The Eclectic Writer

Change Happens

I made sure to call my husband today from work.

“How are you?” I asked, checking in.

“I’m alright,” he replied.  “I miss them.”

Today was the first day of school for our children.  My husband, who has been a stay-at-home dad for four years, experienced pre-empty nest syndrome as the kids climbed on the bus, I got into my car and he reluctantly returned to the house alone.  A quiet house.  A calm house. 

I miss them.

“Things are changing,” he said last night before bed.  We have done our job-to-date as parents, successfully moving our children through the many firsts of their young lives.  First steps, first days of kindergarten.  We have photographs with which to remember each milestone.  Although nine years feels like a lifetime, it also feels like yesterday.

Things are changing.

Our children are older.  Although we’ve managed to keep their schedules under control, we anticipate more of everything this year: more homework, more play dates, more after school activities, more independence.  My husband is looking into part-time work. He’s been pining for a little more interaction with adults during the day, a luxury much-deserved after having done a terrific job managing the home front full-time.  I will be finishing graduate school, but in the meantime will be immersed in the task of completing my thesis.

I’m alright.

Sometimes it’s events like back-to-school that make you take a minute to pause and think.  Autumn is a time when we notice that things change.  The days get colder.  The leaves turn colors.  Children go back-to-school. In truth change is constant. It’s not a seasonal activity, but something that goes on everyday whether we notice it or not.  Change is always happening.

In the end, everything goes on as it should.  The bus comes on time, the photographs sit waiting to be put in the scrapbook and if you listen carefully the house in its silence holds still the memories of days past and the hopes and dreams of years to come.

Potty-Mania!

Lately every time I check out the headlines on line or read the newspaper there's another article just too good to let go by without commentary.

Tonight scanning through our local newspaper I came upon an AP story on page B9 in the Nation section about how the "Diaper-free movement potty trains kids from birth."  It seems there are parents who believe that babies are "born with an instinctive ability to signal when they have to answer nature's call." There's a way to communicate that's actually called "elimination communication" where parents learn to "read their children's body language to help them recognize the need, and they mimic the sounds that a child associates with the bathroom."

So I guess this is sort of like teaching babies sign language prior to teaching them how to say words. But what's the point?  To me, those early months in diapers was one less thing I had to worry about. I was too busy teaching my children other more basic things during those formative years.  I tried to spend my time with them taking walks , visiting the zoo or reading books. Nursing, playing, changing diapers were all part of our everyday routine and zapped every bit of energy out of me.  I don't recall any leftover time to learn another language. Anyhow, with my luck fatique would have kicked in, causing me to unintentionally mix up elimination communication with signing for "let's dance."  Could this not have caused, er, an accident?

I've never understood this obsession with potty training.  There are methods I have heard about where parents actually take a vacation day from work to potty train their kid in a day.  To me there are just some things that have to follow their natural flow (no pun intended.) What's the point?  Is that the kind of thing you can announce in your local paper?  I can see the headlines now. 

"Bagley Toddler Youngest Tyke to Nail the Potty in Less Than 24 Hours."

Does it mean your kid can skip Baby Einstein videos and go straight to Harvard?  I mean, why waste a vacation day on something that will take its natural course in a short time? Why not check into a spa for the day and pamper yourself with some much deserved love and attention?

I wish people could just chill out and relax.  I never found diapering as terrible as many people make it out to be.  In fact, I sometimes miss those days when we didn't have to stop four times on a road trip. My kids would be able to suck down a dozen juice boxes and make it up the east coast and back with hardly a stop. There was a convenience to it while it lasted. 

I think every baby has a right to experience diapers during their first couple of years.  Why be burdened with things like going to the bathroom when you're trying to learn how to distinguish patterns and do other baby things like bond with your parents.  What kind of bonding takes place when your bladder is filling up and you hope to God that your parents don't mistake the clasped right hand around left fist, which according to the article signals the need to go, with clasped left hand around right fist -- which could mean who knows what. But I'm afraid to speculate.

Babies should be free to pee, in a diaper, wherever and whenever they want to.  If you really want to accelerate their communication skills and make them grow up faster than the average little guy or gal, think about slipping them a magazine when they get that look on their faces.  Now there's a skill worth mastering.

Frenemy or Foe?

I was going to call it an early night.  I've got a miserable head cold, a 7:30 a.m. meeting and I really could use some sleep. As usual I took in a quick look at the headlines on CNN.com and a certain title caught my attention.  I just couldn't resist this one.  Sleep will have to wait.

The article is titled, "Do you have a frenemy?" A frenemy, for those of you who like me missed this newest entry into mass media jargon, describes "females who tangle with female friends."  Instantly jello wrestling and 80's television programming like Dallas and Knots Landing come to mind.  But no, this indepth article highlights the following fascinating facts.

First, women are more likely to have love-hate relationships than men.  Based on what, I ask?  Sure men are much better at telling a colleague, for example, they're a @%#^ and then go out together for a beer.  Women will talk about conflict, get deep into their feelings, and either resolve the issue right away or harbor the hurt and loss through three therapy sessions or two martinis, depending on the intensity of the issue.

Second, according to an "expert"(obviously male) men are quicker to dump negative friendships -- to which I say "wusses!"  What seals male relationships anyhow, a preference for domestic over import brews?  Women put up with a lot of garbage because they've been conditioned to be nice, see the good in other people even if you have to go really, really deep in order to do so. If they put the kabash on "negativity" and call it quits on a relationship, women are said to be "frenemish" or worst a you-know-what. I  won't print it here. You catch my drift.

Third, if you have a frenemy, you need a support network. Are we talking here about a 12-step program for cattiness? Frankly if I have a frenemy, I don't want others to tell me why I should stay in the friendship and be a good samaritan.  What I need someone to knock me on the side of the head and say, "Wake up! That woman's too fremenish for you."  Or they can even be more direct and say, "She's a jerk.  Dump her."  If all else failed, what I would really need is a new friend, and probably a new support network too. 

Now it's time for me to take my cold medicine and drift off to sleep, free of frenemies as I fall into a peaceful slumber.

For the Love of Books

Say it isn't so!  A recent article posted on CNN.com titled "Where you fall in poll of U.S. reading habits" states that one in four adults say they read no books at all in the past year.  According to the Associated Press-Ipsos poll, the survey reveals that "The typical person claimed to have read four books in the last year -- half read more and half read fewer.  Excluding those who hadn't read any, the usual number was seven."

This is bad news when you are a writer aspiring to publish your work.  When you write, the hope is that someone out there will want to read the words you put to paper.  When you are a writer, developing a book length manuscript is often a coveted accomplishment.  But if you write a book and no one wants to read it, that can add up to some bad karma for us literary types.

The other part of all this that disturb me even more are some of the excuses noted.  One guy complained that he gets sleepy when he reads.  He "would rather spend time in his backyard swimming pool."  Imagine that!  Growing up I always associated lazy days poolside or lounging on a beach blanket as the perfect time to immerse myself in a good book, travel to distant lands, meet sleezy characters that made my skin crawl, or read about someone else's life.  The pool and the beach have always been the places where I could find the time to read.  Maybe this guy needs a good book and a potent cup of java to keep him going.

But for all the folks (the majority it seems) who shun books, there are the ones that do can't do without them and they are a dedicated bunch.  Women tend to be more avid readers than men, although my husband would dismiss that statistic.  He can't go to bed without reading and has been known to drive to Borders just before closing to grab one of the latest releases of his favorite authors.  As the primaries draw near, some Democrats and liberals, according the the poll, are "typically reading slightly more books than Republicans and conservatives." It would be interesting to track one of the debates to see if one side or the other quotes a current best seller or classic Shakespeare  more than the other guy (or woman).

Perhaps what saddens me the most is that if adults on average are not reading books, then grown ups are not setting good examples for our children.  I cringe when I hear other parents say that their children "hate reading."  While I agree not every child -- or adult for that matter -- is going to be equally passionate about the written word, reading is a fundamental skill.  It is a primary way we share information.  Storytelling in its earliest forms was the basis of communication and an important component in the evolution of society as we know it today.  It was a revolutionary moment when stories could be written down, not just verbally transmitted, and shared consistently among the masses.

Maybe it's not reading itself that turns away people.  Maybe we've just forgotten how to find good things to read.  A recent article in USA Today entitled "The dreaded summer reading list" talks about encouraging young people to read by exposing them to the variety of works to read from. "Study after study tells us that reluctant readers need books that are relevant to their lives" the article quotes. The Harry Potter phenomenon proves there are still a multitude of people who love a good story. Graphic novels have found a thriving popularity. 

So do these articles discourage me from my dream? No way.  As a writer, a type-A ambitious one at that, the poll just gives me more of a burning desire to hone my craft and become a really good writer, one who can tell a really good story, one who can get across my ideas and perhaps change my little corner of the universe just a little. When I think about my aspirations in the publishing world, if what I write can encourage one person to read who might otherwise not have even tried, I will have found my success in the written word.  And I won't even mind if they get the pages just a little bit wet.

Mothers' Arch Enemy: Video Arcades

As with all good family vacations, there is always one point during the trip that a meltdown occurs.  Sometimes its close to resembling a nuclear meltdown on the same scale as Chernobyl, other times its the milder version more akin to leftover candle wax dripping onto the patio table during a midsummer heatwave. In any case, you know the meltdown is as predictable during the trip as is a new ketchup stain on the already discolored minivan carpet. It's going to happen.  Deal with it.

Our trip to Pennsylvania was relatively calm.  In an odd sort of way, everyone -- including the grownups -- was on their best behavior.  I attributed this to age -- for my husband and I this meant midlife was making us too old and too tired to even react to forces beyond our control.  For my children, it meant they are reaching a new level of maturity where they actually feel some empathy for their aging parents.  Somehow life felt more balanced than it has in years.  Maybe I was just too zoned out to notice anything different.

The mini-meltdown of the trip occurred at the video arcade.  Now I'm not sure if I've ever shared with you my feelings about video arcades.  Simply put they drive me crazy.  Insane.  Bonkers.  There's just something illogical about feeding ten dollar bills into a machine that spews out quarters so loudly you think you've hit it big in Vegas, only to find out that this massive pile of coins will produce about ten minutes of pleasure per kid if they happen to play the games they're somewhat good at.  And then, when you go to play the games, these giant, flashing machines manage to eat a quarter or two here and there, which throws off the even distribution of coins per child making it entirely impossible to finish off the quarters.  At least one child is left with the lone 25 cents -- which is absolutely worthless in the video arcade since everything takes 50 cents or more to play -- so you have to search your wallet to find a single to cash in in order to get more change to feed the beast.

Despite my obvious disdain for these dens of virtual worship, this particular arcade visit began with civility.  Most of the games worked, which in itself was pretty impressive.  I recognized many of the titles, and there were only two that depicted any realistic blood-shedding violence.  The real trouble began when an older man offered us his leftover receipt for 201 points.

"Thanks so much," I said to this kind stranger.

"Yea, I played to get all these points 'cause I thought they'd at least have some candy. But I got to the counter and all they got is that crap for little kids."

I forced a smile and quickly shuffled my son to the other side of the Arctic racer game.

A short time later a boy, I'm guessing in his teens, offered me his receipt for an additional 98 points.

"You can get some really great stuff with these," he said, his eyes opening wide.  "My grandmother finally saved up enough to  get that microwave she wanted." 

After fifteen minutes of play and several failed attempts to hook a marlin during a virtual fishing trip, it was time to visit "the counter".  "The counter," as any doomed parent knows, is where you redeem your points for prizes.  No, I'm not talking about the fabulous microwave that teen-boy's grandma snagged nor am I refering to the shiny brand-new bicycle displayed against the back wall. The prizes we're lucky enough to rack in the points for were the tiny troll dolls, plastic frogs, slimy centipedes, and toy fish lined up in the front glass cabinet, redeemable for 1, 5, 10 or 30 points each. I tried to tell my kids it's the same stuff I can order on line from Oriental Trading for a lot less than the ten bucks we just wasted away on video games, but they don't listen to me.  They covet these plastic treasures as if they're today's top find on ebay.

My nine-year-old daughter gleefully picked out her prizes; however, my six-year old was tired, overwhelmed, and having a tough time choosing between blue frogs and yellow frogs.  The trolls just weren't trollish enough for his liking.  The toy fish just didn't do it for him.  He grew impatient.  He didn't want any of what was laid out like treasures before him. He curled his lower lip and he firmly took his stand.  Despite my pleas, he refused to choose a toy.  His sister tried to help, but to no avail. There was no way he was going to choose anything in this collection. 

And that is when my meltdown began.

Claustrophobia gripped me as more people gathered at "the counter" eager to cash in their points for plastic. Minutes later, our dilemma remained unchanged. We had so many points and so few prizes.

I finally took matters into my own hands.  At a feverish pitch, I started choosing frogs for him like they were going out of style.  We filled a bag with every frog, troll, centipede and fish available, in every color on display.  The clerk was excitedly calculating our point balance.  Our decision-making slowed down.  She looked anxious.

"You've got 52 points left. What do you want to do?"

I knew what I wanted to do.  I wanted to leave the bag on the counter and get my family out of there.  I wanted to vow never to step foot into a video arcade again.  I wanted to write an article for the New York Times about the evils of video games.  But instead I took the receipt with the 52 point balance, and on the way out handed it to a young mother just coming through the door with her family.

"Here," I said, already feeling ten times lighter given my pending generosity .  "There's no candy, but if you play your quarters right they've got some great microwaves in the back."

Talking Smart

Perusing the online news this morning, I came across this Time article about Baby Einsteins: Not So Smart After All.   The article cites that, in a recent study about the effects of popular videos like "Baby Einstean" and "Brainy Baby" series, these products may actually delay language development in toddlers.

According to the article, a research team led by Frederick Zimmerman and Dr. Dimitri Christakis, both at the University of Washington, found that:

"...with every hour per day spent watching baby DVDs and videos, infants learned six to eight fewer new vocabulary words than babies who never watched the videos. These products had the strongest detrimental effect on babies 8 to 16 months old, the age at which language skills are starting to form."

OK, were these children only exposed to Baby Einstein-like characters to guide their development?  Were they isolated from the rest of society, doomed to learn their ABC's from Elmo alone?  Will six to eight fewer words kill their chances at getting into Yale before they're even out of diapers?

I have my own "unoffical research" that I conducted raising my two children.  My kids took in Barney, Sesame Street, and The Wiggles.  They had their fill of Mary Poppins, Robin Hood, and every other Disney flick you can think of.  There is no one under our roof who can't sing the entire soundtrack of High School Musical.   

However lack of vocabulary is definitely not an issue in our home.  My children love to talk.  I don't mean that they like to talk, or enjoy talking, or politely tolerate conversation.  I mean, THEY LOVE TO TALK! It can be about anything -- super hero movies, camp, books, dogs, the video store.  They have an uncanny ability to be able to talk about anything at anytime to anyone -- from grandma to the produce manager at the local grocery store.

The point is that my kids are articulate, funny, insightful and smart. They grew up watching videos and television but their verbal skills seem just fine.  They love to play sports, spend hours writing and drawing in their journals, play outdoors, and socialize with their friends. 

But I never relied on videos alone to teach my children, nor to be a substitute for other activities or me as a parent.  It's always about balance, and making sure we as adults aren't relinquising our responsibilities in lieu of flat screen. 

Anyhow, I always did have a thing for Elmo.

Musings About Those We Emulate

Throughout my life, I have been influenced by many people. famous and not famous, who have taken the time to share with me -- and others -- tidbits, points-of-view and expert advice about the passions we pursue.  One of my passions being writing, and the other family, is a mix that give my topics of interest of a voice -- my voice -- and made listening to Francine Prose speak today at residency an absolute delight.

I won't get into the "technical" speak of what Francine spoke to us about.  After a brief introduction that broke away from her usual lecture about her recent book "Reading Like a Writer," she focused instead on the questions ricocheting from this eager and engaged audience of MFA students, writers-in-residence, and writing mentors.

What I took away from Francine's speaking engagement were several important things. 

First, in the "what will I be like if I ever make it to goddess-like status as a writer," I want to emulate people like Francine.  Here are the adjectives I jotted down in the margin of my notebook.  "Honest," "real," "approachable," "reflective," "giving," "someone like me!"  Wow, Francine Prose and I connected at a level that made me think, glory be, I can actually do this.

It surprised me that Francine's comment about 14 hour work days got such an interested response from the audience.  "Fourteen hours!" they proclaimed. 

"Wow," I thought.  "I've got to compare notes with this women of how she gets it all done in fourteen hours."

Her point, of course, was that you make it work the way it needs to.  I suspect that Francine, like me, is one of those type-A, let's do it all, although I'm not sure why I'm programmed to do this type of person.  She kind of does what she's supposed to do.  Not much deeper than that, but she's comfortable in that skin and working the way she does.

Very important to me was her comment that "family always came first" when asked about juggling work and family.  That's the important platform I share with my voice.  As Francine put it, it's not about choice.  There is no choice.  Family comes first, but you build around that the things that are most important, the priorities of your life that you need to make time for -- somehow -- and sort of figure out, often with pain but with a determined, focused hutzpah that no one else quite understands.

Coming into contact with artists like Francine -- especially in the intimate setting of an MFA program -- helps me know that I'm heading in the right direction.  Nothing that is worth anything to us in life, however off the beaten path, is easy.  You make it work. You expect it to be difficult, and if it's not, hallelujah!  Appreciate that, don't take it for granted.

Francine Prose, like many other writers I have had the honor to learn from, is a real person with a real passion.  She, like many of my literary heroes, is just doing what she's programmed to do.  Speaking to the world with her words -- and boy, do I hope someday I can do it as eloquently and successfully as she has.

Thanks, Francine, for never forgetting those who are following in your footsteps.