Mental inertia

I have this problem. It's called bruxism. Which sounds like it should have something to do with witchcraft, which would be kind of cool, but really is just a fancy way of saying I grind my teeth together. Mostly in my sleep or if I have to deal with idiots, but it really depends on my stress levels; sometimes I do it constantly.

It all started after I did too much speed with some friends in the early 90's. We were going out dancing at this club in the city (where I got picked up by a totally hot girl and we made out in the bathroom but sadly I was just fucked up enough to be too embarrassed to call her later and just responsible enough not to go home with her that night and get laid. Sorry, Kathryn, wherever you are.) Anyway, I was really high and even when I went home I was grinding my teeth with how wired I was and I guess I kept doing it in my sleep and have done it ever since, to the point of wearing down my enamel and cracking fillings. Moral of the story, boys and girls: drugs are bad for you in an exciting and wide-ranging variety of ways, not just the ways they make after-school specials about.

Anyway, that was a long time ago. And lately when I've had these bouts (it comes and goes) my jaw has started to hurt. And my body is no longer as resilient as it was, and I live in fear of TMJ. So I finally (finally! after years of knowing about these!) went out and bought myself a night guard. It cost $20, took about five minutes of basic prep to customize, fit like a dream, and I woke up without a headache this morning for the first time in weeks.

Why didn't I do this years ago?

I mean, I thought about it. I just...didn't. It somehow seemed "not for me." I just put my dog in diapers, too, which I'd been resistant to in much the same way. And it's such a fucking relief, I can't even tell you, not to live in fear of what I will find when I get home, not to have to let her out multiple times in the middle of the night, and not to have to worry about the strain her messes put on my relationship. Et voila!

Why didn't I do that years ago?

What other simple, easy changes am I overlooking that could make similar radical differences to my quality of life? Why didn't I think of these before? What makes mental inertia so strong?

Squidbits

How did it get to be September already?!

Squid is officially two and a half fabulous years old. And what a wonderful little kid he is becoming. He has developed a sense of humor and loves to tell jokes. "What's your name?" "Cars!" "No, silly, what's your name?" "Bugs!" "No, silly, what's your name?" "[Squid]?" "Yes!" *giggle giggle giggle* or modifies bits of favorite books "Could you, could you...in a grocery store?" "Could you, could you ... in a hot dog?" And he adds all sorts of new lyrics into his songs, "Twinkle twinkle little blue garbage truck, how I wonder what you are..." and "Lou, lou, skip to my conductor train...." He even makes up his own songs - about combinations of helicopters, crocodiles, and piledrivers, mostly, though he has an adorable one about being all done with his food, too. He doesn't like to sing them on command, but sometimes I hear him singing softly to himself in his crib after he wakes up, or before he falls asleep at night.

Preschool is going wonderfully. After a few weeks of crying and "don't wanna go to preschool!" in the mornings (I am reliably informed that he had a great time every day once he got there, though) he has finally acclimated, and the past few days has run gleefully off to play without a backward glance. They have wonderful activities and toys - sand play, shells, painting with hands, trains, dolls, play food, shapes...and he comes home grubby and tired and happy every day. He has two friends already, a little boy and a little girl, and yesterday he said to me at the grocery store on the way home, "I love Alejandro! I love Parker!" He also proclaims that he has "fun with Vashti!" (the director) and "fun with Samantha!" (his group leader.) His group, the under-threes, is called the "Bumbles," and every day I get a little report titled "My Bumble Day" that tells me what he ate, what his diapers were like, how long he napped, what he enjoyed, and what his mood and behavior were like that day. I love it!

I am especially proud that he so often comes home with "good friend manners" circled on his report. (Warning: parental gushing ahead.) He is a good friend, and he (genuinely, bizarrely) seems to be truly empathetic to others. He gives hugs and kisses freely, and says to everyone he meets, "Hi! How you doing?" He says "please" and "thank you" and "you're welcome" without being prompted much of the time, apologizes when apologized to and when prompted (he's working on context there) and asks, "you okay?" and says "feel better" when people get hurt. His latest is to yell, "good luck!" at everyone - I have no idea where he picked that up - and he tells his grandparents and his Daddy and me and his caretakers, "Love you!"


I swear this is coincidence - this just happened to be his Bumble report for today.

We went to a neighbor friend's house for Labor Day and the other kids were having a hard time - lots of pushing and grabbing toys away from each other and screaming "no, mine!" And he didn't engage in any of it. When the little girl melted down, he said, "She sad? Take a nap," very solemnly and went to go offer her a toy he had been playing with. I worry a little bit that bossy kids will walk all over him, because when he gets pushed or his toys get taken away, he protests only very rarely. But I would rather have him be sweet and empathetic and wonderful than combative, even so. Which makes me wonder a little, because I'd worry more if he were an unassertive little girl...but that's me and my gender stuff. He's awesome, truly awesome, just the way he is. Like, he is two, and he is supposed to be very "no, mine," and instead he is so bizarrely sweet and generous and loving to everyone that it makes my heart grow three sizes, I swear.

He does howl about things, natch, and he spent some time on Monday gleefully telling me that the train tracks for his new wooden train set were, "No! MY TRACKS!" but it's pretty minimal, and we don't give in to it much, if ever, so it doesn't pay off for him. Still, I don't think this is our parenting, though some secret part of me hopes I am wrong. He came like this. We haven't done anything to fuck it up, which, yay, us! But we didn't make him like this. Kids are born with their personalities largely already formed, I firmly believe. Nurture and society can give coping mechanisms and behavior patterns and perspectives and ideas, but fundamental personality is not something parents get a lot of say in, aside from the choice of the gene pool they merge with. We hit some kind of jackpot with our guy, and I am grateful every day.

(Ahahaha. I wrote all of this out and then walked into the preschool yesterday just in time to see him with an ugly snarl on his face, yowling at a little girl and trying to take her train away! He had to be diverted by Ms. Samantha. *facepalm* Pride goes before, etc., but I still maintain that that's pretty uncharacteristic behavior for him. We went to the neighbor's house later that night, and when he wanted to play with the fire truck toy, he asked the neighbor kid, "I have a turn wif fire truck now please?" Good friend manners, see? Just, erm, also two and a half. Can't anybody be good all the time.)

He's also picked up some very, very adorable linguistic tics from us. "Oh my goodness!" he likes to say. Today on the way to school he said, "Oh, my! See the bus!" and "An excellent garbage truck!" Full sentences, like "The frontloader puts the dirt in the dump truck," "I don't want to eat dinner," "We're going to ride in Mommy's car," and "The grandpa bus is scared of airplanes" are commonplace. (The grandpa bus is a small wooden bus that Grandpa brought back from Madagascar this month, after his scuba diving trip to count fish as part of a reef conservation program.) He also has a new range of activities - playing with trains and pretending to cook, playing with his plastic animals and the guy who drives his toy dump truck and making them interact with other toys. Pretend play is amazing - he likes to tell me that his dump truck guy is "in his carseat" or that he is "da conductor on da train!" Sometimes he makes up long narratives about trains and trucks and "hoptopters" that I can't even follow; they may be coherent, but because the words aren't in an order I expect, I don't recognize all of them. He tells the stories with great animation, however, waving his hands about as he explains, eyes sparkling.

We've caught some lizards in the past few weeks and taken them "home" to the outside, and we found a lost puppy dog the other day and returned it to its house. He's very interested now in where things are when they are elsewhere. "The school bus all gone," he informed me this morning, as it turned left and moved out of sight, and later, "I lost the railroad crossing," so we had a little conversation about where the bus and crossing were when he couldn't see them. He tells me that trains and airplanes and lizards and dogs "go home," that Daddy, "goesta work" or "goes wood shop." I'm sort of hoping that this idea of locations and where things are and where they belong will help us, however tangentially, with the beginning/furtherance of things like clean up, staying out of the street, privacy, etc. And maybe someday with potty training, though he's showing no interest in that at all right now, and we're not pushing it.

My parental anxieties are also a little higher these days, though that's probably true of my anxieties in general, and I'm thinking about talking to the ~iatrist about adjusting my meds.

But with activity and independence comes increased risk, and that's scary. He almost fell down a flight of concrete stairs the other day, driving a toy car too close to them - I was barely in time to catch him and if the car hadn't tipped in such an awkward way, I might not have made it. He ran away from me in the grocery store today and I couldn't find him for minutes and minutes; he was finally returned by a store employee just as I was really starting to worry. I made the little ingrate hold my hand through the rest of the store, though he twisted and complained. He fell off a big kid swing when I was pushing him last weekend, secure one instant and in midair the next, and I caught him by one arm and one shoe and was able to break, though not prevent, his fall. I'm also afraid for the future, because I like to borrow trouble, even though I know it carries a high interest rate.

I kind of want to bubble-wrap the Squid against life, and against growing up, and against change. I am so in love with him that I want him to be happy and bright-eyed and enthusiastic forever and always. But that's not how parenting works, and bubble-wrap has a backlash too. You just do your best with the knowledge and tools you have at the time, love them to distraction, cross your fingers, and hope.

Deep-seated biological urges

I started bleeding today, and when Himself asked if I wanted anything when he went out, I instantly said, "M&M's! And maybe some Reese's Pieces. Oh, my God, M&M's sound amazing." So, he went out (like the charming partner he is) and came back with M&M's, chocolate Milanos, and two bars of high-quality chocolate, one milk, one dark.

I tore into the M&M's like a starving tiger into a baby antelope, and he watched me munch for a few minutes.

Then he said, "You know, I was in line at the market, and the guy behind me said, 'Excuse me, I'm sorry, I know I don't know you, but by any chance is your wife on her period?' And I looked in his basket. And it was full of chocolate."

I once had a plan to make a million bucks off of a delivery service that would bring chocolate to your door within 15 minutes - like Dominos, only for PMS - but I am no entrepreneur. Idea is free to anyone who wants it, though, because seriously, you could make a killing.

Squidbits

July was a heck of a month. I wasn't home for a single weekend, though I spend two of those Squidless (*sniffle*) while visiting friends and family, and I had to travel for work. But in the middle of the month we had vacation - a whole week in sunny, delightful Portland, Oregon. If I hadn't gotten sick halfway through it would have been a perfect vacation - we went to a park almost every morning, and almost every afternoon, and saw friends when I was not dying of plague. All photos in this post are my snaps of him from that week.

It was wonderful to be in Portland, which I love dearly and which is like Heaven on Earth in the summertime, and it was wonderful to move at the Squid's pace, doing what he wanted to do and not multitasking him with household chores or my own projects or errands or anything else that I haul him along for at home. I have realized recently how often I multitask people - personally, professionally, and parentally - and I'm trying to be better about it. Failing, for the most part, but at least the light bulb is on, now, so the long slow painful process of incremental change can begin.


In Portland, all those litigation-inspiring toys that have been taken out of California parks still abide. Teeter-totter! Merry-go-round! The Squid was thrilled.

And seriously, why would I want to multitask him? I am enjoying him so much right now. I never thought I would love having a toddler this much, but I really do. He's not too big to cuddle or want to sit on my lap (though that is a mixed blessing, as I discussed last month) and he's still young enough that he lets me kiss him and hug him all I want. He loves to share his world with me, and he's getting remarkably articulate and emotionally savvy. When he cries out of frustration or disappointment, I can ask if he wants a hug, and he'll say yes. He asks to snuggle ("Snug-gle?") and to read books, and he can express enthusiasm for the foods, clothes, or outings he wants.

He's not just in tune with his own emotions, either - we have the beginnings of empathy. He crashed his stroller the other day - toppled it over deliberately with his stuffed moose strapped in. We made him pick up the moose and apologize. He clutched it to his shoulder and petted it. "Awwww," he said. "Sowwy. You okay." When we read The Lorax and the Swommee Swans have to leave the polluted skies of the Truffula forest, he says, "Oh, no! Poor birds." And last night he looked at me, slumped back in my chair with a heating pad over my stomach, and petted my hair. "Mommy tired?" He's such a sweet kid. When we went to the park this Saturday, he played with another little kid and I pushed them on the swing. When a third kid joined them, the Squid was ecstatic. "Two fwiends!" he chirped happily.


Playing at the park that had the chlorinated fountain for all the kids to splash in - we went almost every day

Seriously, he's like the Student Body President of toddlerdom. Sweet, friendly, good-natured, outgoing. I'm not sure how he got this from me and Himself - maybe he's a throwback to a sunnier, cheerier ancestor - but it's a delight to be around. His longest tantrum to date has been about two minutes long, and though he does shout, wail, and whine when he doesn't get what he wants - he's two - he regains equilibrium quickly. He makes friends with strangers everywhere we go, and I'm really looking forward to having him meet the people at his new pre-school. I know they're going to love him. Everyone does.

Of course, today is maybe not the best day for first impressions - he woke up screaming at 1:30 or so this morning, with damp pyjamas, and after a change we put him down in our bed for the night. And he poked and pinched and tickled and kicked and hit me for the next two hours, playing restlessly instead of crashing out. Finally I put him back in his crib - more screaming. His Daddy got up with him for the second round, and they fell asleep on the inflatable bed in the living room around five-thirty, only to wake up again an hour later. By the time I dropped the Squid off at daycare, he was a sobbing mess of tired kidlet. Poor bug. He's just started having the occasional nightmare, and it's so hard on him. And on us. I think tonight might be a good night for watching a movie, maybe our favorite, Microcosmos. ("Watch bugs?")


A snack of raisins underneath a mossy conifer tree at the park

I'm coming to terms with the way we're using visual media with him, though it's more than I ever imagined I would. We use it mostly when (a) one of us is sick, (b) all of us are exhausted, (c) we are traveling on a long trip, or (d) when solo parenting - mostly in short YouTube doses, in the latter case, to allow for showers or dinner prep. His YouTube playlists are broken out by how long each of them is, to allow for various tasks. I still try to do active reading with him of what is happening on the screen, and I don't think he gets more than an hour a day even when his daycare provider lets him watch Dora. And at the new daycare, he won't even have that. I'm sad he's leaving his current setup - they've really been like a third set of grandparents in a way - but he will love having the new pack of kids his age to run with. He needs more stimulation.

Although he's doing fine on the educational front, zooming ahead with language and numbers. We have the whole alphabet, both letter recognition and the sequential song. Also, Squid can recite portions of Green Eggs and Ham ("Coodjoo, coodjoo, inna car? Eeet dem, eeet dem, here dey are!") and sing portions of "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," "You Are My Sunshine," and other favorite songs. I took a lot of the board books we had out and put them away, and I stacked the shelf under the coffee table with Seuss and other "big kid" books. He is enjoying classics like Caps For Sale and The Lorax along with books on insects and the building of skyscrapers. The specialized vocabulary he's developing is both awesome and hilarious. "Combine!" "Mantis!" "Frontloader!" "Hawkmoth!" "Chrysalis!" "Piledriver!" I try to explain everything to him at a level that I know is above his head, as well as doing it at what I perceive as his comprehension level, because I never know what he's going to pick up on.


Our friend who is a union organizer plays letter-recognition games with the Squid using an "ILWU supports Obama" sign

He also mimics my speech patterns. "Excellent!" he proclaims. "Indeed!" "My goodness!" Hee. Mimicry is hilarious. If instructed to "Say 'bye bye,' [Squid]!" he says, "Bye-bye [Squid]!" We are not above taking advantage of the humor potential of this upon occasion, though we'll have to stop as comprehension catches up to repetition. Himself got the Squid to say, "Play with the vaccuum, Mommy!" last night, and went on to encourage him to tell me to fix the baseboards in the kitchen. Sigh.

It's unfortunate that I try to write these posts up at the beginning of the month, as my current cycle ensures that this is the most tired, inarticulate, and generally unhappy time of the month for me, but despite my own state of general uselessness and bleh, I have nothing but good news to report on the Squidfront. He's energetic, healthy, enthusiastic, cheerful, and generally all-around wonderful. I am so very, very lucky to be his mother.

Things I learned on my summer vacation, #57

If you are far from home and your trusty humidifier, and your sinuses hate you and want you dead, sleeping with a damp washcloth over your face can help.

Er.

Portland, Oregon, I love you like my own - as once you were - but this is not on, do you hear me?

Separation anxiety

Based on some last-minute decision-making , I am in L.A. this weekend without the Squid. I have mixed feelings about this. I miss him! I have never gone on a trip where I could have taken him and didn't before. And everyone down here is asking me where he is and why I didn't bring him - I've been informed that they won't be letting me in the door next time without an accompanying small person.

On the other hand, it is much easier to rest up from long drives, visit small infants and ninety-something Grammies, and enjoy post-sunset fireworks this way. And he will come down with me for Labor Day weekend, and he and his Daddy are probably going to have an awesome time at home seeing parades and going swimming and having playdates.

Still. My little guy!

*sniffle*

Squidbits

Squid is a big boy! He asks for me to read big kid paper books instead of board books sometimes - Green Eggs and Ham ("Eggs, Ham!"), The Seven Silly Eaters ("Da Peters?"), and The Sneetches ("About da Sneetchis?") are favorites. Of course, he's still not following the larger narrative, and the import of the stories is totally lost on him, but he sits and listens for the whole book. He likes to identify nouns - "da train!" "da dark!" - and the things he zeroes in on are often totally peripheral to the story or even the picture on the page. (The Sneetches is, according to him, about a rock, a ball, a key, a car, another rock, and a fish - go figure.) He still likes his board books - he can even "read" them along with me a lot of the time, since he has them partially memorized - but he's branching out.

Squid's alphabet song goes A-B-C-D-E-F-H-I-J-L-um-um-um-P-U-R-S-oo-V-T-double-oo-X-Y-an-Z-A-B-C-D-umm-singa-MEEE. His number line goes 1-2-3-6-7-8-9! 11-12-13-16! He can identify all the letters and numbers (through 9) on sight, but the sequencing still sort of escapes him. He's pretty fascinated by it all, though, and sings the alphabet song constantly, watches the Sesame Street DVDs about numbers and the alphabet ("watch ABC?"), and points out letters he knows in books and other print. Daycare may push some of this, but we haven't at all - we're encouraging his interest in it the way we encourage his interest in trains or fire trucks or anything else. It's neat to watch, though.

Language proceeds apace - he's a little chatterbox, and he's in the repeating stage where he just says something over and over until we respond to it. He's got all kinds of new nouns - "Q-tip," "crane," "termite," "garbage," "airport," etc. - and some new adjectives and verbs as well. He has learned the word "scared" but I don't think he really knows how it applies yet, as he is not really scared of anything as far as we can figure out. He tries it out in different contexts and we agree or disagree as appropriate. He's got a couple other things that aren't quite right - like he asks to "go home" a lot when we are already home (I think it's his way of saying he is over whatever is going on and wants to do something new). He still fills in sentences with Squiddish babble, and I often have to tell him I don't understand what he is saying, but he gets clearer and more articulate all the time, and he's pretty patient with me when I don't get it. Though that's the extent of his patience - delayed gratification is still not in the emotional vocabulary. (I don't think that one comes until the early to mid-twenties.)


Helpful Squid helps sweep the floor!

He's hit another physical fast-forward period as well. He's faster and wigglier and climbier than he was last month. He has learned to jump (the initial efforts were hilarious, involving crouching low and then straightening up really fast, without actually having his feet leave the ground) and has started dancing a little again, including an awesome foot move that looks a lot like stationary moonwalking. His sense of balance has developed, I think, to a point where he is comfortable with moving his feet in new ways - he also navigates the jungle gym at the park with meticulous care and great attention to where his weight is distributed. They say all kids this age are "little scientists" (I could have done without the experiment in liquid dynamics that involved pouring my coffee all over the couch, let me tell you), but it is nowhere more evident than at the park. I swear I could see him learning things about slope a few weeks back, and his attention to balance and force and momentum lately is clear.

We've also been running into some issues with my need for personal space. Frankly, I'm not super-surprised; I was expecting this to happen way before now. I remember talking to my online mamas group about it when I frequented them. Basically, I need personal space. I'm not averse to hugging or cuddling with people I know and like, but I don't like to have my space presumed upon, and the way toddlers crawl all over their mothers has always really geeched me out. I am not a jungle gym, a beanbag, or a trampoline! "Oh, it will be different when you have one of your own," people airily assured me, but you know what, people? Eff off. I'm pretty self-aware, and I know what bothers me.

Though for years it didn't, and I kind of hoped those people were right after all. But he's recently gotten much squirmier and more active, and also clingier, and it is making me nuts. He is up on me all the time! With his pointy elbows and knees and bossing me to make me hold the book just so or make my lap more comfortable for him! Augh! I mean, I don't blame him, let me be clear about that. Toddlers have no concept of personal space, and he loves me and wants to spend time near me...very near me...all the time...*twitch*. I mean, in some ways it's sweet, and I do love to cuddle with him when he's, well, cuddly - but I can't appreciate it when he wants to be both close and active. A few days ago I snapped at him in exasperation, "Stop climbing on me like I'm not a person!"

I feel like a freak for being so...non-maternal, in some ways. I think the personal space thing was part of why I hated breastfeeding, too - another body on me all the time was really hard to take - but I've never heard any other mother say anything like this. Am I really such an outlier, or is this just another one of those things "good mothers" don't talk about? Not that it's that important. I mean, eventually he and I will work it out. We're practicing reading with him sitting beside me rather than in my lap when he is being particularly squirrelly, and I'm picking him up and carrying him around less (at 30 pounds, that needs to phase out for the health of my back more than anything else). We'll adjust; I firmly believe that I can be loving and have personal boundaries at the same time.

But he's also going through the first phase of separation anxiety he's really had since a week or two when he was four months old. Or, not separation anxiety quite (though that's part of it - he wants both of us in the room with him at all times) but he's having real trouble with transitions, and it's made him extra-clingy. Squid hates change. Any change. Diaper change? Noooo! Clothing change? Noooo! He cries piteously when we leave the house in the morning and again when we drop him at daycare. Then he cries when we pick him up to go home! He cries when he goes into the bath, and then he cries when we take him out.

Although the anti-water bias is getting better, I must say, with hot weather. He still whimpers about going into the pool, but he actively asks for baths, showers, and handwashing on warm days, and water play with buckets or a hose is big with him. He will get his face wet (finally!) and can kick himself across the pool with a pool noodle to hang onto. The transitions in and out (and into and out of swim diapers/clothes) are still occasions for distress, but once he's in the water, he's enjoying himself. We hope to have him swimming - keeping himself afloat - very soon, for safety as well as fun purposes. The neighbors have been awesome about opening their pool to us whenever we like, and the YMCA has daily open swim sessions, so we'll have plenty of opportunity to practice, particularly once he starts up at the daycare that is housed at the Y, in August.


Curious Squid ain't afraid of no Dalek.


Oh, no! Exterminated!

As for the state of the mama, well. I am tired - low-level, PMS-driven exhaustion - and July is going to be busy in a myriad of ways (I am gone every single weekend, between work and family). But I will get to visit friends in Los Angeles, Portland, New Jersey, and New York, spend time with my Grammy, my mom, and my friend's new baby, and get involved in new projects at work, all of which are good things to do. June was sort of a difficult month, in some ways, and I wonder if my meds need to be re-calibrated, as I have been sadder, less patient, and more tired than circumstances warrant, but I will talk to my ~iatrist about that in August if it continues. Alcoholics Anonymous wisdom says never to make decisions when you are HALT - Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired (in my case one would have to add "Hormonal" as well), but seriously, one or another of those conditions is semi-constant for me, so I'll have to muddle through and just be thankful that my life is materially and situationally so comfortable that I can coast for a while if I need to. I am grateful for that, as for so many things.

The line between work and other things sometimes blurs

Hey, am I crazy, or would Wordle make a really good first sort when trying to figure out qualitative coding schemes?

the thing Ira Glass would just like to say to you with all his heart

There's a great series of videos of Ira Glass giving advice on storytelling up on YouTube. But for those of you who, like me, dislike video/audio information formats, I've transcribed the most striking bit below:

"All of us who do creative work, like, you know, we get into it. And we get into it because we have good taste. Do you know what I mean? So you've got really good taste, and you get into this thing, like, I don't even really know how to describe it, it's like there's a gap, for the first couple of years that you're making stuff, what you're making isn't so good, okay, it's not that great. It's really not that great. It's trying to be good, it has the vision to be good, but it's not quite that good. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, your taste is still killer. And your taste is good enough that you can tell that what you're making is kind of a disappointment to you? You know what I mean? Like you can tell that it's still sort of crappy.

"A lot of people never get past that phase. A lot of people at that point they quit. And the thing I would just like to say to you with all my heart, is that most everybody I know who does interesting, creative work, they went through a phase of years, where they had really good taste, and they could tell what they were making wasn't as good as they wanted it to be. They knew it felt [sic] short. And, you know, some of us can admit that to ourselves and some of us are a little less able to admit that to ourselves. But we knew, that, like, it didn't have that special thing that we wanted it to have.

"And the thing I would say to you is, everybody goes through that. And for you to go through it, if you're going through it right now, if you're just getting out of that phase, or if you're just starting off and entering into that phase, you gotta know that it's totally normal, and the most important possible thing you could do is do a lot of work.

"Do a huge volume of work. Put yourself on a deadline, so that every week, or every month, you know you're going to finish one story, do you know what I mean? Whatever it's going to be, like, you create the deadline. It's best if you have somebody who's waiting for work from you, somebody who's expecting a work from you. Even if it's not somebody who pays you, but that you're in a situation where you have to turn out the work. Because it's only by actually going through a volume of work that you're actually going to catch up and close that gap, and the work you're making will be as good as your ambition is."

This struck such a chord with me. Logically, I know it's nothing I haven't heard before, but the way he describes it is fresh - a gap between taste and ability - and God, if I could only consistently follow this, it would change my life. So far, no luck on the consistency, but a little inspiration never hurts.

Goin' to the County Registrar....

I just dropped off a bouquet of flowers at my County Registrar's office for them to give out to a couple today. There were couples everywhere getting licenses, getting interviewed by the press, getting married on the steps and in the chapel. The lady behind the desk said they started giving out licenses at 7 a.m., and everyone in the office was beaming. The news was full of interviews with people who were finally, after fifteen, twenty, thirty, fifty years of partnership, getting married. I cried, I was so happy, and I can't stop smiling. I woke up grumpy and out of it, but how can I be snarly in the face of this? Congratulations to all the couples getting married today; I could not be happier for you, and for all of us, that this is finally possible.

Conversations

Child to mommy (walking by my house): Mommy, why is the sun a star?
Mommy: What do you want it to be, cheese?

---

Squid (playing): Yayyyyy!
Me: Are you a happy guy?
Squid (squealing delightedly): Happy guyyyyy!
minutes pass...
Himself: Hey, guys!
Squid (now whiny, underfoot, and wanting food): Cooking? Eggs? Up please?
Me (attempting to redirect his attention): Can you tell Daddy how you're a happy guy?
Squid (whimpering, sobbing, clutching at my pant leg): Happy guyyyyy!

---

Woman in drugstore, to man: Say it again!
Man: You were right.
Woman (almost moaning with pleasure): One more time.
Man: I was wrong.
Woman: Oh, god, that feels amazing.

---

Me to Himself: [Squid]'s pyjamas were wet again this morning. I think it's just that he's drinking more with the hot weather.
Himself: Maybe we should staple a bunch of those silica gel packets around the crib.
Me: You mean to dessicate him?
Himself (eminently reasonable): Well, yeah!

---

Chatty man at gas pump (talking to me about gas prices): I just do what I told my ex-wife to do all three times she was in transition - laugh through it!
Me (thinking to myself): Three times?! That is the most indecisive transsexual I have ever heard of!
...
Me (finally getting it): I bet that won you points.
Chatty man: I did mention she was my ex-wife, right?

Art in motion

Here are two fascinating things I've found via internet friends and wanted to share. These are not-quite-but-almost new genres of art; strange and wonderful fusions, at least, and I'm totally captivated by what these people have done. I could never be that person, the person who dedicates their life to realizing a new creative pursuit, but that makes me admire it all the more.

First up, a man who is creating new forms of life. He sets his "creatures" free on the beaches to wander, and hopes that eventually they will be entirely self-sufficient. For what they can do, they are deceptively simplistic structures, and he's obviously been perfecting them for years. I am really touched by his protective and proud mien and his love for his creations; less like a God and more like a shepherd, though if the Bible is to be believed, the two aren't mutually exclusive.

Theo Jansen: The Art of Creating Creatures

Next, something more disturbing - if weird Bosch-esque images bother you, don't watch this, because there's a lot of emesis and decapitation. But it's graffiti animation, which is just totally amazing to see in action - his evolutionary infants and insects crawl and morph over what looks like a whole city block, followed by the faded ghosts of their passage, and it's mesmerizing, if a bit gruesome.

MUTO a wall-painted animation by blu

Department of missing the point entirely

I was sitting in the doctor's office the other day and idly picked up some fashion magazine or other.

There was an article in it that recommended twelve separate makeup products (I counted!) that one should purchase for use on one's eyes, lips, skin, cheeks, brows, and lashes in order to "achieve the nude look."

Um.

I do not think that word means what they think it means, is all I am saying.

Squidbits

Between posting last month's Squidbits late and the Squid's trip to Chicago with his Daddy this month, I've only got about two weeks' worth of Squid reports. And not a lot to add, honestly - all the same stuff as last month, only more of it. More words. More repeating. More activity. More more more. Himself called from Chicago this morning and said that he can now count to 19...not with all the right numbers and sequencing, of course, but his vocabulary has expanded beyond the 1-10. He has more sophisticated spatial and temporal concepts,too. I talked to him on the phone yesterday while I was driving back from meetings and he informed me that Lolo was working, and that he wanted him to come home. Um, not in so many words. It was more like, "Lolo coming!" (hopeful), "Carseat!" (the carseat is in Lolo's car), and then "Lolo working," (sad). Still, that's a whole conceptual set of ideas about other people's location and actions that he didn't have when he left.

He's fascinated with Baby [Squid] - pictures and movies - but the moment a few months back where he said "That's me!" must have been a fluke, because he identifies the little kid in the pictures as "Da [Squid]!" He also doesn't respond to his name, though that could be the standard toddler self-absorption rather than a lack of recognition. He looked at a picture of himself making "ooo" pursed lips and said, "MOOOOO!" which totally blew my mind - I thought, that's crazy that he has a concept of what his face looks like when he makes that noise! It took me another few days to realize that he's not translating the feel of the expression on his own face into the sound, he's recognizing it because he sees it on other people's faces when they make that noise.

So quick to believe that my child has sophisticated thought processes going on! In a recent survey of almost a hundred mothers of children aged 2-5, 70% rated their own children as above average, across the board. Hello, Lake Wobegon. My reaction on reading the story: But my kid really IS above average! *koff* I know that's not true, actually. He crawled, talked and walked a little later than many of his peers, and there are younger kids doing things he still hasn't explored; which is fine, I'm just saying, kids move at varying paces on a whole spectrum of activities and abilities. I do think, however, that when it comes to friendliness, mellowness, and general good nature that he is exceptionally wonderful. He's such a happy, cheerful little guy! I miss him.



Of course, he was happy and cheerful...until I spoke to him on video chat one day. And even then, he had a good time, playing and chatting away...until I said "bye bye." His poor little face just crumpled and he started sobbing "Mommy, Mommy" and reaching for the screen. Way to break my heart. I don't think we'll be doing video chat any more when we're apart - he's fine on the phone, but apparently video chat is traumatic. The fact that he had skipped a nap probably wasn't helping, but regardless. Poor bug. He's had a great time with his Lola and Lolo for the most part, going to the park and the children's garden and the zoo, but reminding him visually that I wasn't there turned out to be a bad move.

It's been good for me to have the time off, though. I've caught up on sleep. Caught up on my piled-high inbox. Completed a craft project or two. Gone to a concert. Visited friends and family. Done some long-neglected housework. Read some books. I watched some movies in which shit blows up and sewed the projects that had been sitting unfinished on my counter for the last month and a half. I desperately needed this re-set. Even working full-time is not enough to cast a pall over it.

And Saturday I went to my pre-school reunion. That's right, you heard me. Pre-school reunion. It was awesome. My preschool was a very special liberal preschool run by some friends of my parents - I attended from the time I was three through the second grade, at which point I transitioned to public school, so I had known some of these kids for seven years, and some for more, if they ended up at the same grade school or high school as I did. It was crazy to see them all as adults - crazy good. Our teachers came, and all the parents, and a lot of us brought the next generation, too. I recognized at least three-quarters of the attendees, even after all these years, and I still like them.

It's interesting, though the difference between solo socializing and socializing avec Squid. When Himself is gone for business for two weeks, and it's just me and the Squid, I'm lonely and tired by the end of it. I never used to get lonely when he traveled, before we had a kid. I enjoyed my time alone. I'm good company for myself. But being a parent is a different way of being in the world. I can't just turn inward, replenish my energy and center by thinking my me thoughts and doing my me stuff - I have to be outwardly focused almost all the time. It's really exhausting, and it's lonely because even though I'm focused on someone else, nobody is focused on me in a reciprocal way. All the energy and attention flows one way. Which is not to complain - that's parenting, that's how it's supposed to be - just to observe. Conversely, I haven't been lonely at all the past few weeks - I mean, I've done some socializing, but it didn't feel necessary, just pleasant. Solitude and loneliness are very different beasties.

A colleague of mine is big into personality typing, and for kicks I took a bunch of Myers-Briggs analogues online a while back, so I could talk about it with her. I ended up pretty much the opposite of what I'd expected - as a kid I was an...oh, hang on...ENTP, I think. As an adult, I came out with a whole hodgepodge of ratings, but skewed heavily introverted and always judging rather than perception-oriented. Er, it is possible that time has not improved me. In any case, my colleague explained the introversion/extroversion thing to me - it's not whether or not you like to socialize, it's where you get the core of your energy - do you need time alone to recharge, or does social interaction energize you? When you put it that way, it's pretty clear where I lie. This actually has helped me feel better about my parenting in a weird way, like my need for time to myself is more justified or something. I don't know.

This is also central, while I'm in full navel-lint analysis mode, to something that's been preying on my mind for a few years now, namely, the question of a second kidlet. We had always planned on two...until I got pregnant. And my resulting depression and anxiety tipped me all the way over into "oh hell no" until November, when I finally got the right medication and stabilized. Now I'm living in a weird limbo in which I'm terrified of the concept but not entirely ruling it out. I can't stop thinking about it. I checked with the ~iatrist, and I could stay on at least half of my meds with minimal risk through pregnancy and breastfeeding. The next door neighbor sent a picture of their three-year-old son holding their newborn, and my heart melted. The Squid would be such an awesome older brother! I want him to have a sibling! My best friend just had her baby, and I am so happy for her I could burst, and making tiny onesies and thinking thoughts about tiny wee persons, and I think, Babies are so awesome! I want one!

On the other hand, it took me more than a year and a half to fully recover from the first one. I already max out my sick leave each year with one kid's germs. I've already maxed out my budget with one kid's daycare. The Squid is (and his other caretakers confirm this) a remarkably even-keel, low-maintenance, low-anxiety guy, and I'm still afraid that I've maxed out my ability to parent successfully. Particularly as anyone else who came along, while no doubt wonderful in their own ways, would probably not be quite as independently okay as the Squid is - he's unusual that way. My social life is built around my ability to travel solo with him and wrangle him on my own while spending time with friends; I'm not sure how possible that would be with two. I hated being pregnant. And solo parenting 15-20% of the year with more than one, well. On the bad days, it would be really, really hard. I'm not sure I'm strong enough. I'm afraid I'm too selfish. I'm afraid I'll make a decision and it will turn out to be the wrong decision and it will be too late to change my mind.

So I think about it all the time. And as an awful side effect of my indecision, I've realized that I've sort of cut off contact with all my friends who have more than one kid. Not because I don't love them or because I have any kind of judgment about their choices, but because when I talk to them, it's all I can think about. I want to ask them about it endlessly. My anxiety ratchets up to a peak. This isn't fair to my friends, and I only recently realized that I was doing it, but now that I've twigged to it, it's clear. It's like being friends with someone who lives at the top of a cliff when you're terrified of heights or something. If they seem happy, I envy them for being better people than I am, and if they are having trouble, it is all my fears confirmed. I need to get over it, but I'm not sure how, until and unless I can some to some sort of decision or closure of my own. Dear friends with more than one, I'm sorry; it's not you, it's me.

On that vaguely negative and bizarre note, I should wrap this up - the Squid and Himself will be home in a few more days, and I have loads of half-finished projects to tie up before then. ("Relax!" Himself said, when I mentioned possibly hand-scrubbing the grout and re-sealing it while they were gone. "Get a massage!" I forgot to schedule the massage, but at least I didn't hand-scrub the grout. Much.) I am not really very good at relaxing, but I squeezed a little in in the past few weeks. I gave up on finishing Ulysses before Bloomsday, which means I will have to put off my planned tattoo for another year, but that's okay. I needed to read genre fiction and watch episodes of Dr. Who more than I needed to meet yet another arbitrary self-imposed deadline.

I'm not sure where I was going with that tangent. I always was bad at conclusions. Shutting up now.

Mini manifesto

I was driving back from a meeting with a colleague and we were talking about the books that are taught in the public schools. I was railing against the current selection and the way it turns so many kids off to English and stands as a barrier to skill acquisition and love of reading.

"Well, what books do you think they should teach?" she asked.

And you know, I'd never really considered it - odd, given my profession and predilection for the written word - but it only took me a second or two to come up with my answer.

"They shouldn't." I said.

I think English should be taught with the materials of people's lives. I think reading assignments should include credit card offers and insurance plan descriptions and newspaper stories and speech transcripts and song lyrics and magazine articles. I recently read an article that talked about what happens when the mind finally becomes fluent in reading, and the ways in which that frees and activates the mind to do higher-order thinking; why should we focus on having students struggle through nineteenth-century novels when they could be building fluency reading something relevant to their lives?¹

I want students to learn about rhetoric and persuasion from analyzing the language of advertisements, to learn about meter and rhyme schemes from lyrics. I want them to learn from newspapers how to summarize events in a logical order, from political brochures how and when to use lists and bullet points, and to see in a business context how spelling, grammar, and punctuation are important. I want them to learn about why it is so important to read the fine print by reading the fine print, to learn about clarity and concise writing by writing news articles, reports, product specs, instructions. I want English to live up to its potential as a collaborative teaching tool by having students read and write about science, history, and art as well as literature, to have them learn how language and math can be combined to spin, obfuscate, or illuminate ideas.

I said as much.

"But what about the art, the culture, the shared heritage of literature?" my colleague asked.

My immediate response was, "I don't really care."

But that's not true, and I took it back almost instantly. Please remember that this comes from someone who holds a Bachelor's degree in English Literature and who has been an avid reader of fiction all her life. I can't not care about the beauty of language.

I thought about it for a bit longer.

"Literature and poetry are arts," I finally said. "They have immense worth and intrinsic value. I'd like to see them taught, but I'd like to see them taught like we see other arts taught."

Maybe you could get English credit for your English literature class. Or maybe you could get art credit for your Creative Writing class. Or maybe both for both. But they should be elective courses, like Art History, or Dance, or Advanced Photography. Fiction writing is a wonderful skill, and everyone needs help learning it when they start; but it's not a necessary skill that all students must master to succeed in life. How to read, analyze, and enjoy literature is a wonderful thing to know, something that gives me lasting joy; but it's not something everyone needs, and it's certainly not something everyone wants. I'm not saying fiction can't be part of an English course, but it shouldn't be all of an English course. It shouldn't even be most of an English course.

A little side note: I was sitting in a room with a bunch of educators who were blaming the death of students' communication skills on the rise of texting. And it's true, according to a recent Pew Internet and American Life Project report, that more and more students are having problems differentiating between social communication and more formal written language. Seventy percent of the students surveyed for the study admitted to using text-speak or emoticons in their writing for schoolwork in the past year.² As for students' use of email for communications with school faculty and staff, well, the less said, the better. But this is not the fault of the medium. It is perfectly possible, albeit a bit laborious, to type grammatically-correct and perfectly spelled text messages. Email, though this may be news to many, can be punctuated! One may even use full sentences, if one is feeling particularly daring. Young women in Japan have created an entirely new genre of literature by writing "mobile novels" on their cell phones during their long train rides to and from the workplace; five of 2007's top-selling novels in Japan (including numbers 1-3 on the list) were written in this fashion.³ A whole new genre! It may not be great literature, but that's impressive nonetheless.

I'm usually a bit of a skeptic when it comes to the tech-happy educators who say, "Why don't we let kids learn through the tools they already use?" and I still believe that that has its limits. I'm not saying kids should be writing their assignments on their cell phones, or turning in lab reports in txt spk. For one thing, a room full of high school students with their cell phones on and out? Educational? Well, for certain values of education, I'm sure, but not the ones we're concerned with here! What I do mean is that blaming the way the world works and the ways kids navigate it for their poor English skills is a losing argument. Maybe we should be blaming the way we teach English for having very little to do with the way the world works and the ways kids navigate it. Maybe we should teach them how to use the tools they already use in ways appropriate to life contexts outside teen socializing. Maybe we should be teaching the kind of English they need, the kind of English they will use.

When employers are surveyed about the things their incoming workers need, they invariably mention communication skills. Reading. Writing. Public speaking. Internal and external written communications. Documentation. Three of the top ten items in the "most needed" list of a 2006 Conference Board survey of employers were related to communication.⁴ (The others were related to professionalism, leadership, and other life skills; English was the only academic subject area to appear in the top ten at all.) Do we really think that knowing how to talk about symbolism in The Grapes of Wrath is going to teach our kids any of those skills? Let me tell you, I worked a lot of secretarial and other min-wage jobs after I got that fancy private-school degree before I re-learned how to use my language and writing skills in a business context. Even now, my informal and "chatty" style gets red pen from my colleagues on drafts here and there.

I don't want to teach, and God knows I'm not maligning the efforts of the brave souls who can face classrooms full of students for six hours a day, five days a week, nine months a year. I've searched my soul, and found that I am too selfish, too introverted, and too anxious to attempt the task. I'm just saying that when it comes to what we are, as a society, teaching? Perhaps our goals, our academic standards, and our curricula could use some radical re-focusing to address the real concerns of today's students and employers.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go edit a section of a large report on applied learning. And then go home and work on finishing Ulysses before Bloomsday.

---

¹Crain, Caleb. (2007). Twilight of the books: What will life be like if people stop reading? The New Yorker. Retrieved May, 2008 from http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2007/12/24/071224crat_atlarge_crain?currentPage=all
²Lenhart, A., Arafeh, S., Smith, A., & Rankin-Macgill, A. (2008). Writing, technology, and teens. Washington, D.C.: Pew Internet and American Life Project. Retrieved April, 2008 from http://www.pewinternet.org/pdfs/PIP_Writing_Report_FINAL3.pdf
³Parry, R. J. (2007). It ws bst f tms, it ws wrst f tms: Japan's mobile phone literature. The Times Online. Retrieved May, 2008 from http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/asia/article3005052.ece
⁴Casner-Lotto, J., and Barrington, L. (2006). Are they really ready to work? Employers' perspectives on the basic knowledge and applied skills of new entrants to the 21st century United States workforce. New York: The Conference Board. Retrieved April, 2008 from http://www.21stcenturyskills.org/documents/FINAL_REPORT_PDF09-29-06.pdf