the pieces of my life

I have issues with a lot of children’s books. Every time I read Guess How Much I Love You to Doodles, I find myself editing as I go. How can a children’s book ignore basic English grammar? Why not teach Doodles proper English the first time around?

“I love you as high as I can hop!” laughed Little Nutbrown Hare.

“But I love you as high as I can hop,” smiled Big Nutbrown Hare.

Dialogue is spoken. It isn’t laughed, smiled, sighed, or anything else that isn’t actually, well, spoken! So I find myself saying, “said Little Nutbrown Hare with a laugh” and “replied Big Nutbrown Hare with a smile.” I’m waiting for the day when Doodles has the book memorized and someone else reads it to him. Two year olds can comprehend the nuances reporting verbs, right? So why don’t I just read him a book that understands the basic tenets of English grammar? Because I love the moral of this story. At the heart of Guess How Much I Love You is a very important message: The parent always gets the last word! It’s a beautiful thing to teach a young child. (Note to my own parents: This does not apply to you because you never read me this book.)

While looking up Goodnight Moon for the previous post (and I’m never sure how to refer to my posts; I mean, it’s previous because I wrote it first. Blogger, however, displays things in reverse chronology, so if you’re reading down, it’s the following post. Ah, whatever), I discovered some terrific customer reviews. Now, granted, I’m not a huge fan of this book. I object to the rhyming of “moon” with–surprise!–“moon.” People, you can’t do that! However, the book is part of our bedtime routine because it’s such a nice segue to sleepy time and it gives lots of fodder for discussion (“See the cow jumping over the moon? What sound does a cow make? A cow says, ‘Moo!'”). I also think it’s a very accessible book for wee folk as there’s not much to follow and the repetition is soothing. However, I have to agree with some of the reviews I found on Amazon:

I would never dare to say any of this if I were running for office, but …..I was given Goodnight Moon by a well-meaning enthusiast who felt I could be no parent or claim to know children’s literature unless I owned the book. Sure, Goodnight Moon is popular; it’s had staying power. But the same could be said for pork rinds and “The Dukes of Hazzard.” Goodnight Moon is a tired catalogue of meaningless objects, to each one of which I used to say “goodnight” three or four times a week. My kid has it memorized, but she can also recognize a Home Depot sign, so that’s a wash….

Goodnight room, goodnight moon. Perhaps a cry for help from some tortured soul, or perhaps a yearning for an apocalyptic solution to existence. Maybe it is none of these things, but images of a green room suggest an allegory of the American Democratic System (playing off of the asian themes of Red, Blue, and Green energy) and the eventual transfer of power to the people (or in this case, the rabbits). But all things come from the earth, and to the earth they shall one day return; if anything, Goodnight Moon reminds us of our mortality and search for self. And that is the greatest gift of all.

Of course, the thing I object most to in children’s books are the celeb books. I picked up Jay Leno’s If Roast Beef Could Fly in the bookstore, and very quickly put it back down. It was the most inane children’s story I think I’ve ever read. As reported by USA Today: “The problem with children’s books, comic Jay Leno says, is that they just aren’t funny. ‘They all look like Laura Ashley illustrations with one word and a boring moral at the end'” Let’s look at the problems with this statement:

1. Jay Leno’s book isn’t funny. Nada. Not even a little bit.
2. The illustrations are horrendous and frightening (a child with that chin?).
3. Yes, you can certainly make this generalization about the thousands and thousands of children’s books published every year. None of them are funny and they all have horrendous illustrations.

Get over yourself, Jay. And I think that about exhausts the topic of children’s books for one night.

(Tangent: Speaking of Amazon reviews, there’s something so great about the relationship of Amazon customers and Family Circus. Every review a keeper here!)

My latest New Yorker magazine came and on it was a cover that practically screamed, “Only one month to go!” In my old life, that would have had me scrambling to renew. But now I can only think, “Thank goodness!” Those New Yorkers have been piling up, taunting me, teasing me with this idea of an outside world that I’ve all but shut myself out of in favor of Sandra Boynton and Goodnight Moon. I’ve taken to asking the Tweedle Twirp (who reads the magazine regularly) to let me know if there are any must-read articles because I just can’t find the time to find them myself.

The magazines are heaped by the living room arm chair, and I can’t help but look at them guiltily, thinking about how little I know about what’s going on in the world. My grandfather used to collect New Yorkers because he couldn’t keep up with them either. Of course, he read them from cover to cover whereas I merely skim them for the cartoons and then read just the articles that look interesting. I think my grandfather stopped his subscription in 1986 and finally finished reading the stack that he had sometime in the early 1990s. I finally admitted defeat a couple of weeks ago and tossed a whole bunch of the magazines into recycling. And yet they’re like bunnies, and even though I disposed of a good twenty, the pile has gone forth and multiplied.

At this point in my life, I’m not meant to be a New Yorker reader. That time will come again. Someday. (And let’s not get into my thoughts on how much the magazine has deteriorated over the years. The David Remnick New Yorker is of course better than the Tina Brown New Yorker, but it’s not the New Yorker I remember from, well, my New York years. Ah the William Shawn/Robert Gottlieb eras. Now those were the days…).

The DFC pays more attention to my son than I do, apparently. At lunch today with Wendy and Hannah, Hannah excitedly squealed (okay, not squealed, but it sounds better that way), “Look! Doodles is getting another tooth!”

“Yeah,” I replied (note, I didn’t “smirk” or “smile”; I “replied”). “He’s teething and one of these days something will come through.”

“No, no,” Hannah said. “He’s got another tooth now. Don’t you see it? There’s a tiny sliver of white on his upper gum.”

I peered into Doodles mouth to no avail. He wouldn’t open his upper lip for me. Finally, I just stuck my hand in there and much to his dismay, pulled back his lip to peer into his mouth as if he were a horse at market. Sure enough, the tiniest bit of enamel poked through the gum. How Hannah spotted it across the table, I have no idea, but there you go. The past couple of weeks of midnight screaming finally explained!

Of course the timing of this tooth is not ideal. We got a call from the doctor yesterday with the results of Doodles’s blood test (which is standard at the nine month doctor’s appointment): Little Doodles is anemic. Now don’t get all in a tizzy (this is directed to my family; I’m sure the rest of you are happily tizzy-free right now). This is apparently quite common and one of the main reasons they do a blood test at nine months. From kidshealth.org:

During the first 6 months of life, babies are usually protected against developing iron deficiency due to the stores of iron built up in their bodies while they are in the uterus. However, by the second half of the first year of life, as infants continue to undergo significant growth, often they do not take in enough iron through breast milk alone or regular cow’s milk (which contains less iron than fortified infant formula) to meet their iron needs.

Doodles is being treated by diet and an iron supplement. He’ll be rechecked in six weeks. So what does this have to do with his pearly whites? Well, they’re coming in just in time to be ashen grays. One of the side effects of the supplement he’s taking is “temporary discoloration of teeth.” Of course, they offer a solution: “For infants, a small amount of baking soda or tooth powder, placed on a small cloth and rubbed on the teeth once a week, will remove discoloration.” Have you tried sticking your fingers into a piranha’s–I mean, baby’s–mouth, never mind with nasty tasting baking soda on your finger? Exactly. However, one of the things that grosses me out more than anything is yucky teeth (perhaps it was the six years I spent in braces that did it to me, but that’s a tale for another day) and I know that I shall risk life and index finger to make sure my child’s beautiful smile shines. The things I’ll do for vanity.

The Doodles household was treated to a visit by our most wild cousin, Daniella, and her deceivingly mild-mannered fiancee, John. For those who haven’t met Daniella in person, know that she is just like you and me, only times ten. Daniella is like a wind-up doll on speed. Except that she doesn’t do drugs. Let me rephrase that. Daniella’s only drug habit is the one that’s fed by DSW.

The two of them together are constant comedy, and we had a terrific time hanging out. A nice lunch in Concord, a wander through a cemetary, breakfast at Zaftigs, an evening at home, and plenty of time spent exploring on their own–in other words, they were the ideal houseguests. And Daniella and Doodles took quite a shine to each other. Of course, I had to constantly remind Doodles to be on good behavior; he’s not used to hanging out with other Bloggers.

Daniella actually reminds me of me in my pre-suburban-haus-frau life. Except for the shoe habit. I just don’t get the shoe thing, but I’ve discussed that to death. And Daniella obviously doesn’t get my lack of fashionista-ism. So here, we diverge. However, we’ll always agree on Jazz Fest and that covers a lot of sins.