Girl Detective

I know, from experience and professional training, that unrealistic and vague goals are destined to fail. In defiance of this, I have decided 2007 will be the year I get my sh1t together.

Deluded? Probably. For purposes of this delusion, I define my sh1t as: disorganized finances; blowing and drifting piles of paper; teetering piles of magazines; unopened boxes from the last x? moves; bookshelves crammed with unread books purchased long ago; random stashes of junk throughout the house (why, yes, I do think I should keep these seven keychains, because I never know when I might need this exact one.)

I have to stop there. I’m just depressing myself.

In preparation for this unrealistic and amorphous goal, I’ve done a little acronyming. The 2007 goal is hereby named CMP. Take your pick what it stands for: Crap Management/Minimizing Program, or Clear the Crap, Manage the Money and Purge the Paper.

See, all those years spent in corporate America weren’t for nought. Now if only I could get a budget for snacks and authorization to conscript a team:

Drake, Guppy, it’s time to clean house. Put your toys away! Pick up those crayons! Get that train out of your mouth! If you do, we’ll have a post-mortem meeting with Cheddar Bunnies, Veggie Booty, and juice.

Two hours of disappointing television last night. House treats a rape victim in clinic, and imprints on her as if she’s a baby duck. She ropes him into tedious philosophical conversations. Cameron gets another dying patient. People get tears in their eyes. Chase had a few good lines, like telling Cameron not to romanticize House and pretend he’d act like a human, and telling House to lie to the patient. Wilson also was funny: “Are we role-playing? And if so, am I you? Because I don’t want to be you!” Cuddy ran around looking peeved and concerned in a too-tight, not-flattering suit with an unpleasant collar.

Television, wherefore art thou? Amuse me! My days are kinda tough, lately.

That’s right. I’m a stay-at-home mom, so I don’t work. Today I took care of my virus-addled baby, had friends over to play, changed half a dozen poopy diapers (some of which were diarrhea), got puked on, was smeared with snot from shoulders down, spent quality time with my 3yo who told me the other day I didn’t love him, listened to twenty minutes of infant hollering, bent back a fingernail cleaning the kitchen, sang eleven songs from Dog Train, and made lunch for five. I am woman; hear me roar.

I said I would be less tough on Veronica. I lied.

This episode was only good in the corners, it was rotten throughout. Hookers, bad jokes about hookers, winking at guy stuff about hookers, an evil madam with bad plastic surgery. Awful stuff. A plot that is a mishmash of True Romance (G. Grod’s call) and a storyline from season two of Rescue Me. Veronica and Logan bore me. Not to tears, though, because the cast had more than enough of those to go around. Ack. The Battlestar geekery was gratuitous, too. I remember laughing a few times, though, like when Veronica comes back to her house and says she’s going to Logan’s to meet two hookers. That line had the proper sarcastic edge that the rest of the ep sorely lacked.

Didn’t you hear Warren Ellis? Or me agreeing with him? Enough with the frackin’ crying, already. Baltar, Starbuck, Sam, Dee, and Apollo were all in tears. And enough with the drinking, too. Tears and drunkenness do not character development make. At the end of the ep, the four crossed lovers were in exactly the same boring place they were at the beginning. It is not enough to write “ugh” to convey my frustration and disgust. Imagine me rolling my eyes while doing a disgusted, escalating “ugh” that starts all the way down in my belly.

And Joe R at Television Without Pity makes this excellent point:

Bonus Scene: Roslin interrogates Caprica Six! And it wasn’t part of the episode so we could watch Lee and Tyrol bitch about their women! So not cool!

John Knightley only was in mute astonishment. That a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day of business in London should set off again, and walk half a mile to another man’s house for the sake of being in mixed company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise of numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A man who had been in motion since eight o’clock in the morning, and might now have been still–who had been long talking, and might have been silent–who had been in more than one crowd, and might have been alone!–Such a man to quit the tranquillity and independence of his own fireside, and on the evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the world!–Could he, by a touch of his finger, have instantly taken back his wife, there would have been a motive; but his coming would probably prolong rather than break up the party. John Knightley looked at him with amazement, then shrugged his shoulders, and said, ‘I could not have believed it, even of him.’ Emma

I just finished re-reading Jane Austen’s Emma, #5 in my book challenge for the year. It was a joy; the nearly 500 pages flew by. I laughed out loud at passages like the one above, because I found the book consistently funny. This was not the case the first time I read it, just over two years ago. I enjoyed it, but didn’t love it, and found it slow to read.

I’m not sure what made the difference. I’m reading at the same time of year, and with about the same level of parental fatigue. It could be that I read the book previously, and several other Austen books recently. I was reading for enjoyment, not to find out what happened. Since there are several plot points that are kept hidden till near the end, this allowed me to savor the careful hints that appear throughout the text. Reading the other Austen novels Sense & Sensibility, Pride & Prejudice, Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion, has made me more fluent in Austen’s prose style. As I find with Shakespeare, reading more is the best way to be able to read more because I learn the customs and rhythms of the language. In any case, I found Emma a delight, even though Austen acknowledges some of the inherent difficulties of her tale, like Frank Churchill’s behavior, Emma’s failed attempts to improve poor Harriet, and a grown man falling in love with a thirteen-year-old girl. I found a few other things bothered me in the book. The racism in a scene with gypsies, and the classism and snobbery that may not be tongue-in-cheek. Yet in the end I was happy because everyone was, whether they deserved to be or not. I’ll take my cue from Emma’s thoughts about Frank Churchill, and not be severe:

Though it was impossible not to feel that he had been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than she had supposed; and he had suffered and was very sorry; and he was so grateful….and so much in love…., and she was so happy herself, that there was no being severe Emma, Chapter LI

Her parting look was grateful; and her parting words, ‘Oh!…the comfort of being sometimes alone!’ seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her best. Emma, chapter XLII

Drake, Guppy and I spent nearly two weeks out east visiting family. I am quick to correct those who call it vacation. For me, a vacation is time away for R & R (rest and relaxation; reading and writing. Either pair works.) Family visits are enjoyable, and may include some of those Rs, but since they are not exclusively, or even largely, about them, I don’t equate them with vacation.

We returned to a messy house, piles of mail, loads of laundry, and a mostly empty fridge. There was work to be done. By Thursday, I felt completely tapped out, and contacted a local retreat center. They had space, so I got me to a nunnery from Friday night to Sunday morning. I got all the Rs, plus some quiet, solitude, and time for meditation. I shunned my tendency to make a to-do list, and instead tried to go with the flow. I was interested to see that my day unfolded reflecting the life priorities I recently clarified: Rest, break fast, read, work on novel, sup, exercise/fresh air, rest, tea and snack, weblog, dine, read, rest.

It was a tremendous relief to get this 36-hour break. When I again saw Drake and Guppy, they were crying, screaming, not listening, and not changed at all by my time away. I’m not sure I was changed by it, either. But I did get a bit of time and space to replenish my reserves of patience so I could wade back into the fray. I think it’s naive to think that a brief break will magically make us more tranquil. It did make me feel less tapped out. And that’s something.

The long, dry TV season is over, and the shows are returning in force. Like the mid-season ender, the latest Battlestar episode was strong, and put some of my previous concerns at ease. While the ep sometimes lagged especially around the will he/won’t he drop the bomb (sheesh, of course he won’t), there was some good character development. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Baltar is looking more like Jesus (or Judas?) with every episode.

The big question is, who did D’Anna see in the temple that she said “I’m sorry” to? I think Adama is too obvious. I think it’s Starbuck, but I’m terrible at guessing these things. I read that one of the dead characters might come back as a Cylon. I’m hoping for poor dead Billy. I was glad to see the end of Kat and Ellen.

A reminder that part two of Masterpiece Theatre’s Jane Eyre is on this Sunday 28 January 2007, and there are several re-runs of part one if you didn’t catch that last week. It received largely good reviews in England, and continues to do so here. I have only been able to watch the beginning of Part I, and was disappointed. It moved far too quickly, and I wonder if it would be intelligible to anyone who had not read the book. (And if you haven’t, why not? It’s one of the best books, ever.) I was glad to see young Jane’s clever response on how she’ll avoid hell, though poor Helen hardly got any screen time at all. I think some of the detail should have been left out, rather than giving it such short shrift.

I’m eager for Jane to meet Rochester, and I expect to have a better experience as the show progresses.

Veronica Mars returned this week. I am one among many fans who have lamented that season three is nowhere near as great as season one was. But since season one was one of the best things on TV, ever, maybe I’m expecting too much. Veronica is still sassy, and the supporting cast is strong. I was sad to see Ed Begley Jr.’s character die at the end of the mid-season episode. He brought a lot of much-needed quirky humor to the dark storyline. At the end of this week’s ep, I was thrilled to see Veronica show up at Logan’s door, even though I don’t love the lovesick Logan. It sounds like he’s swallowing every other word. I don’t mind Piz, but Piz and Veronica? No way. He’s not got nearly enough dark side. Riley on Buffy had more than he does, and look how well THAT ended.

For the rest of the season, then, I’m going to try to be less tough on Veronica. We girl detectives have to stick together.

There, I’ve said it. You know it’s true. You want to believe (like I did) that putting your kid in front of a video of classical music paired with bright, colorful images will stimulate their brains. Well, it will, but more toward ADD than genius. I tried to be polite about my dislike of this line when I wrote about Mimi’s Toes, since I have many friends who love it. But the Baby Einstein creator is an honored friend of Laura Bush, and a Forbes article reminds us that there is no evidence that baby electronica is helpful, and much to suggest that it’s harmful.

Baby Einstein is mediocre stuff that targets parents’ hopes and fears about their children’s intelligence. Don’t fall for it. Instead, read a well-written book to your child. Play a non-electronic game with her. Take him outside for some fresh air and exercise. Play some real music, instead of the Muzack-y baby classics. Our son Drake enjoys the Paste magazine CD samplers.

I’m writing in our basement, where the temp hovers in the mid-fifties. I have on a coat, scarf, warm socks, slippers. I put on gloves when the cold impairs my typing; I take them off when their bulk does same. Why type in the cold basement? The light is bright, even augmented by a few windows. There are fewer distractions. And it is two floors down from the napping boys, so I am less likely to wake them if I move around.

Sadly, Drake is having one of his ever-more common non-napping days, and baby Guppy did not get the memo that afternoon naps should last over an hour. Since I believe strongly in 2-hour naps, we’re having some conflict. It would seem I’m cold down here for nothing.

“It is the greatest absurdity–Actually snowing at this moment!–The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home–and the folly of people’s not staying comfortably at home when they can! If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this, by any call of duty or business, what a hardship we should deem it;–and here are we, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual, setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can;– here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;–four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home.”

Mister John Knightley, a voice of reason, in Austen’s Emma. I am intrigued by his argument that we should attend to nature’s suggestion, and stay home when it is cold. On one hand, we Minnesotans would be housebound a lot. On the other, getting myself and the kids bundled up and out the door and into a vehicle is considerable work. It makes me long to curl up on the couch with books. And what if we went to bed earlier, and got up later during winter? Modern life doesn’t encourage this kind of adjustment to our environment. But what if it did?

#4 in my 2007 book challenge was Mockingbird, a biography of Nelle Harper Lee. I read both To Kill a Mockingbird and In Cold Blood last year, and this was an interesting and informative companion book. This is the first and only bio of Lee, so Shields has the good fortune of no competition, as well as the good timing to publish in the wake of the films Capote and Infamous. Exhaustively researched in spite of Lee’s refusal to participate, the book did not feel tight and polished. I saw a number of typos (e.g., “the” left out of “on other hand”), usage errors (e.g., another thing coming, rather than the lesser known but correct “think”), and unwieldy sentences. The strength of the book is the exhaustive research of the author, particularly around the time that Lee wrote To Kill a Mockingbird and helped Capote research In Cold Blood. There was good evidence of her writing habits, her strengths and weaknesses, and her family ties. It also gave different views into certain aspects of In Cold Blood. Shields attempts to answer the obvious question of why Lee never wrote another book as early as the introduction. I wasn’t sure why he would want to give away his conclusions so quickly after he did all the research that follows. The detailed intro also made a lot of what followed feel repetitive. The subject was fascinating, but the book itself would have benefited from more thorough editing, both of copy and in structure.

As Drake and Guppy require more attention and nap less, I’ve pared down and prioritized the other basics of my day:

Journal
Read book
Exercise/go outside
Work on novel
Write for weblog
Read and reply to email
Read online feeds
Housework (laundry, cooking, cleaning)

Since I only get short breaks, or none at all, it’s easy to get distracted by the silly stuff. This list helps me focus in the midst of disruptions.

I know parents who have given up on all sorts of things once they had a child. Movies, books, writing, restaurants, even clothing and makeup. All these things matter to me, though, so I make time for them by not doing other things. Clothing and makeup might seem trivial or superficial compared to the others, but I haven’t given up on those, either. Much of my time as a mother is spent on the physical needs of my toddler and baby. Time for my physical needs helps at least a little. I sometimes wonder, when I’m running late, if it’s worth it that I have makeup or accessories on, or that my outfit fits and matches. My preparation is an oasis of autonomy among the negotiations and acrobatics required to get the kids out the door.

I have begun work on my second novel in longhand rather than on my computer. This didn’t start consciously but rather circumstantially. I found myself without my machine, so I grabbed a journal and started to write. Ever since, I’ve continued in longhand, typing up passages later for my writing group. This works well for me, since baby Guppy doesn’t nap often or for long. Though the computer seems like it would increase efficiency, it’s a false economy. By the time I boot up the computer, open the programs, and attach the mouse, precious minutes have gone by, and my resolve to work has lessened.

My friend Rock Hack noticed after her second child that she could manage accessories or makeup, but not both. I find myself living that dichotomy on a regular basis. Today I have on a bracelet and earrings that match my sweater, but not a jot of makeup. Thank goodness for tinted moisturizer.

Another friend said that having another child meant that she could do the laundry, but couldn’t manage to put it away. I’m living that one all the time too. I shift my pile of clothes back and forth between the top of my dresser and the bed for days.

I am just back from a twelve-day trip, and resumption of daily life has been less than smooth. I struggled to get Drake, Guppy and myself dressed and out the door this morning. Only at lunchtime did I realize that Drake had missed breakfast. We eventually all got where we needed to be.

I have new appreciation for the enforced simplicity of living out of a suitcase. Back home, I am surrounded by too many choices; too many things that call for my attention.

Currently recovering from trip east to visit family. Plane delayed for 90 minutes because of weather, but boys were magically well behaved. Drake stayed in his seat for most of the flight and Guppy flirted shamelessly with the flight attendants. While some of the good travel experience with kids is just luck, some of it is also preparation. Both boys received a pre-flight diaper change and dose of Tylenol. I brought two new books for Drake, I Stink and Farmer Duck. I brought snacks aplenty for all of us. I pulled out Drake’s Doodlepro, lollipops, and a toy car at strategic moments.

My travel credo remains: Enjoy it if it’s good; don’t flip out if it goes wrong.