Hobson's Choice

Parenting ... Oops I Can't!

2012-01-31T20:57:00.001-05:00

Inspired by the erstwhile candidate's debate mishap, I bring you another new regular feature: "Oops I
Can't: Daily humorous failures in parenting."

Today's oops: realizing too late that just because the characters Phineas and Ferb are super-smart, that does not mean "Phineas and Ferb"
is educational television.

Unless... Unless...

The show is an education in how to be high-concept without being stuffy...how to embrace every
damn thing in a pastiche...and how to spread good cheer through riffs on classic song stylings!

Haha! I saved that parenting fail, I think.

Gosh, I love Phineas and Ferb.

Mission Mom-possible

2012-01-31T20:50:00.001-05:00

And hey! It's a new regular feature of the blog-- cases of mom missions impossible!

These cases are based on real-life scenarios. And now the first,

Mom Mission Impossible! Duh duh dum!

Having let your sinus infection go
so long that not only do your sinus cavities feel like they are filled with beach sand but your eyes have become sore and swollen, you have been advised to apply hot compresses for 10 minutes at a time.

Your mission, to lay in the hot bath with a soothing warm cloth over your eyes for 10 minutes ....WITHOUT FALLING ASLEEP! Duh duh dum!

What is your latest mom mission impossible? I'll post them here in this new regular feature.

That is one powerful dog...

2012-01-30T14:15:00.002-05:00

Paul informs me that he does not fart. Ever.

The other day, he complained of a belly ache, and I suggested that he probably just needed to fart or burp. We got into a long discussion of gas, belly pains, the digestive system, how fun it is to say the word "digestive." But at the end of the talk, he was out of luck since he, with his impeccable manners, never passes gas of any sort.

You know who does? A lot?

The dog. And she is powerful.

We can be in the car, on the other side of town, 10 miles away from the dog.

And lo, a little voice will rise from the back seat, "Oh! Josie the Dog farted."

And then a wretched odor will fill the car, and everyone in the car will yell, "Oh, Paul! Come on! The windows are up!"

And Paul will say, "That not me. That Josie. "

Yep, that is one powerful dog.

Book it

2012-01-29T21:50:00.001-05:00

"believing the lie" by Elizabeth George-- did that book need to be 610 pages long? No, no it did not. Did an editor touch it? The broody wandering hopeful-hopelessness speaks inspiration by Kate Atkinson and Susan Hill. But the execution makes a reader just want more books by those two authors. Alas. Undoubtedly, I will keep reading more George books because I think Barbara Havers is a great character who has completely bewitched me over the course of this series. But these 610 pages have made me cranky.

Warning!

2012-01-28T16:33:00.002-05:00

I sense impending meltdown in the Mama Containment System, meltdown along the lines of "I spend hours every day cleaning up this house and I am tired of explicitly spelling out exactly what other people need to pick up ... if you knock over a full container of pens and pencils, the answer is to pick it up, not to wait for me to come along later and remind you... and if that bin of bakugans gets dumped out one more time today..."

You know, that kind of meltdown.

Meanwhile, in semi-related related news, I have taken the snow pants off the coat rack and back down to the basement. I'm hoping the fact that I have offered a sign to the universe that I have accepted the fact that it will not snow this winter... well, I'm hoping it brings on a blizzard.

I would like to thank my brother

2012-01-28T11:15:00.001-05:00

For making this connection for me.

"I guess you must have a thing for super smart red bearded men!"

I had a dream last night in which I was dating Louis CK. Hadn't thought Dr. Hobson's Choice had much similarity to Louis CK. Thanks to Luke for figuring it out.

Sometimes purging feels like...

2012-01-27T14:09:00.003-05:00

It's a New Year, and I've been going through the clutter. I've been pitching and donating and organizing. I've been a little bit inspired by my friends who've embraced minimalism. I've been a little bit inspired by the big birthday coming up in a year and a half. I've been a little bit inspired by the realization that as I get older, it is going to get harder and harder to remember where I've put things.

But..

But...

I think we call it "purging" for a reason, and sometimes it makes me want to throw up a little.

There are things that I no longer use that I am just not ready to pitch. There are books that each child requested in their toddler years, five-hundredty-million times (as my preschoolers would say). No one is ever going to ask me to read those books again. A couple, I am saving for Paul and Eleanor's children. But most of the books in this category have been so "well-loved" that any first time parent would run from them in terror. The books are falling apart and generally disgusting, cracker crumbs between the pages, all lift-the-flaps creased and re-creased. There may be boogers. I'm not inviting you over to take a look. I am just telling you that they are not keepsakes, nor do they have any resale or donation value.

But when I think about purging "Feely bugs" or "Fix it Please" or "Ten Nine Eight," I have to lie down a little.

No one is ever going to ask me to read "Ten Nine Eight" again and run her fingers over her own nightgown buttons when the little girls in the book counts her buttons. No one certainly wants the completely falling apart copy of "Feely bugs," but which for me encapsulates the memory of the first time my daughter interacted with a book and I knew that my little preemie was going to be okay. I am never again going to wish that I could hurl "Fix it please" into a trash can so that I wouldn't have to puzzle through the plot weirdness possessed by all vintage "Sesame Street" books. Why isn't Luis happy about having paying customers in the Fix-It Shop? Isn't that a thriving small business?

But I'm not ready to say goodbye to our very own copies of those books. I've decided it's okay. By some HGTV show, it's absolutely time to purge those books. It is time to get rid of them.

Except it's not. There are many ways of finding the right time to say goodbye to possessions. I currently have a trunk full of donations for Goodwill, mainly small children's toys. I have two boxes of books for the preschool book sale and two boxes to take to our local bookstore to sell. No one is coming to film "Hoarders" here. It's okay. The right time will come to pass these battered books on, and I'll know it when it gets here.

For now, these books possess me.

Feely Bugs: To Touch and Feel Book (Bugs in a Box Books)">

When last we checked in with our dauntless hero...

2012-01-27T14:08:00.001-05:00

the weather was getting me down. I need winter. I still need it. It is still getting me down.

Twenty-first century commandment

2012-01-27T13:55:00.000-05:00

Thou shalt not covet thy husband's iPad.

But I do. I really do.

When nerd worlds collide...

2012-01-25T20:54:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, I found a Lego Minifig with Harry Potter's face, a medieval knight's helmet, and Admiral Ackbar's body. I would love to know that was going through Paul's head when he decided to put those pieces together.

I can talk to kids about ... anything?

2012-01-25T16:32:00.002-05:00

I like to pride myself that I can talk to kids about anything. Dead pets... death in general.. war. .. poverty. I'm trained in this, after all, not shying away from the hard stuff in conversations. As a midwesterner, I also think that there are lots of good times NOT to talk. At all. But that's a cultural thing.

But I have always prided myself on the ability to put on the big girl pants and to talk with kids about difficult topics when called upon.

As my daughter nears age 10, she's asking questions about grown-up topics, about the "birds and the bees." We started off with a lovely conversation called "If you didn't have a migraine, how would you even know you were having your period?" And guess what, I am plunged into conversational discomfort. These conversations ARE AWKWARD and DIFFICULT and EMBARRASSING!

I highly recommend the book, "Everything You Never Wanted Your Kids to Know About Sex
(But Were Afraid They'd Ask): The Secrets to Surviving Your Child's Sexual
Development from Birth to the Teens" by Justin Richardson and Mark Schuster. These folks have reassured me that these conversations are supposed to be awkward and embarrassing. They've also given me lots of good advice on how important it is to have these talks and some good tips on how to do these talks without too much mortification.

Mindful Knitting?

2012-01-24T17:12:00.002-05:00

Some folks in our church family are moving this weekend. They have two very small children, so I wanted to knit them hats for their going away. The children are very small with the size of heads you expect on small people. But still two hats in a week? Can it be done.

Phases of hurried, mindful knitting.

Day One: Cast on baby hat with sock yarn. Knit four rows. Paul Green gets massive and horrible ear infection.

Day Two: Abandon sock yarn. Cast on hat with DK yarn. Well, cast on 10 stitches. Then make unexpected visit to hospital to check on my parents' friends.

Day three: Abandon DK yarn. Cast on hat with super-bulky yarn.

And that's where I am today.

Taboo

2012-01-23T15:47:00.002-05:00

On the way home from school, we got to talking about crushes. Elly had the silly grin on her face that made me think she was thinking about a boy. Turns out she was thinking about an Accelerated Reader test.

But it got us to talking about crushes. And Elly asked Paul if he had a crush on anyone. The sweet, sweet four year old replied:

"I have a crush on you and Mommy and Grandma Sheila and Daddy."

Eleanor's response: "Now that's just wrong. Wrong." And then later, "Now, if you were my second cousin once removed, I might think differently about it. But YOU'RE MY BROTHER!"

I wasn't surprised by her initial response, but I was a little stunned by the specificity of her later amendment.

So just in case you're curious, the degree of familial relationship that is okay for a crush: Second cousin, once removed.

I didn't waterboard the dog

2012-01-23T15:36:00.003-05:00

No, I did not waterboard the dog. Nor did I murder her.

And really, I was too tired to want to all that much.

Paul was up all night with a terrible ear infection. Despite the fact that I'm on my second child with the Carnahan head anatomy, I am no better than I ever was at figuring out that an ear infection is on its way. If I generally waited until the kids said they were in pain, they would be dead before we went to the doctor. Many is the time I -- all apologetic for wasting the doctor's time over a runny nose -- have taken a chipper child to the doctor only to be told, "Wow. The inside of that ear is as red as a valentine heart."

But last night, poor Paul made it all the way to serious pain before either Chris or I had a hint that something was wrong. The motrin could barely hold him, and and when the relief fizzled out, he wouldn't even stay in my lap for more than a few minutes at a time. But he paced the room, yelling ouch.

Today, has antibiotics and numbing drops for his ear.

So, yes, Chris and I are a bit tired today.

So, yes, this is the day that the neurotic dog, who usually will not stray more than 3 feet from my side, ran off into the alley and spent the next 20 minutes rolling in the worst smelling garbage and shit. I am not calling it dog poop; she ran back into the house smelling like rancid dog shit.

So I bathed her and thought about never eating again.

But no, Reader, I did not murder her in the bathtub. The only torture she endured was the Dreaded Bath.

Because when you're feeling a little bit sad, a little tendency toward self-pity for no good reason except being awake around the clock, Life in the form of The Dog does something to push the whole situation into comedy.

And as disgusting as the dog was, there was no question of there being something hilarious (and hysterical, in every sense of the word) about having to give the dog an emergency bath when the people are running on fumes.

Book It

2012-01-23T15:35:00.002-05:00

#6 -- "One was a Soldier" by Julia Spencer-Fleming. Wonderful, heartbreaking.

Book It

2012-01-23T15:35:00.001-05:00

#6 -- "One was a Soldier" by Julia Spencer-Fleming. Wonderful, heartbreaking.

Book it

2012-01-19T21:16:00.001-05:00

#5 --"The stuff that never happened" by Maddie Dawson-- highly recommended. Parts were hard for me to read. The main character was married to an overworked academic and her daughter was going through a very high risk pregnancy. But then I got utterly engrossed. Highly recommended.

The fight

2012-01-19T17:14:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, the migraine won. Today, I won. I went to work, cooked and delivered supper to a family with a new baby, made quiche, went to a parent-teacher conference, and loved on my kids. Now the migraine is winning again.

The trick is to keep fighting.

Right now, I'll fight from a dark room.

Is it just me?

2012-01-17T13:13:00.002-05:00

I'm finding the weather awfully depressing. I didn't know how badly I needed winter, but apparently I do. I need day after day of bone chilling temperatures. I need to feel my nose hairs freeze very time I step outdoors, need that ache of cold in the lungs. I need to wear gloves and hat and coat day after day.

And this winter we're just not getting it. A day here, a day there. But mostly, I haven't even worn my coat.

I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge that a good bit of a my discouragement lies in my worry about the future of my children. Not just "the children" or "our children" or "the children of the world." I get sick thinking about Elly and Paul and what their warmer world is going to be like and if they will be okay.

But I think I also need something in the cold, some fundamental Midwestern urge for chapped lips and survival. Something to make spring so wonderful when it comes. "In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there lay within me an invincible summer," wrote Camus. I think I need to make that literal discovery by being cold.

And this year, it's not happening.

Book It

2012-01-17T13:06:00.001-05:00

#4 -- "Breakdown" by Sara Paretsky -- I cannot decide if I approve of the twist at the end.

Managed Care Outrage of the Month

2012-01-17T12:33:00.003-05:00

So our Third Party Administator has changed their name from something vaguely incomprehensible that sounds like a bank's name to something vaguely abstract that sounds healthy-y and twenty-first century.

That's fine. I think it's the fifth time our TPA has changed names in the 8 years we've had this insurance. The forms still all look the same; the address is the same; I'm guessing the workers are the same.

But with this 21st century change of synergy to undoubtedly "serve you better," the first act of change is to automatically deny all claims by dependents unless we show proof that they have no other insurance. You know, in case the 4 year old has acquired full-time employment with benefits. In the 9 months since I last sent in birth certificates, marriage licenses, and all that other whatnot to prove that the children and I do indeed qualify for insurance coverage and don't have other insurance. Managed care outrage sure makes me lose track of the use of complete sentences.

Today, I got the first denial of coverage form which is undoubtedly is the harbinger of another form to arrive later this week. The form may simply ask Chris to affirm that we are his dependents, or it may once again for birth certificates, social security cards, and marriage licenses. Perhaps I should view this semi-annual endeavor as a blessing in keeping my important life paperwork organized and handy.

Regardless, it's time for me to put on the cape. It's time for Super Social Worker Mom.... Filler Outer of Forms! Greaser of Wheels! Comprehending of Jargon and Soothing (but Firm) of Voice to Harried Bureaucrats and BA's in Art History Who Really Didn't Want Their First Job to Be in Claims Adjustment/Data Entry!

Yep, that's me. My MSW has undoubtedly saved us more in medical bills than the degree cost in the first place.

And that's fine. That's good. But I'd really just like someone to explain how this annual dance of coverage is saving anyone money, least of all the taxpayers of the Great State of West Virginia. And how it's working out for all those folks who don't have master's degrees in TPA and HMO and PCP and and Medical Home and In-Network and Deductible and Maximum Out of Pocket.

Some weekend...

2012-01-16T19:10:00.003-05:00

Some weekends just seem like they need a list. We are normally a family of homebodies, but this holiday weekend was fun and packed.

1. Went to my friend Melanie's fabulous 40th birthday. Imagine turning 40 on Friday the 13th! But she pulled it off and we all ate Chinese. In honor of her birthday, I tried something I had never eaten before: frog legs. Yes, they did. Taste like chicken, that is.

2. Reminded the kids to quit fighting.

3. Artist Trading Cards at church. Led by Raine, we made collage cards. Tons of fun. I forgot how much being creative with other people calms my heart and makes me sing. We're going to make art every 2nd Saturday morning.

4. Went to the library and picked up the new Sara Paretsky. Yippee!!

5.Yelled at kids to quit bickering.

6. Laundry-mageddeon. You know, like every weekend. I miss being a stay-at-home-mom when it seemed like I had a handle on the laundry.

7. Went to a "hot wine" party at our neighbors. Chris and Eleanor, the social butterflies, stayed for the whole thing. Paul and I stayed for a short time and came home to be introverted. That's the great thing about a party at a neighbor's.

8. Talked Eleanor down off the ledge of a ghost story she heard at the "hot wine" party.

9. Read the new Sara Paretsky.

10. Church (or as Paul pronounces it, "turch") where we got to see the newest baby in the congregation.

11. Helped Paul blow his nose approximately 500 million times (which is why I didn't try to hold either of the new babies I met this weekend.)

12. Little lip gloss expedition with the girl.

13. Told kids to stop "wrassling."

14. Made LEGO. Forever and forever.

15. Assigned LEGO-frenzied children jobs so they could earn money.

16. Continued trash talking the Fruit and Vegetable Challenge.

17. Watched "Star Trek: TNG" with the children.

18. Had a great visit with my mom, dad, and brother.

19. Used my parents' vehicle to purchase new wheels for myself, my old bike having been cheap and fallen apart under Paul's and my combined weight. Still not completely mobile though as I have to acquire a trailer or something to drive Paul around.

20. Ate Chinese food with my parents. Chinese food twice in one weekend. Yummy.

21. Made and ate vat of pumpkin-leek soup. So good.

22. Rebuked children for bickering.

23. Continued the project of getting the house organized for the New Year. With help of LEGO-frenzied, money-hungry children.

24. Read more of the new Sara Paretsky.

25. And now Elly and I are going to watch this week's "Once Upon a Time."

Reading over this list, I see the only thing missing was some time with Chris. Paul did catch us kissing in one of our breaks from yelling at the children for fighting. And Paul announced, "Hey! You already married!" Hmmmm....

Book it

2012-01-11T13:42:00.001-05:00

#4 --"Ashes to Dust" by Yrsa Sigurdardottir -- not my favorite book I've ever read.

Book it

2012-01-09T18:14:00.001-05:00

"Pawnee" by Leslie Knope

Well, this is not going to look good...

2012-01-06T16:32:00.002-05:00

So there are these two gentlemen who have been doing work around the neighborhood the last couple of weeks. They are out of work and doing handy-man jobs at various people's houses. Turns out my husband has been quietly observing their work to see if we might hire them to do some work in our yard.

Because over the course of the last eight years, we have had a lot of interesting folks show up at our door looking for work or for handouts, and the vast majority of them have either been altered or desperately in need of a fix when they asked for work. And there is no way I am testing out the limits of my homeowner's insurance policy when someone falls off my garage roof and I knowingly hired them when they were drunk or in withdrawal.

But Chris reports that these particular gentlemen are reliable, have done many jobs around the neighborhood, and they come back regularly for more work. So he made arrangements for them to come back this afternoon to do some winter yardwork.

There's only one problem. I sent Chris off to take the kids to Grandma's this afternoon. I picked Chris up from work, and I left my purse in the car with them because I had a bunch of car snacks for them in my bag.

So Chris has the keys to the garage on his belt, and he also has both of the family wallets. And these gentlemen are coming shortly to this work.

I feel bad enough about wasting their time. But I also love how this sounds:

"I'm sorry. My husband has taken the car. And I don't have any keys to the garage and I don't have any money."

I sound like an abused wife of a control-freak husband. Don't have my own house keys. Not allowed to have any money. No means of transportation. It sounds bad. It sounds classic.

In reality of course, Chris has the only key to the garage on his belt because his bike lives in the garage and and he needs it for commuting every day. And I am the one who left my purse in the car. And I am the one who asked the poor man to take off to drive. It reminds me of the time I tripped on the porch steps; the sweet man took care of me and ran the house for a MONTH while I recovered; and he got dirty looks wherever we went.

There's not a moral to this story. I just feel dumb and had to vent.

Please, please let him keep this...

2012-01-06T16:24:00.003-05:00

Paul and I got into a conversation this morning about an actress in a movie. Doesn't matter which one. What matters is this bit of our talk. He was trying to figure out what actress it was in some movie or other.

Jenny: Well, she's got red hair, and she's pretty... ummm I'm trying think what else...

Paul: She a girl?

Jenny: Yes, she'a girl.

Paul: Then she pretty.

Jenny: Oh. Are all girls pretty?

Paul: Yup.

Please, please let my son hang onto this belief that all girls are pretty. Let him go on thinking that pretty is just part and parcel of girlhood and let him find something pretty in all the girls he sees. I don't want to him to grow up to be one of those guys who ranks girls on a scale or thinks some girls are "in" or "out of" his "league." I don't want him to divide the world into "fatties" and "hotties" or whatever gross terms are being used to describe girls fifteen years from now.

I want him to be hanging out with friends in 20 years and have this exact same conversation. And mean it. "Is she a girl? Then she's pretty."

Book It

2012-01-06T16:22:00.003-05:00

#2 -- "Best Friends, Occasional Enemies" by Lisa Scottoline and Francesca Serritella. Gosh, I love the Phily Inquirer columns these two women write. I love Lisa Scottoline's wry, self-deprecating, REAL tone. I have a feeling that she might wear me out a little bit in real life, but I think we would get along gang-busters anyway.

Fruit and Vegetable Challenge 2012

2012-01-04T15:34:00.003-05:00

I'm not going to go all supermom on you. Don't worry. I remain slacker-ish. Or as I like to call it, relaxed.

To amp up our healthy eating in 2012 and to create a diversion in the cold months, our family has embarked on a Winter Fruit and Vegetable Challenge. It occurs to me that now that I should have called it "The Winter Olympics of Vegetables." Too late now.

Anyway, I posted a little chart with each of our names on the refrigerator. Every time one of us eats a fruit or vegetable, we put a mark under our names. When the children eat a serving of a fruit or vegetable they don't like or haven't tried before -- I guess that would be a vegetable, since none of us have seen a fruit we don't love --, they get to roll a 6-sided die to add bonus points to their total.

When we reach 300 points, we will get Chinese takeout, the children's favorite. We will rock some Homestyle Bean Curd in the house! Or as Paul says, "I love tofu in syrup."

And now here's the kicker, when reach 1000 points, the leaders in the adult and child divisions will get to go to the bookstore and get a new book.

On reflection, that doesn't sound too exciting, but we like to read.

More importantly, this competition element to the challenge our extremely non-sporty family to do a little trash talking. We are all threatening to kick each others' butts in vegetable eating, and that also lends a little entertainment to the winter season.

Book It

2012-01-03T08:45:00.001-05:00

#1. "The Betrayal of Trust" by Susan Hill

This Year

2011-12-31T08:30:00.004-05:00

Inspired by my friend Alexis, I'm making a list of 2011's experiences. In no particular order:

Sabbatical!!!!! Even though professors still have to work during sabbatical, our personal professor cut back his working hours to 40 a week. We traveled, we hung out, we did family projects. Chris took the kids on visits to his parents, giving me lots of quiet time in the house. The first half of 2011 rocked for our family.
Parties of the year: Winter potluck, Charity Knitting party, Harry Potter party, Paul's birthday party. Clearly, this is not enough parties, and I dreamed last night about my family throwing me a huge birthday party for my upcoming 39th. Sandra Bullock attended. In 2012, I hope to have more gatherings that are not necessarily huge and definitely not attended by movie stars.
Saw "Bridesmaids," "Harry Potter," and "The Descendants" in experience fashion. Saw "Bridemaids" with two different sets of girlfriends. Saw "Harry Potter" with Eleanor and sobbed my way through the last hour. Saw "The Descendants" with my good friend ML the day before Christmas.
Dude! I was on stage for two children's plays at church, Christmas and Easter. At Easter, I stretched my acting chops by playing the role of Eleanor's mother. At Christmas, I sat with Paul and Aurelia so they didn't freak out.
Got to visit Chris's dad's cabin in the Georgia mountains. We stayed put for several days and explored and read and hot-tubbed. Most relaxing vacation with kid EVER.
New York City! Not relaxing, but exciting in every way.
Began the long process of coming to terms with our parents' mortality as Chris's mom faced some health problems in 2011 and my mom had a terrible allergic reaction to antibiotics in New York.
Visited the Booker T Washington homeplace, Pipestem state park, and Lewisburg, all in West Virginia.
Chris and Jenny's early marriage reunion tour of the NC Triangle. We ate all of the foods we loved; we drove by our old apartment; we drove on 15-501.
Started a food train for the "sick and shut in" at our church.
Moved Eleanor to a new school. Enough said
Watched "Doctor Who" for the first time.
Began watching "Parks and Rec" with Eleanor during a January bout of family flu. And that ushered in the era of Eleanor and I getting into some of the same media and just generally enjoying each other's company in the evening time.
Accepted that Paul Green was going to come in to sleep with us every single night and figured out a way to get sleep.
Began getting rid of all the "baby" stuff in the house.
painted a hallway.
Laughed my way through summer story hours with Paul.
Visited the Newport Aquarium with the kids, my niece, and my parents.
Dipped my toe into the life of theater mom.
Put together Lego from a pattern for the first time in my life. So much fun! I have clearly wasted the last 38.5 years.
Channeled my inner Ron Swanson by giving an elderly vacuum to the kids' beloved Sunday School teacher and FIXING that vacuum. I can't fix that many things, but I dig that small Ron-Swanson-ness of life.

AND if we make it through the day, 2011 will be the year that no one had any surgeries, visits to the emergency room, or time spent in the hospital. Cross your fingers for the next 16 hours!

Best Books of 2011 -- The Hobson's Choice List

2011-12-30T11:05:00.004-05:00

This year didn't yield any books that made me sob the way "The Children's Book" and "The Postmistress" did last year. But there were still a lot of good books to be read:

My absolute top favorite this year was the "Hunger Games" trilogy. I wept quietly, I devoured, I continued to think for months afterward. I had resisted the hype. I was wrong.

Other books I loved this year, in no particular order:

Our Tragic Universe by Scarlett Thomas (currently $2.59 for Kindle right at the moment if you're interested)
The Widower's Tale by Julia Glass
Bossypants by Tina Fey
Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling
The Cookbook Collector by Allegra Goodman
The Troubled Man by Henning Mankell (Why on earth the "Dragon Tattoo" books have stormed the earth when the Wallander series has not, that is a mystery to me!)
Started Early, Took My Dog by Kate Atkinson
Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate di Camillo
Sister by Rosamund Lupton
The Woodcutter by Reginald Hill
Still Midnight and The End of Wasp Season by Denise Mina

I read most of these courtesy of our fabulous public library! Support your local library!

Year in Review: Resolutions

2011-12-27T11:20:00.002-05:00

Last year, I made New Year's Resolutions for the first time in a long time. Time to check in a see how I did.

(1) Keep track of the books I read: Well, I did pretty good until Eleanor's educational situation went visiting the deeper regions of the earth in a handbasket if you know what I'm saying. Stepping up as a parent advocate to get her out of that situation and out of our long-beloved elementary school broke my heart and quieted it. For weeks afterward, I couldn't even approach the blog and I'm just now barely back to regular writing. At last count, I'd read 61 books in 2011, and I think I've read around 20 more since then. Dr. Hobson's Choice says that I should note that I don't include children's books in my tally. If I did, the tally would approach 1,000.

(2) Read less, write more: They say that mothering a baby is 10% mental, 90% physical. This year, with Eleanor, I was aware of how the work of parenting her has almost completely switched over the mental side, mostly due to her "educational situation" -- which is how I refer to the whole mess as I don't want to libel or slander anyone on the interwebs. And it has made me a little "mental," as they also say. I've written and read less than ever... but the upside has been that Eleanor has become a delightful and interesting companion. The upside of "mental" parenting is that she now seems fully a person who is interesting to be around.

(3) Give up commercially prepared bread: Uh-oh. I have certainly eaten less bread than ever before, and I've made more homemade bread than ever before. But I'm afraid my passion for the sandwich is unabated. Sandwiches are the perfect food. FOREVER!!

(4) Geek out more: Finally, success! A year of geekery! I have watched tons of Doctor Who; I have expanded my collection of geek-chic teacher wear (Sheldon from the "Big Bang Theory" with curves and big hair?); met new geek friends at church; participated in a geek craft exchange; gotten Christmas presents from the Marshall Feminist Craft Collective; watched my BFF Heather crochet uber-geeky amigurumi; knitted; watched "Once Upon a Time" with my daughter; encouraged geekiness in my daughter; enabled Eleanor and Chris to play D&D without bother from the little brother; worn hats; channeled my inner Ron Swanson through vacuum repair!! And I intend to get even geekier in 2012. Did the Mayans predict that? They should have!

Later, my two resolutions for 2012 and the best books I read in 2011.

Christmas meditation

2011-12-21T20:55:00.001-05:00

I don't think I'll ever write a better Christmas meditation than this one from 2004. It tells of the best Quaker meeting I ever sat in and of one of the hardest times in my life. I offer these thoughts again this year for those who
are hoping, waiting, or suffering

Sometimes you understand why it's important to sit together in Quaker Meeting, why you can't do it on your own. When the messages all play off one another and come together, you understand how people come to make meaning together.Yesterday, we were pondering the "true meaning of Christmas." It is not, someone asserted, salvation through Jesus's death, but the chaos of humanity in our yearly affirmation of family and community. A man spoke about the line from "O Little Town of Bethlehem" which applies to all births: "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight." Another talked about the turning of the year, how the days get shorter and then longer, just like death and birth. A woman recited "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" so that the poem finally made sense to me. It's always seemed such a high school poem to me, and I can never put out of my mind all those faux high school symbol readings: it's all about the decision not to commit suicide. But in her quiet recitatation, I saw how it could mean that sometimes we catch a glimpse of what death might be, even when we are not yet done with living.And this is the message I got: we'll get the shortest day of the year this week. And then amazingly, the days will start to get longer again. On the day when a baby might have been born had she not died, the days will begin to get longer. And in that sad paradox lies the meaning of Christmas and salvation. Salvation lies in the birth of Jesus and in all births, and also in death and in the births that might have been, those that sometimes we feel should have been. Salvation comes because, despite grief and loss, despite the short days, we will see the sun again. The days will get longer, and hope rises again, even against our belief and our will. Another Christmas miracle.

On the diabetic day of Christmas...

2011-12-16T14:13:00.002-05:00

my true love packed for me:

one bottle of insulin
two reservoirs (two in case one fails)
two infusion sets (two in case one fails)
one silhouette insertion device (AKA the "silserter")
one extra box of glucometer test strips
one bottle of ketone test strips
one spray bottle of kenalog
one piece of tagaderm
one tube of neosporin
a bunch of emergency sugars
four alcohol pads
four iv prep pads
one velcro pump belt for nighttime
and two syringes in case the pump fails.

And that's one reason why the holiday are stressful for Type 1 Diabetics and their families. Not least because you can't get that little list to mesh successfully with the tune and scansion of "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

Did I forget anything? (Not the pump and the glucometer because one is attached to his person at all times and the other is in his "man-purse")

And now a new regular feature for "Hobson's Choice" -- "Parks and Rec" episode commentary by Pawnee's youngest fan, Eleanor

2011-12-07T13:14:00.003-05:00

It's a new regular feature, at least for the episodes Pawnee's youngest fan is allowed to watch.

It's not a running, full-length commentary since I can only memorize about 4 of her zingers per episode and then remember them for later. I think your average tween might get a complex if her mother sat next to her with a laptop during weekly viewings of a television program.

Below, I present: "The Trial of Leslie Knope." Zingers and spoilers by Eleanor.

Mom, I need you to hold my hand for this part because I'm afraid Leslie's going to get fired."
They can't give Ethel a ride home right this moment. They're kissing.
Episode summary: Are they still dating? (verification from Mom). Okay, they're still dating. Oh, that's so sweet. I think it's kind of an episode to watch for Valentine's Day.

Will "Parks and Rec's" smallest fan get a copy of the new "Pawnee" book for Christmas?

2011-12-07T13:09:00.002-05:00

I considered it. I took a look at Pawnee: The Greatest Town In America at the store. I opened the book at random, and the first word I saw?

Orgasm.

So no, Pawnee's 9 year old fan will not be getting the book for Christmas.

In the words of Ron Swanson, "Dammit, Leslie."

On the other hand, Pawnee's Middle-Aged Hoosier-Expatriate-in-West-Virginia wouldn't mind if Santa brought the book to her. It looked pretty funny.

My semi-snarky, super-innocent Christmas present to myself

2011-12-06T14:02:00.002-05:00

I shouldn't listen to Republican presidential candidates talk about gay people. I really shouldn't. It just makes me mad and incredulous and incandescent (my new favorite word for "mad"). Are these candidates really living on the same planet and in same century as the rest of us?

So rather than get an ulcer, I have decided to give myself a little Christmas present.

Whenever anyone in my company says anything about homosexuality being a sin or God hating gay people, I am going to act like I have never heard any such nonsense before in my life and ask.

What do you mean? God hates gay people? I have NEVER heard that before. What are you talking about? Of course, God does not disapprove of homosexuality. Who ever heard of such a thing? That is so ridiculous that I cannot eve contemplate that. NO ONE believes such a thing.

I am, as everyone knows, a terrible liar. I am pretty good, however, at acting innocent. So I think I'll be able to make this work. I want to make it work so well that the person I'm talking to begins to fear that THEY have early-onset dementia and they have somehow gotten confused about the universe they're living in.

There is only one problem with my plan, and that is that people don't tend to bring out a lot of crazy viewpoints around me. I don't know what kind of vibe I give off. I'm hoping it's the "too sweet to be exposed to ugly hatred" and not "too stern and mean to brook any nonsense." But whatever, people don't ten to spew the nasty hatred around me. I mean, I can count on one finger the number of times a stranger has criticized me for choosing to work for pay. (If you're curious, it was a Target checkout lady who felt that I would not need to purchase a new bathmat if I were doing my duty and staying home full-time with my kids. By the way, Stay At Home Moms, if you do really have some TOP SECRET knowledge about how to keep a bathmat from ever getting funky, please PLEASE share in the comments section.).

Anyway, I can't remember the last anyone other than a Republican presidential candidate offered up the "Homosexuality is an abomination" shebang around me, and the candidates are fortunately on the TV set and not corporeally in my living room. So I have a feeling that I may not get to get my semi-snarky, super-innocent Christmas present to myself.

But I'm ready.

I hope I never forget

2011-12-05T22:04:00.001-05:00

The year in which Paul believed that whatever he stuck in the mailbox would be magically delivered to his desired recipients.

Our mailbox is a chute in the front wall of our house, so the letter carrier never sees the tray at the bottom of the chute where the mail falls.

And where Paul deposits his outgoing mail.

I love finding scribbled notes to grandparents. And lately, Paul's been painting plaster Christmas ornaments. He's sets the dry ones in the chute for delivery to his friends.

When I find these little treasures, I understand the cliche: "heart-melting."

Ron laments

2011-12-05T13:36:00.001-05:00

When we play Harry Potter, Paul always chooses to be Ron. Today, he shared this opinion of the Potterverse:

At the end, Harry Potter is married to mine sister. That doesn't possibly even make any sense.

Paul explains the Loch Ness Monster

2011-12-04T07:28:00.001-05:00

That monster is good in real life. Because persons bless that monster and now it is good. Other monsters have feet so they can walk on the land and breathe air. Then they dip their toes in the water.

Learning about giving

2011-12-03T21:53:00.001-05:00

Paul and I talked about the gifts he plans to give this Christmas. Here are his thoughts.

Daddy:
-"I know he likes grown up things, so I will get him something grown up."
- "I think I will get him a surf board."
-"But the ocean is far, far away. I
not getting him a surf board."
- "Does he have a coat?"
-"Hey, do you guys need more pictures
For your bedroom walls?"

Mommy
"I know what I am getting you. I am getting you a computer so you never type again. "

Sister
- "Can I give her dollies?"
-"I want to give her curtains. Does she have curtains? How many windows does she have? Which walls are her windows on? How is that even possible? I want to get her curtains."

Josie
-"What I going to get for Josie the dog? I know."
- a round squeaky ball that you throw and she brings it back to you.
- a bone
- a bag of bones
- a bed
-a dish
- "And that's all I getting for Josie the dog."

The cockles of the maternal heart glow

2011-12-03T17:15:00.001-05:00

At Christmas tide to hear her child exclaim:

"commercials are soooo lame!"

Only one thespian

2011-12-02T13:15:00.002-05:00

A sign that we have only one young actor in the family:

I told Paul that he would be attending "Act II" of "White Christmas" on Sunday so that he could see his sister.

Jenny: You'll be going to Act II on Sunday.

Paul: Oh, no. Oh, no. I NOT acting. I not acting, too.

Everything is a Christmas Rorschach Blot

2011-12-02T13:14:00.001-05:00

in December for a preschooler. All natural phenomena are found to resemble Santa's beard. When Paul declared that the clouds looked like Santa's fuzzy beard, it made sense to me. But when he declared that the crescent moon looked like Santa's beard before it grew out, I knew that Christmas mania had hit.

Morning Mirror

2011-12-02T13:13:00.001-05:00

It's time for a haircut when I see the following in the mirror in the morning:

Eddie Vedder
Howard Stern
Animal from the Muppets

Miscommunication in the preteen years

2011-12-02T13:06:00.002-05:00

For a Christmas play, Eleanor has learned to apply stage makeup. She is excited to have learned to put on her own makeup, and I'm excited for her.

Still, I learned the other night that she thought the reason she wasn't allowed to wear makeup yet was that she didn't know how to put it on. She had a vision that since she's learned now, she'll be able to wear it on "special occasions."

Alas, I had to inform the poor tween that it's not lack of skill that's been keeping her away from the cosmetics aisle.

On the other hand, a different surprise awaits her on Christmas morning, born out of a different preteen misunderstanding. She desperately wants a blow dryer and a curling iron, and she believes that the reason we don't already own these implements is that her father and I are morally opposed to them. I love the idea that somewhere out there are people who have taken a stance against blow dryers. But those people are not us.

As anyone who has ever seen me can guess though, my hair has an anti-hair dryer stance. Curly hair and blow dryers do not belong together, at least not in a post-childbirth world where there's not infinite time to run a diffuser.

Nonetheless, we allow the child to continue to stew in this belief about our opposition to blow drying so that she will open up a lovely surprise on Christmas morning.

The Lurking Snowman

2011-11-28T19:56:00.003-05:00

If you heard a loud yelp yesterday afternoon, it was me. I went on a cleaning tear after church. I was in one of those Mama Moods that we all recognize wherein "I spend hours every day cleaning this house and nothing ever looks any better." It still doesn't look any better today. Mr. Preschool Arts and Crafts still lives here as does Ms. Preteen Shoe/Caber Tosser 2011, and I am ever so thankful. I am so glad that Mr. Arts and Crafts took his "Build a Bear Rescue Team" on a trip in their van (our couch) with all their vacation supplies (books, shoes, cardboard boxes, R2D2, half the nativity set). And I am grateful to have gotten to decorate the tree this afternoon with the increasingly-stinky-footed young girl who sheds shoes wherever she goes.

Still, I went on a cleaning and organizational fury yesterday afternoon. I mainly attacked the plant table, which is an old dresser that also houses a lot of craft items. And the yelp was me, discovering a particularly heinous Christmas decoration at the back of a drawer. Apparently, I had jammed it back in there sometime in the last few years just to get it out of my sight.

People in my line of work have a lot of wretched decorations lurking around. I'm not talking about handmade cards and ornaments here. Those are sweet and lovely. I am talking about the kind of boughten decor which you might think a teacher of small children would like.

Anyway, I yelped when I unearthed this... thing (description omitted to protect the innocent).

But this year, I vow to cause myself no future shocks when cleaning. I have finally learned an important lesson from my Aunt Suzanne, Veteran Retired Kindergarten Teacher, who shared this wisdom with me this summer. Here's a little paraphrase of what she said:

One of your jobs as a teacher is to help your children learn about gift giving. Their parents believe, and they believe rightly, that it's important for children to learn to show appreciation for their teacher by offering a gift. And it's important for children to learn to participate in our ancient, wonderful, trying, stressful, thoughtful, lovely tradition of giving gifts to those we love. As a teacher, it's part of your job to be a loving and nurturing adult who is worthy of a child's gift, and it's also part of your job to help children learn how to DO the gift ritual. We receive the gift, we show love, we give thanks, we praise. However, it is not part of our job to hang onto and display every apple ornament or teddy bear snow globe or whatnot in our home. It's the love and gratitude that matters, the lessons that we teach. And if the kitschy teacher-y decor makes it way to Goodwill, it doesn't make the good will any less.

A Mother's Prayer ... While Cleaning the Bathroom

2011-11-19T11:58:00.003-05:00

Please do not let the children come into the bathroom and find me scrubbing the grout with an old toothbrush.

For they always assume that I'm using their personal toothbrush.

And then I get worried.

Oh, Lordy, is it just the egocentrism of youth that makes them think every toothbrush is their toothbrush. Or am I a mother of such cruel proportions that it makes perfect sense to them that I would scrub mildew with the toothbrushes they put in their sweet little mouths every night?

Am I going to be the subject of a "Mommie Dearest" type biopic someday?

Cloak of invisibility

2011-11-19T07:38:00.001-05:00

Mr. Hobson's Choice has a beautiful wool cloak. His sister made it for Christmas a few years back. It's earthy, foresty green with a peaked hood. Simple "Lord of the Rings" style for a happening hobbit.

And it's nice and long. I love it for early morning dog walks. It's wool. So throw it on, and you're plenty warm, no matter the weather. It keeps you dry, and you can take the dog out in your flannel pajamas.

So I was surprised this morning when Mr. Hobson's Choice balked at tossing the cloak on over his thermals to take dog out. He insisted on putting on real pants, rather than walking the dog in thermal underwear and a woolen cloak

Apparently, it's not a cloak of invisibility.

"Modern" Times

2011-10-28T12:41:00.002-05:00

Eleanor's reading a classic book at school, a book which I thought I had also read in the fourth grade. But I couldn't quite remember, so we've been comparing plot points to see if it's the same book. It's not the same one, but along the way, this conversation made my heart beat a little faster or slower. Not sure which.

Jenny: Well, is your book set in modern times?

Eleanor: Definitely not modern times. Maybe the 80s?

Jenny: The 80s!? The 1980s?!

Eleanor: Yeah, definitely not modern times. Well, maybe not the 80s. It doesn't have that freaky style [NOTE: that comment was clearly based on Eleanor and her classmates' feelings about the costumes the parents forced them to wear for their recent 1980s-themed concert].

Jenny: Well, my book was set in pioneer days.

Eleanor: No, my book's not that far back. But definitely not modern times. I mean, they haven't mentioned lamps or refrigerators or MP3 players or iphones or anything.

Insert obligatory "I feel old" comment by Jenny here. Only I don't feel that old. Eleanor just seems young.

The Tour -- Weird thoughts on decor

2011-10-11T17:41:00.003-05:00

There's something I don't understand when I visit people's houses: The Tour. I don't often get the tour on a visit, but sometimes when you visit someone's home, they give you a tour of their home. And then I really don't "get" it. I don't "get" the tour. I mean, I don't psychologically comprehend on any level why I am given a tour of the home.

I think I am too imaginative. That, or perhaps my family went on too many historical site vacations when I was a kid and not enough Disney World vacations. When I think about touring a home, I think about stately homes and "George Washington slept here," not somebody's mid-century bungalow.

And then my imagination does get the better of me. Maybe I spend too much time on "the tour" trying to come up with reasons why I would need to know about the location and contents of someone's bedroom. Do I seem like someone who might be plotting an assignation? Does my hostess seem like an enabler of the aforementioned assignation? Or do I seem like someone who is likely to be taken suddenly so ill that I will have to be escorted immediately to a bed? Do I seem like someone who will be unable to deduce the location of the bathroom? Do I seem like someone who has been inside so few American homes that I will be unable to guess the one to two places where the bathroom ever is?

These are the kinds of things I think when I'm on the tour.

Oh and of course, "Wow, this person is showing me the bed where she and her partner have sex. She is bold. I am a Victorian. I am a failure"

And then I think either, "Wow, every room in this house is so expletive-deleted clean. How is every room in a house so pristine? I am a failure." OR "Wow, she is showing me even the rooms that aren't 100% percent tidy. I could never be that laid back and cool. I am ashamed of my dirt. I am a failure."

Again with the overthinking...If I try to be rational about "the tour" and not think about beds and sex and cleanliness and whether I seem too stupid to find the bathroom, I think people are just friendly and love their homes and want to share their homes. They just want to show people what they love. And that's actually pretty nice.

Tomorrow: my home, its decor, and why it won't be featured on any kind of tour.

Bits and Bobs

2011-10-11T17:39:00.004-05:00

I am astonished by the amount of dirt I sweep up every day, every single day. I sweep and mop the floors at least once a day, usually twice, and the actual dirt amazes me. Dirt, not paper or lint or rubbish (of which there is plenty), but dirt. My kids are the artsy, crafty kind, not so much the roll around and play in the dirt. But every day, I sweep up plenty of the planet.
I have survived another field trip with my class. Like most teachers, I despise and loathe field trips. I hope that the families of my children cannot tell exactly how much. Field trips just seem like an excuse for children to get lost. I don't like to lose children. I don't like field trips. Syllogism.
Also, after 5 years, I'm pretty sure I can now do the schtick at Heritage Farm. It's a great field trip, but I know it by heart.
A jello mold in the shape of a brain arrived in the mail today. I cannot tell you how stoked I am to start make jellos in the shape of a brain. So many possibilities. Not just for Halloween. Look out, family and friends. And preschoolers!
Took water to the Occupy Huntington protesters the other day. They seem like a cheerful bunch of young people. If you get a chance, take them some supplies and visit with them. They're at Chase Bank.
Elly is thriving at her new school. It's good to have our joyous daughter back. As Heather says, the normal Eleanor is back enough that she has a little bit of 4th grade attitude from time to time. And we're all so grateful that we hardly even mind. Elly herself is so grateful that she spends a lot of time hugging me and Chris and telling us how much she loves us. Also, she makes me frequent certificates for "Best Mommy Award" or "Special Loving Award-- Taught by God." Those kind of break a person's heart.
I am amazed by Chris Green's ability to transform Transformers. Once a Transformer is a robot, I could no more turn it back into a car than I could put one of the children back into my uterus. It's astonishing. He remains my hero.
You can get library books for Kindle now. I am even more in love with my Kindle. I got a David Rakoff book on the Kindle. MORE, MORE kindle love!
The Huntington CSA is now over for the fall until the spring. I am a little sad and a little relieved to be done with the responsibility for a few months. But mainly a little sad. Nonetheless, the end of the season is a harbinger of winter, which I love.
Another relieved responsibility: I am officially no longer editing for Literary Mama. My responsibilities here in Huntington ousted that responsibilty in my life, and I made that choice. But oh, it made me said. Literary Mama is a great magazine. Check it out.
Paul today informed me that he loves lots of people in his classroom and that one of them is Grandma Sheila. I don't know what to make of that.

Crafty Mama Approves

2011-10-10T19:46:00.000-05:00

Tonight at bedtime, these were Paul's thoughts:

"I don't want the sun to burn out. Then the Earth not exist. Then people not exist. Then we not exist. Then we can't buy more crafts."

Crafty Mama is proud.

It being bedtime, in accordance with the local "Don't talk about death at bedtime in a household where people ALREADY don't sleep" policy, I reassured him that the sun would be around, the earth would be around, we would be around, and we would do crafts for as long as we needed to.

Annals of Parental Cruelty

2011-10-05T16:56:00.002-05:00

As regular readers already know, my parental cruelty knows no bounds. I managed to reach a new low last night. Right before bed, Eleanor comes into our room and reads with either Chris or me. Given Paul's wretched sleep life, our exhaustion level, and the fact that Eleanor seems to have inherited the Green family's need for very little sleep, it's not too hard for one of us to climb into bed at around her bedtime and read (and then drift off to Sleepy Town ourselves).

I digress. One or the other of us sits in the bed and reads with her. Last night was my turn. She was reading her book, one of the "Magic Attic" books, and I was happy to dig into Reginald Hill's new book, The Woodcutter. Why do publishers put out books by all my favorite writers at the same time? Reginald Hill, Ruth Rendell, Louise Penny... all within a matter of days. It's a glutton-fest.

I digress again. It sounds pretty ideal, doesn't it. Mother and child, cuddled up with books, in the autumn evening time. Just call us Marmee and Jo March, something out of Little Women, only we can read fiction (thank God!).

But not to poor Eleanor, because of my wretched maternal cruelty. Why? Why? What did I do to mar this beautiful, beatific moment? I wouldn't let the child eat saltines in my bed. IN MY BED! In MY bed. In my BED!

The cruelty! The inhumanity! The horror! The glares! The martyrdom.

I finally had to give an Oscar-worthy speech along the lines of "This is MY bed. I don't want to sleep in cracker crumbs. I have a right not to sleep in cracker crumbs. This is not an unreasonable request. If you want to sleep in cracker crumbs and want to eat crackers that badly, you can eat them in your own bed."

She ungraciously ceded to my reasonableness.

Very ungraciously.

It made me think of Ernie and Bert. I felt like Bert. So here below is the classic sketch of Ernie eating cookies in bed. Poor Bert.

Wow, the blog went away for two weeks....

2011-10-04T11:18:00.000-05:00

You see, our dear daughter's education went somewhere in a handbasket. And so I had to quit reading, quit knitting, quit writing for a couple of weeks while we stepped up the SuperMom and WonderDad activity to deal with it.

I don't want to say much more here because I don't want to say anything potentially libelous. Although maybe it's only libel if it's untrue? Regardless, I'm not going there. I'm a longtime proponent of what's known as the "high road." Nonetheless, we've gone through a patch of time where I've wanted to move the brood up into some mountain holler and become some groovy, granola homeschool hippie family.

Anyway, normal life has now resumed. And normal accounting of our antics will resume, too.

Book It

2011-10-04T10:56:00.001-05:00

#58 -- "The Magician King" by Lev Grossman

#59 -- "Because of Winn Dixie" by Kate Dicamillo

#60 -- "The Vault" by Ruth Rendell

#61 -- "A Trick of the Light" by Louise Penny

All of these books made me inordinately happy.

Why TV seasons premiere in the fall

2011-09-19T18:26:00.003-05:00

Because it's time to get serious about the holiday knitting, my friends. Or crocheting. Whatever.

It's September, and you can't mosey along any more. It is time to put down the books or whatever cutesy other craft projects you've been flirting with in the summer. The holidays are just a precious few months away, and you are kidding yourself, sister, if you think you have a hope in hell of finishing your Christmas knitting.

There is only one thing that can save you now, and that is TV premiere season. Right as you need to buckle down, get serious, and get knitting, all your lovely shows are back. It's getting dark early in the evening, and it's time to watch the television and to see what has happened to Leslie Knope and the folks from "Parenthood" and those rascals from "Community" over the summer. It's time to see if Michael Emerson can entice you into another show even if he's not going to be Ben Linus or if you can really stand to see Will Arnett acting like a normal person (I'm pretty sure I can't).

And in the meantime, while you're glancing up at those lovely actors, you'd better be knitting on your niece's sweater and the teacher's shopping bag and your mother-in-law's socks. Get cracking, girlfriend. Or boyfriend. I don't care. Just knit.

I know that there are rumors that Hollywood is controlled by cabals of various groups.

The truth is that Hollywood is controlled by a cabal of fiber artists. Fiber artists with presents to make. Forget the Illuminati, so long as you have enough illumination see your knitting needles.

Why else would tv shows premiere in the fall? I ask you.

On the other hand, then I can't figure out why so many publishers release so many mystery novels in the months of September, October, and November if I'm supposed to get my holiday knitting done. There's Louise Penny, Reginald Hill, Barry Maitland, Ruth Rendell, Denise Mina, Alan Bradley, Margaret Maron, Ian Rankin, Susan Hill....

It's going to be a hard fall.

Milestones Update

2011-09-06T18:51:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, as you'll remember, I moved Paul to a booster seat in the car, and I got maudlin over it. My baby was growing up, blah, blah, blah, blub, blub, blub.

But I didn't get to blubber long.

Because to prove that (a) no two children are alike or (b) boys and girls are different or (c) guys are just not like us, what did Paul do on his first harness-free excursion in a car?

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that he unbuckled himself. He didn't.

No, the small man, upon discovering that for the first time he didn't have a five-point restraint between his legs, TOOK OFF HIS PANTS.

He stayed buckled in. But he took off his pants.

Because hey, he's a guy, nothing was stopping him, why wouldn't he? If you're sitting in the car and you have the option to be pants-free, why wouldn't you take your pants off?

That is the mind of the almost-four-year-old manly man.

Unfortunately, about three miles later, he discovered the reason why you wouldn't take off your pants in the car and the whining/screaming/crying commenced:

"I getting crumbs in mine butt! Help! I getting crumbs in mine butt!" he wailed.

The rest of the drive to Huntington wasn't fun for anyone, but he did stay buckled in. Safety first. Amen.

* * * *

Later, Eleanor wanted to know what her reaction had been to moving a booster seat had been when she was little.

"Honey," I said, "I'm pretty sure you just sat there. But I do know one thing."

"What's that, Mom?"

"You didn't take your pants off."

Book It

2011-09-06T18:45:00.002-05:00

#55 -- "Present Danger" by Stella Rimington -- Liz Carlyle spy thriller. Not as well edited as its predecessors. Different publishing house? Weird.

#56 - "Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children" by Ransom Riggs -- Dang it! The second time this year where I've pushed through an okay novel, thinking that it's a stand-alone, only to discover about 30 pages from the end that clearly, it's just the first in a series. And I'm really not sure I'm glad I spent the energy on the book given that I'm going to have to read another one if I want read another one. (I think I'm going to have to come up with a term for this phenomenon -- after I get over being honked off).

#57 -- "Still Midnight" by Denise Mina -- Why am I just now reading Denise Mina? Wow, she's good. Good, good, good. Was I a little afraid of Glasgow? Maybe. Did I think she was going to be like "Trainspotting"? Why on earth did I think that? Wow, how soon can I get to the library and read the rest of her books?

Milestones

2011-09-05T11:03:00.002-05:00

I've spent the last hour or so wrestling with a car seat. Paul has a convertible car-to -booster seat, and today I converted it. He still has a couple of weeks before he turns four; however, he's officially too tall for the shoulder straps, and he's grown way too crafty for the buckles. That means, it's time to convert it. I'm not putting him into a backless booster or anything. It's still a state of the art, space age, side-impact padded HEAVY thing for the new millennium.

For some reason, this milestone of taking out the five-point restraint has got me all mushy and almost weepy. And I am NOT THAT KIND OF MAMA. I just generally don't get all hot and bothered over my children going through the natural progression that is growing up and aging. Not over things like school concerts or checkups or learning to ride a bike.

So why I am losing it over the car seat?

Possibly because I spent the last hour cussing over buckles that wouldn't come out. Possibly because I've either got some kind of mild flu or really bad cold, and I alternate among dizziness and hot flashes and headaches and snot and the need to JUST PLAIN LIE DOWN.

But maybe also because there's this Harry Potter like cupboard under our basement stairs. Only instead of keeping a juvenile wizard in there, we have a high chair, a playpen, an infant swing, a bouncy seat, a potty chair, and all the other paraphrenalia of baby land. And it's started to nudge at me when I think about cleaning and clearing out junk. Paul is almost four. It's time to move that stuff along somewhere else where it can be used. It's passing the point of it's usefulness and where it might begin to decay under the stairs. The baby train has made the stops it's going to make at our station; it's time to move along.

Sometimes people ask us why we don't have more children. And we say that we would love to have more children... in another world... another lifetime... where we had started having children younger or where we didn't have chronic illnesses to contend with. But this is the world we have, and our family is great, thank you.

This morning, there's something about that car seat and knowing that my offspring are both in booster seats now that's just a little strange.

Well, especially when you're a little dizzy from the flu or a cold or whatever this is. Maybe not the best time to take apart a five-point restraint holding you to the idea of babies.

I am a guest blogger!

2011-09-05T10:59:00.003-05:00

Today, check out Stacy Bisker's blog A Simple Six. She's chronicling her family's adventures in simple living, particularly in the realm of cutting down on car use. It's an interesting read.

And today, she interviewed me about our family and our car.

Art in New York -- This statuary may not be family friendly

2011-09-01T12:46:00.002-05:00

Eleanor wanted to visit The Metropolitan Museum because we had read The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler last winter, and she wanted to tour where the characters in that book had "hid out" when they ran away from home. If you haven't read that book with your kids, do it now. It's a classic. I loved it when I was Eleanor's age, and it turned out that it's just as fun to read today even though automats and other NY institutions from the book are long gone.

But the Metropolitan Museum is still there, and we were thrilled to go.

I also wanted Eleanor to see some of the ancient statuary because she's been reading the "Percy Jackson" books, some modern pastiches of Greek mythology. And that's where our visit to the museum got a little tricky.

Along about third grade, your children begin amazing you with the things they know. Just a couple years before, they could barely read "cat." And now suddenly, they know about municipal government and mass versus weight and the American Revolution. They can answer 30 questions on the West Virginia state history knowledge test. And besides being shocked that they've gone from someone who can't blow their own nose to someone who knows about pop culture, you start to assume that they have all this general, cultural knowledge.

For example, when reading about gobs of Greek mythology (as we have been) you might assume (as I did) that they are picturing in their mind some of their ancient buildings and statuary from the Greek and Roman era. You might think that they are conversant with the style of art in which the bodies of the Gods and Goddesses were carved in all of their ... glory.

You would be wrong.

So there we were, Eleanor and I, blithely trotting through the Greek and Roman galleries in the met. At least, I was blithely trotting. I was enjoying looking at statues. It had been at least 15 years since I'd been in a good, world-class museum, and I was having a good, old time. And Eleanor was grumbling. And grumbling. And grumbling. Wasn't this what we'd come here to see? Percy Jackson? Greek Gods?

Finally, she leaned over and hissed at me:

"These statues are not appropriate for children!!! They are all naked! Look at all those... penises!"

Oh.

I didn't even think to prepare her. And of course, all those penises, most of which were badly chipped and battered by the centuries , were right at her eye level. Turns out that when you're nine and you're also starting to know about more stuff, well, you're also starting to know about more stuff and to feel generally self-conscious and squeamish about it. Oh.

Bad mommy.

Art In New York -- Lady Liberty

2011-09-01T12:27:00.003-05:00

More tidbits from time in NYC with Eleanor Green, the charmer of the metropolis.

Everyone who knows me knows that patriotism is not really my thing. A sense of humor combined with a dislike of pomp goes a long way toward insuring that a person really does not love a parade. I don't see the point of ceremonies in general, although I'm mellowing on weddings and graduations as I get older. Also, I was a child under Ronald Reagan, which tends to blight a person's patriotic giddy-up and go. I believe strongly in the values of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence; I disapprove heartily when the United States betrays those values; I'm relieved when we uphold them. But I don't regard my birth here as anything other than an accident. I don't get misty-eyed or proud when I hear the national anthem. The flag makes me feel nothing.

I am as phlegmatic as a cow about many things, and rah-rah Americanism is one of them.

So I was not expecting to be moved by the Statue of Liberty. I mean, I have seen the image of the statue as many times as every other American. I have read "The Magic School Bus Builds The Statue of Liberty" to Paul approximately 435 times, and the facts of its construction were interesting. Still, I wasn't expected to be touched.

I was. The Statue of Liberty is one amazing piece of public art. I wasn't prepared for how her size made her seem resolute and clear-eyed even though you can't see her eyes on a bright day, from a boat, many yards away. I wasn't prepared for how she made me think about hope and desperation and terrible stories and wonderful stories, families that were torn apart, families that were put back together, new families shaped by necessity and loss. I wasn't prepared for the way that she would make me think about the word "liberty." I wasn't prepared for the size and the weight and how far away she seemed to be looking for hope.

And then I got mad. I was mad at everyone who ever put a cartoon image of this beautiful, meaningful piece of art on a paper picnic plate and sold it at Walmart. I was mad at anyone who ever used the image of the Statue of Liberty to sell cars or to dress up a homeless person to shill tax preparation services in the springtime. The Statue of Liberty is such a specific piece of art, and I was so mad at everybody who ever used that art to sell hot dogs on the 4th of July, that I wanted them all to serve a prison term for it.

Which is maybe the tiniest bit anti-American in itself. I think it's probably well within a person's First Amendment Rights to mock public art. But that's what happened when I visited New York and found a little spark of patriotism inside me. Don't mess with the Statue of Liberty or you're messing with Jenny Hobson!

Yeah, now you're scared, paper plate manufacturers. I can tell.

Book It

2011-09-01T12:25:00.000-05:00

#52 -- "Main Corpse" by Diane Mott Davidson

#53 -- "Flowering Judas" by Jane Haddam

#54 -- "Then Came You" by Jennifer Weiner

I was not as happy with any of these books as I would have liked to have been. That is all that I'm saying.

If kids wrote diet books

2011-08-23T12:23:00.005-05:00

I don't know how I ended up on some Amazon page about diet books. It's certainly not a topic that gets broached in our household. What with the obsessive diabetic carb counting to save Dr. Hobson's Choice's life that goes on, we avoid all other discussion of "diets" in attempt to keep from warping our children. But somewhere I recently saw some discussion of diet fads. And I got to thinking... What if kids wrote diet books? Their diet books would be about not what we try to make them eat, not what they actually eat, but what they think they should eat. Instead of "The Manhattan Diet" or "The Cabbage Soup Diet" or "The South Beach Diet," what if we were all on....

(cue dreamy sit-com alternate reality music here)

The Paul Diet

90% of liquids should be consumed in the form of Popsicles. Eat at least one Popsicle before 6:30 each morning.
Eat mainly fruit, especially watermelon.
Pee a lot.
Cheddar cheese should be your main source of protein although yogurt is also acceptable.
Salad is good. Balsamic vinaigrette is the only acceptable dressing.
Boys and men should not consume any form of soup. It is a girly food (Editor's note: this seems like kind of a weird stipulation from someone who only uses balsamic vinaigrette)
Vegetables are acceptable if covered with Parmesan cheese. You should not be able to see the vegetable.
At least one serving of ice cream should be eaten every day.
Gummy worms are an essential part of anyone's diet.

The Eleanor Diet

Bacon is god.
Colby Jack cheese is good, but it cannot be consumed on sandwiches. It can only be consumed by itself. Cheddar cheese is good, but it cannot be consumed by itself. It can only be consumed on sandwiches.
Tortilla chips are made from corn. Therefore, they are a grain and healthy for you.
Milk is foul.
Eat fruit. Eat vegetables. Change the ones you like capriciously.
If you are fortunate enough to have a personal grocery shopper, request lots of your favorite food. After your shopper has brought back the food, immediately stop liking it.
Wait a minute! Forget all this dickering around about food! What you really need to concentrate on is the EXPIRATION DATE of foods! What if your food is secretly going bad? Think about that, man! That's the real crisis in our diets!!!

A Plea to the Men's Undergarment Manufacturers of the World

2011-08-20T10:17:00.003-05:00

It's back to school time, and that means it's also time to replace worn out socks and underpants. It's time for that annual pilgrimage to a big box store for the Bag of Pants and Bag of Socks. I can run through the house like Oprah, yelling, "You get new underpants! You get new underpants! Everybody gets new underpants!" The adults in our household even need new socks and underpants this due to the dog's propensity for eating those garments, but that's another story.

Anyway, Dr. Hobson's Choice needed a new Bag of Pants and a new Bag of Socks, and I took myself off to the usually crimson superstore. And once there I discovered... well, it was what I couldn't discover that was the problem. I couldn't find the dress socks that Dr. Hobson's Choice always wears.

Perhaps the Undergarment Manufacturers of America are unaware, but most men do not like change in the clothing department. They especially don't like change in the intimate apparel department. Unlike women, who are constantly on a search or quest for a bra which would not best be described as a "garment of torture," most men would like to wear the same underpants from toilet training to the grave. Or at least from high school to the grave.

I asked my husband this morning if, given the option, if he would wear his socks and underpants until nothing remained of them except the elastic band. It took no more than a second for him to admit that he would. He doesn't like change.

I don't doubt that on this diverse planet, my theory still leaves room for millions of men who like to change things up, who are looking for fashion in their underpants. There are men who want to try out the new styles in the boxers and the socks.

And for them, I say to the Undergarment Manufacturers, innovate away. Come up with something new every fall for these folks to try at back to school time. Maybe like me, they are on a constant quest for the perfect pair of pants.

But please, please, keep putting the same old standards out there on the racks for the rest of the guys. Please let me be able to find the same exact Bag of Socks and Bag of Pants every year. And let every other man and wife be able to find their exact Bag of Socks and Pants, too. Please. Please.

Because I'm pretty sure even the TV preachers who talk about how soon the Lord is going to return and how they can't wait for that blessed event, even they would ask the Lord, "Are there still my same Hanes shorts in Heaven, O Lord?" And if the answer was negative, those TV preachers might say, "Let me just go check on what Satan's offering, O Lord, and I'll be right back." And I'm pretty sure that the Buddha made sure that Enlightenment contained his same saffron-colored socks. And it's no coincidence that Vishnu has four arms and not four feet that would require many, many Bags of Socks every year.

So please, please, Manufacturers of America, could you find a way to bring back just a few bags of those black socks with the little grey stripe around the top? The ones that are just the right thickness? Dr. Hobson's Choice would appreciate it. And so would I.

Book It

2011-08-14T08:57:00.002-05:00

#48 -- "Cereal Murders" By Diane Mott Davidson

#49 -- "Sister" by Rosamund Lupton

#50 -- "The Cookbook Collector" by Allegra Goodman

#51 -- "Last Suppers" by Diane Mott Davidson

Book It

2011-08-05T20:48:00.001-05:00

#45 -- Dying for Chocolate by Diane Mott Davidson

#46 -- Tracers by Adrian Magson

#47 -- The Dog Who Came In From the Cold by Alexander McCall Smith

First Thoughts on the Debt Ceiling Deal -- Marital Converation #7

2011-08-03T18:48:00.005-05:00

I know my first thought should have been the immediate suffering of our elderly and our poor. But it wasn't.

Well, frankly, my first thought was that we are all playing the "Hunger Games." The capital becomes more and more of the Capitol as I became more and more convinced that not a person in our elected federal government cares much about what actually happens in the nation; they only care about what happens in the game.

But back to the first thought that I voiced aloud after the House passed the deal.

Jenny: You know that this means? Eventually, I am going to have to home school both of those children. Education is going to be so completely gutted, eventually, there is going to be no way we will be able to compassionately justify sending them to schools.

Chris: You mean, home school them for college?

Jenny: (pause) Well, good lord, I hadn't gone that apocalyptic yet. I'm assuming the *colleges will be here and semi-functional.

*Because if they're not, it kind of the apocalypse for our family... we're sort of trained to be a higher education family, after all. Dr. Hobson's Choice, you know.

It must be back to school time...

2011-08-03T18:40:00.003-05:00

I'm getting defensive of my profession, early childhood education. I get into these squabbles in my head because I'm always worried that someone's going to make the mistake of saying out loud to me that "anyone" could do the job that I do. No one has actually made that mistake, thank goodness, but just in case...

I am a well-educated and highly educated professional. "Anyone" could sit in a room with small children and make sure that they don't kill themselves. But "anyone" could not do what I strive to do every year, which is to give my School Family of four year olds the best possible start in a difficult world. The fact that I am poorly compensated for my good work does not make me any less of a professional, nor does the fact that most people look down upon my work. My poor compensation says something about the screwed up values of our nation and our lack of love for our small children. It doesn't say a thing about me and the work I do.

In Which I Become Neurotic About the Kindle Return Policy

2011-07-30T08:50:00.002-05:00

A Kindle has recently entered our lives under the pretext that Chris needs to read umpty-million pdf books from archives around the country as he works on his current book. The digital age has allowed the King of Primary Research to become the Emperor of Primary Research, and Kindle allows him to easily and portably (portably? I liked making up that word) read and annotate all these old but digital books.

Anyway, I have also quickly fallen in love with the Kindle myself. I can see that if I had oodles of money and if I were not also a big fan of bathtub reading, I would be giving up the printed book pronto. I like pushing that little button; I like the lightweight machine; I like see how far along I am in a book by percentage; I like organizing my reading material on a little gray screen; I like being geezer-ific and making the print super big.

But I don't have oodles of money and I am a fan of the bathtub.

In the course of exploring Amazon's website, I came across the return policy for Kindle content. Here it is:

Any content you purchase for Kindle from the Kindle Store is eligible for return and refund if we receive your request within 7 days of the date of purchase. Once a refund is issued, you will no longer have access to the item. To request a refund and return, click the Customer Service button in the Contact Us box in the right-hand column of this page to reach us via phone or e-mail. Please make sure to include the title of the item you wish to return in your request.

Okay, so if you're me, you immediately think, "Hey, I would never have to pay for a Kindle book." It virtually never takes me 7 days to finish a book. If I were a completely unethical person, I could request a refund for every book I ever read on the Kindle while still getting to read the content.

But then if you're also me, you're a little bit worried about the number of books that you read each year. You're a little concerned that since you're not currently (a) an English major or (b) an English professor, your reading habit may constitute a bit of an addiction. Especially considering the tidiness or lack thereof of your basement and the fact the your flower beds need weeding.

So then you think about the fact that this return policy is pretty deeply buried on the Kindle website and the fact that while you can return Kindle content, it is a bit of a pain in the butt. You can't just click a button. You have to send an email to customer support; you have to develop a relationship with customer support. A therapeutic relationship?

What if this is Amazon's way of trying to keep people like me from going too far with the whole reading thing? A way to try to keep us from being too harmful to society, ourselves, or our pocketbooks?

I told Chris. He laughed.

Hot Times, Summer in the City

2011-07-29T08:32:00.002-05:00

Eleanor and I just spent a few days in New York with my mom and dad. What an epic trip. I'm going to try to jot down some impressions as they come to me rather than getting one giant wrap up into a blog entry.

Before traveling, I was worried that I would be Buddy the Elf in NYC. I thought NYC would be different than any other city I'd been in. I thought it would be standing room only everywhere with people yelling all the time. I thought I would be a Hoosier Mountain girl making eye contact with everyone and adopting homeless people and generally getting into trouble on elevators since it's been so long since I've been to a big city. Turns out New York is not that different from the other capitals of the world. I had a few Buddy the Elf moments, and I did have an eye contact problem. But it wasn't standing room only or anything, and I got my bearings quickly. Except for the subway. The New York subway system was way more mystifying than any other subway system I have ever negotiated. Or maybe my brain was just younger when I navigated them.
Eleanor charmed Manhattan, and Manhattan charmed her. Everywhere she went, she declared that it was the best place she had ever eaten, been, visited, etc. The waiters and waitresses of New York want her to come back. Every piece of food eaten by her was the most AMAZING egg roll, sandwich, croissant, whatever she had EVER tasted, and she made it known. At the American Girl store, she charmed the staff because (a) she was wearing her own regular sweat shorts and tshirt, (b) her doll had messy hair, was wearing an off-brand dress, and was shoeless, and (c) she wandered around the store showing the doll things. I overheard her tell the doll, "Don't pay any attention to the models. They're in it for the money." Pictures were prohibited at the Harry Potter exhibition; I wasn't sad because I wanted to take pictures of the exhibit. I wanted to take pictures of Eleanor's face as she looked at Emma Watson's clothes and the props from the movies.

More NY reports to come: The Statue of Liberty by boat, the Inappropriateness of Statues, and More

Recent Reads

2011-07-29T08:23:00.003-05:00

#42 -- "The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P Figg" by Rodman Philbrick -- This was a YA novel I read to Eleanor. I don't usually count books I read to the kids, but since I loved this book, here it is. And it should be noted that I loved it way more than Eleanor (who thought it was boring). I agree with her that the narrative lost some momentum toward the end, but the book didn't lose as much momentum as she did. A 12 year old's view of the Civil War, told on foot, horse, steamship, medicine show caravan, and balloon. I loved it.

#43 -- "The Attenbury Emeralds" by Jill Paton Walsh -- It's amazing how well Walsh continues to capture the voice of Dorothy Sayers. I enjoyed this as escapist summer reading in hotel rooms, but I'm not sure I bought Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane in the 1950s.

#44 -- "Catering to Nobody" by Diane Mott Davidson -- Just when you think you're running out of mystery series... ah, you find a new one. I liked the main character a lot, a mouthy caterer who has gotten out of an abusive relationship and who's trying to raise a quirky kid. I'm looking forward to reading more of these this fall.

Marital Conversation #6 -- Follow-up + Paul

2011-07-16T08:53:00.003-05:00

So this morning, Chris was reading last night's blog. Paul was on the sofa, intently fixing stickers in his Emergency Vehicle Sticker Book. I didn't think he was listening. I don't know why I thought that. I mean, every parent knows kids are always listening. Also, Paul has inherited Grandpa Lowell Carnahan ears from me. Lowell ears allow you to hear whispered conversations two rooms away. Seriously. The man could hear conversations in the nurses' station when he was in the nursing home. When I was recovering from sinus surgery, I could hear my parents and Chris whispering over a card game two rooms away. I don't know why I thought Paul wasn't hearing or listening. But I didn't.

Jenny: I've thought of a problem with role playing games as a birth control device for the boy.

Chris: What's that?

Jenny: The phenomenon of The Hot Nerd.

Chris: (Looking up from the computer and devoting his attention to me) What?

Jenny: You know, the Hot Nerd. You know how in ever group of nerds, there's always the hot one? The one who can cross over and get girls? What if Paul's the hot nerd? Then D and D won't help us in our fight against STDs?

Paul: What am I? What you say?

Jenny: Nothing, honey.

Paul: What am I?

Jenny: You're the hot nerd. (hoping that this unknown vocabulary will put an end to this discussion... as if I had said, you're the mechanical engineer... you're the tort reform... you're the defibrillator)

Paul: What that mean?

Jenny: It means the ladies love you.

Paul: Oh yes, the ladies all love me.

Marital Conversation #5 -- Birth Control and RPG

2011-07-15T20:34:00.003-05:00

Background Information Piece #1: Recently, the children made treasure boxes in Sunday School. They used stickers and colorful crafty doodads to cover cookie tins. They could also cut out pictures from magazines and paste them on their treasure boxes. Eleanor's is covered with "Jesus Loves Me" stickers and other craft materials. Paul's is covered with magazine pictures of beautiful women. This story is illustrative of his approach to the fair sex. He loves the ladies.

Background Information Piece #2: Paul is also charming. Recently, we have been trying to train him not to have Mommy lie down with him as I tuck in him at night. Usually, I'm so completely smacked with exhaustion that by the time tuck-in time comes around, I just lie down and fall asleep myself. But this is probably (definitely) not promoting the best sleep habits in the boy. So now I'm trying to just sit in the chair next to the bed as I sing his special, soporific version of "Wheels on the Bus." He does not like the new arrangement, and he's been turning on the charm. There I am in the chair; there he is in the bed, saying, "Oh, I so cold. It so cold in this bed. I cold.... [batting of the eyes] Get in the bed with me." I could totally hear him in 12 years saying, "Baby, the world could end tomorrow. We can't guess the future. You know what we need to do. Blah blah blah."

And therefore marital conversation #5.

Chris: Did you see that there's a new super strong gonorrhea strain.

Jenny: Yes... scary, scary stuff.

Chris: For Paul's 12th birthday, we might just have to get him a bunch of condoms.

Jenny: (squeaky voiced) Twelfth? (how many syllables can you make the word "twelfth?" It was more than one when I said "Twelfth?")

Chris: (laconically) He's a mover.

(long silence)

Jenny: Couldn't you just start teaching him how to play Dungeons and Dragons right now?

Book It = #41

2011-07-11T12:15:00.002-05:00

"Stagestruck" by Peter Lovesey

Here's what great crime writer Sara Paretsky has to say about this book:

"I’m jealous of everyone discovering Lovesey and Diamond for the first time—you have a wonderful backlist to catch up on. Me, all I can do is wait for the next book."

Enough said... Okay, I'll also say that I had the murderer picked very early in the book, but it was still worth it.

Book It -- The Hunger Games Trilogy

2011-07-11T11:51:00.002-05:00

#38-40 "The Hunger Games", "Catching Fire," "Mockingjay" by Suzanne Collins

I'd been resisting these books for a long while, partly because

(a) Chris Green, whom I trust, thought I'd find them too violent. I like my books to be nice and simply murderous. I like people to kill each other over money or love, pip pip cheerio, preferably while wearing monocles. I like my murders cerebral and puzzle-like and Golden Age.

(b) I got burnt on "The girl with the dragon tattoo" book. I mean, that book was okay, but not up to the hype and not up to other far Northern European thriller (Mankell, Indridason, etc, etc). I was worried about being burnt again over a heavily-hyped book.

(c) I have this thing about books where children get hurt. I put down "The World According to Garp" for several weeks after the major bad thing that happens to a child in that book. And the major bad thing in that book isn't children being set loose in an arena to kill each other after being groomed by a media frenzy.

(3) I'm generally not a fan of the post-apocalyptic dystopia. I read "A Canticle for Leibowitz" too young. I didn't understand it, and it put me off the genre.

(4) Stephen King recommended the "Hunger Games." I have no doubt that Stephen King is a great American writer. No doubt. And I love reading his "Entertainment Weekly" columns. But we don't happen to share the same tastes, generally speaking. There's nothing wrong with that. We both love the great Kate Atkinson. But overall, that's about it. I'm a fuddy-duddy. So I loved reading his review of the "Hunger Games" a few years back, but realized I probably wouldn't like it. Since he did.

Turns out "The Hunger Games" is like the great Kate Atkinson. Wow, those books are good.

First of all, Collins is just a master of knowing how to write a book that keeps you turning pages. She absolutely knows how to end a chapter in such a a way that you do not want to stop. Every chapter, even though I knew it was time to go to bed/read a book to my children/fix supper/walk the dog, had me saying, "Well, dang it, I can't stop there. I've got to find out what happens next."

Second of all, she plays well with the great themes of American literature and in particular the themes of Appalachian literature: the Noble Mountaineer, city vs country, the corruption of the city, the redemption of the land, etc., etc.

Third of all, she's got a completely believable teenage female protagonist. Sometimes, a teenage female protagonist makes you want to smack the author. Collins frequently makes you want to smack her protagonist. That's what I call a realistic protagonist.

Those three reasons are what I think makes it possible that "The Hunger Games" might continue to be read past our current decade. I think the trilogy stands a chance although living with a historian of literature has taught me one thing: it is absolutely impossible to predict what works of literature are going to "stand the test of time."

In the meantime, there are a whole lot of fascinating and timely themes to keep your interest whetted as a reader in the early twenty-teens: celebrity culture, body modification, attitudes toward children, the destruction of Appalachia to power the rest of the nation, capitalism, governance, black markets, reality television, fashion statements and death.

Go read them. Caveat: Go read them if you're over the age of 14 or if you're younger but have had lots of terrible things happen to you. These are some unrelentingly grim books. But good, very good.

2011-07-09T08:37:00.001-05:00

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Listen to Judy

2011-06-23T09:09:00.003-05:00

As longtime readers know, our mission here at Hobson's Choice is to get you to give up the parental guilt. You're doing the best you can. So quit it.

And by chance, I came across a quotation from the great Judy Blume that furthers our mission here. I've been reading the "The Best American NonRequired Reading Anthologies" for fun this year, and I came across this in the intro to the 2008 anthology. It's so important, so please don't hate me Dave Eggers for reproducing it:

Here's what the wise Judy Blume has to say about "having it all:"

There was a time when we were told we could have it all -- career, kids, marriage.... The mistake, I think was in feeding girls the idea that they had to have it all at the same time. That's not always possible. Most of the women I know have found work they care about. Maybe they found it after their kids were in school. Maybe after their kids grew up.... So sure go for it all if you want it. Just don't beat yourself up if you can't pull it all off at the same time."

Let me repeat that last bit: Just don't beat yourself up if you can't pull it all off at the same time.

You can do it all. Many of us have to do it all. We work; we have children; we're married. But I don't think there is anybody out there who can be the best at her most fulfilling career; bake the best cupcakes for the PTA; have the most mind-blowing and frequent sex in her relationship while also attending to the spiritual needs of her partner; be there for her children and their friends; keep an immaculate house and serve healthy home-cooked meals; shepherd her children's perfect behavior; work out for an hour a day several times a week; run a scout troop; angle for promotion at work; have a clean basement and attic; go to the dentist twice a year; get every pap smear when you're supposed to; read deep novels; write deep novels; write thank you notes in a timely fashion; keep your children from watching too much television; be a good boss; keep up with current events; be active in her community and church; attend to her own personal growth; and on and on. ALL AT ONCE!

That is a myth. No one can "do it all" at once. No one can "most of it" at once. If you're tempted to beat up on yourself today, think of the words of the great Judy Blume. There will be time to do it all. Don't beat up on yourself because you can't do it all at once.

This month, driving the kids to the camps, I was grumping on myself because Paul has spent 3 mornings in camp this and I haven't done more writing. One of those mornings, I had a migraine. Still, I was thinking what a terrible person I was that I wasn't getting more writing done.

Then I remembered Judy Blume.

Kicking myself didn't let me come home and do some writing. But Judy Blume did.

Summer So Far #1

2011-06-23T08:48:00.004-05:00

Ahhhhhhhhh....

That is the sound of summer so far. My little time in the Realm of Stay-At-Home-Mom.

And really, we do. I mean, stay at home. A lot. What I love so far are the long afternoons in which we kind of wander from room to room, including the yard and the porch and neighbor's houses as rooms. We're just kind of puttering.

Reading library books and doing crafts and cleaning random objects that get no care during the school year. And thinking about bizarre questions and having interesting debates. The current debate between Paul and me is whether there is even such a thing as "America." He says no. He says America is just a statue. We live in West Virginia. There are alligators in America. There are no alligators here. Therefore, there is no America.

How can you argue with that?

I love how quiet the house is in summer. I love long minutes where we, or I, just listen to the ticking clock. And then maybe a bird chirps. And then a child runs downstairs. And then we argue about how planets are born or about whether it's unreasonable to use an entire roll of packing tape in a day.

Eleanor has given full sway to her packing tape addiction this summer.

She is getting an enormous gift bag of tape for her birthday.

Note to self: Don't hide the packing tape you just bought for mailing packages so well that even you can't find it. Note to self #2: It's pointless anyway. Eleanor found it before you did.

And then Lilly comes over. Or Aurelia. And we run around and maybe be loud. Aurelia and Paul do a lot of thumping upstairs. What on earth are they doing? I think they are just jumping off the chair in his room. 5,000 times. And possible arguing about ridiculous things. "Paul, do you know how to spell the word 'a'," says Aurelia. "Hmmmmm..... No," says Paul. Dear god, someday, she is going to teach him how to kiss. Please let that be all. If anyone ever buys those two a package of bottle rockets, I will personally kill that person. Or drugs. I will kill that person worse.

Meanwhile, Eleanor and Lilly are practicing for a play, and they spend the entire afternoon in character. And woe betide the person who slips up and calls them "Eleanor" or "Lilly." That person might be enjoying a mystery novel on the porch and might be mentally in the geography of Sweden. That person might forget that she's addressing the Goddess of Love and the Goddess of Weather. "Huhhhhh," huff the girls. Parents just don't understand. I believe I've heard that before.

Nonetheless, the gods of love and weather smile upon us in summer so far.

#37 -- The Troubled Man by Henning Mankell

2011-06-21T10:30:00.003-05:00

Wow. Wow. Wow. A powerful conclusion to the series. Wow.

Book It

2011-06-19T19:17:00.002-05:00

Ah Summertime... I'm beginning to get into a groove here....

#35 -- "Before the frost" by Henning Mankell -- I forget how good these are. I completely don't understand why "The Girl Who" books have taken the world by storm, and these have not. Or haven't to the same degree. I don't get those "The Girl Who" books. I kind of don't get the syntax of any Scandinavian mysteries. But I like the Wallander ones a lot.

#36 -- "Gone tomorrow" by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles -- Have I read any of these before? I thought they were set in Canada. Clearly, they are not. Another series with a police detective and a musician girlfriend. Hmm. I will read some of these before deciding.

Overheard

2011-06-16T16:01:00.002-05:00

Paul inherited his cousins' old matchbox cars last week. Suddenly, he's gone from a boy with some cars to a Boy With A Lot Of Cars.

And today, the cars are involved in a rock opera. There's been lots of singing. I've been listening. Or rather, I've been overhearing. I've been forbidden from asking any questions. If I happen to make any direct eye contact, the composition stops.

But here are the topics I've heard covered so far:

"I am a teeny, teeny golf cart."
Something about Jesus's muscles. Or it could be Cheez-It's muscles. The two words are pronounced the same. But I'm thinking it's probably Jesus in this case. It makes more sense. But if you ever want to hear a hilarious version of "Jesus loves me," you probably want to catch Paul before his speech clears up.
"Fast snow speeder. Fast. Fast. Fast."
Something about shooting. Shooting whom? I don't know.
The semi-trucks are a family and they had a baby, a tiny semi-truck. "The baby came out. The mommy went to the hospital. We are a family. Now we can be Rescue Heroes together."
Something about "We are all a team. We are all a team."
Lots of hissing brakes.

And that's why I laugh a little hysterically when I see articles about "how to stimulate your child's imagination."

Why we have very few area rugs..

2011-06-11T19:09:00.002-05:00

Because when the dog sees an area rug, she says to me... you know, as she does like to talk to me... Anyway, when she sees an area rug, she says:

"Why, Jenny, did you put down this area rug so that I might pee upon it?"

And I say, "Why, no. I put this rug down to add a little decor to the room. It adds a little color, some unification to the theme, a little class. The one next to the door catches a little dirt from people's feet as they walk inside so that I don't have to sweep every third minute. But no, it's not really there for your pee. It's to, you know, elevate the tone, bring us joy, distinguish us as humans from the beasts of the field, lend a little art to our lives. It's an area rug."

And then because the dog doesn't speak English, she says, "Why, Jenny, thank you so much for putting this rug here for me to pee upon it."

And then she pees on it.

Only she waits until I'm out of the room and not looking directly at her. And then she pees on it.

And that's why we don't have area rugs, except for some small ones that can go into the washer and then out on the line. The lovely antique, hand-braided rug has been cleaned and rolled up and stored for another, more continent day.

Because we don't want dog piss on it.

That's why we also a gate on the stairs that lead to our mainly carpeted upstairs. As long as the dog has no access to rugs, she holds her pee until we take her outside. But give her access to a soft carpet, and whoosh! Niagara falls! The washable throw rugs are an insurance policy in case she should suddenly hatch designs upon the sofa. And that I am NOT HAVING!

And that's why you won't see an area rug when you come visit.

Family Vacation With Juvenile Diabetes -- An Ongoing CameraPhone Series

2011-06-10T07:26:00.002-05:00

99% of the time, diabetes doesn't get us down. There's all sorts of literature out there about chronic illness if you want to read it, and it's not for me to belabor it. But the main thing about chronic illness is that it's just part of a family's life, just another member of the family (albeit a member of the family that we'd all willingly kick out if we could). Not a lot of time spent thinking about what life would be like if this disease weren't part of our lives.

I mean to say that it's not the Big C, for pete's sake. And it's not the Blitz. Bombs aren't raining down on our heads, and we're not sleeping in a subway station. It's not homelessness today. It's not life in Afghanistan, where the average life expectancy for women is something like 45 years and most women will lose at least one child.

It's not even diabetes 20 years ago or 50 years ago or 100 years ago. Life is getting better with this disease all the time. Let's keep things in perspective here.

Nonetheless, there are times when diabetes is just a bit of a bummer, times when I can't help but look around and worry that "This is not going to end well." And there are more times when I wish that Chris did not feel rotten because of the sap flowing through his veins.

And so in honor of those rare moments, I present:

Type One Diabetes On Vacation -- An Ongoing Camera Phone Series

Insulin and Carb Master Yogurt

From Family Vacation - Juvenile Diabetes Style

Carb Calculations on State Park
Informational Sheet

From Family Vacation - Juvenile Diabetes Style

Digital Food Scale Hits the Road

From Family Vacation - Juvenile Diabetes Style

Durable Medical Equipment!!!

From Family Vacation - Juvenile Diabetes Style

Meds!

From Family Vacation - Juvenile Diabetes Style

Capping the Pump -- Let's Swim!

From Family Vacation - Juvenile Diabetes Style

Tune Again Soon for More Diabetic Adventures on the Road!

Two New Books

2011-06-09T16:47:00.002-05:00

#33 -- "Fallen Angel" by David Hewson -- I think I've figured out this author's formula. Every other book is creepy and depressing and disturbing, and then the one in between is lighter so as to give the reader a bit of a break. This was the depressing one. It was well-written and compelling, but I didn't like it was much.

#34 -- "A Drop of the Hard Stuff" by Lawrence Block -- This book is getting a lot of press this summer. It's good. It's a mystery set in the world of AA in New York in the early 1980s. Sometimes it's just a relief to read a book where the characters aren't at the beck and call of their cell phones all the time. You know? It's nice when detectives have to use pay phones and answering machines and receive written messages. I hadn't read a Lawrence Block book in several years, and I'd forgotten how very, very good they are. This one was no exception. I don't think I'd ever read an AA-set mystery before. Like AA itself, it had all the real fascination and excruciating boredom that the real meetings have for the non-addict. As a trained social worker, I've been to enough meetings and read enough of the literature to be both intrigued by that world and to find it boring (the steps, the sayings, etc. aren't meant for me and my survival, after all). I would love to know what someone who's working the program right now makes of the book and what someone who's a few years away from "a meeting a day" thinks about it. Those are some reviews I would love to read.

Okay, so I wasn't at Field Day yesterday (but I will be writing at least 20 AR tests this summer!)

2011-06-02T08:22:00.005-05:00

No, I didn't help with Field Day at the elementary school yesterday. Sue me. I'm feeling a little need to defend myself, which tells me that I'm feeling more than a little guilty.

Let's leave aside my excuse that bringing a 3 year old to field day would have made more work for the staff at the school than any potential benefit from volunteering. We're not from "around here," and I don't have relatives that can watch him while I volunteer at the school. And no, I'm sorry, I'm not going to PAY someone to watch him while I volunteer, nor am I going to ask my husband to leave work. Nor am I going to cash in my free points with any of my beloved free babysitters for field day. I'm sorry. I'm bad.

So there's that.

There's also the fact that I hated field day as a child, and it'd be a close call between undergoing elective surgery and attending field day now. Surgery vs Field Day. Surgery vs. Field Day. Hard Call. Of course, Eleanor's field day actually sounded fun as opposed to one long whiffle ball tournament from HELL. Eleanor had a DJ and games and her BFFs Sophie and Daniel.

I won't mention that the school staff seemed to handle field day okay when I was a kid, and we had field day in an unfenced field next to a cemetery, a road, and the high school. The high school was full of kids who smoked around a barrel during passing periods. Oh, and the cemetery was next to a junk yard. And Ritalin didn't even exist. But of course, the teacher all had big honking paddles, too. Autres temps, autres moeurs, as they say. But let us not talk about it.

Anyway, I'm still feeling kind of bad. The only thing I can say is that Paul will be in elementary school relatively soon, I'll be there.

Oh, and I volunteered to write AR tests for the school's cache of "Babysitter's Club" books that the girls all want to read and test on so that they can go bowling this summer. There are 20 of them. Am I forgiven?

Why Dogs and Humans Will Never Truly Understand Each Other

2011-05-31T07:24:00.005-05:00

How Humans Feel about A Place to Poop: There is a perfect place to poop. It's called the toilet. We invented it. It's a piece of porcelain. We keep it in a special room with the tub and the sink. It's perfect. Although now that we think about it, maybe keeping it in the same room as the tub wasn't our best idea ever. Maybe the French are onto something with keeping the toilet in its own special little closet. On the other hand, they also have those ridiculous stand-up unisex public toilets with the hole in the floor. Anyway, there is a perfect place to poop. It's called the toilet. Enough said.

The Dogs' Perspective: There is a perfect place to poop. Somewhere. It's out there. We've never found it. But we know it's out there. There is a song of the universe that sings to all dogs, telling us that somewhere is the perfect spot. You know, life is all about the journey, man. You can live your life crapping in the same place every day, but think of the things you will have missed. Good god, you people poop on a sterile piece of stone inside the house. Sure, we have to poop in a less than prime place every day, but we keep seeking, keep looking, knowing that someday, we may find Shangri-La. We may never find it. But we're okay as long as we can keep sniffing for that one perfect place.

Can you tell that I've spent a lot of time recently, bag in hand, seeking the perfect spot with my neurotic dog?

Books A Million -- Not Really, Okay, A Few

2011-05-31T07:24:00.002-05:00

#30 -- Anthem for Doomed Youth by Carola Dunn
#31 -- The Body in the Gazebo by Katherine Hall Page
#32 -- The Hanging Wood by Martin Edwards

All three come from series I've been reading for a while. The first two are long-time series, the Daisy Dalrymple and Faith Fairchild series. Both experience a kind of mid-series slump a while back, and I kind of thought I might give them up. I'm please to say that both series are BACK! And better than ever!

Martin Edwards's Daniel Kind/Hannah Scarlett series is rare example of a series that started slow and has just gotten better. Most of the time series start strong and get worse. Think about all that time the author put in on their first novel! After the first Daniel Kind book, I was sort of divided as to whether I even wanted to read any more at all. I certainly didn't want to pay for any. Thankfully, our library picked up this series as it has just gotten better.

Marital Discussion #4 -- Wisdom

2011-05-31T07:15:00.004-05:00

In the kitchen before breakfast.

Overhead Beth Vorhees on WV Public Radio: Cabell County Elementary Schools are getting their swings back. 17 elementary schools had their swings removed because...

Jenny: because the BOE are jacknuts.

Beth Voorhees on the radio: because of safety concerns.

Jenny: Beth Vorhees has linguistic integrity... whoops. I mean, "journalistic" integrity. I hope with all these little aphasias, I'm not developing some kind of early onset Alzheimer's.

Chris: Nope. Welcome to life approaching the age of forty.

Jenny: Ha!

Chris: That's why we have to continue to perpetuate the myth of wisdom. So the young people will think we know what we're talking about, even when we can't remember any words.

#29 -- Heads You Lose by Lisa Lutz and David Hayward

2011-05-10T18:56:00.003-05:00

It's only number 29. It's May, which means end of the year chaos. Yes, rest of you normal Western humans, it's the end of the calendar year for those of us who live in Academic World. It's May, the end of the year. I'm losing my mind over year-end portfolios, music shows for my own children and for my students, last fundraisers at everyone's schools. And gack! Teacher presents to knit!

Plus Easter came late this year -- that's illegal from now on, right... I know Chris thinks so... We had to celebrate Easter, my birthday, and Mother's Day on three consecutive weekends. I'm a pretty low maintenance mom, and I could have done with minimal celebration. But there's no minimal celebration once small children are in the picture. They want to "wow" Mom on her special days. Poor Chris. That's a lot of wow-ing.

And now this weekend is the school carnival. The good thing about being an adult at a carnival is that you have a job to do and you can do it. When you're a little kid, there's only so many times you can play the fishing game, and I quickly figured out that it's way too conspicuous to read a book at a carnival. Thankfully, as an adult, I've got a job to do, and I'm busy the whole time and don't have to wish I had a book. I don't have to pretend I want to dunk my teachers in the dunking booth, which I really don't. By the way, let it be known that I will gladly sit in a dunking booth at a May carnival if anyone wants to donate $1,000,000 to the preschool.

Still it's only May. I can make it through on just a couple of books. No problems. Especially not as there's knitting. And the month of June.

Anyway, I read "Heads You Lose." Fun Book. Funny Book. I didn't like it as well as the "Spellman" books. "Heads You Lose" was much funnier, but with less heart. I think I like a good funny to heart ratio. But every once in a while, lots of funny with no heart is pretty good. So was this. Especially in May.

Book Reading -- "Bossypants" by Tina Fey

2011-04-28T19:55:00.002-05:00

It's #28, and I didn't skip a book like I feared in my last post. I had started "Unseen Academicals" by Terry Pratchett but didn't get very far before the Kate Atkinson book came in at the library.

I loved, loved, loved this book. Because I love Tina Fey's attitude, and I love what she has to say. And I loved learning little tidbits about her life (and side anecdotes about Amy Poehler)

I especially loved her commentary about breast feeding, about how difficult it is, how it's not the end of the world if you don't do it, how you've got to let go of the guilt and the guilt trips given to you by the "Teat Nazis."

She writes: "Lesson learned? When people say, "You really really must" do something [i.e., breastfeed], it means you don't really have to. No one ever says, 'You really, really must deliver the baby during labor.' When it's true, it doesn't need to be said."

And you know, Hobson's Choice loves writers who tell us to get rid of unnecessary and stupid guilt.

Parks and Rec Watching: Strategy

2011-04-28T13:03:00.005-05:00

A preschool parent and I were bemoaning the lack of good family primetime viewing the other day. Remember when you used to be able to watch primetime television with the whole family back in the 70s and 80s? Now, it seems like you can't watch ANY scripted television with your children for fear of what they will see, learn, and be prematurely aged by.

Of course, as my co-teacher Mary pointed out, they were always "going up for a nightcap" on the "Love Boat," and none of us had any idea what that REALLY meant. Maybe 70s TV was just as naughty; it was just innuendo-filled and we didn't get it. Or maybe our parents were less strict. It was the swinging 70s and the Reagan 80s.

I have recently discovered that Eleanor shares my love for "Parks and Recreation." When the season finally came on this year, our family came down with a stomach bug. There was NO WAY that I was not waiting for health to watch the long-delayed season opened (Sarcastic thanks, NBC! Sarcastic thanks, Outsourcing!). So I started watching with feverish Paul. Eleanor walked into the room when Leslie threw Jerry's painting into the lake, and she fell down laughing. She's been hooked every since.

Like the rest of primetime, "Parks and Rec" is not exactly G-Rated. But it's more G-Rated than anything except for game shows. Here's how I manage to watch it with my almost nine year old.

(1) Prescreen, prescreen, prescreen! -- It's the 21st century, baby. We don't watch anything when it's on. I have no idea when any program in the universe is on television. We watch P&R on Hulu on the Roku Box. So before Eleanor watches any episode, please be certain that I have watched it first.

(2) You have the network censors, I have Uncle Luke -- Before approving most episodes for watching, I consult with my brother Luke. He is stricter than me. He is a voice of good sense.

(3) Some episodes have to be culled. Watch for the warning signs -- Some episodes are just too sexy to be watched at all. P&R episodes generally have to censored for sex, not violence. It's Pawnee, Indiana, people. I did have to censor "Time Capsule," just because I did not want Eleanor even thinking about reading the book "Twilight." Generally, certain guest star or characters are good indicators that Eleanor will have to forego an episode. Megan Mullally showing up? A Ron and Tammy episode? No way. Is it a Tom-Centric episode? Au revoir. Jean-Ralphio is the kiss of doom.

(4) Loud Talking-- Maybe there are just a couple of inappropriate exchanges, like in the recent episode "Fancy Party" where Tom starts looking around for strippers. It lasts approximately 15 seconds. That's where your parental advance planning starts to come in handy. It's your job as parent to remember where these moments are and plan distractions. This is when you want to ask in a loud voice: " What do you think of this episode so far? What is up with April's friend Oren? Dude, why did Chris bring a vegetable loaf instead of a cake?" Guess what? Inappropriateness over. Back to episode.

(5) Be the parent to Pollyanna -- None of this would work if I weren't the parent of Pollyanna. At almost age 9, Eleanor still claims not to know what any bad words are. We have watched an entire "Arthur" episode on the phenomenom of bleeping on TV, and she still claims she doesn't understand why sometimes they beep and blur people's mouths. I have a hard time believing that she truly doesn't know any curse words, but she's convincing. And what I am going to do? Quiz her on them? Explain them to her? That would be a hilarious conversation: "Well, honey, there's 'damn' and 'shit' and don't forget the 'f-bomb." So all that stuff flies right over her head and makes our TV experience so much more fun.

Because it's wonderful to share the experience of watching a near-perfect sitcom with Eleanor and Uncle Luke. And I'm so glad that she has the good example of hard-worker and good person Leslie Knope to see in addition to all the plastic people on the Disney Channel. Leslie works hard and is pretty and smart. Leslie's a lot like Eleanor . Leslie probably didn't know any bad words when she was 8 years old either.

The other night after we watched "Fancy Party," Eleanor texted Uncle Luke:
Eleanor: That episode was so funny, surprising, and weird. I also want to say, do you think Andy and April made the right choice?
Luke: Yes, I think they made the right choice. I wish I could be best friends with Andy!
Eleanor: Andy would say, "Awesome sauce." I say, LOL.

I don't know if Luke said they made the right choice because Eleanor's own parents got married after not knowing each other for long. (Critical disclaimers: it was longer than a month, neither of us was a shoeshine boy, neither of us lived with our parents, both of us had advanced degrees, both of us were capable of supporting ourselves, and neither of us lived with a guy named Burley). Nonetheless it was a sweet texting exchange between niece and uncle. Awesome sauce, indeed!

Book Count

2011-04-26T13:31:00.004-05:00

Dang It... I think I lost a couple of books in my recording there somewhere.
But here we go...

#26 -- "Started Early, Took My Dog" by Kate Atkinson -- I think Atkinson is writing the best British mysteries around today. I don't read that many North American mysteries, and I don't read that many Scandinavian mysteries. So I don't feel confident saying that she's the best Western thriller writer today. But I'm pretty confident. There's just nothing quite as perfect as the Jackson Brodie books. Stylistically well-written; semi-telegraphic where they need to be; detailed where they need to be; well-developed characters; good plotting. And not just good plotting, but interesting plots. Topics that grab you in a way that you can't quite describe because they're just not quite conventional for a mystery. They're almost conventional but not quite. Are these books depressing? Yes, as hell. But they're not scary in the way that psychological thrillers can be, and they're quite hopeful books. And Stephen King and I love both love these books, and frankly, I can't imagine that there is much that we both love.

#27 -- "A Lesson in Secrets" by Jacqueline Winspear -- I continue to like the Maisie Dobbs series. I'm not as enthralled with the books as I was early on. I don't think that perhaps they're stylistically as tight, or perhaps I've just gotten used to the tropes of a Maisie Dobbs book. What I do like about this series is that Maisie continues to grow and change as a character in each book. That's rare for a mystery series, so rare that I would continue to look forward to each new one for that feature alone. I could really care less about the mystery at the center of the books.

Hot Times, Summer in the Country

2011-04-24T19:43:00.002-05:00

When I was a little girl in the country, one of my goals each summer was to be able to walk barefoot on the gravel lane at our house. Clarification: I wanted to be able to not just walk barefoot, but to walk without discomfort.

And here's the cute part: if it got to be July and it was still hurting, I knew I had to step it up. I had to spend more time on the driveway. I had to toughen those feet up if I was going to be pain-free before school started in August.

That's the value of growing up in the country in a pre-cable, pre-internet era, my friends.

That's why, when there is dissent in the ranks in the younger generation, about the lack of entertainment or about being bored, these are the words you will hear this Mama say:

"Great art is born out of boredom."

Or if I'm really tired or impatient:

"AM Radio, people, AM Radio. That's all I'm saying."

Marital Discussion #3: Pants

2011-04-24T19:36:00.002-05:00

Jenny: He was just another guy in flat front pants

Chris: Flat front pants?

Jenny: Yes, you know. Flat front pants. Versus pleated pants. You have flat front pants. I don't allow you pleated pants. I think I've eliminated all the pleated pants from your wardrobe now.

Chris: My black plants are pleated pants. Black plants only come in pleated pants.

Jenny: [eyebrows up] Whaaattttt?

Chris: Well, what is the difference between pleated and flat front?

Jenny: Pleated pants have pleats.

Chris: Oh, well, see I don't understand....

[long pause]

Jenny: Yes, you are a heterosexual male.

Chris: Are pleated pants associated with heterosexual males?

[long pause]

Jenny: Of a certain age.

Chris: Oh.

Marital Conversation #2: Addiction Nature

2011-04-22T08:06:00.003-05:00

(NOTE: Because I don't want Oprah (Or Chris) to go all James Frey on my butt, this is conglomeration of multiple conversations Chris and I have had. I can't remember exactly how this all went down. It's a lot harder to reproduce exactly a conversation with an adult than with a small child)

Jenny: (opening monologue) So among the many things I was thinking about in the middle of the night last night... I'm worried that those tea party nuts are going to figure out a way to destroy the public libraries. That the libraries will be their next target. And let's face it, I think we can safely say that I have an addiction. I read not quite 100 books a year. If I had to buy them instead of getting them from the library... Let's say a book cost around $10. Because you can't get good books at yard sales. Not the obscure books I like to read. That's $1000 a year! That's serious money! That's addiction money! That's like what serious addicts spend on their drug of choice! That's what I'm worried about and their tea party nut jobs.

Chris: Okay, slow down. Let's do the math. Let's say you were just a bud light alcoholic and you drank a six pack a day. Lots of people do that. (long pause while he does mental math). Okay, that's you. You're like a bud light alcoholic.

Jenny: So let's hope the libraries stay open.

Chris: But here's what going to happen. If the tea party closes the libraries, the democrats and leftists will have our own libraries for everybody else. We will keep libraries open for every body else.

Jenny: Have you not noticed how completely FECKLESS the democrats are!? There is no way they could organize an independent library system in rebellion against a dominant tea party! I'm going to have to pay for books and our children are going to be illiterate!

NOTE: It has apparently been a long time since Chris purchased a six pack of Bud Light because I just googled it, and Bud Light is around $7. That would be around $50 a week, not $10 a week. So I'm please to report that at least financially, my addiction has not reached that level. And thank god that society is pleased by my addiction and provides my materials for free at the public library (so far).

Marital Conversation #1: Heavy Metal

2011-04-22T07:58:00.002-05:00

This month's Atlantic magazine has the best article ever on heavy metal: How Heavy Metal is Keeping Us Sane by James Parker. It's funny and baroque, so well-written. Go written. Even I, who loathe listening to metal, devoured this article. Reading it led to the following conversation.

Chris: Do we have any CDs?
Jenny: Do we have any CDs? I think so. Why?
Chris: My buddy said he'd make me a ton of "Black Sabbath" CDs if I'd given him some blank CDs.
Jenny: (long pause) Oh... no, I don't think we have any CDs... in fact, I'm pretty sure they've stopped manufacturing them.... I think they've stopped manufacturing most forms of digital recordable media. All gone... Done...
Chris: Oh, well.. Guess I'll have to buy myself an ipod.
Jenny: (sigh) We have CDs.

Lots of laughter from both.

Mmmm... the smell of vinegar... Jenny must be spraying for weeds

2011-04-17T17:44:00.000-05:00

Yes, neighbors, it does smell like salad. My parents arrive a week from today with a pickup truck and my birthday present (mulch). We arrived home yesterday from spring break and to a mammoth job of weeding. I decided I'd better help the task along with a little application of vinegar and dishsoap before Paul and I apply our elbow grease starting tomorrow. I know they don't test for this at school, but I'm willing to declare the boy "gifted and talented" at knowing the difference between a weed and a plant. Still, we've got our work cut out for us. So, yes, it smells like salad. Now, off to compose my song, "My hippie husband won't let me use Round-Up." Not that I want to use Round-Up anyway myself. I'm just into singing dolefully after all those vinegar fumes.

Book Count

2011-04-12T15:09:00.001-05:00

#25 -- "Do or Die" by Barbara Fradkin #26 -- "The Know It All" by A.J. Jacobs -- Hilarious Book. However, much like Jacobs's quest to read the encylopedia took him a long time, it seemingly took me forever to read this book (a week! Good god!) #27 -- "Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief" by Rick Riordan -- mainly read to Eleanor at bedtime and then it was good enough that I read parts of it myself to catch up on the nights when Chris did the read when I put Paul to bed.