Saul Good and Co.

Word Police

I'm a lifelong fan of rap and hip-hop music. Full stop. I love the diversity within the genre. I love hardcore gangsta and dancy hip-pop. Serious message-oriented stuff, songs that preach positivity, nihlistic narratives and songs about having it rough. I love the lot of it. And while I am happy to listen and dance and whatever (hip-hop is my go-to choice for the treadmill, for sure), I don't feel comfortable singing along to certain songs, even when I'm alone, because of one word more than any other. And that's good, I think. I don't need to feel comfortable with saying this word. It shouldn't be a comfortable thing. I don't even like to hear it, frankly, from anyone, but if I ever want to listen to anything from the past 20 years, I have to get over that. I understand about taking ownership of something, about gaining power by claiming something that has been used against you. I'm not even saying "HEY A$AP AND CO., CLEAN UP YOUR LANGUAGE SO AS NOT TO OFFEND MY DELICATE EARS." I accept the music for what it is, and I can separate what I hear from what I apply to my own life. As I've gone around and around the mulberry bush with how my feminism and music fandom can co-exist, I'm just thinking about it a lot lately, now that my kid parrots everything, how I can reconcile being a hip-hop fan and a responsible parent. And for now, I think I can leave the non-radio versions of, uh, language-y songs to solo drives and headphones. It's not like it's a burden for poor me to give up my beloved jams. Music that other people write is not about me. I can choose to listen to it or not and that's cool. And I'm not trying to unrealistically shelter HR, he's going to hear all the world's words eventually and better he be armed with the proper outlook. These things we don't say and why. Which words are offensive because they are naughty and vulgar and which just plain hurt people. The teaching moments will present themselves, I know. But I don't think it's too early to start thinking about the conversation. My god, yesterday he said he hated the Comcast guys who came to our house, and I don't remember ever, ever using that word in front of him (whether he has a point is another story).

On one hand, words are just that. Things you say. They can be meant or not. They can paint a picture, tell a story, transport you to a world beyond. They can be true, they can be art, they can be either or neither or both. And they have so much power. I want my child to grow up with respect for that. In the Voldemort school, they only have as much power as you give them. And that's true to an extent, though to me that's mostly when they're being used against you. What's more important to me when navigating the idea of "good" and "bad" words with HR is that he knows how he could use them as weapons. At this age I tread very carefully, and that includes clomping all over my ideals. For example I just can't bring myself to read the line "Shut up!" in Frog and Toad Together, I always soften it to "Be quiet!" because I don't want HR to think that "shut up" is an acceptable thing to say, and I don't want to take away from the story by explaining that every time. In a vacuum, I vehemently oppose censorship. I would much rather have a conversation about what's offensive than ban it outright, but it also doesn't mean I have to make flashcards for the nursery. It's all part of the make-it-up-as-I-go process of totally messing up--I mean raising--my kid.

My parents always swore in our presence, and we kids knew these were grown up words. Slurs were never a part of the picture, and if we dared to say something for shock value, it would never have been tolerated. I've said this a million times, my mother was the first civil rights activist I knew, and I knew her as such simply by the example she set. I feel like we internalized the message about words, but I'm sure it wasn't so effortless, so inborn. There was a reason we knew, and I'm sure it's because we talked about it. And if I don't remember the talk but I do remember the lesson that came of it, I guess that's more important.

There are a whole lot of unfinished thoughts in here, so please bear with. Even though the thought process was brought about by one racially charged word, this isn't about race or sexual orientation or love or hate or prejudice. Those are going to be awesome fun-time topics to address down the line. But for now, this is just me thinking about words. I think about words a lot. And if I sound like I'm afraid of words, well I am, because I know what they can do. And I love words more than people, almost. So I try to treat them with respect. Though this partially nonsensical jumble may imply the opposite.

Say it With Pally

Oh woe, my creativity went and fell off the dock. Whether it's retrieved or left to sink into a watery grave is up to me, and you'll know soon enough how that goes. Otherwise things are swell. Home life is better - we doubled down on the behavior/reward chart method in dealing with HR's tantrums, and I think he got the message that we mean business. He's acting much more like himself, which is still a real piece of work sometimes, but just enough to keep him from being boring. We're feeling much better about everything in that respect except for the latest sleep regression, and that is something I'll be dealing with head-on after this weekend (he's staying with my parents overnight and I'm not going to start a new thing before leaving him for the night in a strange place). Best case, he straightens out on his own and starts sleeping more than three hours at a time in his bed by Monday. Worst case there's a scream-and-repeatedly-force-back-into-bed fest in my future. And I'll be reporting back on that as it happens, lucky ducks.

If you started reading this, this is so you right now.

Who could blame you? Sometimes I just need to make declarations about my lack of writerly oomph in order to get me back on track. Consider this a hopeful prelude.

BTOL

Best things of life right this moment, escapism edition:

-revisiting the astounding catalog of hip-hop albums released in 1989 (thank you Kev)

-"True Detective" on HBO -- that is legit business

-girly dress-up shopping

-vacation planning

-moments of blessed chill, like:

-this salad from costco that is a mix of shaved brussels sprouts and chopped kale and other goodies like pepitas and craisins and a delicious poppyseed dressing. I mean, it's fart-cannon fodder, but worth it

-another chance to hang with my family AND go out in the Port's Mouth coming up shortly

-not getting walloped by snow this time around

-having our camp sites locked down for the summer

-"Muchacho" by Phosphorescent, which came out last year, and I was a bit aware of it then, but I am obsessed with it right now. Afghan Whigs-level obsessed. I think Matt Houck might be some kind of shaman

-a stack of books to tear through (Little Bee and Orange is the New Black most recently down, currently vacilliating among The Gift of Rain, the John Taylor autobio and my nine-year-reading project, Dr. Sleep, Life After Life, Tampa, The Lost Girls and a slew of others to go). As long as I've got an unrealistically huge reading pile, I'm good

-"Friends" reruns on Nick at Nite. These have been my go-to lately, there's something very comforting about them

-um, it's already halfway through Wednesday?

Lots to love. Glad we had this talk.

Humor + Time + Perspective + Liquor + Small Breaks (+ Liquor)

That is my recipe for success, as in, making it through the early years with a child with sanity intact (so far). You could also do it without drinking, but you'd have to look elsewhere for info on that variation. Anyway, thank you beauties. Based on everyone's much-appreciated comments, it appears what I've got on hand is a normal preschooler and things are going to get wackier before they get... less so. It's comforting to know that it's been part of many parents' experience, and it decreases my compulsion to bitch about it. HR's good moments still outnumber the ARGH ones. That's the bottom line. I'm fairly confident that in time, and with consistency and appropriate guidance on our part, he'll outgrow the blow-ups. And the obsession with keeping me in his eyesight at all times when I'm home. And his totally fakakta sleeping habits (CHRIST YES THAT AGAIN). Or maybe he won't, and  if he doesn't, we'll get some help. There's no shortage of support in my little village, and I do not for a second take that for granted.

There will always be days when you get through solely by keeping the thought of bedtime in the forefront. That's called basic survival. The time to worry is when those days are every day. And I'm a far sight away from that. I have seen some really depressing shit come down the pike at work lately, including entering the data for a kid in treatment born on HR's exact birth date, and I can't help but think that if dealing with my kid's flip-out triggered by my inability to put his cut-up sandwich back together is the worst part of my day, I'm in the 1% of happy idiots. I'm working on a little something that is a breakdown of what is actually going on in this stage of growing up and how much of the stress I'm feeling is actually a projection, with my mind going to worst-case and permanent scenarios, but that's a bit ambitious for an already wonky workday. All you need to know right now is that we cool. We all cool.

And So it Goes And So it Goes And So it Goes

All three-year-olds suddenly undergo a personality transplant, right? And then they magically reset to their lovely and easygoing selves. Right? And you stalwart parents survived it all without eating the world's supply of M&Ms, RIGHT? Please tell me I'm right.

Yes, it's been a rough couple of weeks at the homestead. HR has been sick, which might explain the sharp spike in tantrums about ev-er-y-thing, but he's on the mend now and the behavioral issues have yet to improve. I'm not complaining about having to do my job as a parent and discipline and redirect and whatnot. I mean, it's no fun, but it comes with the territory. More than anything Mike and I have begun to entertain the nervous thought that the belligerent new kid in town is here to stay. And we will always love our boy just as he is, but we do miss our original recipe sweet bubba. We'll get through whatever we need to get through, but in general, as a family, we are worn out.

We've got a long weekend ahead to recharge (well, I do - Mike's industry lives for the week-end), and I'm hoping that a nice stretch of rest and consistency will help. It has to help, or at least I have to hold on to the belief that it will. And if it doesn't, we'll just have to learn how to make friends with the bear.

I'll report back next week. FIN grown up whine-time.

General Hippie Agonizing

"Humans of Earth, we can do better than this." This is my refrain. I say it multiple times on a daily basis, usually to myself, and usually when people are taking too long to go at a green light. But it applies to just about every situation. And I believe it. We can always do better. *I* can always do better. In everything. Relationships. Parenting. Work. Writing. Sometimes I rise to the call, sometimes I fall far short. Sometimes, oftentimes, I just mull the concept. It's never far from my mind. For someone who is so content with her life's lot, I do often think about how many wrongs need righting and how I am not doing much to help in that respect. It's easy to let the enormity of the world get me down, to allow the number of big things block me from tackling even the small things. I don't mean to be cryptic, just thinking in generalities. Like, lately I can't even get a blog entry together so HOW AM I GOING TO SOLVE POVERTY? That's just an example of how the mindset snowballs.

I have to put the thought away for a bit and do some work, which may or may not make any kind of difference in any way in the long or even short run. It's my job that pays me so I can go home and have the luxury of goofing off with my kid and doing whatever mindless thing that makes me happy and harm nobody. That's something in its own trickly-downy way, and if that's the best I do today, I could do worse. Usually I'm satisfied with that thought. But the overarching point is, if I'm going to regularly implore the population of an entire planet to do better in some way, I have to make sure I'm including myself.

To be continued.

 

 

Forward Harch

I'm not a perfectionist, really. I'm not constantly let down because I live in a cloud of unrealistic expectations. Especially when it comes to holidays, I like to keep them as straightforward and stress-free as possible. Just kind of jump in and enjoy, and not sweat the details like making sure we do this or that or whatever. So I'm trying to figure out why this year was so weird to me, not in a bad way, just in a "it didn't totally feel like Christmas" way. Part of it is that I'm middle aged, now, and it's inevitable that I will feel things differently. It was totally, totally awesome being on the other side of the holiday, playing Santa, watching my kid get excited about everything (the box of underwear from my grandmother was possibly the biggest hit, you just never know with little dudes). It was a blast having so many kids around this year, and the chaos of family Christmas at my Gram's house was one of the highlights for me. In trying to get to the root of my emotions, I acknowledge that I build up the holiday so much because I have such ridiculously great memories of my growing-up Christmases. Not the material aspect really, though my parents did go BIG (and still do). There was just so much warmth and magic and tradition attached, it was always such a major deal to my siblings and me. I don't know what my parents thought at the time, when they were shaping our holidays. If they just wanted to give us the best they could because they loved us, or if they were also into it. But whatever, it made me very sentimental about holidays past.

In retrospect, I had a terrific holiday this year. Looking at the pictures, remembering the foods I ate, the time I spent with people, everything, I know it was a blast. I think I've just hit the point in my life where I'm hyper-aware that I'm at the mercy of time and despite my best efforts it colors my enjoyment of everything. I didn't watch enough corny holiday movies, didn't hear enough carols, didn't drink enough eggnog. Didn't go around the hood with HR showing him the lights enough. Didn't get to my favorite haunts when they're at their sparkliest. And you know, and I know, that I never will. Even if I started in September. It's life. I'm living and this is how living is. So weirdly enough, it helps me feel better about it. Ideally, I'll get many more holidays. And summers. And whatever elses that I anticipate so feverishly. Time is a gnarly bitch bastard and never won't be. And accepting that should--SHOULD--be what I need to embrace every minute and be ready to let go when it's over.

Anyway. I had a lovely Thanksgiving. And Chanukah. And Christmas. And New Year's even. And Mike and I got to have two days together in the coziest, ho-ho-ho-iest little city up the coast, which was an amazing gift. I spent time with everyone I loved, even if it wasn't enough time. My kid had a lot of fun over the past two months, and I wonder how he will look back on everything when he's grown. I can't micromanage his emotions, and I don't want to. But I hope we'll have created something for him that sticks, even if it's just the yearly underwear box.

That's all I am going to say about it ever after now until next year. And it will go by too fast then, too. I don't feel sad about it any more, and anyone reading this should be happy because I'm going to shut the hell up about it already. Let's move on to the next beautiful thing.

Since You So Totally Asked

Important (and only somewhat shallow) Goals for 2014:

-take a yoga class in a yoga studio.

-see the "Veronica Mars" movie. In the theater. After rewatching the entire series in one glorious binge.

-go somewhere in an airplane. Several somewheres preferably, but at least one place.

-find a dress with which I am in love to wear to my nephew's bar mitzvah and then all subsequent fancy occasions for the immediate future.

-find more fancy occasions to attend.

-consume more smoothies.

-more pedicures.

-more hanging-out-with-girlfriends time.

-more date nights with my favorite date.

-more Maine.

-write something fictional.

-run 5 miles. Then 7 miles.

-teach HR the joy of peeing standing up (OK, this might be Mike's department, but it's a goal nonetheless).

-take HR to a live performance of something.

-go dancing at least once.

Talking Points

Oh, thank you wise media for declaring this day Blue Monday and therefore sanctioning and commodifying everyone's post-holiday depression. How would I ever know how to have the blues without you? Joke's on you though, I had my blues last week and I'm very much doing OK today.

I have one or two more entries I want to write before I tuck 2013 into the past forever, but here are the two essential bits:

-after passing my 40th Christmas season, I know I'm just never going to be ready for Christmas to end. Never ever ever. So it has to end, and I deal with it in my own time, mainly by looking forward to the next Christmas. I am that person now. Or always was, I guess.

-2013 was pretty great, all told. One really bad thing happened, and it was losing my grandmother, which is not insignificant. But if I look at the up days, they certainly outnumbered the bad.

And so I bid the first of my fond adieus to 2013. And I'm ready to roll up my sleeves and take 2014 for what it's got to offer. If it offers me nothing good, then I'll just have to go rogue and dig something out for myself.