Girl Detective

Right up front, Tim Gunn publicly absolved Jeffrey of cheating, thereby balancing the public accusation from last episode, and not prolonging the somewhat artificial suspense. The group I watch with was split. Some of us thought he didn’t cheat and Laura was venting her jealousy. Others thought he had too much opportunity to cheat. I felt somewhere in the middle. Maybe he did cheat, maybe not, but Laura’s behavior could have been better. She was, though, gracious in the face of the announcement.

Uli’s support of Jeffrey raised her further in my esteem, and I was happy to see her collection do so well. Michael, who seemed such a cinch to win mid-season, didn’t learn anything from the last challenge. His collection was full of variations on his last, losing design. Hindsight makes me wonder if he shouldn’t have been eliminated. Laura’s collection was no surprise–perfectly tailored formal outfits in neutrals. She said the collection is about dressing well, but I think her disdain of casual wear isn’t the strength she believes it to be. Uli’s collection showed a much larger range than the patterned flowing dresses she favored so often during the season. She learned from the last challenge, and it showed in a variety of wearable, fashionable looks. Jeffrey, too, learned to pay attention to his strengths. Of the final four, he had the most daring looks, and it was because of this that the judges awarded him the win.

I know many viewers were disgusted with Jeffrey as a person, and therefore didn’t want him to win. I think it’s facile to believe we can like or not like the people on these shows based on a heavily edited version of reality. Personality aside, I think he did the most interesting designs over the course of the season, and his collection was a strong finish.

I meant to include a link to Lynne Jonell’s Mommy, Go Away with my recent post on empathy for 3yo Drake’s struggles. Mommy Go Away is the story of Christopher at bathtime. His mom wants him to take a bath, but he doesn’t agree, so he makes her small. She’s forced to experience some of the same difficulties that children go through all the time (”Be good! Mind your manners! No hitting the other mommies!”) and ends by agreeing that it’s hard to be small. This and other Jonell books, like When Mommy Was Mad and Mom Pie, have a sweet sense of humor, and are good stories as well as gentle lessons for both parents and children.

Our parenting class instructor says it’s best to leave junk food in the store. My favorite baby book, Baby 411, advises that parents foster healthy eating habits by eschewing the four Cs: cookies, candy, chips, and cola. I saw this when I flipped through the book the other week, and kept it in mind during last week’s grocery trip, and didn’t buy any of those items. That week, Drake may not have known what he was missing, but I did, and it made me cranky.

The next grocery trip I bought a bottle of black cherry pop, a dark chocolate bar, a bag of Kettle chips, and a bag of chocolate Newman O’s. I’ve kept all but the chips out of 3yo Drake’s hands. While I agree that the ideal is to not to have them in the house, I’ve found my mood improves appreciably when I have access to an occasional treat.

My musical horizon, never particularly broad, expanded a bit during my last semester of college. I met new friends who had different musical tastes, and I began to listen to an “alternative” radio station, WHFS. I’d previously leaned more toward classic rock. One of the first CDs I bought was the Indigo Girls. I liked the whole album, but “Closer to Fine” was a particular favorite. A friend of mine joked that it was my panacea song, one I played whenever I felt anxious or blue. When that song’s appeal faded, I moved on to a succession of others, such as Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill. (Hey, I never professed to be cool. I leave that to my friends like Rock Hack and her husband.)

Over the past year or so, my panacea CD has been Nick Drake’s Pink Moon. It was the CD we played in the car as my husband and I drove to the hospital for baby Guppy’s birth, and it’s been the CD in most frequent rotation in our car ever since.

Even three-year-old Drake likes it, and asks for it by name. Some of its power to calm is lost, though, when Drake shouts “Pink Moon” repeatedly until we put it in. Also, Drake is more enamored of the numeric display than he is with the songs, so he keeps insisting that we replay song one over and over. For now, that’s OK. But it’s a good thing we don’t use the car often, and then only for short trips. I sense that our Pink Moon phase will be over soon.

The bad news is that I have post-partum depression. The good news is that I’m working with a doctor and a therapist to treat it and try to bring some balance back to life. It turns out that feeling tired, frustrated, and angry after having a baby may be normal, but it’s still a good idea to get it checked out.

On the theme of balance, I offer three depressing things (meta depression?) and three good things about depression:

Depressing things about being depressed:

1. I’m even more likely than previously to take things personally
2. Being on the wrong dose of an anti-depressant provides side-effects, but no benefits
3. Answering the diagnostic questions truthfully, especially those about whether I think about harming myself or my kids, makes me feel like a failure, and a deadbeat mom.

Good Things:

1. I’ve decided to take nothing personally unless someone says something to me directly.
2. Side effects go away, and the right dose of an AD builds my reserves, and reminds me of my former, more balanced state.
3. I have been heartened by how responsive doctor, family and friends have been. I am also proud of myself for not dithering about getting help, or quibbling about the advice I’ve gotten. All of these have helped lessen the severity of a discouraging situation.

I hesitated about writing about this here–too personal, too controversial, too trite. Yet writing helps at least me, and might even help someone else, too.

Some friends of mine used to joke that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing twice, and expecting different results. After spending yesterday in the kitchen and using just about every utensil and gadget, I think I have a new definition.

Insanity is making baby food from scratch.

Jars of organic food are easy, readily available, and not that expensive, though maybe not at the rate and volume baby Guppy consumes them. I don’t care what the books say, making it from scratch is time, labor and dirty-dish intensive. Plus I’m not sure I’m allowed to complain about being stressed and busy if one of the things that takes up my time is making baby food.

And yet, homemade peaches taste really good; homemade zucchini is very pretty; homemade green beans are a bitch to puree, but are way more appetizing looking and tasting than what comes in a jar. I shop for organic produce for the rest of the family anyway, and avoid packaged food when possible. Buying produce for Guppy and pureeing isn’t inconsistent from a quality of food standpoint.

But it might be inconsistent with a quality of life standpoint.

I’m not sure I have much to add beyond what Manolo the Shoe-Blogger has written about the first half of the season three finale. Laura seems to be stirring up trouble out of jealousy and a desire to win, Jeffrey is acting shifty, while Michael and Uli should be minding their own beeswax, not backing Laura up. Jeffrey and Laura’s stuff looks the best. Uli’s looks the same as it always has, barring her recent win. And Michael, who I was certain would win, seems to be buckling under the pressure. The previews made it look like Jeffrey was going to be eliminated because of Laura’s accusations of cheating. Therefore, I suspect it won’t happen. Generally, they merely hint at things that will happen. Strong telegraphing usually means a red herring or surprise reversal. It feels like a disappointing end to this third season.

Some friends and I set aside a night for dinner out, and left the kids home with the husbands. What a luxury it was to eat good food prepared by someone else, uninterrupted, and at a leisurely pace. When it came time to pay the bill, I offered to put it on my card to simplify things. One friend wrote me a check (because this is MN, where we write checks for everything), but another realized she’d forgotten her checkbook, and had no cash.

“Would you accept a Target gift card?” she asked, holding out what she did have in her wallet.

I laughed and said yes. Moms are nothing if not adaptable.

My son Drake is recently three, and so far proving all those moms right who told me that three is far more difficult than two. My frustration is at an all-time high as he doesn’t listen and flouts my quiet, reasonable, polite requests to do basic things like get dressed.

Last night at bathtime, after I’d asked him several times to get in the bathtub, he continued to ignore me. I told him I was going to count to five, and if he wasn’t in the tub at five, I was going to lift him in by force. I counted to five, he hadn’t moved, I grabbed him, lifted him and plonked him in the tub, where he began to scream. I felt sad that the incident ended so badly, and I felt worse for him. He’s small, and at the mercy of grownups like me. Sure, he was being recalcitrant and ignoring me. But when I don’t want to do something, I try to reason my way out of it, plus I’m not usually physically forced by someone bigger than me. Yes, he’d been behaving badly, but I didn’t blame him for being outraged. It’s gotta suck being small, a lot of the time.

#59 in my book challenge for the year was Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose. A brief reminder that these mini-reviews are part of my annual book and movie challenges, which I initiated to remind myself of their importance in my life, and to let others know parenthood doesn’t preclude books and movies.

I enjoyed Prose’s novel A Changed Man last year, and was surprised to find her non-fiction book was also a compelling page turner. I had trouble stopping at the end of chapters. Prose harks back to a time when learning literature was done with close readings that largely eschewed the biographical details of the authors. Her approach embraces the study of literature before postmodernism, which came along and shook everything up with its inclusion of Foucoult, Lacan, and the insistence that we look at everything through different “lenses”. Her approach also harks back to a time and an approach that were more about loving literature than taking it apart and tearing it down, as discussed in this article by a professor of English.

Each chapter focuses on an aspect of fiction, such as character, sentences, paragraphs, and more. For each topic, Prose offers many excerpts and analyses of famous works. The book finishes with a list of “Books to be Read Immediately”, though I did miss an index that would have tied each work on that list to where she cited it as an example in the book. I found her writing and the book both accessible and challenging. In the wake of it, I feel both discouraged (how am I ever going to write as well as the writers she named?) and encouraged (nothing for it but to practice).

Interestingly, Prose even took a book I’d recently not enjoyed, Sense and Sensibility, and pointed out a skillfully done aspect of it that made me better appreciate that book. While Prose’s book is directed to writers, it will also be appreciated by those who love literature.

#49 in my movie challenge for the year was Mysterious Skin, based on the novel by Scott Heim. I do movie and book challenges to remind myself of what’s important, and to show it’s possible to have small kids and still find time to read and watch movies. It’s not easy, and many things go undone (our house is messy; we’ve all but given up on our yard), but it can be done.

I liked but didn’t love the book when I read it last year, and I felt similarly about the movie. It was a good, faithful adaptation of the book. Joseph Gordon Levitt was mesmerizing in the role of Neil, a young, small-town hustler. There’s rough, graphic sex and child abuse in the movie, so this is not for the faint of heart. But it is a well-done indie that handles tough subjects well, and has strong performances.

I type 1-handed, w/ baby Guppy in sling. He cries if I put him down. Soon Drake will be home from preschool. I’ve learned to do many things w/ kids around, but writing isn’t one of them. These last few weeks, with Drake not napping and Guppy napping sporadically, I’m wrangling one or both from 5:30 a.m. to 8 p.m., with few, and all too brief, exceptions. My husband G. Grod gets home from work about 6 p.m., so the last hours of the day are tandem parenting, but it’s a struggle to get even the basics done lately, and I’ve had to put writing off again and again.

#58 in my book challenge for the year was The Last of Her Kind by Sigrid Nunez. It is the carefully crafted tale of Ann Drayton, an heiress with a conscience, who gets in trouble during the 1970s. Told by Ann’s college roommate, Georgette, the narrative takes several interesting and unexpected diversions, which all contribute to a satisfying whole. I re-read many passages as I went, because they offered up more with each new encounter.

I have been blamed by others for my timidity; I have heard my passionate love of reading denounced as an addiction, a vice, a cowardly avoidance of the challenges, dangers, excitements, and even duties of real life.

A few things troubled me about the book. Part Five makes a daring switch from first person to third, and nearly pulls it off, except that there are too many things that the author couldn’t have known. Otherwise, I thought the varied points of view in the novel were extemely impressive. A segment near the end written by a prison inmate was too long, and varied too much in voice. Finally, the last two paragraphs are a quote from The Great Gatsby, and a comment on it that didn’t flow well for me from what went before, which was an interesting critique of that great book.

These things are small, though, especially compared to the richness of the story and the characters. The voices are strong, and their lives are compelling. It was a fascinating history lesson as well.

The reunion show confirmed many things for me about this season of Project Runway. Robert was funny. Bradley was strange. Alison was kindly. Kayne was charming. Keith was a liar, whose claims were about as believable as his nose. Laura thinks dressing up is a virtue.

And Vincent lives in a separate reality from the rest of us.

My boys haven’t been napping, I had to pack for a weeklong visit to family, and at the last minute I decided not to take my laptop, hence my lack of recent posts. I flew out with my husband and both boys, then G. Grod returned to work, and I stayed longer so the grandparents could have more time with the kids. While packing, I was daunted by the thought of taking my laptop, various liquids–baby Tylenol, children’s Tylenol, my eye drops, two containers of baby food, and two juice boxes–AND the boys by myself through security, so I left the computer behind. The flight back went mostly well, but Drake’s listening is sporadic, the security guy confiscated the juice boxes, and Drake cannily refuses to wear the monkey backpack/leash we bought. It wasn’t easy.

Before I left, a friend said to me, “Have a good vacation.” I responded that I find family visits different from vacations. While family visits can be enjoyable, they usually don’t have a high enough ratio of relaxation to obligation for me to feel restored enough to call them vacation.

Apologies for the inconsistent posting. I hope to have things back on track soonish.

Episode 11 of Project Runway was both a surprise, and a letdown. The judges did not eliminate a designer, so the four remaining–Michael, Laura, Jeffrey and Uli–would all prepare for fashion week. I had picked Uli to lose, since she kept doing the same loose, flowy patterned dress each week. Instead, the other three choked. Jeffrey went so overboard trying to prove he was romantic that he did something boring and demure. Laura did the exact same thing she always does. Michael didn’t recognize that sexy, sensual and sultry all mean largely the same thing, and his evening gown flopped. I found the judges comments on him odd, though, since they kept saying he was clearly a sportswear designer, when they’ve praised his gowns nearly every time. Uli pulled victory from the jaws of defeat. She was about to do another loose flow-y dress, but correctly realized it would look like a “kitchen dress.” Instead, she changed course for something short, fitted, and daring. I think the judges had probably planned to eliminate her, but when her dress was clearly superior to the others, they couldn’t do anything but award her the win, and let the others stay on the merits of their past work. All four prepared collections, and all four seem to be all over the place with their designs, so I don’t think the winner or losers are so obvious after this episode.

As always, I checked out Manolo the Shoe Blogger’s thoughts, and was amused and impressed.

or, Why I Didn’t Blog on Tuesday

Not yet up an hour
Caught in a gale of screaming
Both boys mad at once

This does not bode well
Can hold just one at a time
Peace does not come soon

Sometimes, a haiku is a good way to distill a hard morning. I got the idea from the book Haiku Mama, that rarest of things, a non-cheesy gift book. The author, Kari Anne Roy, has a blog, too.

Hard on the heels of my post about not buying books before I am able to read them, or even before I’ve read them, I bought a book last night that I haven’t read, and don’t intend to read soon. Jodi at I Will Dare wrote that Mary Gaitskill was doing a reading last night, so I grabbed her books that I own (Two Girls, Fat and Thin; Bad Behavior; Because They Wanted To) and the issue of Harper’s that had her essay on rape, which blew my mind when I read it, and tried but failed to lay my hands on my copy of her essay from Vogue on Little Women.

I had been so virtuous for so long, not buying or even putting Gaitskill’s new novel Veronica in my library queue, because I had not yet read her last story collection, Because They Wanted To. But sometime within the past year, I read an article that said she was one of a handful of talented writers who can barely make a living, and since I agree with the talented part, I thought I should put my money where my ethics were, and buy Veronica. So I did, directly contradicting nearly everything I wrote earlier this week, except for how good I am at rationalizing.

Gaitskill was a good reader, and seemed a little shy in front of the audience. Her writing was mesmerizing, and she had interesting things to say about how she wrote Veronica years ago when she had an emotional idea about the book, but wasn’t able to finish it till she had a more intellectual handle on it and could tackle the manuscript holistically. She has arresting white-blonde hair, and wore a pin-striped brown suit over boots that looked both fashionable, and sharp enough to poke a good-sized hole in someone’s shin. And her outfit was a good reflection of how she seemed: smart, talented, with an edge.

Related to yesterday’s post about book stockpiling is the thorny issue of book weeding. I am a fierce de-crapifier. We live in a small house, and clutter makes me anxious. My husband G. Grod, however, is a pack rat. He never wants to throw or give anything away. Recently he had an “I told you so” moment when I was making an 80s mix CD, and no longer owned several CDs of songs I wanted to include. I’d sold them off years ago to make room for new ones, and because I was certain I’d never want to listen to them again. Similarly, I recently bought a copy of Kate Atkinson’s Behind the Scenes at the Museum. I read it years ago for my dear former book group, and didn’t love it, and could not imagine reading it again. But when I read and loved Case Histories last year, I thought I’d like to read BtSatM again.

Getting rid of books/comics/music/movies is a tough call. Yes, it’s nice to clear out room, and not have it taking up space in the house or in my attention. And over the years, I’ve gotten rid of loads of things that I haven’t missed one jot. Yet there are those few instances, like with the 80s CDs, that were so annoying that I must admit my husband has a point. A book in hand can be a wonderful thing when the urge to re-read, or even just to flip through, strikes.

SFP at Pages Turned is auditioning a remedy for book stockpiling:

I can buy any book I want, but the catch is, I can’t buy it until I’m prepared to read it. No more stockpiling, no more bumping library books to the front of the queue since an owned book means a book I can ignore until I run out of material with due dates. No, if I buy a book now I should intend to read it immediately.

Like other readers, I’ve tried the “I can only buy what I’ll read right away” method; it didn’t work. There are too many exceptions, and I’m too good at rationalizing. I’ll find something rare at a used bookstore, or be seduced by some sort of incentive, like a coupon, percent off, or BOGO (buy one, get one). I worked in marketing; incentives aren’t fabulous deals. They’re lures to get me in the store (be it real or virtual) so I spend money I otherwise might not.

The only cure for stockpiling I’ve found is to avoid shopping. If I don’t shop, I don’t buy. Lest this sound like I’ve got my act together, even this doesn’t work. I’ve cut back (not out) book purchases, and I’m better about reading purchases right away. But I’m still reading more new purchases than old purchases. And I’ve read about the same number of old purchases as library books, even though I planned otherwise. This summer I took all books off my library queue and was able to complete my summer reading challenge. Once I did that, though, I put several requests in at the library, so I’m right back to bad habits.

My current plan for the library is not to add any book requests until I’ve read more of the older books on my shelf. When I read about a book that sounds good, I send myself an email, then store it in a folder of recommendations for some potential mythical lull in my reading future. The good thing about electronic lists is that they don’t accumulate in drifts around the house and in my purse, wallet, or diaper bag.

My current plan to avoid stockpiling is to buy a book only after I’ve read it, loved it, and am about to read it again, or urge it on my husband. This has resulted in a few purchases this year already (King Dork and Black Swan Green), but overall, I’m buying far fewer books than previously.

I think book stockpiling is like any other bad habit. Different things work for different people, or even at different times for the same person. Like any bad habit, it’s not able to be undone in a day. Recovery is a process, not an event, and is measured by progress, not perfection. While there are many worse habits out there, book stockpiling isn’t harmless. I learned a few things with my summer reading list. I could manage without books on reserve at the library. I could stick to a book plan if I put my mind to it. But a book plan, as opposed to a loose and changeable list, made reading less enjoyable. Once I acquired a book, by stockpiling or borrowing, it became an obligation, rather than something I wanted to read. For me, stockpiling books not only takes up space and is fiscally irresponsible, but it also takes some of the fun out of reading.