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Debomama
Brilliant review by brilliant book mama...sniff!
(from GREAT MEMORIES: Book MAMA's April Pick For Moms)on 04/02/12Share your opinion
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Last week I hosted Thanksgiving for 20 people. Not potluck this time. I did the whole nine yards—and it was great—fun, even…! I like cooking. I like entertaining. I can honestly say that I really didn’t feel a ton of “stress” during the whole deal. It’s my favorite holiday—other than massive gluttony, it’s pretty sin-free.
So yesterday, I was having lunch with a dear friend of mine. Monday is my “day off” because I work Tuesday through Friday and we all know moms don’t really get weekends off. Usually, on Mondays I do all the housework, laundry, marketing etc. and then give myself a little extra time than usual for exercise and coffee drinking and by then it’s time to pick up the kids. Well, yesterday, I jammed all the above into the first 4 hours of the day so I could relax over lunch. (added to the above chore list was...
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My younger daughter just had her 10th birthday. We had a party here and she basically got everything her little heart wished for and then some. Her room is literally overflowing with stuff. Then, less than a week later, I hosted 20 members of the constantly expanding extended family for Thanksgiving. It all went fine—great food, good company, crazy kids. And everyone brought me hostess gifts—very nice gesture and absolutely appreciated by me but again more stuff.
This feeling of “too much stuff” is not a good feeling to have before December has even begun. Every day I go out to get the mail and there are at least 20 catalogs mixed in with the bills and now holiday cards starting to trickle in. The catalogs go directly into the recycling bin. Do people really use catalogs anymore? I mean, if you really wanted to order a gift...
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If you haven’t read any Eugenides, this is as good a time as any to start. The Virgin Suicides is brilliant and strange and Middlesex is an epic and fascinating novel for which Eugenides won the Pulitzer Prize. So start with those and then read his newest: The Marriage Plot—which is not a book about marriage or divorce for that matter. Basically it’s a story about 3 kids finishing college at Brown in the 80’s and heading out into their “freshman year” of life. It’s a story about being young and bright—gifted and lost. It’s a story about searching and asking, “how should I live my life?” “What do I believe in?” “Do I believe in love?” “Whom should I love?” The entire book was freakishly spot on for me—to the point where I frantically read up on Eugenides to see if he was in any of the places I was at the same time—in other...
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I went through a period of about 18 months after my second daughter was born when I never really slept for more than 3 hours at a time. I had a crazy 2 year old that never napped and a newborn with some health issues and strange, erratic nursing habits so I spent many long nights carrying her around, rocking her, feeding her, burping her, suctioning her nose, etc. Then during the day when the baby would sleep I would desperately try to give my kooky toddler some attention: color with her, potty train her (lost cause), play on the carpet with blocks for hours and hours, watch the same Barney episodes over and over and over. It was a strange dark period with fantastic and beautiful highly concentrated moments of great joy but mostly I remember feeling vaguely psychotic a great deal of the time.
Radical fatigue is almost like...
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“The Mad Hatter: Have I gone mad?
Alice: I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers, but I’ll tell you a secret: all the best people are.”
There’s a guy that goes to my gym. He wears old school Raybans the entire time he’s working out. The glasses are the Risky Business Tom Cruise kind that are a tough look to pull off even now. Tom Cruise couldn’t pull off that look now. My gym guy wears a button-down shirt tucked into shorts pulled up really high over a tremendous belly. He wears black socks and a sort-of loafer/slipper hybrid which can’t be good for his joints and he sports a fairly radical comb-over which isn’t at all improved by sweat. He’s at the gym a lot, which is strange because he doesn’t actually look like a guy that works out, like--ever. He gets on his treadmill or elliptical or bike and I don’t know what is...
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Last week there was an enormous power outage in Southern California. For about 10 hours—basically from the time we got home from school/work until way past bed time, we were in a blackout state—and so were countless thousands down to Baja California and east all the way to Arizona.
It’s a strange sensation and not too entirely awful as long as it ends at some point. I couldn’t stop thinking about those poor hurricane ravaged people in Missouri and various other places that were without power for far longer than 10 hours. To be honest, the only semi-brutal part of it was that we were in the midst of quite a heat wave (which I thought caused the outage in the first place, but turns out not to have been the case). In fact, that was the first indicator as it was still light out, so I just thought the air conditioner was on the...
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We love this book, MAMAs...so much so that we interviewed the author, Cindy Muchnick on our radio show! She's a genius and to get her priceless insights...get the book. We give it the O-MAMA double thumbs up!
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A long time ago, I was graduated from college and did the classic “bum around Europe” trip with a good girlfriend of mine. This was in the very early 90’s. 1990’s. We flew from Los Angeles to Heathrow with backpacks and no itineraries whatsoever. It was a classic “the folly of youth” trip. But it was great. It is hard for me to imagine what that must have been like for my parents. No cell phones. No email—no internet cafes or what have you. No contact for 4 months. I may have sent a postcard or two. I had one specific command from the powers that be (in other words: those footing the bill) and that was to meet my grandmother at the Plaza Athenee in Paris on May 14th. I did have the semi-good sense to sort-of direct our trip to wind up in at least the right country by the end of April, and as we gallivanted around old...
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When I rejoined the workforce last year, I consciously and purposefully avoided teaching in a classroom again and instead went to work in a library. All kinds of reasoning went into that decision but one of the big ones was LIBRARIES TEND TO BE VERY QUIET PLACES. Our library is actually on the louder side, but is still quieter than the average classroom and significantly quieter than my house most of the time.
Now, I know I have nothing to complain about with only two kids—both female. There are louder houses, but my tolerance for noise seems to go down in direct reverse proportion to my age. I taught kindergarten, for God’s sake, when I was in my twenties. People used to come into my classroom and ask me how I could stand it, and I was barely even aware of the constant chatter/clatter/bang/boom. But now when the...
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Last week, my sister and I attended the funeral of one of my grandmother’s closest friends—and basically her last friend still living. The service was held at Forest Lawn—a little cemetery tucked away on the west side of Los Angeles—and home to such notables as Marilyn Monroe, Merv Griffin, Rodney Dangerfield and Farrah Fawcett. My grandfather is buried there too—sort-of my step-grandpa…my grandmother’s second husband. We visited his grave; I hadn’t been there since 1978 when he died. He had the prettiest flowers—potted azaleas that my grandmother had planted a couple weeks before and had her handy man bring over.
The service was short and not too terribly depressing. The woman was 90 and had lived a pretty fabulous life, plus last Summer her children had thrown a 90thbirthday party for her and so everyone had felt that at...
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For the last few weeks my daughter has had the same breakfast every day: a 4 cheese pizza Hot Pocket and a Dove bar. Then she and her sister go to Summer school and I go to work. She has asked me recently to stop packing her snacks and/or lunches. We’ve been working on being honest, and she finally confessed that she had been tossing or giving away her food at school and not eating any of it and she wanted to stop wasting food and stop lying. Admirable I guess, except for the not eating all day part.
So then later, at home, she will usually have some Goldfish crackers (must be Flavor-blasted with extra cheddar)…and then much, much later she’ll eat some macaroni n’ cheese. (Kraft) That’s it. Every day. She basically has the eating habits of a stoned fraternity guy. If she had a moped I’m sure she’d be driving to Taco Bell...
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A great book for tweens about how to deal with bullying.
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We love this book because it shows how even a little act of kindness can have a long-term positive effect on many people.
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My daughter is feeling an emptiness in her young life since finishing the Harry Potter series. She had the books; then she had the movies and now she has almost nothing--(23 days until Deathly Hallows Part 2.) That is semi-sustaining her but really it's like a juice box on a trek through Death Valley, and once she slurps down that last sip, it'll be over forever.
MY KID: Do you think J.K. is working on a new series?
ME: Maybe. She did pretty well with the last one. Sometimes it's a good idea to quit while you're ahead.
MY KID: Gosh I hope she is. Maybe if i write her a letter or something...
ME: Sure. Give that a try--I'm sure there aren't already like thousands of fan sites devoted exclusively to Harry P. et. al. and possible future adventures. Your letter is probably the kick in the ass that lazy J.K. needs.
I didn't...
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"I'm curious about everything--even things that don't interest me." Alex Trebek
There are so many things I love about this book that I don't even know where to begin. First of all, since it was published 7 years ago, I'm wondering how I missed it, though I did have 2 toddlers at the time, so I wasn't exactly lounging around the house with the New York Times Book Review and steaming cappuccinos. So hopefully I'm not way behind the curve on this one. If you've all read it before, go read it again, I guess. I plan to.
I am HIGHLY recommending it to ALL. Here's my top ten reasons why:
10. Jacobs set himself a big giant goal--reading the entire Encyclopaedia Brittanica--and he accomplished that goal. He actually did it. This is his "book report" of that experience, as it were. I cannot remember the last time I had a goal that I...
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So the world was supposed to end last weekend. It didn’t. I don’t think. I guess this could all be a matrix or a dream. I have to admit I did not for one second think the world was going to end. I don’t even know what that means. If “the world” ends, why would anyone be worried about it? You aren’t going to be around! What I find interesting is that everyone who did believe just assumed they were going to heaven. They were in Times Square, super fired up about the celestial bash they were assuming they were invited to. I didn’t see anyone anywhere in the media who was bummed out and wishing for more time to maybe atone, or make amends to avoid going to hell. I mean, if heaven exists, then it’s likely the alternative does too and I’m sure we can’t all fit in heaven. Somebody has to be going down, right?
I don’t know...
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“Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously aged and sad.” - George Bernard Shaw
My girlfriends and I were talking about getting old the other day (for a change), and we got on the subjects of dementia and senility and Alzheimer’s disease. My maternal grandmother died of Alzheimer’s—it’s genetic; I do crossword puzzles every day to stave it off, but every time I forget something I panic. We talked about how truly awful it would be to come to the end of your life—ideally, a life well lived—fully lived—and then not be able to remember it! What a horrifying waste. Nicholas Sparks—not a guy I often quote--says in The Notebook that “Alzheimer’s is a barren disease—as empty and lifeless as a desert. It is a thief of hearts and souls and of memories.”
I’m already prone to sometimes paralyzing fear about potentially never doing...
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PREFACE TO THIS MONTH’S REC:
(warning: speaking ill of dead ahead)
I’ve gone on a bit of a Kennedy tear this month beginning with Peter Lawford’s fabulous biography: The Man Who Kept the Secrets by James Spada which has turned me into a conspiracy zealot and ending with this one.Christina Haag was a lovely girl and she’s a very attractive woman. She’s pretty. She is. But she’s not Carolyn Besette. And I know for sure that it must have crushed her to see him get married to that radiant sylph on Cumberland Island off Georgia…where he had never been until the author took him at the height of their romance—their ill-timed, somewhat childish (in a collegiate way) but very sweet 80’s love. That must have sucked. I’m sorry. But you break up, lose touch, and then he marries someone like that? With perfect seemingly unattainable...
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Recently my 11 year old had a stomach bug. The nurse’s office called me at work and when I came in to pick her up she had wild eyes and green skin. I knew she was about to throw up but she insisted I take her home.
I kept saying, “Let’s just hang out in the bathroom for a little bit.”
“No no no I want to go home.” She had regressed to 2 year old behavior.
I kept stalling. “Maybe just sit in the shade, near the bathroom and I’ll go get your sister and then we’ll go home. And maybe just hold this bag…just in case.” I really did not want her to barf in the car and I knew she was 5 minutes away from the Technicolor yawn—max. Sadly, the bag was clear plastic. It was the only one the nurses had left. The school was practically a vomitorium at this point—mid flu season—end of the week. So I collect little sis. Big sis has...
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I absolutely love dyeing Easter eggs—always have. I love that vinegar smell. I love waiting and waiting for the color to get really dark and true. I love painting fancy eggs with brushes and everything. It’s honestly one of the few holiday traditions that I fully embrace. Plus I love to eat hard boiled eggs and egg salad so we generally don’t waste too many of the dozens of eggs we color. I love that even a really little kid can drop an egg into a cup of dye and wait a few seconds and then spoon it out or just reach in and grab it—dyeing their hands in the process. I’ve shown my girls all the old techniques—dyeing eggs 2 tones—both horizontally and vertically, mixing colors—both in the cups and/or on the egg, making super pale eggs and then the darkest of darks.
When I was little my sisters and I would compete. It wasn’t a...
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I learned a new word reading Allison Espach’s new novel, The Adults. The word is neoteny: a seven letter word for retention of youth into adulthood—and not in a Michael Jackson/Peter Pan complex kind-of way. In this dark “coming of age” story, Espach explores the blurred lines between childhood and adulthood. Her teen protagonist—a young girl who finds herself having to parent her parents is named Emily Vidal (rhymes with Midol). Her mindset is cynical well beyond her years. She’s learned not to necessarily expect mature behavior from the parents, neighbors and teachers in her waspy Connecticut suburb, and no one around her seems to find anything sacred about her childhood.
Recently I was looking through a big tub of photographs with my younger daughter. It was a mixed tub because in an effort to consolidate our “stuff” I...
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Jenny McCarthy's son, Evan, was initially misdiagnosed with a fever. And, then after he almost died, he was misdiagnosed with epilepsy. Eventually, he was correctly diagnosed with autism. Jenny said her "mommy instinct said, 'this man is right." And, then she said, "Well, I believe my son is trapped inside. I'm not settling for this." She did a lot of research, changed her son's eating habits and engaged him in extensive play therapy, among other things. She has seen a lot of progress and says her son is in "recovery." Her message is that every child is different, some things may work for one, but not another. But, as a mom trust your instincts and, if something might work, "give it a try" - because MAMAs you never know what may be the missing piece to the puzzle. We are our kid's advocates, and Jenny is our celebrity SUPER STAR...
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My daughter got glasses last year. She actually had what we now call an “academic makeover.” She got ear tubes, glasses, and medication and is making some great strides in school now which is exciting though it continues to be a gradual process. More often than not, we take 2 steps forward, 1 step back and there is always lots of heavy handed supervising by mom. But I have definitely lost some sleep wondering how long she was not able to see distances (like the board in her classroom.)
Kids generally don’t know when something is wrong because they’ve never known anything different. Unless something drastic happens—like a kid breaks a bone or something, most kids will just assume that “this” (whatever the situation may be) is how things are supposed to be—how it is for everyone…and until her “well check” last year, we had no idea...
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Okay! I’m feeling sorta caught up with housework! Yay!
What? The hampers are full again? WTF?
Okay, I’ll do 7 loads of laundry but I’m not going to think about the towels, though I should wash them but they don’t smell or anything. And I’m not going to look in the kids’ closet --the state of which has deteriorated to basically just shelves of wadded up clothes.
So yay! Caught up with the housework…!
Oh? The dishwasher needs to be unloaded? Oh yeah, the sink is full of dishes from breakfast that we couldn’t do before work/school. Okay, kids, unload the dishwasher and you can buy an app!
Yay, caught up with housework!
Mom! I just put my elbow in something sticky and the dog just barfed. Oh good God, here’s a wipe, put the dog outside and get me some paper towels…oh? We’re out of paper towels?
Yeah, and while you’re...
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Someone who has teenagers asked me the other day if I’d rather catch one of my kids smoking pot or having sex. I said smoking pot—because I have daughters I guess, and I’m Catholic and kind-of a hippie but then I thought, Good Christ, can’t we just do neither?
No, of course not. And the key, at this point, is how we handle it. My older daughter and I had “the talk” the other day. I was taken totally by surprise. She joined my on a little errand run and sprang it on me-“what is having sex?” So here I am having this conversation—off the cuff and totally unprepared-- with my 11 ½ year old who still holds my hand and skips when we go places together.
Not to toot my own horn, but I think I did an okay job. She must have had a little information coming into the conversation because she did not seem totally shocked by “the act”...
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My older daughter was a thumb sucker—but it wasn’t a constant thing because she was a wild kid and the only time she sucked her thumb was when she was tired and sitting still or trying to sleep –neither of which occurred very often. She would suck her thumb and then either play with her belly button or rub these two little freckles on her forearm (depending on shirt style and accessibility of said body parts) with her other hand. If she was wearing some sort of onesie I would usually have to unzip or unbutton to a point where she could access one or the other. I have tons of snapshots of her: thumb in mouth, hand on belly, glazed look in eye.
My next daughter was a binkie girl all the way. At one point I think she had maybe 15 or 20 pacifiers in her crib because we were so tired of waking up to find her “launched from the crib...
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Put enough rainy days back to back and we will eventually wind up at the movie theater—my husband and I crossing our fingers that the latest Disney/Pixar offering is at least somewhat palatable.
So the most recent movie we caught was Tangled—the fun, new retelling of the old Grimm Brothers Rapunzel tale. It was cute. The kids liked it. The CGI—computer generated imaging --or whatever it’s called-- is unbelievable, and there was a bit of semi-adult humor. But then I started thinking about it.
The story starts with every parent’s worst nightmare: the baby is stolen. Then she’s raised in a tower by this witchy but semi-attractive woman for the next 18 years. She is never allowed to cut her hair because her hair has magical curative properties, and not only can it heal a wound but it also keeps the witch/mother young and wrinkle...
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My older daughter was the one I thought was going to be an artist. She was utterly compelled as a toddler and even into her early grades to draw and paint—all the time. I had stacks and stacks of her drawings and various “mixed media” artworks. It was absolutely an every day thing for her…to the point where we have always dedicated an area of wherever we are living to ART and MESSES. I had major trouble finding places to store everything, and for both girls, I’ve always saved as much as is humanly possible before the scary “hoarding” zone. I’ve had tons of their work framed and most of our house is decorated with their artwork and my artwork and my grandma’s paintings and come to think of it, my mother-in-laws’ paintings as well. So she comes by it naturally, for sure. But slowly but surely, other interests have begun to occupy...
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