I really like something President Obama said on the day after Father's Day: "To have a child is to know that your heart is walking around outside your body!" True, no matter how old they get!
Today I had what I call a shaky day, though not for any good reason. I was determined to go to PetSmart, not an easy place for me because of walking across the parking lot--open spaces make me anxious. I want something to hold on to, if needed. But I had a plan--I'd park by a cart rack, wheel one in, and be fine. (All this for three plastic lids for open cat food!). I did, all went well, and I bought a bird feeder (the squirrels destroyed the last one) and some fresh seed, and came home, but without the triumphant feeling of "Good job, Judith" that I usually feel when I do something like that. At home I made an absolute mess of filling the bird feeder--tonight I even found seed on my yoga mat! It will never again be filled inside! Besides, I haven't noticed any birds partaking of the feast I went to such great lengths to provide.
After that mess and talking to the plumber who is going to have to "rebuild" two of my commodes, I went to Swiss Pastry to get lunch for Jeannie and me--1 bratwurst apiece, kraut and potato salad. And discovered I didn't have my debit card. I dropped off Jacob's favorite life-size stuffed doll (very primitive) to be repaired and high-tailed it to Jeannie's, where I dumped out my purse and went through everything--no debit card. Called PetSmart and some kind soul had found it in the parking lot (as Jordan said, there are still good people in this world). By this time I was really shaky, so Jeannie offered to ride out there with me. The store manager was nice but he asked for i.d., and I'd left my purse in the car, for which Jeannie scolded me severely. While she went to get it, I had an idea and recited the card's 16 numbers to the manager. He grinned and said, "It's yours."
I was glad to get home, piddle at my computer, nap and have a good long yoga session. I'd heard a segment on meditation on NPR this morning, and I really tried to concentrate on what was going on with my body, what muscles felt stretched, strained, where I felt comfortable, and all that--to clear my mind of everything but the poses I was doing. It was more successful than usual--my mind still tends to wander, but I'll keep working on it.
Now I've had supper, hung the bird feeder and cleaned up the mess, taken the garbage carts to the street, fed the dog, and am generally feeling in control of my world. Tomorrow will be a better day. All of us have off-days, for one reason or another--anxiety is just my reason, as opposed to stomach trouble, asthma, migraines, etc. Each of us probably think we'd trade our "problem" for the others--ah, if they only knew!
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Do you, Did you read to your children?
I'm feeling yet another load of guilt about my parenting skills, and it's all Jamie's fault (my third child and second son). He told me yesterday that he and Maddie, his oldest daughter, almost eleven (can that be?), were going to dinner to discuss a book they'd both read and compare their reactions to it. They take turns choosing the books and apparently go to dinner once a week. Am I impressed or what? I think that is such wonderful parenting! Maddie is a voracious reader--I've seen her bury her nose in a book at a party. That delights me, but I think their reading group of two is a wonderful idea--for fostering her intellectual growth (about which I'm not worried at all) and for strengthening the already-strong bond between parent and child. I'm so impressed I want to shout to the world that I raised two sons, both of whom turned out to be terrific fathers (okay, my girls are also terrific mothers, but that's another story).
But the guilt: I don't think I read to my children. I think what I did was work at my computer, say "Go on,now, I'm busy" and leave them to find books on their own. Jamie did it early and with intensity, reading fantasy and Dungeons and Dragons kind of things in his bed with a flashlight. Now grown, all of them except Jordan are avid readers. Megan's husband is a bibliophile--all he ever wants for a gift is a book. Colin's wife, Lisa, was not a reader, but he has converted her, and now we discuss the books we read. Jamie's wife,Mel, is a nonfiction reader but reads a lot--and with some interesting reactions. But I don't think I did anything to foster the love of reading in my children except to raise them in a household where they knew books were important--their mother wrote books, published books, and read them.
Jordan's son, Jacob, wants to be read to every night--something Jordan has insisted on (does she feel the lack from her own childhood?). But lately he chooses my book and his, so I once figured if he was reading his book I didn't have to strain my voice reading mine aloud. Wrong! He insists I read aloud, and I suspect he finds the sound of a voice reading to him comforting. He has his favorite books--good heavens, some of them are long! But he's solidly "into" books, and I credit Jordan with that. He always arrives with five or six in his suitcase and it's an evening ritual to choose the two (my limist) he wants. Jacob is great at postponing bedtime, and I have to be firm.
Funny how easy it is to look back at all the things you would do differently if you were parenting again today--and all the things you do differently with grandchildren. Friends often compliment me on what a great job I did of raising four childen as a single parent--and I will say without blushing that they are all wonderful adults, each accomplishing much more than I could have hoped and each a person who makes me proud of their daily lives, their parenting, their integrity. But I often think they grew that way in spite of my blunders or, the best I can hope for, because of the example I set. It certainly wasn't because I read to them--and now I regret that.
But the guilt: I don't think I read to my children. I think what I did was work at my computer, say "Go on,now, I'm busy" and leave them to find books on their own. Jamie did it early and with intensity, reading fantasy and Dungeons and Dragons kind of things in his bed with a flashlight. Now grown, all of them except Jordan are avid readers. Megan's husband is a bibliophile--all he ever wants for a gift is a book. Colin's wife, Lisa, was not a reader, but he has converted her, and now we discuss the books we read. Jamie's wife,Mel, is a nonfiction reader but reads a lot--and with some interesting reactions. But I don't think I did anything to foster the love of reading in my children except to raise them in a household where they knew books were important--their mother wrote books, published books, and read them.
Jordan's son, Jacob, wants to be read to every night--something Jordan has insisted on (does she feel the lack from her own childhood?). But lately he chooses my book and his, so I once figured if he was reading his book I didn't have to strain my voice reading mine aloud. Wrong! He insists I read aloud, and I suspect he finds the sound of a voice reading to him comforting. He has his favorite books--good heavens, some of them are long! But he's solidly "into" books, and I credit Jordan with that. He always arrives with five or six in his suitcase and it's an evening ritual to choose the two (my limist) he wants. Jacob is great at postponing bedtime, and I have to be firm.
Funny how easy it is to look back at all the things you would do differently if you were parenting again today--and all the things you do differently with grandchildren. Friends often compliment me on what a great job I did of raising four childen as a single parent--and I will say without blushing that they are all wonderful adults, each accomplishing much more than I could have hoped and each a person who makes me proud of their daily lives, their parenting, their integrity. But I often think they grew that way in spite of my blunders or, the best I can hope for, because of the example I set. It certainly wasn't because I read to them--and now I regret that.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Rushing through life writing, cooking, and blogging
I read a quote from Anna Quindlen on another blog today. Of parenting, she wrote, "I did not live in the moment enough . . . .I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less." I think she referred to meals and baths and school visits and all those chores of parenting. Now that my children are long grown, I feel that pang of having rushed through their childhood. I used to say when I died, they'll say, "I remember her. She used to say, 'Go on now, I'm busy.'" And I was--busy at my computer. They don't seem to carry bad memories with them, though, for we're a close family. My oldest son has said he'd like to go to Scotland with me, and a couple of others are thinking of joining us. More would if they could afford it. And they're planning that big b'day party for my 70th, so I guess maybe they didn't notice I was rushing, always rushing.
I found one thing I don't rush through tonight--and I thought I did. It's writing. The Fort Worth newspaper sponsors a series of "Evenings with . . . " where the former book editor interviews various authors, always in a large public venue. Tonight's guest was mystery novelist Robert Parker. He was witty, quick, funny, and completely honest--and he flew in the face of everything I've ever heard or thought or learned about writing. He doesn't plan ahead, he claims he writes with his fingers and there's little connection to his brain, he writes ten pages a day--or that's his goal--and never looks at it again. When he comes to the end of the book, he sends it to his editor. At that rate, he writes three books a year--many authors can't manage one, and some take years and years to writ eone book. His books, which I really like reading, reflect that--they're surface, smart dialog, quick patter--and of course some action, but mostly dialog. Talking of westerns--he's just published his second and has a third written--he said he never does any research, saying that we all know all about the West from movies and TV. (I can hear the howls of protest from Western Writers of America, who take authenticity and historical accuracy very seriously--as I always did when I was writing historical fiction set in the West). Parker's western, the one I've read, is full of the stereotype and not the reality of the American western experience (another howl of protect from historian Patricia Limerick who pioneered the New Western History, which looked closely at the experience of minorities and women and debunked the myth of the great adventure for white males.) I like the Spenser novels and the Jesse Stone ones much better. But for all that I'm aghast at Parker's writing methods, it was fun to hear him talk, and you've got to admit his track record of novels, movies, etc. is impressive. He kept saying, "I can provide for my family"--in high style I'd say. I'm still a fan.
One of my neighbors left me a Wall Street Journal article about cooking blogs--the latest craze is bloggers who take one cookbook and cook their way through it, taking copious pictures and reporting in detail as they do so. I read Julie & Julia: 365 days, 524 recipes, 1 tiny apartment kitchen, the pioneer of such blogs which grew into a book and now a forthcoming movie with Meryl Streep. I liked it and even laughed at Julie's kind of in-your-face attitude (and admired her persistence), but I wished she wasn't quite so free with the F-word. The whole thing though makes me wonder if, in this new world of blogging, mine doesn't lack focus. Would I lose readers if I stopped musing about my life? Would a big publisher notice me if I had a really focused unusual blog? Maybe that's a fantasy like having a really unusual hook for a mystery. I'm torn between trying to develop something new, a mystery with that "hook" or sticking with what several readers have told me they enjoyed. So in a way, it's the same dilemma--stick with the blog, which is easy for me to do rapidly, or invent something new that might be so difficult I couldn't rush through it.
Too late at night for such decisions!
I found one thing I don't rush through tonight--and I thought I did. It's writing. The Fort Worth newspaper sponsors a series of "Evenings with . . . " where the former book editor interviews various authors, always in a large public venue. Tonight's guest was mystery novelist Robert Parker. He was witty, quick, funny, and completely honest--and he flew in the face of everything I've ever heard or thought or learned about writing. He doesn't plan ahead, he claims he writes with his fingers and there's little connection to his brain, he writes ten pages a day--or that's his goal--and never looks at it again. When he comes to the end of the book, he sends it to his editor. At that rate, he writes three books a year--many authors can't manage one, and some take years and years to writ eone book. His books, which I really like reading, reflect that--they're surface, smart dialog, quick patter--and of course some action, but mostly dialog. Talking of westerns--he's just published his second and has a third written--he said he never does any research, saying that we all know all about the West from movies and TV. (I can hear the howls of protest from Western Writers of America, who take authenticity and historical accuracy very seriously--as I always did when I was writing historical fiction set in the West). Parker's western, the one I've read, is full of the stereotype and not the reality of the American western experience (another howl of protect from historian Patricia Limerick who pioneered the New Western History, which looked closely at the experience of minorities and women and debunked the myth of the great adventure for white males.) I like the Spenser novels and the Jesse Stone ones much better. But for all that I'm aghast at Parker's writing methods, it was fun to hear him talk, and you've got to admit his track record of novels, movies, etc. is impressive. He kept saying, "I can provide for my family"--in high style I'd say. I'm still a fan.
One of my neighbors left me a Wall Street Journal article about cooking blogs--the latest craze is bloggers who take one cookbook and cook their way through it, taking copious pictures and reporting in detail as they do so. I read Julie & Julia: 365 days, 524 recipes, 1 tiny apartment kitchen, the pioneer of such blogs which grew into a book and now a forthcoming movie with Meryl Streep. I liked it and even laughed at Julie's kind of in-your-face attitude (and admired her persistence), but I wished she wasn't quite so free with the F-word. The whole thing though makes me wonder if, in this new world of blogging, mine doesn't lack focus. Would I lose readers if I stopped musing about my life? Would a big publisher notice me if I had a really focused unusual blog? Maybe that's a fantasy like having a really unusual hook for a mystery. I'm torn between trying to develop something new, a mystery with that "hook" or sticking with what several readers have told me they enjoyed. So in a way, it's the same dilemma--stick with the blog, which is easy for me to do rapidly, or invent something new that might be so difficult I couldn't rush through it.
Too late at night for such decisions!
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