that we are all managing, one way and another, to learn from our sons how best to parent them.
So far the most poignant, lovely essay I've read is my friend Susan's on the son she lost, Samuelito. This essay will break your heart.
Here's a taste of what's in store:
The Introduction to "It's a Boy"
An interview with Andi about "It's a Boy"
The writers contributing to the book are:
Stephany Aulenback, Karen Bender, Kathryn Black, Robin Bradford, Gayle Brandeis, Faulkner Fox, Katie Allison Granju, Ona Gritz, Gwendolen Gross, Melanie Lynn Hauser, Marrit Ingman, Susan Ito, Suzanne Kamata, Katie Kaput, Jennifer Lauck, Caroline Leavitt, Jody Mace, Jennifer Margulis, Jacquelyn Mitchard, Catherine Newman, Sue O'Doherty, Marjorie Osterhout, Jamie Pearson, Lisa Peet, Jodi Picoult, Maura Rhodes, Rochelle Shapiro, Kate Staples, and Marion Winik.
Some questions and answers:
From Rebecca Steinitz, contributor to the "It's a Girl" book:
Q: As you read through piles of manuscripts from mothers of boys, did you find any consistent threads? Anything surprising?
A: I was surprised by the sheer volume of pieces I got on wanting to have a daughter instead of a son. Of course, I had felt that way myself when I was pregnant and had been so attached to the idea of having two girls, but I hadn't encountered too many people in my real life who felt the same. So I surprised to get so many essays on being the reluctant mother of a son.
From Sandra of the blog Dance As If Nobody's Watching
Q: What seems to be the biggest thematic difference between boy-centric concerns and girl-centric concerns?
A: For both the Boy book and the Girl book, I received many essay submissions from writers who were conflicted about the sex of their baby, something I came to call "prenatal gender apprehension." But the concerns of writers in It's a Boy were about the otherness of the male gender: What the heck do you do with a boy? Some of the writers in It's a Girl ask a similar question about raising their daughters, but what prompts that question is not the fear of an unknown gender, but of knowing it all too well. Also, in Boy, writers talked about the act of separation -- letting go of teenagers and a mother's changing role as her child becomes an adult. This separation, though, was mainly about adolescents. But in It's a Girl, writers wrestled with letting go of daughters who were five, eight, nine, teenagers, grown women. Clearly – in these collections, at least -- identification and separation between mothers and daughters is a different terrain from that of mothers and sons.
From Shannon at Peter's Cross Station
Q: When I first heard about the project, it sounded like yet another opportunity to make stereotyped claims about gender in children. How have you been able to avoid falling into that old rut? How did you manage to do something new in this book (these books)?
A: Well, as I said in my original call for submissions, my whole idea with this book was to refute the gender stereotypes about boys and girls, and to explore whether or not those stereotypes really exist in actual boys and girls through essays by thoughtful writers. For the BOY book, I was specifically looking for pieces that questioned the cultural assumptions we have about boys -- whether the essayists ultimately embraced the stereotypes or rejected them was not as important to me as whether or not the writers wrestled with them in the first place. So the BOY book has pieces about a mother being surprised by a son's love, since what she experienced with her son ran counter to her expectations of what a boy would be like; about a transsexual mother grappling with how to raise her son in the face of everyone's attitude that her mere presence tips the scale in the direction of him being gay; about a woman nurturing her son's desire for soft, pretty things, even though a part of her wants to protect him from the harsh, messy world that will surely not be so kind; about boys who defy stereotypes, boys who fit them, and the way mothers adjust their expectations to fit the reality of who their sons are.
From Marjorie at MomBrain
A: You have a son and a daughter. How have these projects changed your feelings about mothering a son and mothering a daughter?
Q: I think the experience of having a boy and girl has probably changed my feelings more than working on these projects has. Pre-kid I was a big nurture versus nature proponent, but now having two kids and seeing how different they are, I am more prepared to believe that children pretty much come as they are – both of mine were born with their temperaments, and I feel like my work with them is to help them either cope with that temperament or embrace it. (And that's how I think of the differences between them, by the way, as differences due to temperament, not necessarily gender.) But working on the books did give me a wonderful chance to read so many people's stories about their lives as mothers of boys or mothers of girls, and I found these tales of varied experience quite absorbing. I did come away from these projects with the distinct impression that mothering a girl can be somewhat more . . . intense or personal than mothering a boy. There's something about raising a girl that makes a mother have to confront her own girlness, and brings up her relationship with her own mother. That kind of intergenerational fraughtness just doesn't seem to be there with mothers of boys – at least in the stories in my book.
I'm not all the way through my copy yet, but so far I keep finding myself here and there--like Andi says, I am surprised at how many of us were a little disappointed/surprised when we found out we were carrying sons. And relieved to find that we are all managing, one way and another, to learn from our sons how best to parent them.
So far the most poignant, lovely essay I've read is my friend Susan's on the son she lost, Samuelito. This essay will break your heart.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Time to clean house...
Dr. B..wants to know what's in your pockets/purse. I do have a cough drop in my pocket, but the purse...well, the purse.
1. My palm pilot/wallet: a leather case full of palm pilot, cash, credit cards, receipts, random slips of paper, business cards (mine), and a picture of Mariah (Nick's picture day was Wednesday; I'll get it in here soon.)
2. Monster key ring with 12 keys (some of which I can't identify), 1 mini credit card, 4 store discount cards, and a bottle opener.
3. Cell phone.
4. Various rumpled kleenex.
5. A small pack of kleenex.
6. Reading glasses.
7. Car keys for both cars.
8. A flyer from the bank, to remind me to check on a deposit.
9. Face powder.
10. Perfume oil in a little spray vial.
11. Mini-size marble composition book (blue).
12. Name tag. (Hey, I might forget!)
13. Two business cards picked up at a writing conference last fall.
14. Directions to doctor's office, with scribbled note about a song Mariah and I liked.
15. Ticket stub from Ethos Percussion Group (last year).
16. Ticket stub from Chesterfield Berry Farm (June).
17. Eye drops.
18. Sample size purell hand sanitizer.
19. Expired coupon from J. Jill.
20. Post-it with four book titles/call numbers. (I did actually check these books out, so I can probably get rid of this.)
21. Listerine breath-strip thingies.
22. Loose change: 77 cents.
23. Folded note from Mark asking me to get some books from the library (call numbers included; books already obtained).
24. Old grocery list.
25. Slips of paper with mildly inspirational sayings or ideas I wanted to remember (three).
26. Extra (black) button in small plastic bag.
27. Extra leather lacing for the sandals I wore all summer, also in a small plastic bag.
28. 1 lip balm, 1 lipstick, 3 lipglosses.
29. 4 coughdrops.
30. Expired Target film developing coupon.
31. 3 black pens, 4 blue pens.
32. 1 bobby pin.
OK, so now numbers 4, 13, 15, 16, 19, 20, 23, 24, and 30 have been thrown away. And I am actually proud to discover I have more pens than lipstick/lipgloss in my purse. That's not always the case. And don't even ask about my desk, or my computer/book-bag. Yes, they are just as bad, if not worse.
How about you?
1. My palm pilot/wallet: a leather case full of palm pilot, cash, credit cards, receipts, random slips of paper, business cards (mine), and a picture of Mariah (Nick's picture day was Wednesday; I'll get it in here soon.)
2. Monster key ring with 12 keys (some of which I can't identify), 1 mini credit card, 4 store discount cards, and a bottle opener.
3. Cell phone.
4. Various rumpled kleenex.
5. A small pack of kleenex.
6. Reading glasses.
7. Car keys for both cars.
8. A flyer from the bank, to remind me to check on a deposit.
9. Face powder.
10. Perfume oil in a little spray vial.
11. Mini-size marble composition book (blue).
12. Name tag. (Hey, I might forget!)
13. Two business cards picked up at a writing conference last fall.
14. Directions to doctor's office, with scribbled note about a song Mariah and I liked.
15. Ticket stub from Ethos Percussion Group (last year).
16. Ticket stub from Chesterfield Berry Farm (June).
17. Eye drops.
18. Sample size purell hand sanitizer.
19. Expired coupon from J. Jill.
20. Post-it with four book titles/call numbers. (I did actually check these books out, so I can probably get rid of this.)
21. Listerine breath-strip thingies.
22. Loose change: 77 cents.
23. Folded note from Mark asking me to get some books from the library (call numbers included; books already obtained).
24. Old grocery list.
25. Slips of paper with mildly inspirational sayings or ideas I wanted to remember (three).
26. Extra (black) button in small plastic bag.
27. Extra leather lacing for the sandals I wore all summer, also in a small plastic bag.
28. 1 lip balm, 1 lipstick, 3 lipglosses.
29. 4 coughdrops.
30. Expired Target film developing coupon.
31. 3 black pens, 4 blue pens.
32. 1 bobby pin.
OK, so now numbers 4, 13, 15, 16, 19, 20, 23, 24, and 30 have been thrown away. And I am actually proud to discover I have more pens than lipstick/lipgloss in my purse. That's not always the case. And don't even ask about my desk, or my computer/book-bag. Yes, they are just as bad, if not worse.
How about you?
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
I heart The Onion
'Scooter' Libby Wishes He'd Ditched Nickname Before Media Coverage | The Onion - America's Finest News Source
Of course, I'm not crazy about Scooter's last name being all over the news, either, but I'm living with it.
Of course, I'm not crazy about Scooter's last name being all over the news, either, but I'm living with it.
NPR : 'Elements of Style' Goes Beyond Words
I heard this story on the radio this morning, about Maira Kalman's illustrations for The Elements of Style. I want it, I want it! The (verbal) illlustrations of principles of clear writing (and, often, unclear writing) are such a joy in this book; it's brilliant of Kalman to have thought of illustrating it visually as well.
Interestingly, amazon.com recommends Joan Didion's latest, The Year of Magical Thinking to purchasers of the Kalman book. I want that, too, but I'm still trying to think of why customers who bought one bought the other.
(P.S. There's also an opera! We missed the concert performance, though...)
Interestingly, amazon.com recommends Joan Didion's latest, The Year of Magical Thinking to purchasers of the Kalman book. I want that, too, but I'm still trying to think of why customers who bought one bought the other.
(P.S. There's also an opera! We missed the concert performance, though...)
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Random thoughts on Hallowe'en
Nick was not, after all, Darth Vader for Hallowe'en. Instead, he was a Cyborg Alien. I'm not quite sure why, but he has decided that one must be "evil" (not just "scary") for Hallowe'en. This lets out all the cute funny costumes of years past (most memorably, Mark once made him a swan costume so he could be Louis from The Trumpet of the Swan). He went out with four other boys from the neighborhood and the mom of two of the boys, and came back in an hour (maybe less) with a load of candy. Which, unprompted, he offered to share with Mariah (though he did put limits on what she could take). So despite his really ghoulish appearance, he remains a (mostly) sweet kid.
Hallowe'en was otherwise fairly unmemorable. We bought pumpkins on Sunday (after striking out Saturday when Nick couldn't choose one that fell within my price-and-size guidelines--he's not always sweet!). Nick carved his later that afternoon, with help from a neighbor and supervision from Mark. Mariah carved hers in the twenty minutes between dinner and the first onslaught of trick-or-treaters. She then sat on the couch trying to do homework as kids streamed up to the door. "I hate kids," I heard her say. So I took over handout duty.
Every year, it seems, there are more bought costumes, fewer homemade ones. This was the first year we ever bought a costume solely for Hallowe'en. (Mariah had two costumes that were purchased on sale after Hallowe'en that lived in her dressup box. One of them, a fabulous furry bear costume, did actually appear on her and, later, on Nick on the actual day.) But this year we were just like everyone else, it seemed. I saw a few little kid costumes that might have been homemade, but they were really rare. And the kids without costumes just make me sad. I always think the dressing up is the point, the candy the side-benefit, but apparently not everyone agrees.
It was warm this year but we didn't have a big crowd. We always get enough takers to clear out four or five bags of candy (this year it was four, supplemented by a couple of handfuls from our neighbor, who got home too late to hand out everything he'd bought). I recognized about a third of the kids/families; the rest were strangers, but that doesn't mean they don't live in the neighborhood. Still, I felt as if we really didn't get into things this year--as if it were just a chore. I'm not quite sure why.
Hallowe'en was otherwise fairly unmemorable. We bought pumpkins on Sunday (after striking out Saturday when Nick couldn't choose one that fell within my price-and-size guidelines--he's not always sweet!). Nick carved his later that afternoon, with help from a neighbor and supervision from Mark. Mariah carved hers in the twenty minutes between dinner and the first onslaught of trick-or-treaters. She then sat on the couch trying to do homework as kids streamed up to the door. "I hate kids," I heard her say. So I took over handout duty.
Every year, it seems, there are more bought costumes, fewer homemade ones. This was the first year we ever bought a costume solely for Hallowe'en. (Mariah had two costumes that were purchased on sale after Hallowe'en that lived in her dressup box. One of them, a fabulous furry bear costume, did actually appear on her and, later, on Nick on the actual day.) But this year we were just like everyone else, it seemed. I saw a few little kid costumes that might have been homemade, but they were really rare. And the kids without costumes just make me sad. I always think the dressing up is the point, the candy the side-benefit, but apparently not everyone agrees.
It was warm this year but we didn't have a big crowd. We always get enough takers to clear out four or five bags of candy (this year it was four, supplemented by a couple of handfuls from our neighbor, who got home too late to hand out everything he'd bought). I recognized about a third of the kids/families; the rest were strangers, but that doesn't mean they don't live in the neighborhood. Still, I felt as if we really didn't get into things this year--as if it were just a chore. I'm not quite sure why.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
New Stuff
I have a review of Miriam Peskowitz's The Truth Behind the Mommy Wars and Judith Warner's Perfect Madness up here now.
And a new column, here.
Let me know what you think! And check out the rest of the great stuff at Literary Mama, too.
And a new column, here.
Let me know what you think! And check out the rest of the great stuff at Literary Mama, too.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
I am a wimp
Becca, in comments, says she's waiting until November to turn her heat on, even though it's colder in her house than mine. The Yarn Harlot is again engaged in the competition with her brother to see who can hold out the longest before turning on the heat--and they live in Canada. I, on the other hand, am basking in the warmth of clunky old radiators and a thermostat set at 68. From the warmth of my living room, I bow to their greatness.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
I love my son
I was battling with Nick before he was even out of bed yesterday. Legos strewn on the floor between the dresser and bed, the new Darth Vader costume wadded up on the floor (it's too big, Mommy! I can't wear it!), a pile of stuffed animals mounded up on top of him in bed...it set me off and we were at odds with each other until we left the house. In fact Mark offered to drive him (as he usually does) but by that time I wanted closure, maybe even a chance to make things better, so I hustled him in to the car myself.
In the car:
"Mommy, I don't want to say I don't like my backpack, because I do-- but I wish kids wouldn't tease me about it."
"About what?"
"Well, everyone says it's a girl color because it's purple.* But there's no such** as girl colors and boy colors! There are just colors!"
"You're right, Nick--and even if there were, purple used to be a color for kings, right?"
"I said that. But A still says it's a girl color and R said he'd tell on me for it!"
So kids are threatening to "tell" on each other for gender infractions. Third grade's tough.
Well, we talked about it for a while, and agreed with each other that, no, there's no such as boy colors and girl colors, but that it hurts when your friends tease you anyway. After school we talked some more about it, and remembered that he does have friends who don't tease, and tried to work out who teases and who doesn't, and why. We didn't really solve that, but it was good to talk about it anyway.
He doesn't really want me to buy him a new backpack in a boy color. He wants me to make the world right. Unfortunately, it'll be a whole lot easier to buy him a new backpack. In a boy color. Sigh.
*Not only is it purple, it's pale purple, maybe even lavender. With pale gray. And, to tell the truth, Mark bought it for Mariah, who decided she didn't want it. (She's not carrying a backpack at all this year, just an assortment of bags.) But it was such a deal, and such a great shape, size, etc., that we kept it anyway, and Nick asked to use it.
**Nick has always used this locution rather than "no such thing." I'm not sure why.
In the car:
"Mommy, I don't want to say I don't like my backpack, because I do-- but I wish kids wouldn't tease me about it."
"About what?"
"Well, everyone says it's a girl color because it's purple.* But there's no such** as girl colors and boy colors! There are just colors!"
"You're right, Nick--and even if there were, purple used to be a color for kings, right?"
"I said that. But A still says it's a girl color and R said he'd tell on me for it!"
So kids are threatening to "tell" on each other for gender infractions. Third grade's tough.
Well, we talked about it for a while, and agreed with each other that, no, there's no such as boy colors and girl colors, but that it hurts when your friends tease you anyway. After school we talked some more about it, and remembered that he does have friends who don't tease, and tried to work out who teases and who doesn't, and why. We didn't really solve that, but it was good to talk about it anyway.
He doesn't really want me to buy him a new backpack in a boy color. He wants me to make the world right. Unfortunately, it'll be a whole lot easier to buy him a new backpack. In a boy color. Sigh.
*Not only is it purple, it's pale purple, maybe even lavender. With pale gray. And, to tell the truth, Mark bought it for Mariah, who decided she didn't want it. (She's not carrying a backpack at all this year, just an assortment of bags.) But it was such a deal, and such a great shape, size, etc., that we kept it anyway, and Nick asked to use it.
**Nick has always used this locution rather than "no such thing." I'm not sure why.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
cold
It is 62 degrees fahrenheit in my house this morning. Now, I'm ready for the cooler weather (the baking! the knitting!) but this is a little much for me. Nick's oatmeal was, he says, "room temperature" by the time I got it from the microwave to the dining room table. That's too cold.
So I guess I need to go remember how to light the pilot light on the heater. I have been waiting for November, out of some misplaced sense that if we don't light the pilot light until November we won't go broke heating the house. But if we freeze to death before that we'll save more money, but for what? (OK, I realize 62 is not even close to freezing to death--indulge me.) If I don't post for a few days, send out a search party. I may be lost in the wilds of junk that currently populate our basement.
So I guess I need to go remember how to light the pilot light on the heater. I have been waiting for November, out of some misplaced sense that if we don't light the pilot light until November we won't go broke heating the house. But if we freeze to death before that we'll save more money, but for what? (OK, I realize 62 is not even close to freezing to death--indulge me.) If I don't post for a few days, send out a search party. I may be lost in the wilds of junk that currently populate our basement.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
make this cake!
Becca posted a great cake recipe here: Not Quite Sure: Chocolate Banana Cake
I made it tonight (you'll notice she pretty much dared me to) and, yes, it's that good. Mark said it was one of the best cakes he'd ever had. And I make a lot of cakes. Everyone loved it. And the frosting is really easy and good, too.
Oh, and all that about "good quality chocolate"? It could be better, I suppose, but mine was Hershey's all the way (both for the cake--cocoa--and the frosting--semisweet) and it was fine.
I made it tonight (you'll notice she pretty much dared me to) and, yes, it's that good. Mark said it was one of the best cakes he'd ever had. And I make a lot of cakes. Everyone loved it. And the frosting is really easy and good, too.
Oh, and all that about "good quality chocolate"? It could be better, I suppose, but mine was Hershey's all the way (both for the cake--cocoa--and the frosting--semisweet) and it was fine.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
me and netflix
I get these movies, and then they sit and wait for me to watch them, and then, I don't, and after a while I send them back. Or watch them. Luckily the kids watch a lot of movies and so I try to keep the queue filled up with their stuff--in fact, Mariah has her own queue, so there's almost always something for her. And Nick has had the Star Wars saga going for a little while. But I finally got around to Pirates of the Caribbean last night. I'd been wanting to see it, and never had, so I put it on the list and it came. And then, it was playoff time, and if I was going to stay up late for something it was going to be baseball. But last night there was no baseball, and no one else was home, either. Mark and Nick are out camping and Mariah was with a friend. So I heated up leftovers, poured a glass of wine, and popped in the movie.
Which immediately popped back out again. "Disk unplayable," read the screen. And indeed, the disk that's been sitting next to my TV for two weeks unwatched, not even out of the sleeve, had a big crack across it.
Luckily Blockbuster is only two blocks away. I know it's evil, but --like I said-- two blocks away. And I had a coupon. I found the movie and somehow the coupon that I thought said $1 off made the movie free.
And my dinner was still hot (ok, warm) when I got home.
Which immediately popped back out again. "Disk unplayable," read the screen. And indeed, the disk that's been sitting next to my TV for two weeks unwatched, not even out of the sleeve, had a big crack across it.
Luckily Blockbuster is only two blocks away. I know it's evil, but --like I said-- two blocks away. And I had a coupon. I found the movie and somehow the coupon that I thought said $1 off made the movie free.
And my dinner was still hot (ok, warm) when I got home.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Oh dear
I fear I've created a monster. Not all by myself, certainly. I had help. But I fear that Mariah is destined for the same nerdy future her parents inhabit. Of course, there are worse things: soul-crushing boredom comes to mind. But financial security may be out of the question for her.
Today she said to me, "most of my friends haven't really read Alice in Wonderland, or Through the Looking-Glass. And they mix up the characters in them, and the stories. E only knew three characters, the Mad Hatter, the Rabbit, and the Walrus. And the Walrus isn't even really a character, he's just in a poem that someone else says!"
Well, yes. They've all seen the Disney cartoon, whereas you, my dear one, are inhabiting the book. (Have I mentioned that she seems to be committing it to memory, reading it nightly as she falls asleep?) Those who inhabit books, however pleasurable that world is (and I have my doubts about Alice, though that's another story) are, I fear, doomed to inhabit academe as well.
I will look into why I fear that my daughter would follow in my footsteps another day. Many parents would, I know, rejoice in that knowledge. Hmm.
Today she said to me, "most of my friends haven't really read Alice in Wonderland, or Through the Looking-Glass. And they mix up the characters in them, and the stories. E only knew three characters, the Mad Hatter, the Rabbit, and the Walrus. And the Walrus isn't even really a character, he's just in a poem that someone else says!"
Well, yes. They've all seen the Disney cartoon, whereas you, my dear one, are inhabiting the book. (Have I mentioned that she seems to be committing it to memory, reading it nightly as she falls asleep?) Those who inhabit books, however pleasurable that world is (and I have my doubts about Alice, though that's another story) are, I fear, doomed to inhabit academe as well.
I will look into why I fear that my daughter would follow in my footsteps another day. Many parents would, I know, rejoice in that knowledge. Hmm.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Into the woods - The Boston Globe
Here's an interesting take on the popularity of English fantasy fiction in America today. He doesn't mention Harry Potter or His Dark Materials--interesting and perhaps telling omissions--but it's an pretty good piece nonetheless. The idea that fantasy is somehow purely escapist is one of the most pervasive and wrong-headed myths I know about the genre.
Click the link to read the whole piece, or just check out the last paragraph here.
Into the woods - The Boston Globe: "Who can ignore the merry foreground, the delirium of distraction, that currently prevails in American life-in a country at war, under threat of terror, with an impending energy crisis and a scandalous political culture? One senses that unknown dangers are preparing to assert themselves, and the closer they get, the dreamier everyday life begins to feel. This sensation is the hallmark of the English fantasists: Evil encroaches on the Shire, hallucinated blood spreads across a field at the Sandleford warren. The consolations of fantasy exist only in relation to its special terrors, and if we choose to seek these consolations and terrors in the archetypal darkness of the movie theater, or in the ancient privacy of a book, might we not be closer there to the truth than in the land of make-believe that awaits us outside on the street, or when we put the book down?"
Click the link to read the whole piece, or just check out the last paragraph here.
Into the woods - The Boston Globe: "Who can ignore the merry foreground, the delirium of distraction, that currently prevails in American life-in a country at war, under threat of terror, with an impending energy crisis and a scandalous political culture? One senses that unknown dangers are preparing to assert themselves, and the closer they get, the dreamier everyday life begins to feel. This sensation is the hallmark of the English fantasists: Evil encroaches on the Shire, hallucinated blood spreads across a field at the Sandleford warren. The consolations of fantasy exist only in relation to its special terrors, and if we choose to seek these consolations and terrors in the archetypal darkness of the movie theater, or in the ancient privacy of a book, might we not be closer there to the truth than in the land of make-believe that awaits us outside on the street, or when we put the book down?"
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
fall baseball
I am watching way too much baseball. Every year this happens. We don't have cable, so I can't really follow baseball during the season. Besides, it's just somehow wrong to watch a lot of TV in the summer. But then the playoffs roll around and I find myself sitting on the couch glued to games between teams I don't even care about. I ask you, the Angels? The White Sox? Houston?? (I have a soft spot for the Cards because Tony La Russa does a great radio interview, and a good friend is a die-hard fan. But otherwise...)
One good thing about baseball is that I get a lot of knitting done, though. I've finished this (admittedly, started before the playoffs began) and this (scroll down) in the past few days. My knitting rut continues--I've made the spiral scarf three times now, I think, and the wrap is similar to (though easier than) the clapotis that obsessed me in the spring. I am still afraid to knit anything where the shape or fit actually matters. Or, for that matter, anything that has to be made in pieces. Though I have this cool red and black yarn that I really think wants to be a sweater...so maybe I should bite the bullet and try.
One good thing about baseball is that I get a lot of knitting done, though. I've finished this (admittedly, started before the playoffs began) and this (scroll down) in the past few days. My knitting rut continues--I've made the spiral scarf three times now, I think, and the wrap is similar to (though easier than) the clapotis that obsessed me in the spring. I am still afraid to knit anything where the shape or fit actually matters. Or, for that matter, anything that has to be made in pieces. Though I have this cool red and black yarn that I really think wants to be a sweater...so maybe I should bite the bullet and try.
Monday, October 17, 2005
three pears left
The two boxes of pears are almost gone: there are only three left. The last big batch of them ended up in this, which is very tasty. The pastry is truly well-named, too. I have a little bit of a pastry fear, but this one really was easy. And tasty. I cheated and just used chocolate chips rather than chopping up chocolate, and I think chopped would have been better, but it was just fine as is.
Mark and Nick are going to pick apples on Friday, so there will be apple baking over the weekend. I can't wait.
Mark and Nick are going to pick apples on Friday, so there will be apple baking over the weekend. I can't wait.
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