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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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But I Neeeeeeeeeed It
Salon published an interview this weekend with a woman who has written a book about how parents today are incredible slaves to the marketplace and how we should know not to want to get toys that beep for our children. Did we really need to hear about this in a book called Parenting Inc.?
Not at all, really. Is this a cautionary tale? Are people too dumb to know that, yes, they have toys in the house that beep and need batteries? Do books like this really work to re-train people who are subject to bouts of (or even lifestyles of) excess? In my case they make me want to go out and celebrate flashing beeping toys without shame, but I wouldn't for many reasons, not the least of which being the fact that I'm rather prone to migraine (and my sleep deprived state pretty much puts me on the edge of the migraine precipice constantly these days).
I'm not a fan of leading statements, because they're annoying attention-grabbing gestures that are usually anticlimactic anyway, but I'm going to make one now. If you're really interested in this sort of stuff and have an even mildly well developed sense of irony, wait a few months for something that will suit your purposes much better.
You heard a whisper here first.
posted by Elise at 8:12 AM
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Text
I had no business reading or even perusing the "books" section of the New York Times yesterday morning. There was the baby who takes pleasure in literally gnawing on me (he laughs when told "No" in the Severe Voice). There was laundry to do. There was the thicket of Felix's crayons to collect (while encouraging him to clean up with one of those insidious Clean Up songs that are catchy but not entirely effective).
But I was reading it online between bites (Sebastian's) and I saw an article about a woman and her book. Meg Wolitzer has written a book called The Ten Year Nap about stay-at-home mothers (or in the current lingo, "moms who opt out") and their fancy lives. She says quite pointedly that she didn't want to write a polemic or anything that was controversial. She merely wanted to write about this segment of the population and their experiences (in New York). This is fair enough, but I do wonder why this is so compelling. What is it about mothers who don't work that makes people want to write about them so much? I'm thinking about The Nanny Diaries a little bit here (and, no, I haven't read it), but I realize that book is more of an expose, a topical revenge tale, but there's also Little Children which is about stay-at-home mothering and its discontents. These stories always seem to have a lot of moralizing and punishment in them, which is a bit depressing, but I suppose given how guilty mothers feel all the time about everything, moralizing and punishment are pretty obvious things to include.
I am not really objecting to the fact of these books (and movies), as much as I am confused that they're emerging as their own sub-genre. Where is the novelty? Is there novelty? Non-working mothers aren't really anything new.
posted by Elise at 9:02 AM
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Invisibles
I'm back! Did you miss me?
The whole lot of us were away for a few days and I remain astonished at the volume of stuff babies require for even simple excursions.
Anyway, while we were away someone new made an appearance, or as close to an appearance as she is capable of making. Felix has his first imaginary friend. She's a young blonde person or animal (I can't quite tell) who used to live a block away from us but as of this morning she was residing in the house. She is a big talker, I can tell you, because he spent a good portion of his time abroad yakking away to her on the phone.
She seems very nice and has a bunch of friends or relatives (also unclear) whose names rhyme with hers. I don't know if they're planning on moving in too or if they're just content with staying in the neighborhood.
Travel may be good for the spirit but it is hell on sleep, but as you can see, I have rigorous, high tech methods that keep me perky, or at least upright.
posted by Elise at 12:34 PM
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Eleventh Hour
Yesterday, and I'm not proud of this, I actually drove myself to tears by trying on a bathing suit while not in the correctly adjusted frame of mind. (I don't know what this would mean, exactly, but I suspect being drunk would help). I do not have a suit in hand and have resolved to manage with my ancient one.
Soon, the three men and I (terrier is not joining us) are bounding into uncharted territory: our first family trip. It is spring vacation and for only the second time in my life, I am hopping on that bandwagon (the first time was a strange excursion while I was in college and dating a much older man-- we went skiing with his friends and since I had only been skiing once before at that point I spent my days alone on the kiddie slopes, it wasn't the kind of spring break that makes one long for more).
All I can say about this now, though is that it will be a miracle if we make it out the door, since I haven't even located our suitcase (suitcases?) yet. My usual standard panic about turning work in, hitting deadlines, taking care of things is at its usual levels and the prospect of packing for the children is more than a little daunting. What makes it additionally tricky is the fact that Felix tends to pull things out as I pack them and his brother has a strange clothing imbalance that I think can be fixed with a little dedicated searching and an afternoon trip to a storage unit that I now suspect houses most of my brain.
This is all to say that you may read an SOS on these pages posted from someplace far flung.
One way or the other, you'll hear something.
posted by Elise at 7:25 AM
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Nipped
I have many vices. That is a point of fact, not pride, and I generally try to disguise or at least not talk so much about these things. In many cases, I just don't know if it is worth complaining or highlighting something that I probably won't be able to fix. I don't have the energy to address all of these things.
I bite my nails. This is something I have always, always done. I do it in boredom or anxiety. It is an unpleasant habit at best, and I have gone in to remission at times and curbed myself, but at times... and oh look I'm in one now, the tendency comes surging back. (I should try the regular manicure route or something like that but I just don't have the time to deal with it. I'm more interested in finding a way to deal with some other things first. Bathing suit season is approaching unfortunately.)
Last week in Slate, Emily Bazelon wrote of her own battle with nail biting and witnessing it blossom in her own kid. This is something I dread. It is enough that I've passed on my party angst to Felix, without something like this.
Bazelon tries to cure her son of his nail biting and this is where I think I might have put on the breaks. Is this a habit the parent must break or can kids-- even adult ones like me-- take it upon themselves to nurture or drop nail biting on their own? I have always been quite annoyed when people, whether it be a parent or an (ex) boyfriend try to correct me if they catch me in the act. Or is it doing a disservice to the child not to correct this tendency?
So far so good, though. Neither of my boys has succumbed to the gnawing tendency.
posted by Elise at 4:40 AM
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Heart of a Marshmallow
Have I complained here about how soggy my previously flinty little heart has become? I know it is the inevitable muckyness of having had children relatively recently.
Where previously I couldn't watch any movie involving animal threat or death (and even in fourth grade I had to leave my classroom, weeping weeping weeping when the class story hour got to the end of Where the Red Fern Grows-- someone else is going to have to read that one to the children; I'll call dibs on Treasure Island). And now I'm having trouble hearing the standard Local News Horror stories about abandoned children and other awful things that just make me start to sweat suddenly. This was never a stumbling block for me before and I'm sure I'll harden up again at some point, but it is almost embarrassing. I get irritated and uncomfortable with books that throw in kid/dog/other animal death as little non-essential throwaway plot points, and want to put them aside.
It all makes me restless and annoyed, as if I'm welded into an outfit that doesn't fit. (Although having said that, nothing does fit right now so maybe I'm actually projecting my sartorial issues onto other aspects of life.)
Does this squish go away? Does it set in for everyone? I want my taste back. It's no good being a spineless sourpuss.
posted by Elise at 12:02 PM
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