The past month is a bit of a blur. One child turning 4, one turning 1. It’s enough to drive a man to drink, which is probably why the past month is a blur. But who needs memories when you’ve got pictures!
We held Hayden’s first real child oriented birthday party at a park the day before Ike moved through. It was a smashing success. His dearest friends showed and everyone was well behaved and we didn’t have to awkwardly try to get people to leave because it wasn’t at our house.
The next day Ike showed up and took our power lines with him when he left, leaving us in the dark without hot water or refrigeration. We persevered and burned about 10% of the votives we still have left over from our wedding reception 7 years ago (down to less than 2 baskets full now!).
Funny thing about candlelight; after 5 days of not showering it becomes startlingly unromantic.
Hayden and I went on several adventures in pursuit of D batteries and ice. We returned home with harrowing tales of daring, but never anything else. Things were so bad that on day five Hayden (McNugget) begged to cook dinner at home. I’ll let that sink in. Finally after six days and multiple phone calls, the power was restored.
Gabe turned 1 and we more or less ignored it on the party side electing to just give a small handful of gifts in our living room. He didn’t seem to mind. We did keep the time honored tradition of letting him shove a chocolate cupcake in/around his face. Honestly the boy is so pleased to be walking steadily I don’t know what else we could do to improve his demeanor.
As Brie mentioned Hayden started soccer, which means we’re now spending the next 7 Saturday mornings in fold-out chairs watching 4 year old’s be given instructions by other adults. It brings back warm memories of my own childhood, except this time I don’t have to run laps.
We moved Gabe from his infant carrier to a forward-facing car seat. Gabe was very taken by the new orientation. We got lots of dancing and pointing. Taking the infant car seat out made me sad. I don’t have a baby anymore. On the other hand, I don’t have a baby anymore!
We bought two booster seats for Hayden (one for the van, one for the car) after trips to three different Targets because Hayden wanted matching ones.
Hayden has a tendency to declare unsafe practices whenever he spots a motorcyclist without a helmet. Today, as we were were leaving Target #2, Hayden declared from the backseat, “Daddy, you started driving before I was buckled. That wasn’t safe!”
I am officially a soccer mom, as I drive a mini-van, and Hayden had his first soccer practice on Saturday. A local YMCA has a Tiny Tots soccer program that one of his best friends is in, too. So, we took chairs, sat with Connor’s parents (Lisa and Kris), and cheered Hayden on.
Ny favorite quote from the weekend: from Hayden, “What in the world in the heck?”
There are choices in everyone’s life that looking back, you know you would do differently. There are choices in everyone’s life that looking back, you hope would take a different path. There are even moments in everyone’s life that you know at that moment the choice is wrong. I know these moments exist, though I can’t quite buy into the idea that a woman would make poor decision after poor decision with the consciousness that is depicted in Cohen’s memoir. Rather, I have to wonder how much of Cohen’s fictional writing experience is coming in to play in the memoir. The author and subject knows how her “character” develops and wants to let readers believe she is more in control than she ever really was.
I also realize that “memoir” has a strikingly similar definition to autobiography, but to me, the word denotes a closer investigation of a certain aspect of the life. Therefore, I was expecting a deeper understanding and appreciation of the voyage and destination. Instead, I was simply told she knew she was making mistakes, she knew she wanted to change, she knew she had an addiction. And it felt as though she was suddenly cured with very little time spent on the why or how of the cure. I was not interested in paragraph after paragraph, page after page of nameless men and hookups. I was not really even interested in the few long-lasting relationships she did have that came to naught.
Perhaps giving more insight into her mental development would have subtracted from available pages for guaranteeing to the reader that she was, indeed, promiscuous. I personally think it would have added gravity and authenticity to the memoir, making it more believable than simply filling the pages with uncertain names and descriptions of men’s hair and eyes.
I don’t know what happened to the letter in progress I started a couple of weeks ago, but here’s going at it again.
I have absolutely loved watching you grow into the boy you are today. You make up for the fierce temper tantrums in a surreal way; all mothers forgive their children’s outbursts, but yours, my dear, are something else. You throw yourself to the ground with such ardor. But then, like most 3 year olds, you turn around and you’ve hit a peak.
My favorite parts of the past year have been your creativity, your imagination, you love of art and learning.
Some of my favorite “Haydenisms”:
Yesternight. (Yes, this is a real word, at least according to dictionary.com, but I have no recollection of it being said in front of you at any time.)
“Momma, why are your feet grey?” (When I wore a skirt and hose.)
“I am a robot. I am a robot. I am a robot.” (While wearing a paper bag on your head with eye holes cut into it.)
“Ms. Marie [preschool teacher], what’s my story?” *Ms. Marie’s confusion and Hayden’s emphasis grows* “My story, Ms. Marie.” *more confustion* “Rudolf has a story, what’s my story?” (Because Rudolf will “go down in his story.”)
“Momma, you look so PRETTY. Can I have a glass of milk?” (You are starting early on that compliment and get something attitude.)
Your stories are suburb. Once, a paper flew away from us on our way in from the car. You were bound and determined that you would evenutally build a space ship and go off to where Gabe’s paper went. Most of your stories star Transformers, Spiderman, Diego and animals.
Your excuse for any slight scrape or bruise is that a crab got you.
You love to draw pictures. I don’t think I’ve seen more than five drawings you define as a boy be without a penis, and you come home with anywhere between 3 and 10 drawings a day.
You are still a very picky eater, but we’re working on it. When we grew basil this year, you actually got excited about eating something green that wasn’t a jelly bean or a fruit snack. I call it progress. For the past year, you have promised us that as soon as you are four, you will like everything that your father and I like. We have yet to see that come to fruition.
You love to play outside, and you have a strong sense of ability. (Please read that as “I haven’t had a heart attack yet, but I’m waiting.”) Soccer is the sport of choice currently, though you love the T-ball set that we have, too.
You are an incredibly polite boy. Please and thank you come easily (often without any prompting whatsoever). Apologies generally come without even a stern look. You help around the house often, helping us to clean the living room and your bedroom. You are a better laundry folder than I had any reason to hope for.
You adore books, often asking for four or more a night. Favorites include everything from The Wolf Who Cried Boy to The Little Engine that Could to Curious George to the comic books your father has gotten you addicted to.
Your relationship with Gabe is terrific. Yes, he’s your little brother, and he is incredibly interested in whatever you are trying to play with, but you handle him with more calm than I can sometimes muster. Each morning, we walk to Gabe’s classroom, and you lean down to give him a hug and a kiss. You have learned to accept that sometimes Gabe needs attention at the same time you want it, and you are becoming very versed in your “Patience” song. (Patience means you have to wait. You touch your nose and count to eight like a pro.)
Saying goodbye in the morning is quite the ritual. I come to your classroom, make sure your breakfast is ready for you (bagel, banana, yogurt, apple, grapes, banana bread, teddy grahams, fruit snack, vitamin - at least five of those each morning), and then you race to the door, open it for me, give me two hugs, two kisses, two nose kisses, two high fives, often ask for one more of any of them, and then tell me you see you at the window where we can blow kisses.
Kisses that are blown through the air have to be caught and gobbled up.
Bedtimes generally have some stalling techniques, but you are adorable through them all. My favorite is the counting. We cuddle in bed, you tell me what you want me to count to and how. Most of this year, I’ve counted to one hundred, half and half. Half singing, half speech.
I love you lots, Monkey Mu. (You can love me a little bit until Christmas, it won’t change the abundance I have for you.)
This was a wonderful exploration of what it means to be a boy and what parents and elders can do in order to make the boy become the best man possible.
Parts of it are a bit repetitive, but scanning the text was easily done in these passages.
In the end, I determined that I’m doing a pretty good job as a mother of two boys. I am clear about my expectations; I deal out consequences regularly. I teach at the level they can understand.
The primary suggestion I will be taking away from this book is to ensure that my sons have a three family system. Father and I will be Family 1. Family 2 (extended family and care-givers and primary teachers) is already set as well, though I want to concentrate more on communication with Family 2 about how my boys are growing and what they need.
We need to work on our Family 3 creation though. As we’re not active church members, nor active members of our local neighborhood, there seems to be a void in an extended network for my sons to learn from.
Given that I am not exactly a social butterfly, I’m worried about this one, but the happiness and well being of my boys is worth it… If only I can learn how to network effectively.
The Alchemist reminded me much of The Little Prince.
Both are stories of journies and self-discovery. Both delve into what individuals can be made of, and what we can learn from each. The Alchemist has a stronger voice, more definitive steering, and a larger sense of authority in my opinion, which has both its benefits and shortcomings.
The Alchemist is not a children’s book, but it doesn’t much feel like an adult work, either. It is stuck in that no-age land, meaning that most any reader can pick it up and appreciate it, but children need to be ready for more of the grown-up world, and adults need to be able to let go of their reality, no matter where in the scheme of beliefs it might fall.
Be prepared for a quick and enjoyable read, but I would argue that this is NOT a life-changing book. Unless, that is, your life needs a lot of help; then the book might do something.
The first number I threw to you is proof that my mind still isn’t working. Not 48 hours. That’s nothing. One hundred forty-four hours. 144.
My original number was me taking an 8 hour day multiplied by 6. No clue how or why I used that calculation.
We went approximately 144 hours without electricity. Yes. One hundred forty-four. Six days. With two children, one four-year-old, one one-year-old.
We purged nearly $300 worth of food. We spent nearly $150 eating out. We went to McDonald’s so many times for Hayden that by Friday, he was begging to cook something at home.
We were given two estimates of restoration, both of which passed with no resolution. We are on a circuit of approximately 215 homes, and so I was very confused as to why we were not being restored as promised.
We called the electricity company probably 20 times. I was hung up on twice by Duke Energy. (Read, 10% of the calls, I peeved off someone enough to be hung up on. Please remember, both times were in ear shot of my children. I was NOT being crude or offensive. I was just being a mother of two small children with no power in my home.)
I missed one and a half days of work. When I returned to work, my office had no power either. I spent my week organizing files and cleaning 49 dozen eggs by hand since no electricity meant that the egg washer wasn’t working either.
Hayden had one temper tantrum about not being able to watch television.
Over the course of the week, Kris and I drank three bottles of wine and played one game of Scrabble and at least seven games of Munchkin by candlelight.
I finished one and a half books (reviews to come) by flashlight and candlelight.
I took one shower at the gym and I am very grateful for the money we spend on the membership each month for those 8 minutes of hot water bliss.
I can’t wait to spend an undisclosed amount of money at Jungle Jim’s tomorrow, in the process of restocking our home supplies.
This OSC novel had been on my shelves for a while, as I tend to buy anything and everything by the man. He has so many types of writing, that I find myself forever intrigued by his style.
This is not his best horror (see Lost Boys for that), but it’s still a fast-paced read.
My largest complaint about this novel would be the ending. Yes, I realize the main character deserves some happiness, and that he has learned some lessons about the way humans interact with one another, but…
The final pages were just too sweet for the rest of the book. The styles didn’t match; I didn’t feel the story reach the natural ending, which is one of the reasons I tend to love OSC. His wrap ups tend to feel perfect, with the correct mix of reward, lesson and questions. This was far from it. Too clichee, too plum, too oh-my-god-let-me-gag-now-and-get-it-over-with.
Still, there were definitely winning moments. The grand dame’s character and interactions are among them.
All in all, an interesting read, which moves quickly. A new exploration of current day’s witches is able to open doors that otherwise would be locked (yes, in the literal sense in the story and in the theoretical sense of themes). There were just some doors that I wish had been left alone toward the end.
My four-year old won’t touch anything green unless it is a skittle or a jelly-bean, so I do what I can to make sure he gets some of his nutrients.
I’ve found some winners in this book, most definitely, though unfortunately, they haven’t been the vegetable rich ones yet. Crispy no-fry fries were received with ovations from both the preschooler and my husband. I love the No Harm Chicken Parm, but the preschooler decided he wasn’t hungry after the garlic bread was devoured and the husband said it didn’t hold a candle to my standard chicken parm.
We all loved the Cream of Tomato soup made with sweet potatos, carrots and evaporated milk. We also will be keeping the pancakes and breakfast cookies in a frequent rotation.
If nothing else, this book is helping me to see the health benefits in the things he will eat. The fact that there are multiple fruit purees makes me laugh. My kid not eat fruit? His standard breakfast is a banana, strawberries, blue berries, apple and whatever else fruit is in season and a bagel.
Maybe I’ll need those recipes for my one year old, who currently won’t touch fruit unless cinnamon plays a part.
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