…and I’m drinking a beer. Not because it has been a particularly bad morning, but just because hey — if you’re not at work, there’s really no reason not to. Isn’t that what I would dream of at my desk? Days of 10:30 am beers?
2007 — Year of the (Bourgeois) Pig November 27, 2007
Today, Darwin and I have had a very yuppie kind of day. We spent a while sitting in our expensive glider chair, listening to classical music, reading The Economist out loud, drinking an eggnog latte. In Ravenswood Manor, around the corner from the Governor. With our Honda Accord sitting out back in our spiffy off-street parking. If anyone described someone’s life like that, I would decide immediately I did not like that person. How could I have anything in common with them? Oh wait, that person is me. It’s kind of amazing that it is me, in my “Punkin Chunkin” t-shirt (if you do not know about Punkin Chunkin, click here or here immediately and find out more!), with giant plastic peace sign earrings in my jewelry box (and feeling strange just owning a jewelry box), and a love of Miracle Whip. It reminds me of a Bloom County cartoon, where a guy is sitting at a bar telling Steve Dallas about how he self-published a book called “The American Rich: Forgotten Financial Fascists,” made a mint, and saved “$91,000 last year with Reagan’s tax cut.” In the last pane, he ends with a crazed expression, shaking Steve and yelling “What’s a liberal to do?!” What, indeed. Count my blessings. Give back what I can. Be nice to people, no matter who they are. Raise a child to do the same, and more (no pressure, Darwin).
The fact that I still find things to complain about will always be there. The counter space in our kitchen is too small, the glider chair has a small “bump” in the rock if you go too far back, the organic lettuce I bought goes bad more quickly than the other kinds. Apparently Barack Obama had the same problem when he tried to identify with Iowans by saying “Anybody gone into Whole Foods lately and seen what they charge for arugula?” It’s like that Joe Walsh song “Life’s Been Good to Me,” where he says “I can’t complain, but sometimes I still do.” Maybe it’s human nature, or maybe it’s just the nature of those who have always had it pretty easy. But I hope that realizing that I have it pretty good will ensure I don’t get all entitled, and will hopefully assuage some of my liberal guilt.
And, hopefully sitting reading The Economist together and listening to Mahler will offset all the braincells I invariably kill in Darwin’s little head by watching Regis and Kelly some mornings, and singing “When It’s Time to Change” by the Bradys almost every time I change his diaper.
Pound for pound November 24, 2007
Darwin just had his one month checkup, and gained 2 pounds in two weeks, up to 10 pounds, 3 oz. I feel as though I have done the same, after a huge Thanksgiving meal. We went to Joe’s brother’s, which was nice. As I was getting ready to go, I put on regular pants. I then realized that if ever there were a day to wear maternity pants, it is Thanksgiving. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll wear maternity pants every Thanksgiving.
Dangerous boys and Daring girls November 21, 2007
A good friend recently gave Darwin The Dangerous Book for Boys, by 2 brothers with the improbable names of Conn and Hal Iggulden. I love it! The academic side of me, that took the feminism classes and the theories of the Other, and all those courses on non-DWGs (Dead White Guys), tells me I shouldn’t like this book. The part of me that railed against Harold Bloom’s Western Canon and The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy at dinner parties (OK, so I never went to a dinner party where the Western Canon or The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy was discussed, but if I had, I would have been ready to rail!) It is exactly a celebration of things like the Western Canon, the differences between the sexes, and learning he dative case of verbs. And it’s in spite of that, indeed, because of it, that I like it so much. It’s a very Archie Bunker sort of idea, hearkening back to “when goyles were goyles and men were men.” That idea of going back to “the good old days.” Ah yes, those halcyon days of segregated buses and homosexuals in the closet. Who wouldn’t want to go back? Besides, of course, the blacks and the gays. But it’s still and enduring and enticing prospect — go back to when things were simpler exactly because everyone knew his or her “place.” Girls took home ec, boys took shop. Of course, there is no reason why a girl wouldn’t want to know about the Battle of Thermopylae — in fact, I myself am generally acknowledged by most to be female, and I am interested in it — but it’s the idea that it’s the kind of thing a boy should be interested in knowing. But that’s the nice thing about being around now — I can give this book to my niece, if I want to, and it’s OK. Just because there are things that seem more “boy” or more “girl” doesn’t mean that those boundaries can’t be crossed. So, in a way, it’s the best of both worlds. We get that idea of nostalgia and roles, but yet know that we can break out of them if we want.
The only flaw is that of course someone wrote an equivalent for girls. The Daring Book for Girls tries to do what the boys’ book does. But, unfortunately, it’s not nearly as cool to be a girl. Go figure. The book isn’t as lame as I had feared, but it’s not nearly as much fun as boy stuff. My first complaint is actually that it exists at all. It’s the sort of tit for tat (no pun intended) of American feminism, where if something exists for males, it must also exist for females. But some things are just better for boys, and vice versa. The feminists don’t seem interested, however, in making sure that every Easy Bake Oven cookbook also has a “boy” equivalent. It seems that they just want to make sure that girls can do boy things, but aren’t too concerned with boys doing girl things. That would be gay. Once, I was almost kicked out of the “womyn’s” group I attended, becaue they were admiring Margaret Thatcher for remining unemotional during her resignation, and I piped up to say “shouldn’t we rather be trying to create value for typically feminine things, rather than trying to make women more like men? Shouldn’t she be able to cry over an obviously emotional time, and still be respected as a great leader?” I just received icy stares.
And the girl stuff in the book, while fun, lacks the nostalgia of the boys book, and also the edginess (note that “dangerous” was removed from the girls’ title). Making cootie catchers is fun, but it’s not quite the same as making a bow and arrow.
It leads me to ruminate on how different — and differently perceived — “girl” and “boy” things are. The things that are typically feminine are things that are difficult to pin down in a book. Things like maintaining relationships, building consensus, making the excluded feel included. Even, perhaps, being very very nice to a baby who has been up since 4:30 am and cries every 15 minutes for no discernible reason. These are things men typically do not do. But they are important things; more important, I would argue, than knowing who was the National League’s MVP in 1945 (Phil Cavarretta). But they are not easy to index in the back of a book. I don’t know if French feminism is still in vogue, but it reminds me a little of their idea that women can somehow be thinking of everything and nothing all at once, and if we had been in charge of creating worldviews, instead of “either/or” there would be “either/and/or.” Less binary opposition and more gray area. There doesn’t seem to be a section in The Dangerous Book for Boys on writing a good thank you note. There probably isn’t one in The Daring Book for Girls, either. But I would argue there should be. We should consider it daring, even dangerous, to care for others and to be kind and thoughtful. To keep friendships in a time when people move across the country regularly and talk more to strangers while playing Halo online than to their family. Making “girl stuff” seem cooler would, I think, make the world a little saner, a little more diplomatic, a little less prone to pre-emptive strikes and negative campaigning.
Now that would be dangerous.
My favorite face November 12, 2007
This is my favorite face that Darwin makes lately. I just can’t believe the hours of entertainment he provides! I think he looks just like Eddie Murphy when someone range the doorbell during “Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood” on SNL. I can’t find a photo of that to compare, though.
Joe goes back to work tomorrow, which will be tough. He’s really been doing an awful lot around here. But, my mom will be in town, so that will be good. She’s never even seen our house, so I’m excited to take some walks around the neighborhood with her and just hang out. Hopefully we’ll get some time to just hang out.
I am awake… November 10, 2007
…and it is almost 11pm! It’s like I’m a real person!
But, come 3am, I will regret this decision, as excited as I am about it now.
Sigh.
So here’s what I don’t like November 8, 2007
For the most part, so far, this mom thing has been going very smoothly. Darwin eats like a champ, and impresses the doctors with his weight gain. My worries about all the breastfeeding horror stories were unfounded. And he’s a pretty laid back kid so far, and doesn’t really cry unless there’s a pretty good reason.
But.
My biggest gripes both stem from the fact that I still want things to be all about ME somehow. Good luck.
First of all, the fact that babies only have “neutral” and “unhappy,” is upsetting. There is never a “happy,” so you can never do anything that makes them really content and feel really good about yourself. It’s just “I was really unhappy, and you got me back to status quo.” It’s not the most satisfying thing. I’m glad we have the cats, though. They’re good for some positive feedback and purrs and cuddles at night.
And, I have all this existential angst. When Darwin is looking at stuff, what does he see? I want to know. When he makes funny faces in his sleep, what is he dreaming about? It makes me sad to think that as much time as I spend with him, I really can’t have any idea what in the world is going on inside his head. Of course, just after things like circumcision, that’s probably a good thing.
And, I have this paranoia that if he’s awake and I don’t provide the appropriate stimuli (I don’t talk to him nonstop, preferably with SAT vocabulary, or sing him songs, or say “where’s Darwin’s nose? THERE’S Darwin’s nose” over and over and over ad nauseum), that he will then become a blithering idiot in later life. And really, let’s face it — what 14-year-old boys did you ever know who WEREN’T blithering idiots. I’ll just have to resign myself.
