my view this morning

First thing this morning I had a email from my dad that went a little like this.

This is the view from the balcony outside our bedroom, with the Mediterranean and Cannes in the distance and the pool at the bottom.  "Amahl, another Coke Zero with lime, s'il voussoirs plait."

One thing they don't tell you about pregnancy is that it has a whole slew of crazy side effects that no one talks about.  most disturbing to me these days is the anxiety--the-keep-you-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night worry that your house isn't clean enough and what will you do if your husband dies kind of anxiety.  This week another source of anxiety has reared its ugly head.  The "why on earth am I having another kid?" anxiety and "am I never going to have free time or extra income ever again?" anxiety.


Well dad, this was my view this morning.  It didn't come with any coke zero (darn it), extra income or free time but it was still pretty good.

50 Best Children's Books

So I broke down and joined Pinterest a couple of weeks ago. It's been fun but I'm certainly not obsessed yet but it's a fun place to spend a couple of minutes getting good ideas.  

Last week I saw a pin titled "50 Best Children's Books."  I immediately re-pinned it and opened up the file ready to be inspired. (it's a PDF so I can't post it here but you can just click that link to see it)

Is that inspiring to you?   Me neither.

Not only are several of the books listed twice but I'll Love You Forever got a nod?  PUKE.  Have you read that book?  It's terrible.  And Guess How Much I Love You had the top spot?  Have you ever tried to read that to a child?  I have. All Claire will do is point out the dad and the baby bunny on every page.  She won't hear a word of the actual text.

There's a whole genre of children's books that aren't made for children at all.  They share fairly sentimental (I don't say that disparagingly--I cry at commercials) ideas that make parents reflect on parenting.  They are the kinds of books that say things that parents want to say to their children (You are Special--I'm looking at you) but they are not books that children love, like or are entertained by.

I was disappointed with this list because it had so many of those kinds of books--books parents like but kids don't.  It left me thinking, "I want a list of books for toddlers compiled by smart people who know what kids like."  And then I thought, "Wait, I know smart people who know what kids like."

So what do you say?  Will you make a list of toddler books with me?  I'll list 10 books that Claire can't live without and you tell me the books your kids can't live without.  And just to show you how honest I'm being here I'm not putting Stella Luna on the list even though I love it because Claire doesn't.  Stella Luna says something I want Claire to learn but she thinks it's boring.  But I'm also not putting the Baby Einstein book called Uh-Oh which we checked out from the library on the list because though Claire wants us to read it 10 times a day I want to poke out my eyeballs every time I read it.

In no particular order:

Olivia- Ian Falconer
Barnyard Dance- Sandra Boynton
But Not the Hippopotamus--Sandra Boynton
Goodnight Moon-Margaret Wise Brown
If You Give a Pig a Party--Laura Numeroff
Goodnight Gorilla --Peggy Rathmann
The Very Hungry Caterpiller--Eric Carle
I Ain't Gonna Paint No More--Karen Beaumont
How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight--Jane Yolen
No David--David Shannon

**I'm thinking of writing my own children's book called There are Not Enough Dish Towels in the World.   We've discovered imaginary play and suddenly we're using burp cloths as dish towels in the kitchen.

Both babies in this picture are wearing dish towels.

This baby is wearing two dish towels

This is the face Claire makes these days when you ask her to smile 

Coming Back to Me

I am in love with this song.




And not in the ironic kind of way that you can declare love for Phil Collins and still have your hipster and music aficionado friends think you're cool.

In that other way.

And you can consider that mullet just a little gift from me.

Don't knock it 'till you try it.

For a long time we didn't have any toys that made noise.   We play with wood blocks, legos, wood puzzles, crayons and lots of other kinds of old fashioned toys.  This was exactly how we liked it. We liked it quiet around here.

Then, for Christmas, Grandma gave us the Alphabet Pal.  At first I wasn't convinced. 

I don't actually think she's learning anything from the Alphabet Pal but it doesn't matter. I made this amazing discovery.  The Alphabet Pal NEVER gets tired of singing the same song over and over.  I, on the other hand, do get tired of singing the same song over and over again and sometimes I am very thankful for the Alphabet Pal's cheery voice singing.

and singing.

and singing.

Is this the life for me?

I'm not sure this whole blogging life is for me.  I've been doing it for  more than a year now.  When I started out I was looking for a way to write and document our life. I wanted some kind of creative outlet that wasn't cooking or crafting. It was also a convenient way to keep up with family and friends who live a long way away.  But really.

I'm just not sure that blogging about this little family is making any difference.  So maybe Auden was right and "poetry makes nothing happen."  Does writing about my little life with the hubbs and Claire really make a difference?

I just don't know if I can do it anymore.  Sometimes it feels like this is a job and I struggle thinking of interesting content which is genuine and honest and a little funny.

But I think I have a solution.  I'm thinking instead of this being a blog about my life with the hubs and our darling little girl that in late August we should make this blog about my little life with the hubbs and our darling little girl and our new baby.

Is that going to work?

And in case you are wondering if I am one of those people who gracefully gets pregnant and has a cute little pregnant belly, I am not.  I have had it verified from 2 complete strangers that even at 8 months pregnant I don't look pregnant but rather like I'm getting really fat. I know....you can hardly wait for the pictures.  I've already outgrown all of my normal pants and I'm a full belt hole past normal.

Things I love today

This is  my newest blog love. 

I have a great-aunt that they should pretty much just follow around--her hats would make the Queen Mother feel envious

Claire has spent the last couple of days pulling everything off of every shelf she can find.  The hubb's ties didn't even stand a chance and after I came out of the kitchen the ties were strewn all down the hall.  The cleaning up has been somewhat tedious but on the upside she pulled my favorite poetry book off the shelf and I've had it out on the couch and every time I get a few minutes I read a poem or two (though she did also pull Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, which is right next to it and which I poured over in the 2nd and 3rd grade and I will tell you is not nearly as scary now as it was then).

The book is called Some Haystacks Don't Even Have Any Needle and it's out of print but you can still buy it online cheaply.  It's brilliant.  That title--that's a full poem by William Stafford.  And how about this poem also by William Stafford?

Kids

They dance before they learn

there is anything that isn't music

And there's this poem which haunted my high school years.

And this one which showed up on my high school AP English test and I fortunately knew so I aced the test.  And the author was born in Logan, Utah which is were I got my graduate degree. ( And really, can it be there was only one summer I was 10?)

The Centaur

By May Swenson   (1919 - 1989)

The summer that I was ten --
Can it be there was only one
summer that I was ten?

It must have been a long one then --
each day I'd go out to choose
a fresh horse from my stable

which was a willow grove
down by the old canal.
I'd go on my two bare feet.

But when, with my brother's jack-knife,
I had cut me a long limber horse
with a good thick knob for a head,

and peeled him slick and clean
except a few leaves for the tail,
and cinched my brother's belt

around his head for a rein,
I'd straddle and canter him fast
up the grass bank to the path,

trot along in the lovely dust
that talcumed over his hoofs,
hiding my toes, and turning

his feet to swift half-moons.
The willow knob with the strap
jouncing between my thighs

was the pommel and yet the poll
of my nickering pony's head.
My head and my neck were mine,

yet they were shaped like a horse.
My hair flopped to the side
like the mane of a horse in the wind.

My forelock swung in my eyes,
my neck arched and I snorted.
I shied and skittered and reared,

stopped and raised my knees,
pawed at the ground and quivered.
My teeth bared as we wheeled

and swished through the dust again.
I was the horse and the rider,
and the leather I slapped to his rump

spanked my own behind.
Doubled, my two hoofs beat
a gallop along the bank,

the wind twanged in my mane,
my mouth squared to the bit.
And yet I sat on my steed

quiet, negligent riding,
my toes standing the stirrups,
my thighs hugging his ribs.

At a walk we drew up to the porch.
I tethered him to a paling.
Dismounting, I smoothed my skirt

and entered the dusky hall.
My feet on the clean linoleum
left ghostly toes in the hall.

Where have you been? said my mother.
Been riding, I said from the sink,
and filled me a glass of water.

What's that in your pocket? she said.
Just my knife. It weighted my pocket
and stretched my dress awry.

Go tie back your hair, said my mother,
and Why Is your mouth all green?
Rob Roy, he pulled some clover
as we crossed the field, I told her. 

Dear Hubbs

Dear Hubbs,
At our wedding Frances read this:

"The folks have been here today, but have gone to their homes.  The clatter of racing feet, the laughter and babble of tongues have ceased.  We are alone, we two.  We two whom destiny has made one.  Long ago, it has been sixty years since we met under the June trees.  I kissed you first.  How shy and afraid was your girlhood.  Not any woman on earth or in heaven could be to me what you are.  I would rather you were here, woman, with your gray hair, than any fresh blossom of youth.  Where you are is home.  Where you are not is homesickness.  As I look at you I realize that there is something greater than love, although love is the greatest thing on earth.  It is loyalty.  For were I driven away in shame, you would follow.  If I were burning with fever, your cool hand would soothe me.  With your hand in mine, may I pass and take my place among the saved of heaven.   --Josh Haslem Clark"

I repeat it today and say that I love you and your loyalty.  Where you are, is home.  Where you are not is homesickness.

Loves,
S

PS. I am sorry that tonight will not be very romantic and that you will find Claire and I laid out on the couch watching TV when you come home.  I didn't even know that the dentist could cauterize your gums.  Turns out he can.  And it's outrageously painful.