Nonfiction Nagging- Maybe Baby

I'm almost twenty-eight, have been married for almost three years, live in house with a few extra bedrooms, have a good job, appear to tolerate children, and have the opportunity to travel some in the past few years. On paper, I'm a perfect candidate for motherhood.

I'm almost twenty-eight, love going to dinner at nine-o-clock at night with my husband, live in a house that I insists stay clean, have a tiring job, frequently visualize myself yelling at crying kids in stores, and want to travel to South America and Europe sooner rather than later. Candidacy revoked.

Caught up in this whole "my thirties are approaching" conundrum I did what I do best for advice- I turned to books. Maybe Baby, a collection of personal accounts by twenty-eight writers, details the decisions people have made in regards to becoming parents. The ratio is definitely far from even- six opposed, seven unsure, and fifteen who have taken the plunge. I suppose the lack of balance is realistic, as making a conscious decision to abstain from raising childhood isn't as common as the alternative.

The essays were quite interesting, and I have to admit I often found myself wholeheartedly agreeing with those who have decided to not reproduce. Like so many of the writers, I enjoy my life without children. On a recent drive home from a night out with friends it occurred to me how hard it would be to enjoy these sort of spontaneous outings with a baby at home. I'd have to schedule a sitter, write out pages of instructions, and pray nothing went wrong. And, let's face it: the dogs are hard enough to deal with hung over. The writers list the financial advantages of not having kids (I love the point one made about pinching pennies so "someone else" could go to college) and the research that has shown that having children can take a serious toll on your marriage. Not to mention the fact that kids are loud, full of germs, and enjoy annoying toys. And, more seriously, they can come with or develop serious diseases, be kidnapped, morph into the unibomber ("oh my kid would never do that" mothers around the world claim), or even die. And I'd do this by choice?

Those on the "other" side told tales of how they were pregnant accidentally, had sick children that live, and had trouble conceiving. Many discussed their hesitancy to become parents and how happy they decided to be. They mention love, happiness, and energetic infants. They claim parenting is a fight worth partaking in and how the struggle is worth it. They don't sugar coat pregnancy or child-rearing, but they're obviously all pleased with what sprung forth from their loins.

An important question that I think underlies so many of these stories is that of why people feel the need to have babies. Those that discuss their decisions to have children claim that there wasn't really an urge, seeming to at least partially attribute their lack of interest to biology. Those that do seem to just know. I suppose there is definitely a innate, Darwinian sort of aspect to having kids- our bloodlines and race must survive. I'm sure there are other reasons, anywhere from wanting to give someone a better opportunity at life, needing to "feel complete," wanting something meaningful to focus on, or needing something to love.

I've always assumed that I'd want kids- coming from a large family it just seems to be what everyone does. Yet as the "time" approaches it's a little bit of a harder pill to swallow. I worked very hard through high school, college, and the first few years of teaching and am now at a point where I'm a little selfish. I get irritated when people screw around with my schedule or mess with my things. I'm very self-sufficient and I expect everyone else around me to be (last I checked babies aren't even capable of changing their own clothes, let alone folding them).

On the other hand, I know that when I'm forty-five or fifty I'll regret it if I never had kids (although I may be regretting it from a villa overlooking the Mediterranean while I'm enjoying some wine and cheese in Greece). With a few exceptions, I've always been a baby person- growing up I babysat constantly, was the baby-holder at gatherings, and I have to admit to frequently stopping the teen-moms pushing their babies in strollers at work for a peek. And at Target and other stores my eyes do linger over the cute little doll-size dresses on display. But then I start thinking of how quickly they grow and need new clothes. Or how they poop on everything and stain up all their clothes.

I know some of you reading are parents and are either secretly agreeing or are slamming your desk because I just don't "get how wonderful motherhood really is." The best posts are the most controversial! I highly recommend this book to anyone "on the fence," or needing an audience to validate the decisions they've already made. It won't push you either way, but, as we can all see from this long diatribe, it will make you carefully consider where you're at on the subject.

So, basically, from the way I see it, my dogs need to learn how to change diapers and breastfeed.

The Narcisstic Hypocrite

I'm in love with Tecumseh Sparrow Spivet.

The irony/hypocrisy of this post is that it follows one I recently wrote about it not being necessary to love the main character of the book you reading.

And it gets worse- I like him because he is so much like me. So, basically, I'm a narcissistic hypocrite. Wow, look at everyone jumping at the chance to be friends with me.

I'm about 55 pages into The Selected Works of TS Spivet by Reif Larsen and I'm infatuated with the main character, twelve-year-old TS. He's a child genius (see, I told you he was like me) who creates amazingly detailed, accurate drawings of various scientific subjects ranging from insects to facial expressions, as well as maps. His mentor submits his work to The Smithsonian under the guise that he is an adult, leading to problems when they honor him with a prestigious award. As of now, where I'm currently at, TS declines, but I have a feeling this changes.

I think the reason why I feel such a connection with this character is because he's got a lot of strange quirks that other people don't necessarily understand. He draws his cartography tools on the walls so he knows where they go after he uses them. He calculates routes from the porch to the phone in his head in order to determine what is fastest and what is the best exercise. He fantasizes about the secret world located in the long grass on his farm. He's creating a map of a novel. He can talk about random things (two animals fighting in four feet of water) for hours.

I usually feel the same feelings towards characters as I do towards people in real life- skepticism and caution. I quietly scope out the scene, waiting awhile to take the risk to connect, and then decide if it's worth the time and energy. But, as in reality, there are definitely exceptions- TS Spivet is definitely one of these. We'll see how the rest of the novel goes.

Together We Can Make a Difference

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I'm here to talk to you today about a serious problem that plagues millions of people, and their loved ones, every year. It's an addiction that causes denial and shame, although sometimes delusions of grandeur. It's important, it's timely, and it's something people are afraid to talk about. It's the overuse of punctuation that allows asides (namely parentheses and commas). And as a long-time sufferer I'm prepared to break the ice today. It's time to take charge and break the cycle.

I think it stems from a deep-rooted problem that doctors call "Randomitis." There have been countless charity runs, penny drives, and benefit dinners, but researchers have yet to determine the cause or a cure. Its major symptom? The need to constantly insert information that is off topic, additional, or just plain off in right-fucking-field.

Most victims try to hide the tell-tale markers in public. They spend so much time during the day focusing on relevant subjects that when they get home their loved ones are subjected to a barrage of randomness (or, in some cases, their blog-readers). Sometimes they post things on Facebook, for example "I think marsupials are neat" or they may text their husbands "I really feel like funnel cake" for no obvious reason at all.

The initial diagnoses frequently comes from a writing sample. Skilled professionals watch for the tell-tale signs of Randomitis by searching for the punctuation marks mentioned before: commas and parentheses (please note that commas used for lists or for the insertion of a conjunction are not considered a symptom, nor are parentheses used for citation purposes). They determine whether the asides are necessary, on topic, and frequent through a complex scoring rubric that I'll spare you the details of. After the initial consultation, a diagnosis (Randomitis Stage I, II or III) is issued, and a treatment regimen created. Generally, this includes a cap on the amount of asides allowed per page, shock collars for verbal offenses, and, in the most severe cases, severing the corpus collusum (since everyone knows that parentheses and commas travel across it during the episodes of neuro-instablity that cause Randomitis).

What does the future hold for those of us who experience overuse of randomness-derived parentheses and commas? Time will only tell. So keep on walking those 5ks, buying tickets for mediocre black tie dinners, and bidding on weird flower arrangements at auctions, because together we can make a difference.

September Reviews- Bastard Alert

I have seventeen billion excuses as to why I only read one book this month.

One.

Damn.

Crap.

Pathetic.

And it was a kid's book.

I am so, so very ashamed.

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And now I'm over it. At least it was a good one:

Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick
630 Pages

Many of you may be familiar with Selznick's first children's novel, The Invention of Hugo Cabret- this one was almost as good in respect to story, but better in regards to artwork. Two parallel stories run between the expressive, intricate sketches and the text, eventually merging at the end. The main character Ben, is a young boy whose mom has recently passed away and doesn't know who his dad is (bastard!). Already hard of hearing in one ear, the poor kid becomes fully deaf after a freak accident. He decides to venture to New York City to find his dad, based on a few clues he's managed to rummage up in his mom's old belongings. And thus, adventure ensues. A quick read (don't be put off by the 600+ page count, it's almost half art) that is really what kids should be reading. Even if the main character is a bastard.

If I was a good blogger I'd mention the book was free as an advanced copy through Amazon Vine.

So next month I'll be making up for this and reading ten books. Yup. Sure.

Books on Your Back- Better Late Than Never

Tardiness is one of my biggest pet peeves, more so when I'm the one that's behind. While this is rare, it's happened for the third time in my life- in the craziness/goodness that is life right now, I totally dropped the ball on Banned Books Week. I knew it was going on, mentioned it to my students, but I failed to put on my party hat and write a corresponding post. Oopsies. Here's last year's, and a shirt to commemorate 2011's from Cafe Press: