Girl Detective

#19 in my 2007 book challenge was The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon. I went to see Chabon discuss this book, a recent selection of Talking Volumes. Chabon in person is good looking, funny, and well spoken. I also saw him on the promotional tour for The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. He joked about the danger of obsessing over his rank at Amazon. Since winning the Pulitzer, I’m guessing he doesn’t worry so much. Before that reading, I made an embarrassing gaffe. This time I was much better behaved. I stayed in my seat and kept my mouth shut, and listened while Chabon talked and read from his very entertaining book.

My opinion may be biased. I’ve had a literary crush on Michael Chabon since I read The Mysteries of Pittsburgh in college. It was a book that made me want to become a better reader (see #4). I’ve come to have a great deal of empathy for his wife, author Ayelet Waldman, diagnosed as bipolar after the birth of their fourth child. I admire her further for writing AND being married to Chabon. I would be intimidated to write alongside the multiple-award-winning author who’s been showered with critical acclaim since he was in college. She does, though, and her latest book was well reviewed.

Chabon’s TYPU is an alternate-reality noir, in which Jews were granted temporary exile in Alaska after WWII. Detective (”shammes”) Meyer Landsman investigates the murder of a man who lived in his building. He is discouraged from this by his new boss, who is also his ex-wife. In true noir fashion, he continues to pursue his investigation, pissing people off, getting shot at, and obsessing over dames (his ex and his dead sister). It’s a decent mystery, elevated far above the ordinary by its humor, and Chabon’s fluid prose and the eccentricity of the yiddish/noir/alternate history mix. In the end, though, Chabon has too much affection for his characters for anything very bad to happen. In fact, the description of Landsman’s ex is strikingly similar to that of Chabon’s wife. The novel can also be read, I think, as an extended mash note to her.

TYPU succeeds because it unexpectedly tweaks the noir formula. Like John Burdett did with Bangkok 8 (Buddhist noir) and Jonathan Lethem did with Motherless Brooklyn (noir with Tourette’s syndrome), Chabon has taken a seeming incongruity and made it work. TYPU is clever and fun, though perhaps less bitter than it would like to be.

which have become so difficult with two small children around that they FEEL like luxuries.

1. Eating when I’m hungry. Drinking enough water.
2. Going to the bathroom whenever I want. With the door open. Alone.
3. Phoning family. Giving attention only to the phone call.
4. Going to sleep when I’m merely tired. Getting up when I no longer am.
5. Drinking coffee WHILE IT’S STILL HOT! Freely eating a biscotti, or strudel, or toaster pastry.

1. Reading 75 to 100 pages a day.
2. Doing the daily NYT crossword puzzle. Only having to cheat on Saturday.
3. Watching wildlife. Recently sighted: a covey of baby quail, a mama hummingbird feeding her baby, and a pair of wild parrots.
4. Peace and quiet.
5. Dozing, then lolling, in bed before getting up.

My friend Becca and I went to see #35 in my 2007 movie challenge, Knocked Up, in the theater, without kids (though apparently some parents were OK with bringing small children into this R-rated film), and with buttered popcorn and candy.

I loved this movie. It is an ever-so-rare comedy of substance. It’s funny, it’s sad, and in the end it’s sweet. I left this movie feeling happy, as did NYT film critic A.O. Scott.

If you were a fan of director Judd Apatow’s critically acclaimed but criminally canceled television shows Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared, you will probably appreciate this movie and its strange blend of hope, and acknowledgement of the suckiness of much of everyday life.

I know many people who didn’t like the similar weird mix in Apatow’s last film, The 40-Year-Old Virgin. I hope the packed theater at Knocked Up means that more people are open to Apatow’s geeky, complex, and ultimately life-affirming, sense of humor.

My husband G. Grod sent me a link from Boing Boing to Merlin Mann at 43 Folders on “The strange allure (and false hope) of email bankruptcy“. This was the first I’d heard of the term, though Mann posted previously about it, and it may date from as long ago as 1999, according to this WaPo article. The popular lit agent/blogger, Miss Snark, periodically referred to “hosing out her inbox” in a similar bid to start fresh. Mann has another suggestion for managing email that he calls the “email DMZ“.

The WaPo piece notes that many tech-savvy and email-inundated people are backing off from (or even out of) email in favor of the telephone. Since having baby Guppy 16 months ago, I’ve attempted the opposite, as I found phone calls more difficult than email.

As I noted recently, though, I’m buried in my inboxes, both at home and for the blog. They’ve swelled to a grand, cringe-inducing, and possibly paralyzing, total of 580. Mann captures my feelings on this, exactly:

Email is such a funny thing. People hand you these single little messages that are no heavier than a river pebble. But it doesn’t take long until you have acquired a pile of pebbles that’s taller than you and heavier than you could ever hope to move, even if you wanted to do it over a few dozen trips. But for the person who took the time to hand you their pebble, it seems outrageous that you can’t handle that one tiny thing. “What ‘pile’? It’s just a fucking pebble!”

To all the kind friends and family who have emailed me, I will again quote Mann, in reply to you.

I’m not prepared to declare bankruptcy just yet, but if you were kind enough to email me a pebble some time over the last few [YEARS], there’s a very good chance that I still haven’t found the time to do something appropriately nice with it. Which makes me feel awful. I sincerely apologize if your lovely pebble is still in my very large pile.

I’m currently on a sort of break, so I have the usual hope/delusion that I’ll be able to “catch up on everything” that this piece from the Onion skewered so wonderfully. Please be patient if (when?) I don’t get through all 580 pebbles in the next few weeks.

#18 in my 2007 book challenge for the year was Discipline without Tears, a book recommended to me by the doula who helped me through labor with Guppy. It’s not aimed at parents, but rather at teachers, though it has some good insights for both. The authors note that children are good observers, but bad interpreters. They contend that young children have four major desires when they act out: attention, power, revenge, and withdrawal. How an adult feels is a good hint as to the child’s object. An adult often feels annoyed at a child wanting attention, threatened by one seeking power, hurt by one seeking revenge, and helpless by one who has withdrawn. Adults are encouraged to communicate with the child to clarify the situation, and act in response to the different situations: give attention when the child isn’t seeking it, not when she is; give power to the child; don’t show hurt, and find ways for other children to draw out withdrawn peers. This is an old book, and somewhat dated, but it’s worthwhile in that it encourages adults to take the time to analyze what’s going on, learn new patterns, and teach new patterns. Skip the workbook at the end. I recommend re-reading the most relevant chapters instead.

Hello, gentle readers. I was unplugged last week getting some serious R, R, R, and R: rest, relaxation, rejuvenation, and reading. What a difference it’s made. I think we all need extended down time periodically, but life as we know it doesn’t tend to support or encourage it. There’s always family to visit, and why don’t we take a short trip here, and this and that, and then the vacation time is gone. I would’ve benefited from a week away after I weaned Drake and we moved, yet instead I’ve been doing full-time childcare for about three years, now. This break was better late than never, and I’m enjoying every moment, and appreciating it as if it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity (though I’m hoping it’s not). Last week I didn’t feel like writing anywhere but in my journal or on a postcard; I didn’t turn on my computer at all. This week I’m hoping to ease back in, first on the blog and then onto the creative stuff. I’m excited to get back to blogging.

If you have sent me an email recently and I haven’t replied, it’s not you, it’s me. I’m swamped. Buried. I’ve got more than 350 emails in my inbox, and less time each day to manage them.

I read and appreciate each one, and thank you, thank you for all the kind words and thoughts. I do hope to reply, and soon, but digging out of 350+ is going to take some time. (Funny, the backlog dates from around the time Guppy was born, over 15 months ago.)

A few things, in list form about Chabon’s appearance, as I’m tired and feel a cold coming on.

One of Chabon’s favorite books is Pride and Prejudice. When the interviewer expressed surprise at this, his voice gently chided her as he asked whether she was surprised that he had picked it, or that it was considered great at all. He admired Austen’s ability to dial up and down her ironic and perfectly pitched voice in the service of her characters. He also said that Elizabeth Bennet is one of the very few main characters that he never tires of spending time with.

While he was writing three of his recent novels–Summerland, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, and The Yiddish Policemen’s Union–people sent him books by other authors that had similar, out-there themes. He waited till after he’d finished his book to read them. (American Gods by Neil Gaiman, a book about comic strips, and The Plot Against America by Philip Roth, respectively.)

Chabon no longer writes through the night, as he did when he was younger. He prefers waking early to spend the beginning of the day with his kids before they go to school, as opposed to 4 to 6 pm, which he noted is the hardest time of the day with kids. (Amen to that.) He also no longer writes short fiction, since the time he used to devote to it is now given to his four children, who range in age from four to thirteen. He likes to read fairy tales to them, since it’s something that can engage all ages.

#17 in my 2007 book challenge was Gilead, my second reading of Robinson’s luminous work. How can I possibly contain my admiration for this book in a brief review? I discussed it with two groups of people. Few liked it; many found it dull. Several wondered why it was good enough to win the Pulitzer. I admit that I admire it more than I enjoyed it. But the experience of it and the aftermath as I ruminate on it, are deeply pleasurable and satisfying.

It’s a letter by an elderly minister written to his young son, to be read long after his death. There is story, plot, mystery, and romance; all are part of the narrator’s ruminations on his life. This is not a fast-paced thriller. It is, though, a deep examination of human relationships, especially between parents and children. It is also a thoughtful theological examination of a microcosm of suffering and redemption, etched onto a small town.

On this reading, I found a parallel between the generations of the narrator’s family, and the ages of Christianity. His grandfather was a soldier and warrior, who had visions of God and lived by simplistic rules of right and wrong, like the God of the Old Testament. He also has only one eye, like Odin, the Norse god of thunder and war. The narrator’s father read widely, and valued peace above all. He had a contentious relationship with his father, much as Jesus did. The narrator, John Ames, is a thinker. He has books on theology and his own thoughts on those. He is an analog for the age of the Holy Spirit, in which there isn’t an immanent God. The question I still ponder is, what age of Christianity does the narrator’s son represent?

The last three movies I watched–Babel, For Your Consideration, and Infamous–were disappointments. All three had moments, but not enough to feel good about the time I spent on them, or to recommend them.

By skimming reviews from trusted sources like Time Out and Ebert and Roeper, I can get a pretty good idea of what I’ll like and what I can skip. I need to be more careful in the future. I have little time to myself, and I don’t want to spend it on mediocrity. I’m glad that I saw a few excellent movies recently, like The Lives of Others, Shadow of a Doubt, and Infernal Affairs, that remind me to keep trying.

#34 in my 2007 movie challenge was Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Babel. I recently watched both Amores Perros (his best film, I thought) and 21 Grams, both of which were good, if often difficult to watch. Midway through Babel, I found myself thinking “I hate this movie; I just hate it.” It was an overlapping narrative concerned with racism and prejudice. The tension centered largely around a woman and children in danger. I’m beyond tired of all those conceits. Yes, there were some good performances here, but this cruel, button-pushing film left a sour taste in my mouth long before the end, when the white people are OK while the people of color are mostly screwed.

#33 in my 2007 movie challenge was For Your Consideration, the latest, and lamest, of Christopher Guest’s mockumentaries, this one about the cast of a small film that begins to get Oscar buzz. Perhaps an insider would find it more funny, but I laughed only twice: at Michael McKean’s “We don’t want to throw the baby out with the bathwater. We’d have a wet and critically injured baby!” and Fred Willard’s mispronunciation of the word gamut in the deleted scenes. Catherine O’Hara gives a cringe-worthy and heartbreaking performance as a long-time character actor, but that wasn’t the tone I was looking for when I selected this movie. I think Guest had real gems with Waiting for Guffman and Best in Show. With FYC and A Mighty Wind, though, I think the hit or miss humor is weighing heavily toward the latter.

#32 in my 2007 movie challenge was Infamous, aka the other movie about Truman Capote. It suffers in comparison to Bennett Miller’s 2005 Capote, but does have its merits, among them Toby Jones’s portrayal of Truman Capote. It takes a different view of the proceedings, and includes entertaining scenes of Capote’s society life in NYC. Disappointing and mostly forgettable otherwise, though.

The Peter Principle is the idea, first formulated for business, that people rise to the level of their incompetence. Most mornings I struggle with the clashes between my sons, 3yo Drake and 15mo Guppy, plus try to meet my basic needs, like breakfast and coffee. Both are either lukewarm or stone cold by the time I get to them.

A friend of a friend (and mother of an only child) once remarked that parents find out how many kids are too many for them after the fact. It’s best to be cautious and not assume that one is having kids, plural. I think about this remark a lot lately, as well as the Peter Principle, and wonder if two kids put me in over my head.

Maybe it’s their ages, maybe it’s their developmental stages, maybe it’s just me. I’m muddling along as best I can, reading Siblings without Rivaly and Raising a Thinking Child. Having a second child, like having the first one, was a huge life change with dramatic impact, both physical and emotional. Some friends say things get better, others say they merely become harder in different ways. Hope and self-learning–they’ve pulled me through life, and they’re pulling me through the screaming and fighting that makes up so much of parenting for me right now.

When I was a kid, I had babysitters. Some were good, some were bad, and in retrospect I’m not sure how any of them managed my two younger sisters and me. I don’t remember us as well-behaved, docile children who played by ourselves.

After my husband G. Grod and I had Drake, now 3yo, we were dismayed to find that babysitters weren’t inexpensive, ubiquitous, and plentiful. G. and I live far from our families (a choice about which they have every right to complain about, and they do), so the usual grandparent and sibling support isn’t there for us on a regular basis.

Instead, we took friends up on their kind offers of help, and began to swap childcare with other families. Finally, though, a trusted friend recommended her cousin, and we had an experienced, reliable college student who could care for Drake, and also baby Guppy after he arrived. Alas, like any personable, intelligent and capable person, she is often busy. I’ve begun to explore other options, and found a handful of resources that I hope will make things clearer:

There are several online sitter reference sites.

National Child Care Information Center’s Children Home Alone and Babysitter Age Guidelines

American Red Cross offers babysitter training courses

“‘Tweens,’ working parents, and summer plans: U parents share approaches to planning for their 8- to 12-year-olds,” an article from UMN News

M, who blogs at Mental Multivitamin, has a wonderful, thought-provoking entry about choosing a positive focus. She avoids the usual saccharine sentiments. Her entry brought Denis Leary’s pithy quote to mind: “Life sucks. Get a helmet.” I was all the more impressed when I read his wife’s book, and learned he wrote that after the extremely premature birth of his first son. Life is hard; the key is not to get mired in ruts, and most certainly not to decorate them.

Thanks, M., for the always helpful reminder that perception is a variable thing. In honor of that, I wanted to say a quick thanks for a handful of things that make the rough stuff more surmountable. In no particular order, a list of 10 (that goes to 11):

1. My husband, who makes me a kick-ass cappuccino almost every morning, and who empties the dishwasher before I get up, so I don’t have to.

2. My friends, new and old, virtual and non-, who are supportive and generous.

3. My family, who I appreciate more, and more of whom I appreciate, as I grow older.

4. Olay Regenerist products.

5. Maybelline’s Define a Lash mascara. The pretty green tube houses a great, everyday product.

6. Sonia Kashuk eyeliners and lipstick. Good quality and colors, cheap!

7. The Loft Literary Center. I wouldn’t be a writer without it.

8. My sons. By turns maddening and inspiring. Oh, how they make me learn. I’m glad for that, even though sometimes growth=pain.

9. Good books, television and movies.

10. My public library.

11. My grocery cooperative.

#31 in my 2007 film challenge was The Lives of Others, and it was just fabulous. See this film. A complex character study as well as a history lesson, it is a challenging, provoking work that gives credit to the viewer by not over-explaining its excellent, exquisitely wrought details. I was happy to spend $12 on a ticket and popcorn (real butter! with dark chocolate M & Ms mixed in by me!) to see this film in a theater.

Reminder: I set this film challenge for myself after having my first child. I love films, so I make seeing them a priority. My children are not excuses to forego things that I love. They just make me work harder for them; thus I appreciate them more.

#30 in my 2007 movie challenge was Infernal Affairs, the Hong Kong movie that Scorcese remade as The Departed. When I saw The Departed earlier this year, I liked it a lot, and I thought DiCaprio especially did a great job. Seeing IA has given another dimension to my experience of TD, which I’ll discuss after I get through telling you how great IA is.

Two kids go undercover, one criminal into the police, one police cadet into crime. Both rise in the ranks, and in the esteem of their bosses. IA is a tight, stylish film that doesn’t miss a beat–the music, the editing, the small details that clue the viewer in but aren’t hammered home. While Andew Lau and Tony Leung are compelling as the leads, the rest of the cast also shines, most notably their two bosses and Leung’s dimwitted criminal colleague. This is a bittersweet, smart tale, told exceptionally well.

By comparison, TD’s merits have dimmed for me. Much of what was good about Scorcese’s film was taken from the original, such as the cat and mouse scenes between the two moles. Jack Nicholson was miscast, and his analog in IA, played by Eric Tsang, only underscores that. Further, Scorcese lengthened the script by 50(!) minutes, most of which was to overexplain things that were done with skill and subtlety in IA. Martin Sheen was good as DiCaprio’s father figure, but Anthony Wong as SP Wong was better in IA. I still think DiCaprio did a great acting job, but seeing IA made it clear that he had the most sympathetic role. Lau and Damon had the thankless task of embodying an almost unempathizable character. Two female charactes from IA were needlessly, and less believably, condensed into the same person in TD, though played well by Vera Farmiga. The Departed was a good film. DiCaprio and Damon were very good, but the standout of the film was Mark Wahlberg. That role and his performance were original to Scorcese’s film, and truly great.

Some things demand an exclamation point. This day is one.

[Caution: if you're here looking for an intellectual entry, this isn't it. This is the purview of mommy blogs. But I must celebrate; I hope you can share my joy.]

As Drake walked out the door of preschool, he said, “I have to go potty.”

My eyes widened in surprise. Drake was wearing a pull-up diaper. He had never before said that phrase while wearing a pull-up diaper.

“Sure, honey!” I replied, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. I’ve been disappointed so many times before.

We went back into the building. He went into the girls bathroom. I didn’t re-direct him. I asked if he wanted help.

“No, Mom, I need some privacy,” he said, having learned that phrase from a toilet-using friend.

I peered anxiously under the stall door as he pulled down his shorts, then his diaper, and sat on the regular-size toilet. I heard the sound of pee. (I also heard the sound of 15M Guppy screaming right behind me. He was immune to the significance of what was transpiring.)

“He’s never said that before,” said his preschool teacher, standing behind me. “Not in all the months he’s been here, not in all the times that the other kids have gone. Never.” Her voice echoed the awe I was feeling.

Once home, Drake did a repeat performance, unprompted.

During his quiet time, I began to compose this entry. Then he began banging on his door, his unsubtle sign that he wishes quiet time to be over. We went downstairs together. I asked if he would like underwear or a pull up.

“I would like some air time, Mom.”

We weren’t seated for many minutes in the basement before he announced that he needed to pee.

“You know where the bathroom is,” I said. “Let me know if you need help.”

He disappeared down the hallway. A few moments later he called out.

“I peed, Mom! And I pooped!”

I leapt off the couch, but again tried to diminish expectations. I’d had my hopes dashed so many times before. But my fears were unfounded; my hopes were realized. Drake had gone to the bathroom by himself. I reminded him to flush and wash his hands. I asked if he remembered what I said would happen if he went by himself. He paused, and a big grin came over his face.

“Mack!”

I went to my secret-squirrel hiding place, and brought back Mack. We called Drake’s dad to share the good news. And Drake is now happily playing with Mack as I write and edit this entry.

It may be some time before either event happens again. Drake still refuses to put on either a pull on or underwear; he’s going to have to cover up eventually. There will also be accidents and regressions. But no one can take today away from me.

Oddly enough, I had a related dream last night. I rarely recall dreams in the morning, and have never had a prophetic one. But in last night’s dream, I was complaining to a friend about Drake’s refusal to use the toilet.

“I understood when he was two that he might need more time than other kids. But I hardly expected him to be NEARLY FOUR and still in diapers. Everyone says he won’t start kindergarten in diapers. But I’ve seen nothing to give me hope,” wailed my dream self.

Oh, me of little faith. Way to go, Drake. Thank you for showing me, yet again, that you are on your own, unique time line. If I can remember and respect that, instead of fighting it, we’ll both be a lot happier.