Thoughts and Words Ill-Sorted

“That the man and woman were husband and wife, and the parents of the girl in arms, there could be little doubt.  No other than such relationship would have accounted for the atmosphere of stale familiarity which the trio carried along with them like a nimbus as they moved down the road.”

– The Mayor of Casterbridge

Nothing like Thomas Hardy to get you feeling all warm and fuzzy about family!

UPDATE: The NYTimes reports that sales of sci fi, fantasy, and romance novels are rising, even as general book sales suffer in this depressed market.  Apparently everybody in America except me is looking for a happy ending!

Last year I submitted my taxes over a month early, only to call and find out that the IRS “hadn’t received them.”  This, though I had proof of delivery from the post office.  Grrr.  So I submitted my taxes a second time and sent them off, only to learn later that the original taxes had indeed been received.  I got my refund four months later.

This year, knowing that taxes and baby don’t mix, I submitted my taxes early . . . and today I got the refund!  Much, much better this time, Uncle Sam!

Erin

it’s about a month from the end of the semester and students writing term papers begin recalling all of “your” library books.  By “your” books I mean the library books that you’ve dutifully accrued over the past year and have either been using or meaning to use.  Normally it’s not a problem to return them (once you’ve gotten over your possessiveness), but just now we don’t need email showing up to threaten us with fines if we don’t get a book returned in the next few days!

Erin

My favorite argument runs along the following lines:

1) I did x

2) I turned out just fine

3) So doing x can’t be bad!

The more parenting reading I run into, the more I encounter this lovely argument.  My favorite example:

“My mom smoked, drank, and dyed her hair every month when she was pregnant with me.  And I turned out just fine!”  Really, lady?  Are you sure you want to put yourself out there for scrutiny?  As I tell my students when they want me to reconsider their papers (and the assigned grade): the more I look, the more trouble I see.

Due to a recent article in The Atlantic on breastfeeding that’s getting some attention, I’ve seen hundreds of comments in which parents note that their children were either on formula or breastfed exclusively, and those kids turned out just fine.

I have to say, I generally consider myself pretty nervy (rarely in a good way), but I still think it might take some doing before I would note a behavior in myself and then point to my kids as validation for that act.  I mean, I’m sure our kids will be just lovely, but that’s quite a lot to burden them with.  The moment I point is precisely the same moment when my daughter will reach over and slap her brother.  In front of company.

You are all hereby ordered to call me out if I make these kinds of claims when I become a parent.

Erin

It is a gorgeous, 60-degree day here in Ithaca.  Although our yard is still a bit muddy, the crocuses are up, the hyacinths shoots are peeking out of the ground, and the birds are positively raucous.  Thank you, Ithaca!

Erin

In a Newsweek article on the rise of cosmetic use and other forms of beauty “maintenance” among young girls and women:

“New statistics from the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery show that cosmetic- surgery procedures performed on those 18 and younger have nearly doubled over the past decade. Dr. Alan Gold, the society’s president, says that nearly 14 percent of Botox injections are given in the 19 to 34 age group—and while his trade group doesn’t break down those ages any more specifically, he’s seen a significant increase in the younger end of that group, seeking treatments as preventative. ‘I think what we’ve done is level the playing field, in that someone who may not have had great exposure to these things before—say, on a farm in Iowa—has the same options available to them,” says Gold, who runs a private practice in Great Neck, N.Y. “Thomas Friedman has written how the world is flat economically. Well, it’s getting flatter in terms of aging and appearance, too.'”

– Good to know that I’m soon going to be too old to get “preventative” Botox.  Shucks: sorry I missed it.

– Why is it that whenever someone airily indicates “someone on a farm in Iowa” I know I’m going to have reason to cringe?

– What if that little wriggler in my stomach is a girl?  How do we keep her from this worse-than-nonsense?

Erin

Sydney and I are off to Syracuse for the day (yes, we’re taking our baby bags with us), where he will sit in on an Early Modern course and I’ll settle in with my books at the library cafe, which has reasonably comfortable chairs.  I like visiting other universities, and it will get me away from the distractions of home (baby plans, email, naps on the couch) that have made academic work a bit scarce recently.

Yesterday I watched as Sydney and his classmates played softball against the business-school team.  They almost won!  It was really amusing watching them.  Since it’s a co-ed team, half of the players need to be women (no easy feat in an department full of guys), so there were a good number of philosophy girlfriends and wives there.  Imagine much ribbing among partners and classmates, some terrible philosophy jokes, and a fair share of mud.

The befuddling visits to the midwife continue, once every week by this point.  They’re befuddling because she and I seem to have opposite responses to just about everything.  When she exclaims, surprised, “Oh, the feet are way over on your side,” I respond, far from thrilled, “Uh-huh, they’ve been there for awhile, with toes rubbing grooves in my ribs.”  And when I ask, “So, there’s been an increase in pains of all stripes recently; is that supposed to happen?” she responds with a delighted “Oh good!  The preparations are beginning!  That’s a very good thing!”  I’m perfectly happy with my experiences with her, but can’t understand why she seems so happy about the very things I find not terribly fun.  I’m gathering that I need to respond like the following: “Ow!  That hurt!  How wonderful!”

Erin

Today I had yet another of the experiences that have peppered the past few months.  I was looking at baby items (this time, baby books) and felt myself being driven to cynicism.  Rather than chime in with “Oh, how perfect,” I could feel myself wanting to burst out with “Exhibit A of the fall of civilization.”  Why do makers of children’s things try so hard to make things cute?  I mean, we’re talking babies here; it shouldn’t be a hard sell!

Today’s example: baby books that are perhaps somewhat too helpful with their “prompts” for mommy and daddy to fill in their child’s firsts and special moments.  Some of the books read like scripts: “When I rolled over on my own for the first time Mommy exclaimed __________________” and “When Daddy changed me for the first time he thought __________________.”  For tired parents who need some help in making sure they don’t forget the story of their child, I completely understand the desire for a book that won’t let that happen.  But there’s something about those blanks, forcing a feeling, and allotting only so much space for it (like 2nd grade homework) that makes me balk.  And make up stories.  So by the time I flipped to one that read “When Daddy learned I was going to be born he thought ________________,” I had to force myself to close the page before I finished the thought that began “How did that hap—?”  And that, my friends, is the same book that sported the largest bow I’ve seen outside the car-giveaways on The Price Is Right.

Erin

I’m terrible at booking hotels.  Ask Sydney.  I hem and haw for hours, looking at website after website, looking for the perfect fit.  And, being something of a hotel cheapskate, I also frequently consider booking rooms at places that, according to Sydney, might have serious nocturnal business.  Oops.

So imagine how things went today when I needed to book a hotel in Manhattan.  I got a paper accepted at the annual Virginia Woolf Conference, about which I’m terribly excited.  An entire weekend of talks on one of my favorite subjects!  I hit the Faulkner conference last year, and apparently it’s Woolf this year.

But did I mention that this conference is at the beginning of June?  Six weeks after our child’s due date?  This is where things get a bit tricky.  I’ll be doing full-time childcare during a section of May as Sydney heads to a conference in Ottawa and then participates in one at Cornell.  Then he’ll be doing full-time dad duty, traveling with me to the city and holing up in a hotel room with our babe while I try to attend the conference.  This could be interesting.  Thankfully, I did manage to find a hotel just three blocks from the conference site; I can run back if need be, and Sydney could always walk into a conference in which 90% of the participants are women, carrying a baby in a sling.  Quite a vision, no?

Erin

David Rothkopf in The Washington Post: “We get the leaders we demand and thus deserve. (As the United States and England were making Roosevelt and Churchill, Germany and Italy were making Hitler and Mussolini.)”