Christmas, Round Two

Here in Phoenix, it was 77 degrees today. On Christmas. We celebrated by getting out of bed at 6:15 a.m. (MST). Santa had indeed visited. We tracked his movements on Christmas Eve via NORAD. Big Fun. He brought The Cousins both guitars (what a musical family!) and for Son, some new Legos. For Son, the highlight was the Playmobil Castle with knights, horses and dragons from the parents and grandparents. For me, an iPod shuffle from MiddleBrow, proving that he is, in fact, the best husband in the universe.
MiddleBrow and Dr. Write spent more than an hour (combined time) assembling said Castle. While it is not technically required to have a PhD in order to assemble German toy products, it certainly doesn't hurt. We appreciated the little accessories, including faux wooden tables and beer steins. Gotta love those Germans.
After naps and showers, we enjoyed a casual dinner of beef, ham, potatoes of many kinds, jello, and assorted veggies. TV viewing was split between animals (bears?) playing football and the dog show. Then, of course, more alcoholic beverages, desserts, cookies, and games.
I beat my four-year-old niece and my sister at Trouble! (yes!) and then my mom defeated my sister and me at TriBond. My mom also won Marry, Date or Dump. She must be cheating.
I also received a Napoleon Dynamite talking pen (it says many things, including "Freaking idiots!") and the DVD. I wonder, will they eventually sell "Way of the Puck" paraphanelia at Target?
So far I have exercised one day at my sister and mom's resort-like health club. And gone for a walk. But each day I have taken some time to sit in the sun and drink beer. Did I mention my mother has somehow gotten me addicted to sudoku? More on that later. Many cookies to eat. Must be off.

Snowshoes, Snow, Grandpa: Must be Christmas

After opening his snowshoes Saturday night, Son, Grandfather and I went "snowshoing" on Sunday, just after the snowing began. We got in a good, brief walk. Enough to allow us to go home and drink hot chocolate, eat cookies, and put our pajamas on. That's what the season is all about.

Christmas, Round One

My father and his wife came down this weekend for Christmas. As soon as they arrived, Son decided it was time to open presents. He received snowshoes, penguins, and books. Hooray! I received some cotton pajamas, and a crossword puzzle game (electronic). It was instantly addictive, and reminded me of being a kid and receiving something you didn't even know you wanted until you got it. I have solved three or four puzzles so far. I'm looking forward to utilizing it on the long drive down to Phoenix for Christmas, round two.
For our dinner, I made Beef Tenderloin (marinated in wine, etc. per my sister's recipe!), roasted vegetables, (a la Barefoot Contessa) and Caesar Salad (thanks Surreal Gourmet!) with the Mionetto novello '05 (an alternative to the Bojelau Nouveau) (sorry , of course I can't spell). So you see I would be sunk without my friends at the Wine Store and those who write cook books.
Middlebrow returned home today after a brief foray to the rainy and cold Northwest.
I finally bought Son a Christmas Stocking. Mine, of course, was knit by my mother when I was a child. It's red and has my name on it. Son's is red and white striped and and was knit by displaced persons in Bosnia. But I think the money I paid contributes to upgrading their standard of living. Otherwise why would they have the tag with the woman's name?
I will post again from Christmas, Round Two, down south. The plan, so far, includes viewing "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe" with the cousins, girls night out (which will involve Cosmos, no doubt), making Chex Mix, the dip of my childhood (cottage cheese, garlic salt, cream cheese and red wine vinegar). All of a sudden I'm craving the caramel corn my mother used to make for every birthday sleep over, made with something called "burnt sugar" flavoring. Maybe I can talk my mom into it. Also, there will be much movie viewing on the new huge flat screen tv.
I'll let you know.

Birthday Outing Part Two & Motherhood Redemption

First things first: the dinner at Martine was a sublime experience, reminding me why people spend obscene amounts of money dining out. We began with two tapas: the roasted Chanterelle mushrooms and the Lobster ragout in saffron sauce with a polenta corn cake. I preferred the lobster. It must have been the pound of butter in the saffron sauce. We had the Sangria with this course. Then we had salad and Pinot Noir. I ordered the Beef Tenderloin with the Blue Mash and roasted vegetables. Middlebrow had the Lamb Tenderloin with some kind of pasta. Again, sublime. Then we shared the Chocolate Decadence and each had a glass of Porto. Sorry no pictures. We were caught up in the moment. Then we rented two discs of "Monk," picked up Son and went home.

I also managed to redeem myself from Bad Mother Purgatory by baking peanut butter/cornflake/chocolate bars on Saturday and Chocolate Chunk cookies on Sunday. The former I froze (most of) to take to Phoenix for Christmas. The latter are for general consumption, which Middlebrow is doing his part to expedite.

Right now, I am collecting final projects from my 1010 class. They seem in good spirits. They ask me for 2010 recommendations. Of course, I recommend High Touch Megastore, Middlebrow, and other faculty members.

Happy grading to all!

Birthday Outing, Part One

Last night I went to Tsunami in Sugarhouse with the girls (and Burger, in town only to defend his dissertation, so we allowed him to be an honorary girl for the night, which only got weird when he wanted to girl watch at Fats Grill).
The evening actually started at Otterbutt's house, with red wine and baby adoration. Then we went to Tsunami where we stood for half-an-hour and drank Plum Fizzes (no one but me seemed to adore this drink). Then we had an expensive bottle of Zinfandel and got a table. During our wait, Dr. Burger showed up.
Tsunami has the best sushi in town. And the best miso soup! Our favorite rolls of the evening were Jenny (crab, avacado, salmon, with thin lemon slices), TNT (I think it was some kind of spicy tuna), DHT (I have no idea what that stands for, but the entire roll was tempura-ed. Yum!). My friend Andie ordered deep-fried Green Tea Ice Cream (also super Yum!). We had more wine in there somewhere, and were joined by two more friends. We closed the place.
Then Dr. Burger, Sylvia, and I went to Fats Grill where Sylvia flirted with boring men and Dr. Burger tried to enlist me in some girl watching, Dr. B demonstrating an obvious preference for the big busted. Then we played pool (we were all terrible, Dr. Burger being slightly less terrible than Sylvia and me). After midnight the bartender wished me happy birthday.
This morning Middlebrow and I opened our gifts. I got slippers, which I had been proclaiming loudly that I needed in our drafty, cold house. I got him a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (that's the name of the band) CD. Son wanted to get him the Star Wars soundtrack, but as the mother, I got my way.
Looking forward to another blog-worthy meal at Martine this evening. We purchased a digital camera today, so we may have pictures tomorrow.

Another Significant Failure in My Career as a Mother

Last night, as I was "making cookies" with Son, Middlebrow chastised me for my frequent cries of frustration. The sugar cookie dough (recipe from Sunset magazine) was dry and crumbly. What resulted was: Gingerbread Man de Milo, trunkless elephants, Christmas trees as thick as magazines. But Son enjoyed "frosting" them (dabbing frosting on various parts of the cookie, attempting to lick the frosting off of the cookie and his fingers at the same time, fingerfrosting the cookies, etc.) and eating them. At least I had the good sense to buy the frosting.
I will just chalk this up to the latest of my failures as a mother. Why didn't I just do what I did last year and buy the cookie dough AND the frosting? Why do I try? I should just give in and, like the heroine of I Don't Know How She Does It, learn how to fake my baked goods.
As Middlebrow acknowledged last night, it's going to take a lot of alcohol and coffee to make it through the end of the semester.
Viva el vino!

Indie Films: The Mediocre

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Over the River and Through the Woods

We're off, the Dr. Middle-Write-Brow contingent, to Inkom, Idaho for what promises to be another Thanksgiving packed with too much food and wine and too little exercise. I promised Son that we would go for a hike. Doesn't look like there will be any snow.
When I asked Son what he most liked to do at Grandpa's house he answered, "Trains, the tractor, that card game, or playing with toys." He has his priorities in order.
My Dad actually does have two old tractors that he tinkers with and occasionally drives around his big backyard. Son loves to take rides on it. I'm always afraid it's about to tip over, trapping Son and Grandpa beneath it. So far it hasn't happened.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday: there's no gift shopping to do before, so you can really concentrate on what's important: food. I love turkey and stuffing and pie. Pie may be my favorite dessert. But then, I love cake too.
What am I thankful for: Son, Middlebrow, my job, the fact that I'm healthy and happy, all the cliches. Also: HBO (Six Feet Under, The Sopranos, Sex and the City), good movies (Capote, Motorcycle Diaries, any documentary), the fact that people keep writing and reading books, no matter how trashy.
Really, I'm thankful that Jennifer Aniston has hooked up with Vince Vaughn (I never was a Brad fan) and that the media have found something to talk about besides Tom Cruise (though when the alien baby is born, they'll be back on the front page) and Iraq.
Oh yeah: I'm grateful that the wheels of justice are grinding and just might crush Tom Delay. Hey, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving without a little graphic violence. I prefer good old fashioned politics to football anyday.
Unless I'm the one playing football, of course. I'm a good QB.
Happy Turkey Day all.
And be thankful. W hasn't shut down the blogisphere. Yet.

My Son, the Rock Star

Monday evening, when MB was out at his basketball game, Son and I turned the living room into a performance space. I was the drummer, clanging two beaters (from the electric mixer) together while Son sang into another beater, while gesturing wildly and doing some dance moves I've not seen before.

A sampling of Son's lyrics:

The house and it's covered with black
The sky is full of black
The carrot that you eat
The bunny-rabbit that you are
Wallace and Grommit!!!!!
1-4-8-4
3-1-8-4
You lied!

Imagine these screamed out in a rock star way, and you've got it. Son had some great hand motions as well, a behind the back, over the head, grasping fist/hand gesture that I'm sure will be famous some day.

I think it's time to start guitar lessons.

M/MLA Redux

Things accomplished in Milwaukee:

1. Dirty Martini consumed at Blu, on the 23rd floor of the upscale Pfister Hotel. We had a view of The Lake, the gas building, and a ginormous bank. The mood: swanky hotel bar, complete with couches and comfy chairs. Bonus: I swiped the matches! I don't smoke!
2. Had a beer. In the interest of authenticity, Fine Arts Friend and I visited Mader's, where we each had a huge beer (it lasted through the salad course, the entree, and into dessert) and we split a Bavarian Platter, which was basically just different kinds of meat: bratwurst (from Usinger's Sausage, right across the street), knockwurst, and pork loin? Also sauerkraut, of course, and some potato thing of indeterminate origin.
3. Ate several things I probably shouldn't have, including: two different chocolate based desserts; appetizers whose second ingredients were cheese (but they were so good!); I think that's it? Maybe the potato thing (see above).
4. Asserted myself with hotel staff. When I arrived, so late on Thursday evening, I was given a room with a bed designed for a little person (and I don't mean a kid). I don't consider myself tall, but when I laid in the bed, my feet hung off the end. The next morning I called the front desk. While I was at the conference on Friday, they moved my stuff to a bigger room with two beds. Hurray for assertiveness!
5. Did not locate Laverne and/or Shirley nor any L/S paraphernalia. But FAF said she might be able to make me a sweater with a big L on it. Or sew a big L on a pre-existing sweater. Something. I think she has an expensive sewing machine, so if anyone can do it, she can.
6. Networked with people who have no connection or power in any related field I may or may not be interested in. M/MLA wins, hands down, over the regular old MLA for friendliness. I met an Indian woman from Tennessee, and a comparative lit professor from Northern Milwaukee, both times when I was just sitting alone drinking coffee. Gotta love those friendly Midwesterners.
7. Met a Super Cool woman (who was on the "Mothers, Maidens, Murderesses" panel with me) who has a PhD in Scandinavian Literature and Language. Her paper was on "Bad Mothers" in Norwegian novels. My favorite part was that her introduction was all about "Alias." Of course, she was from the Northwest (but now teaching in Indiana).
8. Attended panels of extreme relevance to our current "Five-Year-Plan" discussion. More to follow on this.
9. Caught up on meaningless television (That 70s Show, Malcolm in the Middle, Sex in the City).
10. Read two novels that were okay, but not great: Shop Girl by Steve Martin (a summary or an outline of a novel, really. Okay, I know it's a novella. But if you are going to use the "several months pass this way" technique, couldn't it have been a novel?); and The Dog's Ransom by Patricia Highsmith (quite disappointing, not very suspenseful, not very well written, no incredibly creepy yet charming characters, kind of boring, but compared to staring out the window at cornfields, well, I guess the novel is better than some things).
11. Went to Milwaukee Art Museum. Saw the sail/wing structure flexing at Noon when we arrived. Hurray for serendipity!
12. Attended Live! Performance Art Showcase: a man, who looked naked, lifting up silver mixing bowls and spoons and "transforming" into a raven. My favorite part was when he put on a purple shirt while wearing a white shirt. It did look a little like feathers. But I was sort of giggling on the inside. After this piece I asked my FAF, "why is modern dance the only art form that has completely missed out on irony?" It was so earnest, I felt responsible somehow; some very good slam poetry from the Milwaukee Slam team (I won't comment here on the "my trauma is worse than your trauma" aspect of some of it; my favorite was a guy who was part stand-up comic, part love-poet, very sweet); and the star of the night: the middle-aged hula-hooper. She stood on stage in a polka-dotted dress and worked the hoop while doing some miming-type activity to Tracy Chapman's "Mountains of Things." In the second-half she came back again, this time with k.d. lang's "Constant Craving" while a video cuts of Wal-Mart and George W. played on a screen behind her. She was in really good shape! There was also a woman pouring water, doing some astrology thing that was only amusing once or twice. And a "Fash Attack!" sort of a new take on a fashion show. Mildly amusing. Certainly worth the $7 my FAF paid for the tickets (I got the wine at Polaris, the rotating restaurant atop the Hyatt, where we were staying. Many questions: why is it called Polaris? How fast was it turning? How bad is the food? The bar where we sat was not spinning, the result being that we couldn't look out the windows because we got motion sick trying to figure out why the people were moving, but the windows weren't. On the plus side, we felt drunk without actually drinking.)
13. Promised FAF and beer-drinking beau that I would return with Middlebrow and Son at some point in the future for a Milwaukee pub crawl. I think Milwaukee is the antithesis of Salt Lake City. For example: when I got to the MMLA conference around 10 a.m. on Friday, there were many people in the Lobby Lounge drinking beer. Also: at the Performance Art show they were selling liquor in the lobby in plastic cups. Two words: free pour. AND you could get beer, in bottles, to take into the show. Also: two pubs on every corner. Also: the Pabst Theater, the Miller this or that. You get my point.
14. Overall: Milwaukee a rousing success! Love Milwaukee! Had faith in basic corn-fed, dairy-laden goodness of Midwest restored. What's wrong with Kansas? It ain't Wisconsin, that's what's wrong with it!

MMLA-Milwaukee

So I'm off to the midwest! Wish me luck in procuring foodables that are not 90% dairy!

Actually, I don't leave until tomorrow, but since I will be spending my last 24 hours stateside doing such things as packing, consoling Son, and finishing my paper (this is how it's done, I've been assured; at least I won't be revising in the hotel lobby), I decided to say good-bye today. Here's a list of tasks I hope to accomplish in Milwaukee:

1. Drink a filthy martini in the swanky bar, Blu, on the 23rd floor of the convention hotel.
2. Find the brewery where Laverne and Shirley worked.
3. Get a sweater with a big Laverne style "L" on the chest.
4. Drink some beer.
5. Go to the Art Museum with my Fine Art friend (FAF).
6. Read a trashy novel on the way to and perhaps during and on the way back from the convention.
7. Eat something I probably shouldn't be eating, like bleu cheese mashed potatoes. Or maybe some garlic fries?
8. Visit a couple pubs. My FAF assures me she can get the password to an exclusive pub which she also assures me will be like all the other non-exclusive pubs: dark, serving beer, maybe a little creepy.
9. Work out two days in a row (must investigate hotel work out facilities. Avoid Lis's tragedy with the treadmill).
10. Sleep? Maybe.

I'm Foxy!

I thought I'd take a break from boring academics to alert you all to a new development in my existence: I'm foxy! This according to a few drunk men at a party I went to Friday night. Before the party, two different women said I looked like I had lost "a lot of weight." One even asked if I was sick. Should I feel flattered?
Then at the party, a few people were staring at me in such a way to make me feel self-conscious. Like, do I have green salsa all over my chest?
I think that I may have looked thinner because I had my hair pulled back. Plus, I was sick for about two days right before the party, so I may have appeared thin/sick.
But it was just a weird experience for me. I mean, I trained for a half-marathon all summer and, as far as I could tell, I didn't lose a pound. Then I stopped running.
And suddenly I'm FOXY!
Go figure.
I think this means I can drink all the beer I want in Milwaukee.

Motherhood and Work in Three Stories by Lydia Davis

Here is the beginning of the presentation I will be giving this week at MMLA. Comments, questions, feedback PLEASE! I figure if I post a bit every day, it will help me hone (and finish it!) before I go.

The less one feels a thing, the more likely one is to express it as it really is.
-- Flaubert

The three stories I will be discussing, “The Old Dictionary,” “Marie Curie, So Honorable Woman” and “Mothers,” deal with the subject of motherhood in radically different ways. In “The Old Dictionary,” Davis contrasts the treatment of an old dictionary with that of a son. “Marie Curie” describes incidents in the life of the famous scientist, events that describe not only her work but also her status as a mother. The story “Mothers” treats the subject of mothers and motherhood from an objective, almost sarcastic point-of-view. In all three stories, Davis employs her signature distance, which imbues the subjects (whether “I,” “she” or “mothers”) with a sheen of otherness. This otherness allows the narrator to deal with the emotions and conflicts of motherhood without sentimentality. In fact, sentimentality seems impossible, for the separation of the speaker and the subject matter is so complete that, like Marie Curie, the speaker seems to be observing the characters through a mechanical apparatus. That apparatus is narrative itself. Focalization, that is Davis’s ability to distance the narrative “I” from the character “I” or “she,” allows the narrator to analyze rather than experience events. This narrative distance gives the stories a detached, almost hermetic feel. The effect of this distance is to render the events described in these stories both anonymous and universal, so that the mothers referred to in the stories are at once non-existent (no one) and universal (every woman). Davis’s fiction demonstrates that narrative can be structure of objectivity that returns the subject (both the content and the character) to the realm of emotion via distance.

The Joy of Cooking (with Son)

Last night Son and I had our first cooking-together experience. It was fantastic! I bought Rachel Rae's Cooking Rocks! book and we made Fried Chicken Toes. Son was especially proficient at crushing Corn Flakes for the breading. Once we put them in the oven, he said, "I'll put the plates on the table." We had bought some orange candles and he wanted to put them on the table. "We should put some flowers on too!" he said. Unfortunately, we had no flowers. But I was pleased to note that Son recognizes the importance of presentation. It's not only about the food, it's about all the pleasing things around the food. I was proud of him, and he was proud of himself. He likes cooking (mostly the dumping of ingredients into a bowl, cracking eggs, and stirring. He's not so fond of getting his hands dirty).
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and I'm especially looking forward to it this year. Maybe I'll let Son pick out the flowers.

The Roller Coaster of Creativity

Maybe it's just that I've been eating too much chocolate and not enough fresh vegetables, but I feel like I've been on a roller coaster this week. Up, Down, Upside Down.

Middlebrow often thinks my self-esteem slumps are an effect of my being a creative writer. You don't see American Studies professors acting like that, he says. It may be true. In graduate school, the creative writers were the ones on mood altering drugs (prescription!) and the American Studies folks seemed very even keeled. Maybe they just self-medicate with beer and Cosmopolitans.

But it begs the question, does the creativity required to be a writer or an artist also mean that we are more prone to bouts of low self-confidence and more days where we just want to stay in our jammies and watch "Ellen"?

I don't know. But maybe it is my lack of writing time, or the feeling that no one, ever, will publish my collection of short stories that is so eclectic as to be schizophrenic, and to contradict the word "collection."

See, this is why MB gets frustrated with me. I just won the Utah Collection Contest, I have an essay, beautifully designed and illustrated, forthcoming in Ninth Letter, what the hell is wrong with me?

Oh yeah, I'm a writer.

Emma and The Gender Bias

Today in my theory class I tried to confront the pretty much universal initial reaction my students to the novel Emma. Among the nine students (yes, I'm down to nine), not one of them claimed to really enjoy it. Perhaps my own love of Austen has blinded me to her faults, but c'mon, not one? In an effort to find something to convince them that the novel has literary merit, I did a search on J-Stor. What did I find? Some woman scholar criticizing the novel for being "light" and "of no consequence." As a reaction of my male students, I can (sort of) understand their inability to relate to Emma or Knightley and any of their decidely upper-class dilemmas. But a woman scholar? Why the Austen bashing?

Still looking for some comfort, I turned to my friends Gilbert and Gubar. There's a reason Madwoman in the Attic is still in print, still required reading for so many scholars. It's refreshingly clear and direct. What did I find there? A feminist defense of Austen, to be sure. And some humorous, and infuriating quotes from male (and female) writers about how Austen's novels are "perfect as far as they go-- that's certain. Only they don't go very far" (that's Elizabeth Barrett Browning).

Here are a few more:

Mark Twain, "I could read his [Poe's] prose on a salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death."

Henry James, ". . .she sometimes, over her work basket, her tapestry flowers, in the spare, cool drawing-room of other days, fell amusing, lapsed too metaphorically, as one may say, into wool gathering, and her dropped stitches, of these pardonable, of these precious moments, were afterwards picked up as little touches of human truth, little glimpses of steady vision, little master-strokes of imagination" (qtd. in Gilbert & Gubar).

What's striking about these criticisms, aside from their belittling her art as mere "dropped stitches" is their overwhelming sexism. At the base of these criticisms, and at my students' inability to "relate" (as they said), is a dislike of female stories. I don't mean merely a dislike of stories by and about women (though I mean that too), but a dislike of a focus on the domestic, on the private, on intimacy, on conversation. This criticism is couched as a lack of plot. "Nothing happens," my students said. I then proceeded to list all the things that happened in the text. It's not that nothing happens, I countered, but that you don't like what does happen. Why? They say it's only about "relationships" and "marriage." Yes, I said, on some level it's a marriage plot. (I've always disliked this term: it reminds me of a plot of land, as in where the woman will be buried when she is married. Ha!) But it's also about class and status, about manners, about obligation and family, about language and textuality.

As a response to their initial reactions to the text, today in class I had my students list books they were required to read in English classes. Then on the other side of the board, we listed books they had read for fun. We talked about which required texts were part of the new canon (Morrison, Momaday, Cisneros) and which were part of the old canon (Shakespeare, Conrad, Homer, Dickens, etc.). And then we talked about how many were by women (very few) and how many had a female narrator or protagonist (even fewer). Only one that most people had read, To Kill A Mockingbird, was both written by a woman and featured a main character who was also female. But, I went on to say, it's not even wholly Scout's story; it's the community's story. Plus, one of my students added, Scout's kind of a tomboy.

Then I tried to get them to see how what they expect of a novel has been shaped by the novels they've read. What's more, their assessment of a text's literary worth has been influenced by the texts they were required to read. There's literature, and then there's the light books, the guilty pleasures, the indulgences. We know which are which.

As this is a theory course, I said, I'm just trying to get you to have some kind of critical awareness of why you like what you like and why most of you don't like Emma. They seemed to get it. The two women even seemed to have liked the book once they got into it.

Ultimately, I told them, I don't think it's just a book about marriage. I made my case for why the book is about Emma's inability to read other characters; in theory-speak, Emma is about the unstable signifiers of gesture and intention. As the text states, "She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and made every thing bend to it." Finally, then, the book is about pre-conceptions, and how we interpret the world through the lense of our firmly held beliefs about what things mean, how they signify. Even if they don't seem to mean what we want them to mean, we bend the signs to fit our ideas. We don't interpret, we project.

I'm not sure they bought it, but seeing as how most of them hadn't finished the book, I think they just took my word for it.

Son Asks the Tough Questions

Last night when we were sitting in the Breakfast Nook, Son asked me some questions. After I responded, he would make a little tally mark on his paper, rest his hand on his chin, look at me and nod. Then he would ask another question, nodding as I answered. I am only sorry I cannot replicate his hand gestures here for your amusement. Just imagine some of the hand gestures you've seen me make when I talk.

What is necessary about dogs?
What is necessary about cats?
Why do cats poop in the house?
Where do dogs go when they die?
What do you think, does money survive or not survive?
Tell me how you feel about money.
What is necessary about this point to relation of form? (Here he gestures, circling his hands in front of his body, away from each other and then bringing them back together.) I think he says something about "complexity." When I ask him what he means he smiles and then laughs.
What is necessary about cats and dogs? Together. Like 5 and 6 are together. (Here he writes a five next to a six and draws a line to connect them.)

When he asks me "Where do cats go when they die?" I answer that perhaps it's like a big living room, with a rug and a fire and lots of toys.
"And they can poop in the house?" he asks.
He knows what's really important.

The Re-emergence of Fun!

I am rediscovering Fun! (that's fun with a capital "F" and an exclamation point) Not that I think Fun! and I have been enemies for the last, say, seven to ten years, but I think graduate school saps a little bit of the Fun! out of you. Or, should I say, graduate school hinders our ability to just have the Fun! without analyzing it, deconstructing it, commenting on it as it happens, etc.
I rediscovered Fun! this weekend during my first tennis class. I haven't taken tennis lessons since junior high. In high school, the coach let me practice with the team and I got pretty good. But I'd forgotten how much fun it is to be ordered around, to receive unambiguous instructions, and to just run around the court, without much thinking, for an hour and a half. As adults, I think we are under the mistaken impression that exercise has to be mundane or it's not good for us, but it's not true!
I really liked not being in charge. I liked when the coach, Debbie, told me exactly what to do. Stop! Plant your feet! Start swinging for that lob sooner! Toss the ball higher for your serve! Stretch those abs! Wrong foot! (Not to give you the wrong impression. Debbie didn't actually yell. She said everything calmly).
I especially liked this silly game we played in teams of two against other teams of two with one coach feeding us balls: an approach shot, a volley, an overhead. I was running and sweaty. Today I'm actually sore!
All I can say is that now I'm dedicated to playing tennis as much as possible, and to taking tennis classes where I get some concrete instruction. Language, in tennis class, is not an arbitrary signifier. I bloody well know what a volley is.
Let's hear it for Fun!

Baby Lust

My best friend from junior high, Adrienne, came to town yesterday. She brought her three month old daughter, Alex, who was incredibly adorable and ridiculously well-behaved. She didn't cry once (okay maybe once, but only for about three seconds) and she fell asleep pretty quickly just from being walked around and bounced for a little while.
Son enjoyed having the little visitor around, and he especially liked interpreting her coos and sighs, her kicks and swipes for us. When a blanket was placed on her and she started kicking, he said, "She doesn't want that." When she cooed for a few seconds, he said, "She's hungry." He really liked watching her nurse. I think it took him back to the good old days. When she needed her diaper changed, he grabbed a diaper and the wipes out of the bag.
I gained a little insight into what kind of big brother he would be. He was very anxious to help, and he loved talking to her and smiling at her, trying to get her to grip his hand. But he was also a little nuts, dancing a little too close to her tiny head, and jumping and being his normal crazy self.
But the baby was so cute and he was so attentive it made me, momentarily, rethink this whole "one kid" thing. I know it's more economical and more environmentally sound, but babies are cute! And Son seemed pretty into her. When I asked him, however, if he wanted a little sister, he said, "No." I always wanted an older brother (because I have three sisters, of course). Part of me wants Son to be an older brother. But I'm not sure that's a good enough reason to have another child. Is it?

Laughing

For some reason I've been thinking about laughing lately. Perhaps it was brought on by watching Conan O'Brien bobbing for apples (after Martha Stewart tied his hands behind his back with a cloth napkin, of course). I laughed so hard I almost cried. And then I thought about how long it had been since that had happened. And then I remembered a man I knew in high school. I think he was a gay barber, but that's beside the point. (And how did I meet him? And why did I know him? Fascinating questions, but also beside the point.)
At a party one night, he told me about a friend of his who was so funny in high school. She was hilarious. But then she went to college and she got ironic and bitter. And then she wasn't funny anymore. She didn't laugh as much. She got dark. All this by way of telling me to "maintain my sense of humor."
And now, on the eve of my 20th high school reunion, I have to ask myself, have I? When I think about the friends I had in, say, junior high, I remember how we used to laugh at the slightest thing. We used to laugh hard. And then in high school, all I had to do was call up my friend Cyndi using my "Jewish mother" voice and we would laugh for hours. We'd do our "Jewish mother" voices at the carwash, at the dinner table, during grammar class. We laughed all the time. And with my sisters it was the same thing. My one sister would do Dana Carvey doing George Michael. We would all sing "Chopping Broc-olli." In college I would leave my friends long, convoluted messages that usually had a punch line.
In recent memory, there's the Conan O'Brien thing. Oh yeah, and tonight I laughed at Son's statement that what he wanted for dinner was "Beans and Buggers."
So what's happened? Has life gotten less funny or have I?