Posted by Kimberly on November 10th, 2007 — Posted in Kipple, NaBloPoMo
My fellow bibliophile Landismom tagged me with this. If you’re inclined, feel free to play along.
Total number of books I own:
I have no idea. Enough that the idea of moving them again continually foils any wild fantasies I have about moving to a new beige box. Imagine bookcases in every room (yes, even the kitchen) overflowing with books. That’s about half of what I own. The other half is in my parents’ basement. I blame Scholastic.
Last book I read:
The Shifting Sands by Emily Rodda. It’s number 4 in the Deltora Quest series, which is a fantasy quest series for the 4th grade set. Scholastic sent it to me in my giant box o’ books, and I wanted to check it out to see if Diva Girl would like it. Plus, I like to keep up on what’s going on in the Kid Lit world, and not just because I have kids. I enjoy the genre, and I find that many, many amazing writers are working for the teen and younger set.
Last book I bought:
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I’ve been hearing good things about these books for a few years now but hadn’t gotten around to buying them. When I saw the bookstore had started charging the American price, I figured it would take a sting out of the twenty dollar pay cut I took when I cashed my last iVillage cheque.
5 Meaningful Books
Define “meaningful.” I mean, that’s a pretty broad description. Are we talking “changed your life meaningful”? Personally meaningful? Socially meaningful? Dead White Guys meaningful? I don’t know. So I hereby change this to: Five Books That I Would Happily Read Again and Be Able To Find More To Them Than The Last Time I Read Them. Which is much more verbose, but too bad.
The Wheel Of Time Series by Robert Jordan. I’ve read these several times. And each time I do, I am staggered by his scope and vision. There are so many nuanaces to this series; a throwaway sentence in book 3 can become a major plot point in book 10. The man gave new definition to the term Epic Fantasy.
The Dark Tower by Stephen King. It was worth the 30 years it took for him to finish them. They are quite possibly his crowning achievement and do a brilliant job showcasing exactly what he’s capable of. The ending of this series wasn’t pat, trite, expected, or predictable, yet neither was it unsatisfying. It’s left me coming back and thinking over the series as a whole, the themes, and the story long after I finished reading it.
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. There’s a reason why we still teach this in school. Atticus Finch’s fight to be a good man is as important and relevant today as it was back in the 50’s when this was published. We can tell kids about racism, and how and why it’s wrong until we’re blue in the face, but we will never have the same impact on student perceptions as this novel.
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. I’m an English teacher; you knew this was going to make the list. The reason is twofold: 1) Yeah, the man pretty much created slang, colloquialism, and pop culture for us. b) They’re just good stories.
The Bible. Is it a history text? An epic fantasy? A series of allegorical fables? I don’t know. But I do know that it’s quite probably had more impact on the shape of our society and our world events than any other book in the world. And if that’s not the definition of meaningful, I don’t know what is.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 9th, 2007 — Posted in Kipple, Blah Blah Blog, NaBloPoMo
When I started NaBloPoMo I kinda made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t write “I like cheese” type posts (I try to save those for the other blog). That, however, was before I spent over an hour trying to get back into my account because the system kicked me out and I could not for the life of me either find the password or convince the system to give me a new one. While nowhere near the frustration Mir from Woulda Coulda Shoulda (I’d link, but lord only knows where you’d get redirected at this point) is dealing with, it’s enough to make me want to pack it in for tonight.
That is an incredibly frustrating feeling. In many ways, I consider the blogosphere to be a sort of virtual room of ones own. It’s that place that we all can go to and gather our thoughts and form them into something greater than the random bits of poop talk, kid stories, and celebrity gossip floating around our brains. Our blogs are the place that we go to speak and to be heard. They are where we get to create our identities to reflect the way we see ourselves and to shape our reality into a narrative that reflects and celebrates those selves. So when the room is locked, it’s not a good feeling.
It’s made even worse when the swirling pressures of home and work and family make you long for a room in which to escape. A room where the only sounds come from your fingers hitting the keyboard and your thoughts are calm and orderly as they spill onto the screen. Rather than say, two inches of mouse space on a desk piled high with permission slips, children’s books, Hallowe’en chip bags and Coke cans–an island of insanity set amid the swirling sea of childish chaos that is your toy strewn livingroom. Where the children hover like vultures, always circling, waiting to pounce in distraction and demand the second you are engaged in meaningful work of your own. Where your quiet, rational internal dialogue is replaced by irrational tantrums over the laws of physics and a series of escalating threats over bedtime.
So, now that I’m finally here, I find that tonight, at least, this room is still closed to me.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 8th, 2007 — Posted in The Ladies, Kipple, NaBloPoMo
Sure, it was 3:07 a.m. But you know, there are worse ways to be awakened than by your kid climbing Mount Mummy to plant a very slobbery kiss on its summit. Trust me, I know.
I’m a co-sleeping parent. We’ve never had one of those pseudo-cribs or anything like that; the baby toddler preschooler kid sleeps next to me in the bed proper and always has. Which is normally fine; it’s not like I’m using all that extra bedspace for anything. Plus, ease of nursing, fewer nighttime disturbances, happy and secure child…You know the drill. Sometimes, however, life takes a detour out of the ordinary. If you’re lucky, it’s something exciting like actually needing that extra bedspace. Life being what it is, however, it rarely works out that way. Usually it’s something far less sexy, like the stomach flu.
A word to the wise: If you are going to co-sleep with the sick baby, be prepared for the fact that she will throw up all over your bed. Repeatedly. I still retain a rather visceral memory of waking up to Diva Girl spewing her spaghetti dinner. All. Over. My. Head.
That was actually a watershed moment for me. I really knew I was somebody’s mother when, instead of taking the perfectly normal course of action of shrieking “Ewwwwww!” and decontaminating myself in the shower for about 3 hours, I put someone else’s needs first. I calmed the distraught toddler. I bathed the foul smelling toddler. I changed the sheets of the bed. I washed *and* dried the precious blankie. I settled the now peaceful toddler back to sleep. And about 3 hours after the incident I finally washed my hair, seriously grossed out, but with a sense of real accomplishment, knowing that I could do this mommy-thing. I had been tested, and I had passed. Baptism by vomit, if you will.
You can see how I was willing to take the kiss in the spirit it was intended and not begrudge Zen Baby the five minutes of stolen sleep.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 7th, 2007 — Posted in Diva Girl, NaBloPoMo
Some days I really, really understand why some species eat their young; it must be because their young are just a jumbled mass of prepubescent hormones, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. Or none at all, as the case may be.
Diva Girl is living up to her name today. Nothing pleases her. Everything is wrong, or unacceptable, or unfair. The world, it is out to get her, and it is all my fault. Because I just don’t want her to be happy.
The evidence?
I gave her the wrong socks to wear this morning.
I didn’t send her a lunch. Because it was pizza day. And she was getting pizza.
I bought a cool magnetic family calendar and hung it in the hallway instead of in her room.
I won’t buy her a new Webkinz (she has 10).
I bought her friend a Webkinz for her birthday party. Which was actually ok. But I bought the Googles, which apparently wasn’t. Even though last time I bought a Webkinz for a gift she got mad because I didn’t buy the Googles.
There were other offenses as well, up to and including being responsible for global warming, the Hollywood writers strike, and the plight of baby harp seals in the arctic, I’m sure. I don’t quite know. Somewhere around the Webkinz tirade I stopped listening. Partly due to the fact that her voice had ceased to be comprehensible to the human ear, but mostly because if I listened to much more, I might have slathered her with apple butter and served her for dinner instead of the lovely pork tenderloin she refused to eat.
Sometimes, bedtime can’t come soon enough. Of course, those are inevitably the times when you realize that daylight savings time has just ended and you’ve got another hour of this crap to deal with. And then you start fantasizing about dipping her in chocolate and serving her for dessert.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 6th, 2007 — Posted in Kipple, NaBloPoMo
One of the hardest things about being a parent is letting your children grow up. It’s not really so much an issue in those early years, when each milestone is greeted with cheers and breathless anticipation; as they get older, however, each new development takes thenm further into the world (and farther away from you) and it gets harder to step back and let them try things on their own. We don’t want to hold them back on purpose, of course. No parent wants their child to miss out or be left behind. It’s just that sometimes they’re ready for new things before we are. It’s our job to weigh what we’re ready for against what they’re ready for and come up with a happy compromise. Or, at least, a compromise.
What Diva Girl feels she’s ready for right now is “The Sleepover.” She thought she was ready for it last year, actually, but I most emphatically was not. At that point the compromise was sleepovers at our house. This year, however, Diva Girl doesn’t want to just have a sleepover, she wants to go to one.
I’m torn.
On the one hand, at someone else’s house I won’t be the one making dire threats at 3 am, kicking myself and wondering what form of temporary insanity lead me to believe that this could possibly be a good idea. After all, I’m not nearly old enough to have forgotten that sleep is hardly an integral part of the sleepover experience, but I am old enough that it is an inegral part of mine. So there are definitely some ticks in the pro column.
On the other hand, however, it’s still a sleepover. At someone else’s house. And Diva Girl is not even a particularly good sleeper at our house. Not that that’s the point, sleeping being secondary to the event and all, but I worry about that other Mom, and how she’ll like having to deal with the challenge that can be Diva Girl at bedtime. Plus, there’s the element of the unknown at play here. When Sabrina is safe at home in her bed, I can sleep easy, knowing that she’s at home. In her bed. Safe. While I’d like to say that I have complete confidence in the parents of Sabrina’s friends and her safety in her care, if we’re being completely honest, I don’t. I have no reason to be wary of the fathers and brothers of Sabrina’s friends–who uniformly seem to be a group of “good guys”–but then again, I don’t think most parents feel suspicious of the family friend who steals their child’s innocence.
None of these concerns impact Diva Girl’s desire to attend her friend’s sleepover party. Nor should they. These are parental concerns, not the worries of a little girl who just wants to do what all the other little girls are allowed to do. Which is another element in this particular equation–The social aspect. Diva Girl has not traditionally done well with large groups of girls, and I worry about the endless possibilities for bullying and girlish cruelty presented by a mob of tweens left largely to their own devices for roughly 12 hours. But while I see all the ways that this could possibly end badly, Diva Girl only sees how much fun everyone is going to have, and how awful it will be to be the one girl who misses it.
She’s got a point in that. She’s got a chance at this new school to make things different. To fit in, have a group of friends, and to be included in ways she never has been before. Nobody wants their kid to be a lemming, mindlessly jumping off of that proverbial bridge, but watching your child live on the fringes, desperate for other kids to like her, wanting to be part of the group but always ending up as the outcast and unable to figure out how to change that, is heartbreaking. This invitation is a chance for her to start to build a new identity for herself as the girl who is included in the fun, not as the one who is somehow always on the outside looking in.
So, even though I’d rather that my baby didn’t feel the need to make this particular leap right now, I have to acknowledge that that is borne out of my lack of readiness for this next step, not hers. It’s time to put away my own fears and accept her confidence in herself. I know that I’m not ready for her to grow up this way yet, but I also know that she never will be unless I let her. And since the only thing I can think of that is worse than my little girl growing up and leaving me behind is the idea that maybe she won’t, that my own ambivalence and desire to keep my baby with me will transfer to her an inability to embrace herself with confidence, I know it’s time to let go. Or at least pry the first finger off of that death grip.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 5th, 2007 — Posted in Diva Girl, NaBloPoMo
Usually I’m pretty good at parsing out the non-sequiters The Ladies pop out with. Most times, it doesn’t take me much to figure out what has sparked their nonsensical outbursts and wring sense from their seemingly random observations. I can often even do it while keeping a straight face. Sometimes, however, they catch me by surprise.
Like last night, when apropos of nothing Diva Girl suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! I know what they needed! Money or underwear!”
Huh?
I have to admit, I had no idea what she was talking about, who “they” were, or what they could possibly need with money and underwear. And Diva Girl’s explanation didn’t do much to clear it up for me.
“It’s in their jeans, Mom! And what’s in your jeans except for money and underwear? So that must be what they needed!” It was adorable to see how pleased she was with herself for solving this puzzle, but I still had no idea what we were talking about.
The penny finally dropped when she elaborated, “They said they needed something in our jeans and that’s why they sent the Mimzy back.” It all came clear at that point. Last week for Movie Night The Ladies and I watched The Last Mimzy, in which a dying future society sends a series of “mimzies” into the past looking for the key that will save them–a key that can be found “in their genes.” Although she hadn’t said anything at the time, Diva Girl had apparently been puzzling over this strange statement ever since, trying to figure out what they could possibly want with our jeans.
I tried–in between giggles–to explain to her the difference between “jeans” and “genes” and that they were in search of DNA, not spare change and underwear, but it’s a difficult concept to grasp when you’re only 8 years old and only have a rudimentary understanding of the whole process anyway.
Homophones are hard.
[Ed. Note: I swear I’m not playing fast and lose with NaBloPoMo. I wrote this yesterday and accidentally hit save instead of publish.]
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Posted by Kimberly on November 4th, 2007 — Posted in Kipple, NaBloPoMo
You know what is not a good night to stay up late to watch a movie that doesn’t carry a “G” rating for once? The night the clocks fall back.
Extra hour my ass. Once you have kids, turning the clock back is the realtime equivalent of “one step back, two steps forward.” Not only are the kids’ circadian rhythms pretty much going to guarantee that they get up at the same time as always (if not earlier due to the unexpected sunshine), they’re also going to be staying up an hour later at night since their bedtime fell back along with everything else.
So, yeah, that Bourne movie marathon I indulged in last night probably wasn’t the smartest idea I ever had. But I’m still blaming whatever genius thought it would be a good idea to mess with the clocks in the first place. I’m willing to betthat he didn’t have kids. Maybe he’d like to come watch mine while I catch up on those extra hours I’m missing.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 3rd, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry, NaBloPoMo
[Ed. Note: I wasn’t being coy making you all wait. I had this post about half done and then left the computer for a few minutes. When I came back, I found Webkinz where my words were supposed to be.]
The last time I went out with The Man I Didn’t Marry,it definitely wasn’t a date. It had some of the hallmarks of a date–I dressed up, he picked up both me and the tab (although I was fully prepared to pay for my own drinks), and, even if it wasn’t acted on, there was the desire for a kiss at the end of the night–but it definitely wasn’t a date. I’d say that there was too much water under the bridge for that to have been a date, except I’m not sure that at that point there even was a bridge. A lot of water, but no bridge. The way things ended–I gave back the ring, we stopped talking, I had a baby (not his), he got married (not to me)–there wasn’t really a lot of time for bridge building back then. Both of us were so busy getting on with it, I’m not sure we really spent much time getting over it.
Not that either of us has spent the last ten years pining and obsessed with what could have been; we’ve both had fairly busy decades, after all. I just know that while I haven’t really spend my time dwelling on that part of my life, when I have thought about seriously and not in the “fun stories to tell at parties” kind of way I’ve had the sense that it was unfinished business. And, up until he popped up on Facebook, I was fine with that. After all, much though we might wish differently, life’s loose ends don’t always get tied up in a nice, tidy bow.
So, last time we went out, it wasn’t about dating. It wasn’t even exactly two old friends catching up. It was about putting the past to bed. It was about closure. The thing about finding closure, though, is that it allows you the opportunity to explore the possibility of new beginnings.
Which brings me to a question….Can you have a first date fifteen years after you first went out? One the one hand, it feels a lot like a first date. That sense of excitement and possibility are definitely there–that fluttery feeling that comes from not knowing how the evening is going to turn out, but hoping that it will live up to the promise that lead you to accept the invitation in the first place. On the other hand, however, there is five years of shared history backing this evening up. Sure, those five years of shared history have been tempered by ten years during which we each grew up in different ways, but they’re still there, tinging the excitement with a sense of familiarity that is always there in the background and almost borders on deja vu at times.
Not that there was anything deja vu about our dinner at a fancy restaurant, unless you count the fact that we were both able to predict what they other would order with 100% accuracy. Last time our first date was a trip to the movies. Eating out at a chi chi restaurant (the kind where crayons and kids menus are replaced by cloth napkins and candle light) couldn’t have made it more clear that this was a whole new experience for both of us, and one that we were both looking forward to embracing. Still, there were some very familiar undertones, like the moment we both flashed back to our first kiss. And then decided that some magic just can’t be recaptured.
Not that there wasn’t kissing. Just not then. New beginnings require new moments and new memories, not the same ones recycled and repackaged for a new generation; to do otherwise would be to deny the power of that magic, and wouldn’t be fair to either the past or the future.
I’m not certain what the future will hold for The Man I Didn’t Marry and me. I do know that with 4 children, 2 cities,1 driver’s license, and an ex-wife between us it’s pretty crowded on that bridge and any future there is will probably be complicated by more than just echoes of the past. However, I also know that, even with all that, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next.
(And not just because dinner was delicious, drinks were fun, and I feel like I missed out on something when we didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to play a round of pool–even if my dress really wasn’t suitable for leaning over a table).
[Oh, and Kirs? He doesn’t think you can possibly guess where he took me this time.]
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Posted by Kimberly on November 2nd, 2007 — Posted in Just Like Riding A Bicycle, The Man I Didn't Marry, NaBloPoMo
I don’t have a lot of time to post today; I have to get ready for my date.
Yep, I have a date. And not one of my handwringing, neurotic overanalyzing Facebook Guy dates, either. This is a real live, bona fide date. The kind where the gentleman requests the pleasure of your company well in advance of the event and makes it clear that you won’t be going dutch. He even used the word “date.” Which in my book is totally the clincher.
Even better than that, though, it’s the fancy kind of date. I don’t know exactly where we’re going, but I do know that this date is the kind you dress up for. The kind where you break out the special dress from the back of the closet and maybe give the red peeptoes another chance.
I’ve felt giddy all week as I looked forward to tonight, and not just because my parents are keeping The Ladies overnight (although that has certainly played a part). I’ve been planning my outfit, picking out my makeup, and pondering hairstyles all week. In short, I’ve been positively girlie with excitement about this date. Is this what I’ve been missing out on all this time? Because this part of it? This part is actually kind of fun.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, The Man I Didn’t Marry will be here any moment and I still have to get dressed.
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Posted by Kimberly on November 1st, 2007 — Posted in The Ladies, Kipple, Blah Blah Blog, No Pudding Until You Finish Your Meat, NaBloPoMo
I’m still coming off of last night’s sugar rush–both mine and The Ladies–so today’s entry is going to be more of a bunch of unrelated snippets than a cohesive narrative.
Trick or treating was a little strange for us this year. Because I only take The Ladies to houses I know and our route is designed so that we end up at Grandma’s house, we ending up cruising the “old neighbourhood” surrounding Diva Girl’s former school. I used to do this trip four times a day, minimum, but I have to confess, the walk to her old school just about kicked my ass. Other than that it was mostly a treat, seeing the familiar faces we’ve been missing since we stopped hanging out on this side of the street. More often than not The Ladies were greeted with hugs to go along with their Hershey’s Kisses and more than one mom slipped them an extra helping of candy before we headed off to the next house.
Negotiating the Old Babysitter’s house was a bit tricky, though. I thought it would be weird to make The Ladies skip it altogether, especially since we don’t really go to all that many houses, and in past years she’s just left a bowl full of candy on the porch while she and Buddy went out, so I figured it wouldn’t be too much of a drama. I was wrong. When we turned on to their street we could see the bowl sitting there, waiting for the pirates and princesses roaming the neighbourhood to help themselves. Unfortunately, we could also see Buddy and the Babysitter in the window. Which wasn’t the most awkward part. That came when The Zen Baby admonished, loud enough for all the assorted trick or treaters and their chaperones to hear, “You stay back here, Mummy. We don’t want you to get into another big fight with Buddy’s Mom!” before running up to collect her candy. I have never in my life wished so hard that I was wearing a costume that included a full facemask. She made up for it when she offered to share her candy with me though. Poor, naive child. She has no idea that I’m totally going to steal it while she’s sleeping.
On the school front, Diva Girl’s teacher apologized to her yesterday. I hadn’t yet stormed the office filled with righteous maternal indignation (the principal was away at a conference), and with this new development I have to rethink that approach. If she hadn’t acknowledged that she’d been wrong in preventing Diva Girl from calling home I would have been all over demanding a meeting (and possibly her head on a platter), but she did and that changes things.
At this point I think I’m comfortable sending an email (cc’d to the principal) that at least on the surface seeks to inform and not blame in this situation. Although I’m pretty sure they’ll get the threat implied in the statement, “should this situation occur again, Sabrina will most likely have to wait until I can make the 2 bus trip up to the school to get her.” As to the custody stuff, I’m still undecided. One of the sucky things about changing schools is having to run through all the solo mom stuff again–mail addressed to “Mr. & Mrs. Rastin,” fielding the “where’s your dad?” questions, and explaining de facto custody. I may just save that one for the Parent-Teacher interview.
I’m sorry that this isn’t the best start ever to NaBloPoMo, but I promise I’ll try and do better from now on. Oh, and speaking of NaBloPoMo, did you see the snazzy badge over there in the sidebar? I put it there all by myself and I didn’t even break the blog. It doesn’t link to the actual site, but you know, baby steps. I’m not convinced that NaBloPoMo itself is a baby step, or even a good idea for me–I’ve never been very good with either deadlines or self discipline–but I’m trying to break out of the box a little this year and try some personal growth. Sure, it’s nearly a decade too late to help me with that procrastination problem I had in University, but I like to believe that every prof who ever granted me an extension (which would, um, be every prof I ever had) is cheering me on.
I wonder if moving the old Sanity and the Solo Mom archives over here counts as posting? No? I didn’t think so. Still, I’ll be doing that this month, so if your feed reader starts going crazy, just relax. I’m not going to bring everything over–the work to rule memes and the Daily Mom content can languish in whatever sort of internet purgatory iVillage deems appropriate–but there are many posts that I’m proud of and would hate to lose. They’re not letting me bring the comments though, so if you happen to see something in the old stuff that catches your fancy, feel free.
I’m off to raid the peanut butter cups.
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