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Glimmers of Hope
Fancy Free for 60 Minutes
In the Air
Care and Feeding
Movie Buffery
Dizzy in the New Year
Loss on a Day of Excess
Aged and Seasoned
Wonderful Life
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Glimmers of Hope
There is no doubt that times are bleak, but my little dark heart gave a peep of joy today when I said that coffee may lower one's risk of developing dementia. In the first place, I am the kind of girl who is terrified of dementia and who adores coffee and in the second place it is so nice to see a substance that healthy people constantly sneer at, that dietitians always tell you to give up in favor of green tea or calisthenics, that gets a bad rap generally suddenly look so good.
And this very same week's New York Times "Health" pages yield still more reassuring tidbits in the form of the semi-disgusting article about why it isn't a bad thing at all for children to eat dirt, as if one could avoid it.
I'll take my reassurance where I can find it.
And speaking of finding it... does anyone know where I can procure, quickly of course because I can't do anything in a timely fashion, interesting (cup)cake decorations online? They can be flowers or butterflies, bugs or animals... but as usual, I have to scramble.
posted by Elise at 12:42 PM
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Fancy Free for 60 Minutes
I don't often have the chance to take my father's advice, (for practical reasons, you understand-- I don't have a car, don't often need to cook a turkey and happily the apartment building where I reside doesn't require that I clean the storm drains). Today, though I seized a chance, ditched work for a while and, between Sebastian's doctor appointment and Felix's school pick-up went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see a show he recommended: "Art and Love in the Italian Renaissance."
Anyway, the show is pretty remarkable and contains a lot of objects in addition to drawings and paintings (lots o' Titian, and a few pieces of insane erotica-- one of which, until the 1990's, had been lodged in the British Museum's Secretum, which once held all sorts of scandalous art and objects through numerous cultures and ages and now holds... well, less stuff).
One genre of object with which I was entirely unfamiliar before this morning is the childbirth tray. If you are similarly in the dark, the childbirth tray was something of a 15th-16th century "push" present. These elaborate trays, painted on both sides were presented to new mothers and depicted a wide range of scenes (everything from rather naturalistic ones to completely surreal images) . The wall text at the museum did point out how high infant (and maternal) mortality rates were, what with plague, other diseases and general newborn fragility, so the triumph of a living child would warrant some sort of grand gesture, but I did think that all of the huffing and puffing and sniffy self-righteousness we do about presents for new mothers might be mitigated by the fact that this is hardly a new trend.
And let me say this now, knowing that I'll endure it more personally in the future as well, that there is nothing like being in a quiet gallery with a clutch of teenagers. It was hard to see, especially after leaving the nearby room full of erotic drawings and prints inspired by Greek and Roman Mythology (also part of this exhibit) how scandalous a Venus and Cupid could be, but finally the gasps and shrieks yielded an explanation: "Oh my god, he's PEEING THROUGH A HOOP! We HAVE to get OUT of here."
But their issues didn't manage to dampen my stolen hour (or so). The fact that I managed in my freedom and glee to lose my notebook full of vague thoughts and appointment reminders did, though.
posted by Elise at 5:11 PM
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In the Air
Years before I even decided to have a kid or two I was out at dinner in Chinatown and the friend on my left said that one of the interesting parts for him about having children is that they felt like little science experiments where he felt as if he was always gathering data.
"To what end?" I think I asked (though probably in a more roundabout way) and he said that there was no end, it was just always surprising to see what was going to happen next with them.
Now, in the wake of having the children, I see what he means, and I'll admit that there is some amusement not only in seeing what they will do or how they will react to thing, but to subtly provoking a situation. I have been known to forget to get up and retrieve a tissue after someone bellows: "Can somebody wipe my nose?" One can collect all sorts of curious data while waiting to hear the word "please".
Anyway, it isn't surprising that some people take this further. Here is a sort of squeamy article in today's New York Times about parents who are scientists of various sorts who can't resist using their kits as test subjects.
The Times is actually full of kiddie-stuff geared to provoke these days. The Grey Lady also ran a piece written by a pediatrician about children and the importance of basic manners. The question is about whether a pediatrician can make observations to parents about their children's comportment. For obvious reasons, I agree with the premise and don't really see how deeply controversial it could be, but it generated over 300 comments with people pointing out the obvious (kids-- and many adults--don't always behave so well when under the weather or stressed out), but it seems ridiculous to dismiss manners even with little children because they "won't understand" the meaning of the basics ("hello" "thank you" "please"). I figure if the default is to be sullen for no reason, what could be the big problem with training them to be at least mildly polite for no reason?
Finally, the New Yorker decided to wade into the angry angry waters of breastfeeding politics with a piece about the increasing popularity of breast pumps and the possible implications their common use could have on how seriously employers take maternity leave. This will surely generate ire from people overpersonalizing and figuring the article is saying that women should stay home with their kids while nursing, but it isn't too crazy to look at the breast pump trend (and I was on it, so I am not knocking it at all) and wonder whether employers will take the personal convenience afforded by these machines and try to encourage it into becoming a practical convenience for them by offering more pumping rooms in exchange for shorter maternity leaves.
That's what I've got on the newsy front. Beyond that I'm dreading another long weekend, the endless runny noses, the cold weather and a box of other developments have me on the shortest of short fuses. I feel like Divine in the original movie Hairspray when she barks that her diet pill is wearing off. Except that I don't take them and can't restore good humor and poise synthetically.
posted by Elise at 3:30 AM
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Care and Feeding
The other day, my husband returned from bike riding excursion to the park with the Felix eager to tell me about a few overheard conversations. Bike riding park visits afford a lot of time to eavesdrop because what one spends one's time doing is watching Felix bike in laps around a park loop while pretending to be a subway train (or conductor-- which is unclear).
One of the things he overheard was an exchange about preschool applications. As I have mentioned here before, getting one's kid into preschool in New York City (and, I gather around the country) is one tricky gauntlet. At any rate, the overheard woman in question was saying that her biggest concern, preschool-wise, is that her child only be given organic snacks and this is something she inquires deeply about at every open house and interview.
Most schools have a sort of communal snack policy where each parent brings in snack for the class every day and I can tell you, as a snack-preparer, that when faced with a week of snacks I do not go nuts to come up with an organic menu. Just figuring out what to bring at all is overwheming to me, but as I've said before, I'm no kitchen sorcerer. I'm not even the kitchen's sorcerer's apprentice. A week of snack looms next month and I get a knot in my stomach every time I think about it. I have tried quizzing Felix about his favorite snacks but he is pretty cagy about sharing school details and seems to be pushing hard for an all-cupcake week... which violates all reason, I know.
One woman I know told me that she was terribly concerned about lazy parents bringing in junk like yogurt sticks and crackers for the children and asked me how I thought she could go about ensuring that the school wouldn't let this stuff in and I caved and said that she would probably be best off telling the school that her child had some food sensitivitites and that she would have to supply her kid's snack every days. It makes for a lot more work but I tend to think that if you have an all-organic-all-the-time fetish, you are responsible for making that happen.
And kids get away from you anyway. They will always want to eat the thing that is the least organic most bizarre looking-- the cookie with the blue icing. The Hello Kitty candy bracelet. Ultra orange cupcakes that stain previously unstainable Halloween costumes.
So imagine my relief to see that I am not alone in thinking that a lot of the organic insisters need to relax. Laura Bennett writes for the Daily Beast about her encounters with organic overload.
posted by Elise at 9:30 AM
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Movie Buffery
Felix spent a solid 15 minutes this afternoon standing on a strip of paper and ripping it in half, then repositioning one piece to tear it in half again with his feet, and again and again until a large portion of our (temporary, yes still) apartment made crinkly sounds underfoot. Suddenly inspired I called Felix over to watch Gene Kelly doing much the same thing with a piece of newspaper in this dance number from Summer Stock.
Of course, and I should just expect this now, Felix was interested for about 90 seconds and then began to work on his own tap dance routine (or maybe it would qualify more as a soft-shoe given the paper on the floor) but his brother was mesmerized and demanded a second viewing. (Since Sebastian's 2-year molars appear to be coming in, I felt obliged to indulge him.)
This is not a moment where I'm celebrating my wide and varied skill sets, so while I was pleased with myself for actually being able to remember this dance number, the fact that Gene Kelly was the dancer, and the movie in which it appears (musicals, not being the genre I know best), I did look at my children and wonder if they would ever find this tiny ability of mine amusing, memorable, useful or just embarrassing.
Much of my familiarity with movies comes from having spent a considerable amount of time in the revival cinemas that littered Manhattan when my family first came to the city (the Metro, the Thalia uptown, the Thalia downtown, the Film Forum, Theatre 80 St. Marks Place...). And I think the Metro on 99th Street and Broadway was the spot I frequented most often. It was conveniently located between my school and my house and they changed the schedule of double bills daily. It was also a fabulous theatre, gigantic and clean with a big screen flanked by two giant goddess-type statues. I COULD be romanticizing it somewhat, but if I am, I'm not alone. If you want to see the place, you can watch Woody Allen's Hannah and Her Sisters. Allen winds up in the Metro watching the Marx Brothers and letting them improve his mood about not having a brain tumor.
Sadly what you can't do, and what you will never be able to do again, is actually see a movie-- recent or revival-- at the Metro. Just today I learned that it is going to become an Urban Outfitters. So here I am, and old coot, acting coot-ish, but to me the shame of it is that I'll never be able to take my sons to see something marvelous and old and hope they love it, or at least love going to this place with me.
But this is all sort of junky fantasy (and not even original junky fantasy) since a quick glance at my children tells me this sort of excursion would be hard to conjure, interest-wise, even i it were possible to buy a few tickets on any given afternoon.
posted by Elise at 6:50 PM
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Dizzy in the New Year
Cheers to you and to everyone who actually managed actual reveling. New Year's has never been my favorite holiday (the chill, the abundance of people who have drunk much much too much) and that combined with the impossibility of finding a babysitter made for a night in and a chance for me to practice one of my culinary exercises. I actually find that the people I know who do manage excursions rely on their parents to handle baby-watching.
My other issue with New Year's - or really, any moment where one is supposed to mark time's passage and think about what one has or has not accomplished - is that is always triggers bouts of dissatisfaction and something very much like regret. One has never ever done enough, never ever gotten enough done, never ever lost the weight or gotten tidy and organized. And there it is, that new calendar page looming. I have managed some things this year, both professional and domestical, among them these non-denominational holiday and birthday stockings, which I finished against all odds (and my husband was not above placing odds on the unlikeliness of my completing this mission). I need to approach so many other things with the kind of zeal that comes when one suspects people are betting against one. But that's what the new year is for. They say.
But one thing I can say with great force is that I am truly done with the holiday season. Felix has been asking to go back to school since December 23rd and in spite of my best efforts to entertain and keep everyone lively, we are having these ridiculous fights about who will put the tissues in the garbage can (the lot of us has been congested since Halloween... at least), and why in 19 degree temperatures shorts are ill-advised. I did my best, tried to safeguard against boredom, found activities, dragged the entire family out to the Museum of Modern Art as soon as it was open yesterday morning (go go go go go see the Pipilotti Rist installation), but I think I must admit defeat. Nothing beats school.
On other fronts, while languishing on vacation and under the weather, Felix finally did watch his first movie from start to finish, which suddenly made relevant Emily Bazelon's recent piece for Slate about why "G" ratings are not useful for parents who are trying to figure out how much sleep they'll be getting/not getting the night(s) after seeing the latest kid offering. I have no fondness for the MPAA rating system and never have, but now as a parent I realize exactly how useless it is.
posted by Elise at 4:00 AM
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