Girl Detective

I started watching Joan of Arcadia midway through last year’s season, its first. I did so after reading good things about it by Lisa Schmeiser at City Pages. I found the writing good, all the characters complex and that the show had a good sense for where the line of schmaltz was, though it did flirt awfully close with it at times. Plus it has some nice echoes of one of the best teen shows ever, My So-Called Life.

Joan, then, is one of only three non-new-this-season shows that I watch. (The others are Scrubs and The O.C.) I thought last year’s season ender was good, and admired how they brought those issues into the new season. And in the first couple shows of the season, I liked the new character they introduced that Joan had met over the summer at “crazy camp”, Judith Montgomery. We got a little more information about Judith in each episode. She, like the others, was complex, interesting and likeable. I was especially impressed with the writing, when, early in the season they had her drinking at a party till she was sick, but they didn’t kill her off. Oh, I thought, that was nice. She wasn’t just the person brought in for an episode or two so that they can kill her off and give faux trauma to the characters.

So imagine my extreme displeasure, several episodes later, when the writers killed Judith. They made no effort to hide what was coming in the episode. Still I watched in disbelief, incredulous that they would have almost done so early on, then not done so, waited till all the viewers liked her and thought she was sticking around, and then killed her. I wept. And wept. And over the next few days, every time I thought of the show, I thought of Judith, and I teared up. I’m still upset about it. I curse them for snaring me so effectively, even while I admire the skill it took to do so.

I saw two criticisms of “mommy blogs” recently, and the remarks gave me pause. Both were written by bloggers whose sites I regularly visit, and whose opinions interest me. Some of my response was to feel defensive. I am a mom who blogs and I blog about my experience with motherhood. In some ways, then, I resemble those remarks. I, as part of a larger group, got zinged by two women who are smart, good writers and mothers themselves. And that’s fair. I agree with some of the critiques of the mommy blogs, and know I’m deserving of those critiques myself: self-indulgent, overly prone to complaining, veering between the sentimental and the insane. All of these might not make for riveting reading by others. But there are zillions of blogs out there that I don’t read, for many reasons. What seems unfair is the singling out of the mommies for special criticism. I’ve said it before, I’ll write it again: moms need help, not judgment, ESPECIALLY from other other moms.

I blog about motherhood as a way to get through it. It is so much harder and confusing than I had expected. I read books, I talked to friends, I took the birth class and still I felt bitch-slapped by labor, delivery and life with a newborn. I write about my experiences because there was so much I didn’t know, that people just don’t mention, that’s not in the books, that other people–doctors, midwives, other moms–sometimes don’t even know. I write about the happy stuff because I need to remind myself of it, and not fall into the easy trap of focusing overmuch on the negative. I know it can be precious and twee. I know that every baby does the same things and so charting the milestones is pedestrian. I know all these things and still I write, and still I defend the mommies who blog.

Yes, their blogs and mine may be all the things I’ve mentioned. But we’re all just trying to get through. If you’re a mom who is in such a better, more solid place, then that’s great. But, as your mom probably said to you, if you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all. Or at least go aim your disdain at someone who is more deserving of your vitriol than tired, frazzled moms. That’s kicking us when we’re down, and that is, among other things, simply unkind.

Lost continues to be one of the shows that I feel good about watching. It’s interesting and mostly well-written and plotted. The danger, of couse, is that what makes it intriguing is its mysteries. While good secrets can elevate good shows, bad ones can sink them.

But the writing on last week’s episode of Lost impressed me greatly. Not only was the pregnant character given a plausible reason for flying so late in her pregnancy, but when she started to have contractions, HER WATER DIDN’T BREAK.

Did you know that the water breaks at the onset of labor for only 10% of women? Water isn’t supposed to break at the onset. But you’d never know it by watching TV or movies.

Until last week’s episode of Lost. Great job, folks. Keep it up.

I’ve been tired for a long time–in fact, since well before I had a baby. I didn’t sleep well during the pregnancy, and every time someone said, “Sleep now, while you can!” I wanted to punch them. Now, of course, I say the same thing to pregnant women I know. I wasn’t sleeping well, but I didn’t yet know the soul-crushing nature of ongoing sleep deprivation.

During the past two years, I have often opted for easier choices for my free time, sometimes with books, and especially with movies. “I don’t want something challenging,” I’d say, then I’d watch something like Shanghai Knights or The Italian Job. These weren’t exactly bad movies, but they most definitely weren’t good ones. I came away minus my free time, and somewhat entertained but with a less than fulfilling interior life.

As Drake’s sleeping habits have improved over the past several months, I have felt the fog lifting. I’ve stopped reading books that I didn’t find well-written. I’ve avoided movies that have mixed reviews, especially ones whose reviews read something like, “The movie is just OK, but the performance of person X is outstanding.”

Don’t get me wrong. There is a time and place for good bad movies, books, etc. The other night when we finished watching television, we saw that Galaxy Quest was on, and watched several minutes of it with enjoyment and no guilt. Galaxy Quest is a good example of a movie whose execution was above average. It’s not high art, but it’s well-done and entertaining. But there are far too many truly mediocre movies out there in comparison to the few that manage to rise above the pack.

There was a period in my life during which I actively shunned self-development. I wanted to have fun and not work at anything very hard. It is humbling to note that this behavior is not just part of my past, but something that crops up in times of fatigue and stress. In my lucid moments, though, of which I am having more and more, I know that I want better for myself. I want to read good books, watch good movies and television, eat healthful food that is well-prepared, exercise and seek out things that are both good and in some way good for me. Doing these is more challenging, as the more conscientious choices nearly always are. But they’re worth it, because I’m worth it. I sometimes forget that.

Our toddler, Drake, is not a very biddable guy. Now that we live in a house that has three levels, getting from one to another can be difficult. I’ve got a bum wrist with a ganglion cyst, so I’m trying to limit lugging his heavy self up and down the steps.

I usually change his diaper upstairs. I have found that if I wrap up the diaper tightly, I can pitch it down the stairs to the first landing. Drake will shimmy after it, then I’ll kick it to the next landing, he’ll follow it down, then I’ll nudge it to the floor, where he’ll pick it up. I’ll then ask him to throw it away for me, and he’ll toddle through the first floor to the garbage can and toss it right in.

This is very cute, and it gets him downstairs, but the hazard I’ve found is that he doesn’t yet understand that we only put things INTO the garbage can; it’s not a two-way relationship.

One of Drake’s new things is to stick his finger up his nose. This drives his father, G. Grod, crazy.

Funny, because it doesn’t bother me that much. But the nuclear screams of death, and flinging food on the floor? Those work my every last nerve.

[By the way, during one scream in the coffee shop the other day, a woman put her hands to her ears. Today, during our childhood ed class--more about this later--after letting one loose other moms looked pained. I figure if other moms think it's bad, then this is not just run-of-the-mill screeching.]

The other day during lunch, Drake shoved his finger up his nose, waited a bit, took it out, then pointed at me insistently with it, grunting “Unh, unh, unh!”

I responded simply, “That’s great, sweetie. Thanks so much for sharing.”

This new address is a little disorienting. I figure most of you have followed me from one of the old Blogger addresses at Girl Detective, or Mama Duck, but in any case, I feel the need to do a recap.

I’m Girl Detective. Previous a middle manager in a marketing department, now a stay at home mom. Reader, writer, sometime yogini.

When I was pregnant, I started a blog called Mama Duck, because instead of the usual metaphor of “bun in the oven” the one that popped into my head was that I had “a duck in the soup”. Thus I began to refer to the eventual baby as the duck. Now that he is fifteen plus months of actual, rather than imminent, I will now call him Drake.

I’m married to G. Grod, the father of Drake. He recently got laid off from his job. He’s an IT geek, and all tech matters related to this site are managed by him.

Me? I’m a winner at Nanowrimo. I wrote a novel. Or, more accurately, over fifty thousand words of raw material for a novel.

I do have one concern. My novel didn’t end. I passed 50K, but I still am not sure where the novel was going. Without my artificial, arbitrary deadline, I’m not sure I’ll ever find out. Because writing 50K in a month is not a healthy way to live.

Here’s how I did it. I woke up at 6 a.m., my husband made me coffee and I did small writing things, like journalling and catching up on the past year of thank you notes for baby gifts, until the baby woke around 7:30 a.m. I made sure to eat lunch while the baby did, so that when he went to sleep for his nap, around noon, I could sit down as soon as possible at the laptop and work on the Nanowrimo novel. Sometimes I checked email, or blogged, to my detriment. The baby’s nap is usually an hour fifteen, so anything other than power novelling meant that very little novelling got done. Occasionally, on very wonderful days, I would finish my goal of 1700 words per day during his nap. Usually, I did not, so after he went to sleep at night, around 7:30 p.m., I would sit down and write till I hit the goal. The later I novelled, the harder it was. The worst days were the ones in which I had to start after he went to bed for the night.

But I did it. And now I’m glad that it’s over. I’m going to go do laundry. Or bathe. Or read my book. Or watch TV. Or a movie. Or any other of the zillion things I put off last month, saying, “I’ll get to it in December. Right now, I gotta novel.”

A sleeping baby is a little bit like an ex-boyfriend. He’s easier to love. Sleep, like time, erases some of the hard edges, the bitter exchanges, his screaming, my anger. I can look at him and feel only the fondness, not the frustration. I remember the good times we had together, not the meltdowns. It’s so much easier to feel connected in retrospect than it is in the middle of it all. Ex-boyfriends, though, get the eliding benefit of absence. They don’t wake, twice a day, cranky and hungry and screaming their displeasure at me. Real relationships are hard to slog through, sometimes. There is fun and playtime, but also tedium, unpleasantness and work. Babies, however, have something critical that ex-boyfriends do not–the ability, in real time, to offer compensating joys for the drudgery.

One of my many pet peeves is people who ask stupid questions at author readings. I feel so bad for authors when they are asked “Where do you get your ideas?” I like Jennifer Weiner’s response, “Target.”

While all authors I have ever seen have graciously answered this question, I’m not sure that I would be able to be so polite. So when I have my “when I get my book published and am doing readings and someone actually comes to them” fantasy rolling in my head, I think it would be a good thing if questions were submitted in advance, so I could weed out the “Where do you get your idea?”s and all the questions that aren’t really questions but just a way for the inquirer to sound erudite in front of a crowd. In real life, though, I haven’t even put together a good submission package for my book, so I think I can say with certainty that any author readings on my part are a long way off.

Censoring comments, though, is happening right here, right now, because as soon as we put this site up, my comments feature got spammed with poker solicitations. So I have to approve comments before they get posted. This actually is far more like abashed agony then my authorial fantasy. I don’t get tons of comments, and I’m thrilled by each one, since they affirm that people are actually reading this. So believe you me, readers, I don’t want to make commenting harder. But I did want to let you know why there is a delay in seeing your comment posted.

Blame the poker spammers. I didn’t want it to come to this.

Welcome to the new address of Girl Detective. Two and a half years ago, I started writing as Girl Detective at Blogger. A few months after that I got pregnant, and started another weblog, Mama Duck, to write about things specific to pregnancy, and eventually parenthood.

Over time, the silliness of having two weblogs became apparent. I thought I needed two forums to keep the topics separate. What I learned is that the lines are very blurry, even when I’m not deprived of sleep. The pop culture of Girl Detective seeped over into the motherhood of Mama Duck, and vice versa.

Additionally, I wanted to do more with the sites, but was limited at Blogger. What they have is fabulous, and even more fabulous for being free, but I needed a form that was more flexible. And thus the need for the new digs.

Thanks for visiting, and I hope I’ll give you reason to come back again. The site will be under construction for a while, so pardon the appearance while we work out some bugs in the system.