From the Hands of Babes

Posted: January 22nd, 2010 | Author: kristen | Filed under: Book, Books, Food, Friends and Strangers, Husbandry, Kindergarten Quest, Miss Kate, Moods, Other Mothers, Paigey Waigey Wiggle Pop, Sex | 2 Comments »

A friend came over for dinner recently and brought a bottle of wine and a copy of The Girlfriends’ Guide to Getting Your Groove Back: Loving Your Family Without Losing Your Mind. It was written by that chick Vicki Iovine—the skinny-ass former Playboy centerfold turned domestic advice-giver who’s married to a gazillionaire music exec. Or maybe they’re divorced at this point.

Whatever the case, it’s crazy how much she and I have in common.

Anyway, I haven’t cracked the book, nor do I intend to. I’m a firm believer that reading about how overwhelmed you are is neither entertaining nor productive. Whereas reading about absolutely anything else—say, hot teen vampire sex—has a much better chance at alleviating standard-grade housewife malaise. (Note: I have not yet succumbed to the smut-lit allure of those books. But I do have the first one in a pile by my nightstand.)

And I wasn’t offended by my friend’s offering. I didn’t think it was some sort of hand-patting, “Honey, really, read the book” kinda intervention. Especially since it wasn’t even intended for me. (Or so she said.) Her daughter had allegedly been rooting around in their house, and dragged it into the living room. And seeing as my friend’s groove is apparently intact, she dropped the book in her bag in case I, or the other friend we were seeing that night, were in need of some groove restoration.

But the truth is, I had been lamenting that ever since the calendar flipped to 2010 I’ve been in a bad mood. My groove in this new decade–or lack thereof—has been informed by my wretchedly out-of-whack back, my agita over getting Kate into a good school next year, and the dreary fact that my book proposal has gotten nowhere closer to being completed than it was in, say, early November. Add to that the extra pounds I packed on over the holidays, for a nice veneer of flagging self-esteem.

Even though it’s just been sitting here, my friend’s kid having unearthed the groove-regetting manual maybe did have some impact on my psyche. Perhaps by its mere presence in my house, the tides of ill-humor have started to change.

First-off, we’ve made progress on Kate’s school applications. Two of them are already handed in (despite an 11th-hour explosion of loose powder blush that came close to rendering the hand-written one, well, “Warmth” pink.) All the nail-chewing over writing the damn things has suddenly changed into an optimistic excitement about how amazing it’ll be for Kate (and us) to be part of one of these cool schools. I’m already planning to volunteer in the classroom constantly. (They’ll have a maternal restraining order out for me by late fall…)

My back still sucks. As in, hurts nearly constantly. But Paigey got into a fabulous preschool for next year. And my book proposal’s still dead in the water, but I’m resolved to get childcare in the coming weeks to make some headway on it.

And I’ve got two great trips to look forward to. A hopefully snow-covered jaunt to Rhode Island and a most-certainly white-capped visit to Vancouver. Thanks in no part to my athletic prowess, I am going to the Olympics!

Also, in a totally not-me move, I decided to Just Say No to my book group book. Just not read it! How liberating is that? Usually I stressfully speed-read in the final days before we meet, as if I’m prepping for the LSATs or something. But after reading the first five of the book’s 400-plus pages, I simply decided I just wasn’t 400-plus-pages-worth of interested. To some this may seem a minor act of rebellion, but for a rule-follower and perfect-attendance gal like myself, this felt as bad-girl liberating as the Queen must feel peeing in the shower.

I also recently picked up a wee freelance gig at TV.com. My first piece, a recap of the show Brothers & Sisters, wasn’t half-bad. (At least according to my father.) Mark’s also got a 14-pound brisket slooooow-cookin’ in the smoker I got him for Christmas. And really who can feel gloomy at the prospect of the lifetime of smoked meats that now extends before me? (His enthusiasm for this new toy is such that we may also be eating smoked breakfast cereal Chez McClusky soon.)

Even my dream life is showing signs that I’m relaxing a bit. Like last night, I had a kinda sex dream about one of the schools Kate’s applying to. And I call it a sex dream, but when I described it to Mark he pointed out that there really was no sex in it whatsoever. But you don’t always need sex for sex, right? I mean, didn’t we learn that lesson years ago from Bill Clinton?

So in the dream I’m at this school (our top pick for Kate, in fact) and I’m taking a tour. And on the tour all the perspective parents get shunted into the school’s wood shop, where there’s this strapping, black hottie of a wood shop teacher. (This, by the way, is nothing like their real wood shop teacher. It’s a dream, people.) And then in that weird dream-way that you just skip over some of the boring how-things-unfolded parts, next thing you know he and I are in my car! But no no no, not groping each other or anything, just driving around. You know, with our thighs all close together and almost touching in the way they are when you are in a close-quartered dream-car next to the hot wood shop teacher. Like you do.

So he tells me he’s been working at the school for 30 years, but he says, “thirty years of radiation” which in that weird dream-way I don’t find to be an odd turn of a phrase and simply take to mean he’s been getting cancer treatments all that time. But it’s not like that’s a sad thing. In fact, this virile wood shop teacher who for some reason I’ve kidnapped mid-school-tour looks altogether healthy. And I just say to him, “Yeah I don’t want to go there.” And, dreamily, he’s not offended at all, and we just keep driving and I think, “I really should get back to the school tour.”

And then I woke up.

Chaste. And still even Dreamland-loyal to my husband.

Several weeks ago we were at a birthday party. We were at the friend’s house who brought me the Groove book. Paige was still somewhat new to walking. One of her favorite places to toddle off to and explore is bed-side tables. They have fun little drawers it’s easy for little hands to open.

So as we’re in the kitchen chatting with some other parents, Paige staggers from the back of their house out into their living room and heads towards me with a violet-colored tube in her hand. Turns out it was our hosts’ Astroglide. Ahem.

Of course, those of us in the kitchen who saw what Paigey had poached found it uproarious. Funny enough to not sweep it under the so-called carpet, but to send Paige back across the guest-filled living room with instructions to hand the item over to its rightful owners.

Paige obliged. Much giggling and blushing and good-natured heckling ensued. Good times.

Thinking about that now, I can’t help but wonder if Paige was on to something. Was it really a random offering? Or was she trying to communicate in some childlike intuitive way, “This is what you people need. This is the answer!”

Now I’m not implying that Paige thinks I should have a romp with the dream-based wood shop teacher. There’s a time and place for people from The Land of Make Believe. I think she was maybe just making her own down-home suggestion about how us Mommies and Daddies could get our groove back.

And So

Posted: August 3rd, 2009 | Author: kristen | Filed under: Book, Friends and Strangers, Husbandry, Miss Kate, Other Mothers, Paigey Waigey Wiggle Pop | 1 Comment »

I am full of beginnings. That’s just how it’s been with me the past week or so. No middles. No ends. Just beginnings.

The biggest of which is this project that’s burning a hole in my pocket. A writing thing. A book actually.

But it’s just an idea still. So fresh and young and new. Something I tend to and nudge along by sitting up with my laptop deep in the night, the rest of the house asleep.

I keep trying to crawl into bed at reasonable hours, but then this need to serve as the night sentry to my thoughts wins out. Causing Mark to stumble into the living room at 1:30 or 2:00, squinting in my direction and and muttering, “You okay?”

“Oh yeah,” I say, barely lifting my eyes from the screen. “Just thinking. Working out some ideas. Figuring out how to get started.”

I’m blessed with that gentleman spouse in scads of ways, really. But one that’s especially handy right now is his writerly, editor-like, contemplative, and frankly genius side.

To say I’ve been using him as a sounding board puts things lightly. If I were to draw some kinda schematic—one of those cool data-driven illustrations—to show just how many ideas I’ve bounced off him recently, there’d just be an outline of his body, covered with big hollowed out holes. All battered and dented, poor thing.

And the dear takes everything I hurl his way so well. In fact, instead of holding his arms up to shield himself, he returns my book-frenzy onslaughts with enthusiasm. Thought-provoking questions. With smart tips and insights.

Like this: A book that lays out a particular premise—like, uh, the growing acceptance of gays in America—isn’t really much more than a term paper, right? Nothing anyone will care to read, and no publishing company will buy. It needs to answer the question, “And so?”

This tidbit (from a book he gave me I’ve been too sleep-deprived to read), was just what this currently stuck-on-beginnings gal needed to hear.

Like today, I met some new women. Mamas who I’ll spend two hours a week with soon, for the foreseeable future. It’s a rotating playdate type thing, where two of the mother folk tend to the young ‘uns while the other two go off and bask in sweet aloneness.

And although I barely know these women, I decided to take the plunge. Sign up to do this thing with them.

A beginning see? No middle yet. And world’s away from an end.

And so?

Well, another thing.

Last week Mark had a company softball game. Some one-off thing someone in his office arranged. I planned to take the girls to SF to watch, then we’d go out for dinner after.

What slayed me about this game–just tore me up really—was the nature of the opposing teams. Two magazines. Wired versus Dwell.

The day of the game I mentioned this to nearly every friend I saw. Wired versus Dwell. The geeks go up against the designers. Isn’t that rich? I mean, who’re the better athletes of those groups? Who wins a showdown like that?

And so?

Well, one last beginning. Or what I’m calling one, at least.

Kate ran a long droopy piece of Scotch tape from her bedroom door to the wall in the hallway today. It was her woefully insufficient attempt to prevent Paige from slamming the door.

Because these days Paige cannot imagine an activity more fascinating and thrilling than opening and closing doors. A phase of toddlerhood I’d totally forgotten–or perhaps repressed–from Kate’s younger days.

And so?

Well, see? That’s the thing. I’m not really sure where any of these things go.

Okay, so that’s not totally true. The book and the babysitting club, well that’s anyone’s guess.

As for the softball game, the geeks beat the house designer/decorator clan. Woot! A victory for those who were smart and unpopular in high school everywhere! Take that you liquid eyeliner designers!

And Miss Kate’s attempts to control her space from the door-banging efforts of her sister? I couldn’t bear to tell her that her tape rigging was futile. Instead I hung back. Marveled at her craftiness, and the innocence of her optimistic undertaking.

As it turned out, Paige lost interest in showing all the doors in the house who was boss. After skulking around the entry to Kate’s room, she eventually scooted off on her ass, seeking adventure elsewhere. I later found Kate’s tape in a wad, clinging to the lid of the kitchen garbage can. Apparently she’d gotten bored with her door-stays-open engineering and yanked it all down before Paige even tested its strength.

Which seems to indicate (to me at least), that the middles and endings for all these beginnings may be utterly unexpected. Which is certainly something to look forward to.