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You've got questions, she's got answers. Be among the first to read Elise Mac Adam's new etiquette guide.
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A Notice to Do-Gooders
Should you happen to see someone out with her child, and the poppet happens not to be wearing hat or mittens, don't run up and tap that person on the shoulder to point it out.
Chances are, the person in charge of the tot knows that it is bareheaded and barehanded and would not find any news in this comment.
If you do venture on with this gambit, and the mother says, in an attempt to be good-natured and not do violence to your shins with her boots: "He won't wear a hat or gloves." Don't reply: "You're his mother, you make him."
And even if you're deluded into thinking that your concern will convince anyone to do anything you suggest, ever, don't go on to say that you work for an ear nose and throat doctor and you can tell that the kid's pink fingertips are frostbitten. A good rejoinder for that authoritative tip (that has been used by others, not yours truly) is the reply: "Well, then maybe when they fall off, he'll come around to wearing gloves."
But there is something notable about your response to the fireman, who has been watching this whole exchange, and who steps in himself to confess: "My kids won't wear gloves either." What was it you said? Oh yes, "That's what's wrong with the world."
This exchange does demonstrate something that's wrong with the world, but it has nothing to do with winter outerwear.
posted by Elise at 4:05 PM
3 Comments
Life Interrupts Mope
After scooting out to see the rather grim yet uplifting yet grim movie Children of Men, I have been brooding about the pressures of parenting. I haven't been doing this in a regretful way, but I have been a little unusually aware of the fragility of things. There is a brief mention of a flu pandemic in the movie that sent me into a little worry-cycle that was broken by the incredibly captivating story. Not only do I recommend the picture, I feel obliged to mention the performance of one small terrier in particular. A breed near and dear to me.
But it is impossible to sustain a movie inspired mope for too long, even one inspired by a really good movie, because all sorts of living intrudes. (This is why it is a good thing that I didn't become an academic- it is harder for life to intrude in the Ivory Tower and I'd probably have fallen into a swamp of mope and never have gotten out.)
Read, for instance, the very funny, if rather disgusting, article about a lice-filled vacation by Emily Yoffe in Slate. I had lice as a kid. The whole family did, actually, and it was incredibly annoying and unpleasant but nothing painful or threatening. It just seemed like yet another one of those things one has to endure that is a huge pain in the ass like doing taxes, or having chicken pox, or taking standardized tests.
But Yoffe's piece really did remind me of those weeks in Charlottesville, VA where my mother was driven to distraction by laundry and endless hair combing. From my new vantage point, I can see the nightmare more clearly. Of course, here in New York, there are substantial cottage industries based on getting rid of lice, because where there's a plague, there's a profit.
posted by Elise at 9:12 AM
1 Comments
Post-Christmas Angst
I know, most people are troubled by having to see family and wrestle with thorny social circles for the holidays, but I have actually never minded all of this. I enjoy the frivolity and one really can learn something. Who knew that candy cane makers, when they get sick of tradition, make shot glasses out of their signature product? Who knew that I would, in a weak moment, purchase them?
After all, if it weren't for the rare dress-up occasion I would never know that my kid was such a clothes-horse, and so desperate to wear a tie. (No, he doesn't have one, but he insisted on carrying one of his father's to lunch and kept it draped it around his neck until fun won out over formality.)
And so what if the living room is littered now with little pieces of wooden people and their accoutrements? That's what this week is for.
My problem is the New Year. Toddler-like, I don't handle transitions well and the sands are shifting much too quickly for my stringy constitution. Most of the changes are actually for the good, but it doesn't really matter when you have to plan them or undertake them. I've been watching parents of slightly older children, studying how they guide their kids through the day so that each transition doesn't bring on tears and tantrums. I can only wish I had some similar techniques to apply to myself.
Instead I feel like the White Queen from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland:
"... the Queen began screaming so loud that she had to leave the sentence unfinished.
`Oh, oh, oh!' shouted the Queen, shaking her hand about as if she wanted to shake it off. `My finger's bleeding! Oh, oh, oh, oh!'
Her screams were so exactly like the whistle of a steam-engine, that Alice had to hold both her hands over her ears. `What is the matter?' she said, as soon as there was a chance of making herself heard. `Have you pricked your finger?'
`I haven't pricked it yet,' the Queen said, 'but I soon shall - - oh, oh, oh!'
'When do you expect to do it?' Alice asked, feeling very much inclined to laugh.
'When I fasten my shawl again,' the poor Queen groaned out: `the brooch will come undone directly. Oh, oh!' As she said the words the brooch flew open, and the Queen clutched wildly at it, and tried to clasp it again. `Take care!' cried Alice. `You're holding it all crooked!' And she caught at the brooch; but it was too late: the pin had slipped, and the Queen had pricked her finger. `That accounts for the bleeding, you see,' she said to Alice with a smile. `Now you understand the way things happen here.'
`But why don't you scream now?'Alice asked, holding her hands ready to put over her ears again.
`Why, I've done all the screaming already,' said the Queen. 'What would be the good of having it all over again?'
In spite of my angst, and the sadness that an Ativan holiday isn't available to me at the moment, I have high hopes that everything will work out and all my present raging will make me look as foolish as the White Queen.
posted by Elise at 7:06 AM
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Garish Monstrosities - OR - Why I Can't Bring Myself to Mind Plastic Toys
A close friend gave Felix a Christmas present that delights him. It is a large plastic pirate ship. I watch him playing with his swashbucklers with great pleasure myself, though in the back of my mind are the host of conversations I've had with people at various school tours and parenting things.
"I hate all of those horrible plastic toys. They're so ugly and I care a lot about the aesthetics of my home, so we only allow wooden toys."
"Plastic toys are unhealthy."
"One of the things I promised myself when I had kids was that I wouldn't compromise about those toys with those horrible colors. My environment is precious to me and those colors really offend me."
"I don't want to be one of those mothers who just allows anything in the house."
And I think about these conversational snippets and feel a bit abashed, and conscious of the ways in which I have not insisted on enough rigor in my son's life. I care about my environment, the way I live. I have sharp tastes in quite a number of areas.
But these are toys and I don't care.
Actually, it's more complicated than simply not caring. In the first place, I am grateful to anyone who takes the time to select a present for the Felix, particularly one that entertains him, encourages imaginative play and makes him happy. It would be rude and hostile to turn up my nose.
And I also think that some aesthetic variation is healthy. Taste is individual, but it is shaped by exposure. I went through that hideous phase that so many adolescents go through, where only movies of the French New Wave and American pictures made before 1958 were acceptable. . . but what I moron I was because I hadn't seen enough Chinese, Iranian, Japanese and Canadian movies. And I learned to be less of a snob without throwing my sensibilities out the window.
Taste is also shaped by temptation and withholding- rebellion and indulgence. It's a fetishistic sort of enterprise. If I were to restrict all impure playthings, who's to say Felix wouldn't grow up to have appalling sensibilities and develop Liberace-type aesthetics so that visiting his abodes will make one dizzy and in need of anticonvulsants?
So in my case at least, it isn't that I don't think about relative ugliness and it isn't that I don't care. But I can always put my kid's toys in a box or a closet. There will be plenty of time for endless important rules, but the plastic & primary color issue is low on my list. And I can't possibly sneer when my kid is delicately offering his pirates pieces of his (yes, organic) breakfast cereal.
posted by Elise at 8:13 AM
3 Comments
Train, Train
It is all too appropriate in this moment of being chronically out of it that I would only hear about something lively happening in the City from a mass email, sent by a friend currently residing in Texas.
At the moment, in a few spots in the city, you can see some remarkable electric model trains, zipping around remarkable landscapes. My tipster's information said that there are exhibits at FAO Schwartz, Macy's "with unprecedented train track placement in the branches of a Christmas tree", the Citicorp center and Grand Central Station.
The allure of model trains never really caught me. I respect them and the environments people create for them, but they fit into an odd category of hobby for me. Once you've set up the little world, all you do is run the train through it. You don't even push it yourself and stage little battles employing strays from the jungle animal toy set and assorted little people. It all seems rather static.
But yesterday promised to be a day where no work would be accomplished so I packed the kid up and took him to Grand Central Station. Who knew the place would hold such allure? Before we even reached the Transit Museum outpost, Felix was fascinated by the constellations illustrated on the ceiling. (I tried to show him the one little sooty spot that was left after the huge renovation and cleaning was completed in the late '90s- the ceiling was covered with so much sludge from decades of cigarette smoke that the images were pretty much invisible- but he wasn't interested.) He also loved the very odd "light show" that goes on a few times an hour.
Anyway, Felix must "get" something I don't, because he was quite gripped by the trains. He loved all the tunnels and noises, the tiny people and the lights. And the whole business is beautiful- from the little replica of Grand Central Terminal, to King Cong scaling a modest Empire State building. I can't argue with him. Pay a visit if you can- even if you think this isn't your cup o' whatever.
But I can complain about the fit that was pitched when it was time to leave.
posted by Elise at 8:14 AM
7 Comments
I Don't Need to Relate
I don't read that much new literary fiction. I have nothing against it, but my interests are really in contemporary genre writing (mysteries, thrillers and the odd book about the fantastic), novels from the 18th through the early half of the 20th century and certain areas of non-fiction. (Right now I'm reading a fascinating book about walking called Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit which is having a powerful effect on the way I'm seeing the City as I hoof my way through it.)
This weekend, the New York Times's Style section ran a piece about the "mom lit" phenomenon, in which the "chick lit" single-gal-in-the-city-with-friends-and-credit-cards-looking-for-love themes get shifted to an additional (cash) register- I say "additional" because as I understand it, there is no shortage still of discussions about fabulous shoes and handbags, and this will surely be complemented by some sharp stroller and nursery decor chatter.
I don't really know, of course, since I haven't read much chick lit, and the only mom lit book I can claim to have read is the novel my father gave me, The Bad Mother's Handbook.
And I'm not interested in this new genre. I should be, perhaps, but I just find this business rather annoying. What I DO find interesting is the fact that these books are being produced at a volume high enough to rate a big piece in the Times's Sunday Styles section (why not Books?). I don't necessarily want to have anything to do with the characters in the books I read. It isn't necessary for me to "share" their problems and interests for me to be entertained and amused. I know what a pain in the ass it is to shovel food into a toddler and I'd much rather read about a woman investigating a cult that steals dreams, or sinister adventuresses out for themselves, happy to marry or murder their way to financial comfort.
Am I odd in this? Do people really prefer stories that model their own, with better accessories?
If so, why?
And if not, why do people cynically think that mothers are so easy?
posted by Elise at 6:55 AM
1 Comments
Post-Party Crank
So the season hasn't filled me with good will. I have hopes, of course, but they're a bit dim, in part because people are annoying me.
One of the things that I suppose is inevitable when one has a child is that some people decide that you have become someone else, someone hideously boring and awful and not worth their time. Sometimes these people wander off and stop returning telephone calls and don't respond to jolly notes in which one abstains entirely from mentioning the offending tot. Sometimes people vanish because they are having difficulties having children of their own and, again, even if one does one's best never to mention one's child out of delicacy and respect, the acquaintance is lost. This is unfortunate and made more unfortunate when one exerts oneself to pretend so hard that nothing has changed, that one is still as interesting as one ever was.
I threw a party a while ago, as the gingerbread house implies. I've done it for six years running and it draws an extremely vague sort of crowd. It's an afternoon thing, and people who have children often bring them, but sometimes their kids are busy with their own lives, so the parents come solo. Sometimes people show up with other peoples' children. Quite a number of regulars don't have kids of any sort, and never intend to have them. Some people bring dogs. This year four dogs, including my terrier, were in evidence. (It really makes post-party clean up so much easier.)
And some people show up with a full sourpuss in place spouting comments like: "Well, I don't have children." Or "Oh, there are really a LOT of kids around." To which I say either: "I don't care, plenty of people here don't don't" and "Why don't you have a drink?" But really, what exactly is the point of going to a party where you know children will be in evidence, where you have actually been warned of that fact, if you are just going to snark at your host that the presence of kids makes this Just Not Your Kind of Thing?
Why should there be this division? It's rude and I don't encourage it. This is an event with no rules. You could drink red wine and beer and eat odd cheese and Italian sausages. There were cakes and chocolates and all sorts of adult fare that most of the younger children were too short to reach. If you stood up, only the odd teenager could possibly interrupt you.
I have no quarrel with people who don't want to show up or who find children repellant or painful. They generate reasonably plausible excuses, and pleasantness is preserved. (One friend has been doing this for six years running with no ill-effects.)
So why tell a parent, who happens to be hosting, that her guests, and indeed her own offspring, are problematic and unpleasant? Is the goal just to make sure she knows that she'll never really be acceptable again?
Who knows?
I wish I could adopt something of my grandmother's philosophy. I've mentioned it on these pages before and she would say this about her problems with the phone company as much as she would about annoying people.
"They can all go to Hell."
But I don't have her resolve.
The weird thing is, the cranky people inevitably return year, after year. My guest list may need adjusting.
posted by Elise at 3:59 AM
3 Comments
This Season's Exquisite Corpse
I know I said I was putting domesticity aside for a while, and truly I am, but indulge me in a moment of pride at having, quite literally, gotten something together.
Coming from a family that has little time for tradition (not out of contempt or anything, everyone just gets busy and that's the way it is), even gently poking at one of my own seems not only extraordinarily optimistic but a recipe for let down.
Still, for six years now I've managed to get it together to build a little house out of gingerbread- with decorating help from family friends and some strangers, of course. The architecture is the same every year and the goal is less Martha Stewart than exquisite corpse- highly individual but collaborative with a single formal goal in the end.
Every year I think I can't possibly manage. Every year there is a late night session with burned fingers as I assemble the little structure and the diorama around it.
Tradition is far from my forte, so I hope I'll be able to keep it together and that my child will find this project amusing, not embarrassing. Though I expect access to sufficient amounts of candy and colored icing might take a bit of the sting out of having a silly parent.
posted by Elise at 4:32 AM
0 Comments
More of the Same or Something Actually New?
So the New York Times ran a piece about the impending launch of Babble, the kid companion site to Nerve. I don't necessarily think this is a bad idea but I also don't know what to say about it.
So so SO many parent publications say they are different and nonjudgmental and capable of inspiring people to be as clever and hip as they were before they had kids. This is a reasonably reasonable endeavor, but I keep thinking (even as I clearly contribute to the heap on these pages) that the best, most direct way to explore the person one was before one had children is to maintain the interests, fancies and follies one had before the tots began hanging around.
I'm not saying in the least that this is a snap, but I think it's a thought worth entertaining.
We'll see what Babble does, but as an example of their mission, they say they're going to publish a neutral, helpful, non-shrill, truly enlightening, non-judgmental spread about whether or not to circumcise, and I wonder if the tiny universe of incredibly annoying people with strong opinions on this will overwhelm Babble's combined desires to be edgy and well-adjusted.
For my part, I'm going to make an effort to be a little less domestic (although those who know me might wonder if that is even possible) and more adventurous in my thinking. This may be a bit tricky with a child who had his first real, true, genuine, heart-pounding, hands-shaking nightmare last night... but it is worth a shot if it clearstheclouds.
More work, more movies (at home, probably), more books (with few pictures). That's the agenda.
posted by Elise at 6:15 AM
1 Comments
Fun and Threat &...
Friends were abroad and brought back this little prize: a 6-pack of Kinder Surprise Eggs. I love Kinder Surprise Eggs, which, to the uninitiated are very thin eggs of chocolate that surround a capsule packed with a little collection of plastic pieces that can be fit together to form a tiny toy.
Is this description unhelpful? Well, the company web site is rather more illuminating and there are tons of avid collectors. (In fact, these friends previously gave us a book detailing all the Kinder Surprise Egg surprises by category.)
Now, my excitement about this is that, of course, these items are not really legal in the United States. The toys are all meant only for children aged 3 and up (choking hazard fears), but the actual illegality comes from the fact that in this country, you are not allowed to see food that has encapsulated toys (chocolate eggs, for example).
Responsible me will put my Kinder Eggs into hiding, away from the grasp of my climbing toddler, but I can't banish them entirely. I know they're illegal in this country, but latex balloons sure aren't and they are a thousand times more deadly. One can't be too careful, but it is rather against my tendencies to deny myself things like this, where danger is actually manageable with the help of high shelves.
Addendum: Quite a bit of sad, hard news has come in lately, including a death- someone with whom I had not been in touch in recent years but who, as it turns out, managed to shape a large part of my life. I won't go into it all, but I am so grateful to this friend and so sorry that life ended so suddenly and so strangely.
posted by Elise at 1:26 PM
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Finally! A Pregnancy Article of Interest
Today's Health section of the New York Times at last ran the kind of piece about pregnancy that I find utterly compelling. Well, actually, it is about pregnancies that arent.
I'm not talking about miscarriages or blighted ova or anything of the sort, I am talking about false pregnancies, the classically named "hysterical pregnancies," clinicaly termed pseudocyesis.
The piece is rather shallow on the kind of information one would most like: why does this happen, how does this happen, what happens when women who suffer from pseudocyesis are disabused of their belief - and their body's belief - that they are going to have a baby?
I'm not one of those people who really enjoys pregnancy, so I do wonder how much work it would take for me to convince myself for 40 weeks (or so) that this strange metamorphosis is actually happening when it isn't.
I don't really think the women whose bodies and minds make this mistake are strange or freakish, but I do wonder if pseudocyesis is on the rise at all. With the huge cultural emphasis on pregnancy and the constant noisy public political, medical, social and spiritual dialogues about pregnancy, it is easy to see how the topic can become very large in some peoples' minds.
Oh, and P.S.: Apparently New York City has the dubious distinction of being the first city to ban trans fats. I'm not a huge trans fat fan, but I still don't really go for the idea of the City taking so much of an interest in what I may or may not eat.
Still, I'm now entertaining the fantasy that secret trans fat speakeasies will pop up all over town featuring fabulous delights that carry the extra zing of not only being bad for you but illegal to boot.
posted by Elise at 9:15 AM
0 Comments
Whew
Well, I've toured the last preschool, and have explored the possibilities of at least 4 educational philosophies including: Emilia Reggio, Developmental, Montessori, Traditional and one I would call Free-For-All.
I actually like spending some time perched on the edge of a tiny toddler chair, watching children do their thing. I have drawn a couple of conclusions: It is true what they say about girls having speedier language development than boys. Children will eat ANYTHING for snack. Every day has a witching hour where all the kids seem to collapse at once.
At the preschool level, one is given plenty of lectures about the different pedagogical techniques, and they all make varying degrees of sense, but when one tours these places, it is a little difficult to see these philosophies in action. The children's' behavior is largely similar in each setting.
Tell, me if I'm truly off the mark. I enjoy hearing about these schools of thought and find merit in many of them. It's just hard to see the subtleties of them in action.
But the inevitable discussions of the importance of community are truly getting me down. I have never been a joiner. I am, after all, the miserable creature who staged a successful hunger strike to get extracted from slumber camp. (My husband finds this hilarious. I am actually ashamed of myself, but I tell it here to illustrate that I really have come a long way, but am still dogged by a kind of joining-phobia.) Current parents at each school all say that their school has the best, most active, most supportive community and if you send your child there, people will watch your back for decades to come.
This is appealing, of course. But it is triggering the timorous yet angry part of my inner middle-schooler. What if I pick a great school for my kid that happens to be the wrong place for my social life? Does it matter? Should it matter? Is it better to scan the parent bodies and just hope I spot some people who somehow resemble me (distracted) or should I be aspirational and look for parents who might inspire me to: go to the gym more, stop eating so much caramel, buckle down and work harder, become more virtuous generally? Would it be better to be a rebel or a sheep?
Actually, the truth is, I am willing myself not to care about this too deeply. The moment I start to ponder this question too hard I start getting incredibly cranky. At bottom, I'll probably end up sending my kid to the one school he gets into and with any luck I'll be able to navigate any circle of parents, and who cares if I'm not the popular girl? I never was one in middle school; it's unlikely to happen now.
posted by Elise at 5:57 AM
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