the pieces of my life

For all you folks out there planning on having more than one child, let me give you a piece of advice: Have two children of the same gender. Really, it’ll save you so much stress and eye strain, because children of two different genders means your reading list is twice as long. Here is a small sampling of all the books I feel compelled to read, never mind the general parenting books, sibling rivalry books, feeding books, etc. that have nothing to do with gender (one recent fascinating read that I reviewed for work that is genderless: The Overachievers : The Secret Lives of Driven Kids by Alexandra Robbins–you can read my review of it on that page–it’s the Publishers Weekly review):

Boys
Raising Cain : Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys by Dan Kindlon and Michael Thompson
Real Boys: Rescuing Our Sons from the Myths of Boyhood by William Pollack and Mary Pipher
The Minds of Boys : Saving Our Sons From Falling Behind in School and Life by Michael Gurian and Kathy Stevens

Girls
Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls by Mary Pipher
Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends, and Other Realities of Adolescence by Rosalind Wiseman
Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls by Rachel Simmons

Last night I went to a screening at our library of the documentary of Raising Cain, which was interesting but confusing in its message of how we should be treating our boys to help them grow into self-actualized men.

And then there are the girls. I feel strongly that I don’t write about my work, but right now I’m reading a book for review that I think is a must-read for all parents of little girls: Packaging Girlhood: Rescuing Our Daughters from Marketers’ Schemes by Sharon Lamb and Lyn Mikel Brown. I’d like to comment on it here, but I feel compelled to wait until the book is released and my review is out.

I think when I was a baby, my mom had on book at her disposal: Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. Later one, she added Parent Effectiveness Training: The Proven Program for Raising Responsible Children to her repertoire of parenting books, which now, if you’ve been paying attention, included two books. I have two shelves already devoted to the cause. And we haven’t even hit the preschool years.

I know plenty of children not only survived but thrived with parents who didn’t crack a book. But as an older, attachment parenting, over-educated, part-time stay-at-home mother, I feel compelled to devour anything that could even remotely improve my children’s well being, even though everything I read is not only conflicting but often downright wrong.

That said, I must stop blogging for the moment. A book in the living room is calling my name.

Ah, back from vacation. I so didn’t want to return. We had such a lovely time and I dreaded coming back to cell phones, e-mail, Internet, work, and all the other joys of home. But come back we did and it’s really not so bad. This is one of those cases where the trip is so great you don’t want to tell other folks about it, because you don’t want anyone else encroaching on your spot. But you also want just enough folks to know about it that they come to the programs because you don’t want the place to shut down. So I reluctantly tell you that the Wildflower Inn’s Butterfly, Tots, Forget-Me-Nots program is superb! I wrote a review and posted pictures at TripAdvisor, so go see what I had to say there.

The high of the trip was… well, actually there were a lot of great moments, but I think my favorite was just chilling in the hot tub. But I also liked hiking up Burke Mountain with him, the look on Doodles’s face when Adam and I rode by on horses, watching Sweetie light up at the other kids, the way Doodles was so into the tennis and air hockey and animals and cookies….

The low of the trip: As part of the program, we had a silly songs concert. The singer, Steve Lindholm, did a cute bit where he had all the kids throw imaginary balls around the room and he caught them and tied them up in a paper bag. He gave everyone a paper bag filled with his or her imaginary ball in it. We brought Doodles’s imaginary ball back to the room. Doodles wanted to play with it, so I handed it to him. “I want a bigger imaginary ball,” he said. So I cupped my hands wide and handed him a bigger imaginary ball. That’s when the melt-down began. “No! No! I want the other imaginary ball! I want the other imaginary ball!”

I ran the Covered Bridges Half Marathon on our vacation. First let me say, the name is somewhat of a misnomer. We ran over exactly one covered bridge. However we did pass another and regardless the scenery was absolutely stunning. What an amazing half. It’s quite difficult to get into the race–they open registration in December and it generally fills the same day. I had Adam get online first thing in the morning to secure my spot.

I ended up running about 90 percent of the race with friends, which made it just fly by. At about mile 10 1/2, though, it started being not so fun. That always happens. I’m digging the race, in a zone, psyched just to be running. And then at some point, I realize, “Hey, I’m tired. I’m ready to be done.” And then I just want the race to be over, which kind of works in my favor because it force me to kick it to get the race over with faster.

Which leads me to my time. A personal half marathon record for me! My net time was 2:04:17 for a pace of 9:29 minutes a mile! Whoo hoo! Now it has me thinking, “Could I break the two hour half marathon?”

Anyway, we returned from a week’s vacation with me kicking and screaming and not wanting to come home to, well, real life. I said to Adam, “Now what? Now what do I have to look forward to? We have no more trips planned.”

Ah, but sometimes the gods work in your favor. And when I came home and downloaded my zillion e-mails, there it was: “Countdown to the start of the race of your life, November 5, 2006: 150 Days. Congratulations! You’re in for the experience of a lifetime, the ING New York City Marathon 2006!” It’s my do-over! I got a lottery spot in the NYC marathon!

It’s completely rejuvenated me. And I’m really far ahead in my training this time around–already up to 15 mile long runs. I see a great race in my future. Anyone else out there doing it?

“Marathoning is like cutting yourself unexpectedly. You dip into the pain so gradually that the damage is done before you are aware of it. Unfortunately, when the awareness comes, it is excruciating.” — John Farrington, Australian marathoner

I guess I dig the pain.

I’ve been f*cking with Louise. I just can’t help myself. I don’t know if it’s the snooty British accent or just her absolute certainty but I dig messing with Louise’s mind.

Which would be logical if Louise had a mind. But really, if I say I’m f*cking with a computer chip, then I’m the one who sounds like a moron.

Adam bought a GPS. And we used it on our trip. Only for some reason, Adam’s GPS has the voice of a British woman named Louise. Sometimes Louise knows what she’s talking about, like when we were supposed to meet friends for dinner in New Hampshire, only a car accident prevented us from going the way our Google Map told us. Then she navigated us quickly and clearly via another route. But on our way home, she seemed to think our house is on a different block and had we not known better, we would have been unpacking in some stranger’s living room.

I like to purposely go in a different direction from what Louise orders. I know this speaks buckets about me and my personality, but I’m not going to even touch that. When Louise says, “Go right,” I can’t help but turn left. The entire drive home, I had Louise on for the sole purpose of not doing what she told me. I’d drive off her little map, and at first she would say, “In 200 yards, make a u-turn,” but when I consistently ignored her, she’d have to recalculate her little map to accommodate my whims. Is that power or what?

What would have been really cool, though, is if when you went the wrong way, Louise called you on it in that clipped English voice. “Did you not hear me? I said take that last exit? You nincompoop! You’ve missed your turn again! Hey, idiot, are you listening to me?”

But she doesn’t. She just eagerly complies. What a nincompoop.