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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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After the fact, one can joke about it, but don't let anyone tell you that a trip to the emergency room is anything like a party. Felix had a small incident in the park (minor, nothing remarkable in the long run) that triggered the occasion of Felix's (and my, actually) first trip in an ambulance.
It might be worth noting that an almost empty emergency room is something of which one might want to be a little skeptical, like an almost empty restaurant at 7:30 in the evening. It was a bizarre few hours spent with a doctor who seemed bent on being frightening or annoying (naming various syndromes Felix might have without really explaining things, asking me etiquette questions-- he asked what I did for a living and it was my mistake telling him--, telling my husband to cut out the salt and all other white foods, while he was at it, and generally providing a full year's quota of misinformation and upsetting distraction. . . which should be illegal in an election season, given how much junk is in the air as a matter of course).
Today we ended up going to the pediatrician to undo the fret that the ER doctor encouraged (the high point of which was suggesting that Felix might have a syndrome that in most cases requires no treatment-- Marilyn Manson has it and whatever problems he has have nothing to do with this issue). But I have to say that there is an etiquette to dealing with parents (and I wished the doctor had asked about something other than "paying for plates" at weddings). It is unwise to chide parents about their health when their kid has fainted. It is unwise to speculate about remote syndromes without explaining them. It is annoying if, when a parent tries to explain something you asked about, if you don't listen. I am not hysterical and I usually have a pretty good handle on medical terminology, so I'm actually a pretty good parent to talk to, and would have appreciated the benefit of the doubt.
So, grrrrrrrrrrr.
I'll be here with the Motrin.
posted by Elise at 4:35 AM
16 Comments
I Thought It Would Be Different
but it has turned out to be exactly the same...
"Don't compare" was what the pediatrician told me at Sebastian's 12-month check up. This was to encourage me not to dredge up Felix's landmark moments and hold them up as some sort of ruler for his brother. I really only do this a little bit, mostly because I don't have the energy to look up when Felix did what because-- and I realize that for many people this is a way of life, so my apologies if my complaint is something that you've long gotten used to-- the children have been waking me up somewhere between 5:15 and 5:30 in the morning lately and the schedule is not agreeing with me.
I wish it did, I have to say. I wish I could bounce up and not feel as if my brain were breaking. I wish I could hop up and, I don't know, work or run to a gym or just run or bake something or use those pale morning hours to learn a skill or be creative but instead I have the boys clinging to me and this feeling, born of inadequate sleep, that I am failing in all endeavors (including sleeping) settles in for the day. I even failed just now to end the previous sentence in anything like a timely fashion.
But my shred of hope in all of this, the beacon that suggests one day I will return to being able to rise at 6:30 or even 7:00 someday is the knowledge that when Felix was his brother's age, he was a dawn riser (I think Felix is jumping on the early morning band wagon because his brother is on it). I have photos of my pre-dawn Lego constructions as proof of that bleary era.
I shouldn't compare, of course, but I'm clinging to the hope that I won't be watching the sun rise for too many years to come except on my own initiative.
posted by Elise at 11:33 AM
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Growth, Revisited
After the failure of the eggling and about eight avocado pits refusing to sprout, I think Felix was beginning to doubt the received wisdom about greenery and since he's developed quite a passion for flora, gardening gets discussed quite regularly. Hourly on days when the subway system isn't topic A. (And if you have any questions about what train transfers are at Times Square or 34th Street, feel free to forward them to me, since I get a constant running report on those station activities.)
And then, two weeks ago, a large box from my sister-in-law appeared to save my child from his mother's questionable planting abilities. Welcome, the Aerogarden. Now we have tomatoes (2 varieties even) sprouting against all odds. So astonished am I that I moved another dodgy seed project (petunias in a bag) close to the Aero's light.
This is very exciting for Felix. I'm enjoying things as well, and will be even happier if he winds up eating more tomatoes as a result (for some reason he went off tomatoes where once they were a passion that accompanied every meal).
This whole planting business has been a bit sobering for me. I never have been particularly crafty (well not in a productive way at least) and I am not the kind of person to have a lot of projects cooking at all times (unless they're work related). Even getting multiple dishes cooked for a dinner taxes me a bit, so I'm not bound to have high flown plans for home-made play-doh or erector sets or... well the failure of my imagination is such that I can't even think of the things I don't offer to give you a list.
But I am also obsessed with these plants. All of these plants that are now in the house: the orchid, the petunias in a bad, the lavender in a bag, the tomatoes, the begonias that somehow thrive on neglect (how I've kept them going for 8 years is beyond me) and a jasmine plant that I have had to resurrect multiple times (it seems to prefer being watered regularly).
There has been some speculation that the aero tomatoes will lack flavor since they are hydroponic and won't have the advantage of sucking up tasty soil nutrients. We'll see. But as I said, if they show up at all, we're ahead of the game and if they make Felix's plates more colorful, I'm on board.
posted by Elise at 6:45 PM
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In What World
Should wearing red nail polish be worse for a girl than being able to play the French horn?
Since you're asking, allow me to show you this little vintage curiosity, a "Marital Rating Scale-- Wife's Chart" published in 1939 by a doctor at Northwestern (one George W. Crane, M.D., PhD).
For my part, I think that not only my husband but the entire apartment building would happily vote for Jungle Red fingernails on me over my waking everyone up as I bang around trying to "dress for breakfast." (Exactly what is required here, pearls, sweater set, heels over two inches?)
1939 produced a lot of quite interesting things, however, so we can forgive the year that produced this little rating scale for also giving us: Vivian Leigh as Scarlet O'Hara (a woman unlikely to let her husband sleep late), Claire Trevor in Stagecoach (her seams would be straight, but then again she's a prostitiute), Garbo laughing in Ninotchka (although it takes her a while in Paris for her jolly personality to appear), and The Wizard of Oz.
About the personality that created the little quiz (which incidentally, I found mentioned on Slate's XX Factor blog), I can only say perhaps he would have been better off with a cat (no cold feet under the covers, unlikely to go to bed with cold cream on the face, great at conversation) than a wife.
posted by Elise at 5:50 AM
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That Day Again
Well happy mother's day to all and sundry. I'm writing in that pasty jet-lagged state that sets in when one gets up at 5:21 am. But it isn't every day one gets to see all the stages of dawn breaking, so how's that for a Pollyanna attitude?
I may be bleary, but I did take note of a handful of articles that detail interesting trends in children's books and parenting literature. Since both of these genres have had me twitching
lately, it has been interesting to see what books Daniel Handler recommends, what new kiddie books Carolyn Hax has spotted recycling older, usually better, favorites, and for parents looking for guidance, Ann Hulbert at Slate suggests some volumes that won't make you feel worse about yourself. It is unlikely I will be drawn to any texts on the final list, though. It is hard enough to stay awake and make headway in any of the curious, pulpy or strange things I've been reading lately.
Overall, this season has been something of a disappointment. With the exception of toilet training (progressing apace, and that is all I will say about it), I have not made progress on anything and I walk down the street angry and stymied and have found myself increasingly wrathful when faced with people who don't like children in stores or dog runs or supermarkets or on the street. They're getting in my way and, as concerned as I am about the delicate sensibilities of the people around me, I wish someone would cut them some slack.
posted by Elise at 11:19 AM
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Policy
Rules are a major topic of discussion suddenly. There are of course the standard problems that three-year-olds bump up against constantly and it stands to reason that they would want to issue a few mandates so that their carefully constructed Lego and couch cushion environments don't get cleaned up by a thoughtless mother. A new edict was issued this morning:
If he touches my treatments he gets smashed!
This was largely ignored because Sebastian ignores all rules (or screams at them) and I never managed to uncover what exactly the treatments in question were, and since it was unlikely that they would be able to help with my headache I didn't feel this was pressing.
But springtime in Gotham is bringing out the preschool policy maker in everyone and now I want to start strangling people.
Among the people who need a kick in the teeth:
- The woman who told a friend of mine that her young children sitting on a (mostly) empty bus should stand because they didn't pay a fare and so didn't deserve to sit.
- The man who tried to tell me that Sebastian wasn't allowed in the dog run with my terrier because he isn't eight years old. (The actual rule, for anyone who is counting, is that children under thirteen are not allowed in New York City dog runs without an adult, and much as he would like to take the terrier and go off without me, I would be remiss to let Sebastian go before he can take more than eight or so consecutive steps.)
- The angry guy on the supermarket "express" line who picked a fight with the depressed looking woman in front of him who had a bag of lemons that, since they had not come in a prepackaged container, needed to be counted individually which brought her total number of items WAY ABOVE THE 10 ITEM MAXIMUM. (Happily I was just a spectator in aisle 2, and my check out of at least 20 items took much less time.)
I could go on. I went on all weekend about these jerks, in fact so maybe I'll spare you.
Now, you might think because I often write about etiquette and policies of social engagement that I like rules and enjoy the order they bring to the world.
But you would be mistaken. I like the idea of a guide. I like social suggestions because at times when I feel so deeply that I must only be a visitor to this planet with its strange ways and odd people I can pretend to understand what normal behavior might be.
But there are too many rules. I hate diets and food regimens. I hate dress codes and social straightjackets and I hate the clubby neighborhood smugsters who invent their own regulations and then get mad at you for transgressions you don't know you've made. Contrary to what you might think, I haven't yet actually been the recipient of neighborly bile, but it is coming. These eco conscious days make everyone want to protect trees from dog attentions (signs have gone up in various parts of the city hoping to shame owners into making the beasts re-embrace fire hydrants), and one gets scowled at for even using a single supermarket plastic bag. One can't let one's kid trot a few paces ahead on the street and I could go on.
So you'd think given how deeply people feel about these rules that life would be pretty civilized, pretty easy, but it is actually impossible. It's actually like living in a sea of preschoolers where the policies are capricious and changeable and he policy makers (the Deciders, if you will) are constantly revising their thoughts without warning and flying into screaming rages.
If it were really a polite world, the rules would be that one shouldn't constantly point out everyone else's small transgressions (there's always an exception or life-threatening or life-damaging situations) but as it is, I spend a lot of time wishing I could tell some strangers that they should go to their rooms or risk my taking their dessert and throwing it in the garbage.
posted by Elise at 12:10 PM
4 Comments
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