Monday, January 14, 2008

The Lazy Man's Day

Today we had what my son refers to as a “Lazy Man’s Day”. They happen occasionally, maybe twice a month, more often in cold weather.
It looks something like this; we get up later than usual, hang around in our pajamas, and basically spend the day reading, writing, playing games and watching movies, without ever leaving the house. What you might hear are siblings engaged in sibling rivalry, the spin cycle on the washer, the clicking of the keyboard, the TV and the word “Mommy” tossed around ad nauseam. What you might smell would be coffee, pancakes, and lots of clean (unfolded) laundry.
This could sound like a typical Sunday back in the sixties, but I have to admit that’s not my experience of most other families today. Since I’ve had children, these type of days often come with one looming added element- guilt.
While other families are going away for the weekend, visiting museums, having scheduled play dates, puppet shows, music lessons, or some other cultural event,
I haven’t even gotten my kids dressed and out for some fresh air.
Sometimes my 10-year-old son looks at me and says, “Why haven’t you set up a play date?” my answer is usually the same “I tried but no one was around, maybe I called too late in the week.” When will I get that these other kids are scheduled well in advance? I’m sure they could have put me in their Blackberrry if only I had thought to call sooner.
It seemed so much easier for my parents. I don’t remember them ever scheduling anything really… except the occasional dreaded dentist appointment.
The main issue here is my guilt, why I feel like I have to do or be like these other families. The voices in my head ask: “Can my kids learn and grow in this 1200 sq ft apt? Are they getting enough exercise or fresh air or overall stimulation? Are they being exposed to enough culture and rich experiences? Am I depriving them of something?”
My voice of reason, the Love of My Life, asks the obvious: “Why don’t you do these things with the kids if you think they’re so important?” My answer: “Because I don’t really want to, and the kids would know that and that’s NOT the message I want to send to them.” I.E. - Just do things you don’t want to do, because you think it’s the right thing and not the thing your heart moves you to do.
The LOMF nods knowingly, adding: “The kids get plenty of history, culturalization (including the dreaded museum trips), and running around time at school. What’s wrong with home being the oasis where they can have some needed down time, while occasionally basking in the wisdom and loving energy of their parents.”
So there you have it, it’s the guilt here that’s the problem, not whether or not we have a lazy man’s day. I’ll have to work on it.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

NY Times article by Nora Ephron

I happen to think soup is healing and breast feeding doesn't cause allergies, but her conclusions are humorous and it really makes me think about how many ways we can connect the dots.

The Chicken Soup Chronicles
By NORA EPHRON
Published: January 13, 2008

THE other day I felt a cold coming on. So I decided to have chicken soup to ward off the cold. Nonetheless I got the cold. This happens all the time: you think you’re getting a cold; you have chicken soup; you get the cold anyway. So: is it possible that chicken soup gives you a cold?


I will confess a bias: I’ve never understood the religious fervor that surrounds breast-feeding. There are fanatics out there who believe you should breast-feed your child until he or she is old enough to unbutton your blouse. Their success in conning a huge number of women into believing this is one of the truly grim things about modern life. Anyway, one of the main reasons given for breast-feeding is that breast-fed children are less prone to allergies. But children today are far more allergic than they were when I was growing up, when far fewer women breast-fed their children. I mean, what is it with all these children dropping dead from sniffing a peanut? This is new, friends, it’s brand-new new, and don’t believe anyone who says otherwise. So: is it possible that breast-feeding causes allergies?

It’s much easier to write a screenplay on a computer than on a typewriter. Years ago, when you wrote a screenplay on a typewriter, you had to retype the entire page just to make the smallest change; now, on the computer, you can make large and small changes effortlessly, you can fiddle with dialogue, you can change names and places with a keystroke. And yet movies are nowhere near as good as they used to be. In 1939, when screenwriters were practically still using quill pens, the following movies were among those nominated for best picture: “Gone With the Wind,” “The Wizard of Oz,” “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” “Wuthering Heights” and “Stagecoach,” and that’s not even the whole list. So: is it possible that computers are responsible for the decline of movies?

There is way too much hand-washing going on. Someone told me the other day that the act of washing your hands is supposed to last as long as it takes to sing the song “Happy Birthday.” I’m not big on hand-washing to begin with; I don’t even like to wash fruit, if you must know. But my own prejudices aside, all this washing-of-hands and use of Purell before picking up infants cannot be good. (By the way, I’m not talking about hand-washing in hospitals, I’m talking about everyday, run-of-the-mill hand-washing.) It can’t possibly make sense to keep babies so removed from germs that they never develop an immunity to them. Of course, this isn’t my original theory — I read it somewhere a few weeks ago, although I can’t remember where. The New York Times? The Wall Street Journal? Who knows? Not me, that’s for sure. So: is it possible that reading about hand-washing leads to memory loss?

I love Google. I love everything about it. I love the verb Google and I love the noun and sometimes I can even use the word as an adjective. For a long time, I liked to think there would some day be a person called the Google, a mixture of a researcher, an assistant and a butler, who would stand by ready to ride to the rescue at all Google moments. No more desperately trying to come up with the name of that movie Jeremy Irons was in, which lurks like a hologram while everyone makes stabs at figuring out what on earth it was called. We can never remember the name of that movie, the one about Claus von Bulow, but never mind — the Google is here. The Google will find the answer. But as it turns out, no Google is necessary. Somebody has a BlackBerry. The answer is seconds away! It’s here! The movie was called “Reversal of Fortune!” What a fantastic relief! On the other hand, I have to say, there was something romantic about the desperate search for an answer. On the road to trying to remember the name of Ethel Rosenberg’s brother, for instance, you might find yourself having a brief but diverting chat about Alger Hiss’s wife, which might in turn get you to a story about Whittaker Chambers’s teeth, which might in turn get you to Time magazine, which might in turn get you to Friday nights at Time magazine back in the old days, which might in turn get you to sex. This meandering had its charms. It was, in fact, what used to be known as conversation. But no more. Instead, we have the answer. Ethel Rosenberg’s brother was named David Greenglass. And that’s that. So: is it possible that Google will mean the end of conversation as we know it?

 

blogger templates | Make Money Online