Stanley Fish is My Hero

From the man who brought us Reader Response Theory comes some really useful advice: Save The World on Your Own Time! And Good Lord, do I hope it catches on! At the very least, it should cause a stir. I have not had time to blog around to see what others are saying. This hat tip goes to my husband, who referred me to a blog he frequents, Instapundit, and here's the quote:

STANLEY FISH'S ADVICE TO PROFESSORS: Save the World on Your Own Time.

More on that here. "Whether anyone notices it or not or comments on it or not, the teaching of writing in universities is a disaster. [There is] the conviction on the part of many composition teachers that what they are really teaching is some form of social justice, and that the teaching of writing ... takes a back seat. And in fact in many classrooms the teaching of writing as a craft as something that has rules with appropriate decorums ... is in fact demonized as an indication of the hegemony of the powers that be. This happens over and over again in classrooms and it’s an absolute disaster."

Can I just say thank you?? I have been skeptical of professors' agendas since I was an undergrad, but since I was an undergrad when Clinton was pres. and at a university where no one really cared anymore, I was spared the more overtly political preaching. There was no Ph.D. program, either, so I didn't have activist grad student types (sorry, guys, you know they're out there) telling me what to think. And I've been the fly on the wall for too many "reprogram the Conservative Christian Students" conversations to dismiss the activism as myth. And I'm not just talking about the current generation of Ph.D.s in the department, most of whom I don't know. This stuff has been bantered about since I got here, and got worse when the fear of 9/11 wore off and after Bush won reelection. Perhaps the only thing that would come of a democratic victory would be that we could go back to teaching literature and composition and back off of the politics. (I don't believe this for one minute, btw.) Now, I do think that there can be a political dimension to literary criticism, but it's being hit a little hard, ya know?

Now Stanley Fish has in the past drawn a skeptical response from me, as he seems, elsewhere, to advocate the "anything goes" method of teaching literature, and I have never seen the use for that. It seems to me that we must have the text as a common ground, and even if we can't refer back to the author, we should at least be able to refer back to the text and assume that multiple readers, while each bringing something else to the table, can still agree on the essential elements of that text. The text, for me, does not exist somewhere "out there"--discourse surrounding the text and about the text exists "out there," but that's different; rather, it exists in the book in front of us. However, Fish posited (a while ago, this is old news) that it is the reader's engagement with the text, including what the reader brings from his/her own background, that creates a separate thing, the "text" that is the result of a collaboration between the reader and the author. I don't buy it. And I'm not alone, but it was all the rage for a while--before my time. I think the idea was to liberate something from something--the text from critics, the author from biography, the students from professors.

So as a guy who wants to liberate, and transfers this to the classroom, the advice seems odd, no? Except that he remains the champion of the student, in a way. Why do we have to steamroll their opinions and values--all that they bring to the table? Why should we automatically assume that we are the enlightened ones in all matters--including individual values/beliefs? When we alter their ways of thinking, must we alter their consciences? At any rate, Fish has tapped into exactly why I don't want to go into Rhetoric/Comp, although I'm technically qualified and have been groomed for it, more or less. I don't want to hang around these guys and be subjected to the enlightened assumption that everyone does or should agree with their views of the world. And--by the way--teach from their textbooks. If the meaning of a literary text depends on the reader, and if the professor should keep that in mind, then how much more should we stay out of their responses to politics, since that's not what we're called upon to teach?

[Of course, I am coming at this from a very different perspective from Mr. Fish, who scorns neoconservative blah blah blah, etc. and really thinks this king of thing only happens a small percentage of the time. But if that's so, why can't I find a decent composition text?]

Catching Up (sort of)

Well, it's been a busy (hectic, stressful) couple of weeks, but also good, and somewhat productive. I have managed to complete almost all of the necessary paperwork to graduate in August, order regalia (or at least reserve the rental), submit the dissertation, etc. I have been going to research in the archives library every Saturday to work on a research project for which I received an award for the summer. I have also managed to spend my way pretty well through that grant, mainly on basics and incidentals, so this month will be tricky. I did buy a few nice things on sale this past week so I could look nice teaching--did I mention that that starts today?? Potty training has been going well, and my Doodle is even able to use the bathroom in public, so long as she doesn't touch the seat (better for her anyway, really. . .) She starts child care ("school"?) 3x a week this week, and I hope she does well. She likes the classroom--we visited yesterday. The lead teacher is an older woman who is nice, but seems out of touch--particularly out-of-touch with potty training issues, which is bad. She was also a little pedantic in her dealings with Doodle yesterday--I have some vague apprehensions that my little girl will not be seen for what she is--spirited and very intelligent--but will be regarded as willful and defiant. We'll see. . . I clearly need to forget my fears and hope for the best, here. After all, a 10 minute meeting doesn't reveal all, right?

My mom was in town last week (and part of this week) with my youngest brother. That is always a delight and a challenge, but there's too much to be said about that, really. My youngest brother is very unique in many ways and being with him is always an experience unto itself. We had some good times this week. My mom was able to treat us to pizza, and we made taco salads. I met my mom & sister at the mall one day, which was when I bought my teaching outfits. My mom even bought me 2 shirts! I can't tell you how long it's been since she did that--or was even able to do that! She has been awarded some money, and all she can think about is what she can do for us--her children. Which makes me feel bad in a way.

She bought me a new sewing machine!! A shop in New Orleans was going out of business, and he marked down all of his Elna sewing machines. She bought herself a good machine, a backup machine, and a serger (Did I mention that she's a seamstress? She's also doing alterations these days. She makes a mean slipcover & pillows & roman shades, too!). Then she bought me a more basic model--which is just what I wanted!! It's wonderful. Basic for her, but with many more features than my hundred-dollar on-sale-at-Target model (keep in mind that Target does not sell patterns, fabric, thread. . .). It was one of those things that I looked at, thought about, but never would have bought for myself, and so is greatly appreciated. I did manage to make another blanket using the new machine, for a little boy whose first birthday was over the weekend:



One day early last week, we made buttonholes!! It does so automatically, or just about. YAY!! That was one of the things I feared the most! So now, although I have a MILLION things I would like to sew, including a three-tiered "chicken dress" for my Doodle, I have to put it aside indefinitely.

I'm not sure how much blogging I will be able to do, either. I learned during Lent that I get more done if I put the blog away. *sigh* I have a couple of posts in the works for my other blog, Booknotes from Literacy-chic, that will cover my research and perhaps some teaching ideas, too. Hope to see you there! (If I can catch up & keep up!!)

As a 1930s Wife, I'm. . .

49 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

I'm surprised I did this well, actually. . . In this area, I aspire to "average"! Heck, I aspire to "barely passable" in some of these categories!!

The test felt biased as I was taking it, as if it were trying to make some kind of feminist point while being cute. But really, I'm not so sure it isn't sort of accurate. At any rate, I can't complain. What do you think (all of you)? How did you score? There's a test for husbands, too, incidently. . .

New Post, Other Blog

At Booknotes from Literacy-chic: I've actually posted something!! Amazing! I'm also trying this out to see if the trackback feature really works. . .

Speaking of Body Spray. . . [This post is rated PG-13]

Why take a bath if you can use Axe and get laid? My husband got the most offensive postcard ad that I think I've ever seen for Axe Body Spray. I don't even like to think of the implications--of what KIND of body smell you're trying to cover up before you *ahem* "make your move." The interesting thing about Axe is that my husband says the name, for him, evokes wild Norsemen (not "perfumed parlorsnakes"--or prettyboys). Well, they made their move, too. Not too consensual, you know?

Here is some of the rhetoric:

--"Act fast--Don't let opportunity pass you by."

--"Make a move. . . In record time."

--"Now, you'll never miss an opportunity."

--"Keeping these items [Axe body spray, Stride gum] in your pocket will make sure you're always prepared for a spontaneous hook-up." [ED: The safe-sex crowd must love that, too!]

Apparently, Axe has a new "bullet" size. Funny, there's a vibrator and a blender that also share that name.

Don't send ads for casual sex to my home, please. I have an 11-year-old boy, thanks. I know I live in an apartment complex in a college town but you know, I would prefer if you didn't send ads for casual sex to the apartments around me, either. I already worry about living with children in a complex when more than a few couples are "shacking up." *sigh* To think we moved here to be in a better school district.

Grumpiest Momma in the World

-or- Why Doesn't Lysol Make a Body Spray??

I have been babysitting a friend's children, ages 3, 5, and 13 mos. on Monday and Tuesday while she teaches, from about 9:15 to 11:45 A.M. I alternate between feeling like this is a real challenge, and that it is pretty cool. I have those "losing my mind" moments. My days of watching 5-7 children at one time are long gone, and while none of the children were mine (they were cousins and siblings), they were known entities, and I was familiar with the dynamic between them all. There is a difference watching non-related children! On the other hand, it is really not difficult, just busy, and there is something vaguely comforting to know that there are kids all over one's house playing.

So on Tuesday, she proposed lunch. Now, I was raised by a mother who avoided playplaces like the plague. In fact, she avoided them in part because of the plague. And if we ever did venture into places like Chuck-e-Cheese's, she knew that (although the kids were certain to get sick afterward) at least I was there to make sure they weren't lost or trampled. So I am a total germophobe. I am deeply suspicious of other children--ones whose parents I don't know. And I am not thrilled with play area precipices and climbing walls and giant tubes that swallow up toddlers. I can't do like so many parents and "let the kids play," particularly when I don't know the kids in question. So I end up watching my own child and monitoring every body else's. This makes for a very stressed momma. I don't think my son went on public play equipment until he was 6. I may exaggerate, but not much.

Now, my friend is very laid-back with this sort of thing. Because of her, I have taken Doodle to a "splash park" (for a birthday party)--unfortunately, my friend's mother will forever think of me as "the one with the little girl who ran and ran and it took three of them to keep track of her." I have taken Doodle to a children's museum with my friend, who laughed while I trailed my too-young-for-most activities toddler. I have taken Doodle to an egg hunt with other kids AND let her play on playground equipment. And, finally, I have taken her to McDonald's. *sigh* It is because of this friend that "fry" was among Doodle's first words!! It's a good influence, in a way. I have been venturing to parks (especially sparsely populated ones) with my three lately, and I am not sooooo paranoid. . . But I still find these situations incredibly stressful.

So we went to McDonald's. With a HUUUUUGE play area. And, as my husband points out, those things really aren't cleaned. At least with outside equipment, the sun is beating down on them, and rain, and some germs are cleaned off. Gee, thanks, hon. Have I mentioned that he & I think a lot alike? ;)

This McD's is newer (hence, cleaner) than some. It has separate (though not divided) areas for ages 3 and under and for bigger kids. When we got there, after eating, the place was positively overrun, and yet many kids had left while we were eating (!!). Being with someone else means that you can't turn tail and run, however, unless the other person shares your particular brand of paranoia.

The first thing I did--before putting down the baby in the carseat--was run the 7-13 year olds (who were using it for "base"--and that means "recipe for rowdiness") off of the toddler area. I asked them, "How old are you? Then leave this part for the smaller kids!" I asked on little boy of 6 or 7, "Are you 3 years old? No? Then go play over there!" People thought I was insane, but no one could argue. A parent or two came over to see what the crazy lady was up too, and why she didn't leave the other kids alone. After surveying the situation, they instructed the older ones to keep to the other area. Then, I just had to make sure no one ran UP the toddler slide, careening into descending toddlers.

A few little girls were being more calm, so I relaxed my vigilance, although they were older. They took an interest in the toddlers and set up "house" on the toddler side. One took Doodle for a "walk" to an area where a video game had once been, and I followed (and was advised by other mothers that there was no outlet there--yeah, but some little girl has my toddler by the hand!!) I had to interfere with the game (predictably, perhaps) when "house" became a bit too aggressive. Seems they had to prevent her from going down the slide as "discipline" because she wouldn't listen to them. I set them straight. Fast. "Ummm, no. She's my little girl and she doesn't have to listen to you. She is too young for this kind of game. Move aside so she can slide." I was always the playground crusader for justice--the "we don't have to play your game if it involves paying money to go down the slide" kind of kid. Yeah, the stick-in-the-mud.

I did fuss at a boy of about 13 who had been playing rowdy and bounded onto the toddler set, but he was going to check on his little sister of about 18 months. So I said I was sorry, and felt a bit foolish, but when we got there, he was one of the ones I had to kick off.

The moment I relaxed my vigilance and talked to another mother, Doodle either escaped to the "big" side, or little girls "grounded" her. But she had a good time (and had her clothes changed and was wiped down with Baby Magic before her nap) and only my son was conscious of his mother's hyper-attentiveness (which she has imparted successfully to him, but more so. . .) You've never seen an 11-year-old so disapproving. Except me. But I'm trying to encourage him to have fun and leave the worrying to me! And maybe worry less myself in the process. Or not. . . There are definite benefits to keeping an eye one's children in public spaces.

Remembering my Grandfather

He would have been 83 years old today. He died from complications following a heart attack a week after my brother, whose birthday is June 5th, was born--in 1994, after being in the hospital since my birthday for almost 6 months. I was in my first year of college. He bought me a $50 French dictionary while in the hospital. I was taking French, which he, like my grandmother, spoke fluently from childhood. I had a particularly distinguished and knowledgeable professor--older, I think, than my grandfather--who gave me a recommendation (at my grandfather's request) for a good unabridged French dictionary. A friend found it at the Yale bookstore (in the days shortly before Amazon.com), and though unable to speak for the tubes, he wrote that she should buy two.

I visited him once in the hospital. I went to read to him from Fitzgerald's translation of The Odyssey, which I had read recently. I was overwhelmed, and had to leave as I grew cold and developed the tunnel-vision that I understand precedes fainting. I promised to return but never had another opportunity to visit.

We shared a love of learning and of books. As the oldest of his grandchildren, he would talk to me about ideas. He admired the Southern Agrarian writers, and found T. S. Eliot because of writers like Alan Tate and Cleanth Brooks. I would learn more about two of these authors after his death. I believe he would have liked to talk with me about Modernism. I believe that he is proud that I will be graduating with a Ph.D. in August. He would have liked to read my dissertation, I think. And though he may not have approved of some of my actions along the way, he would be--is, perhaps--proud of where I am now, with my husband and my children.

He was an important influence on my conversion, albeit posthumously. When I was in high school, he showed me a book that surprised me--about Catholic teaching on sexuality--and told me that he would give it to me to read when I was ready. Unfortunately, I have never read the book, which is packed away now in the house my uncle built for my grandmother after he died so that she would be closer to the family. She is no longer able to live there. If I knew which book it was, I would like to read it now. I remember his desire for me to have that perspective, and, knowing so much more about it now, I have so many questions about that book. I have not thought about it in years.

After he died, years after and for years after, I had dreams--that he was still alive, that he had not really been dead, that he recovered from his illness. I still have dreams about him sometimes. I believe that in some ways I was closer to him intellectually and in temperament than any of his family, at least in the latter years. In more than one of the dreams, he urged me to convert to Catholicism. It sounds irrational to say that those dreams influenced me, but they did. Besides my grandmother, I am probably the only family member who offers prayers for him, and then not as diligently as I should. Perhaps he knew that I would one day offer prayers for him.

So many answers are lost to me now. I wonder so much about his faith. I remember that he would receive brochures from Thomas Aquinas College. Had I graduated more conventionally instead of early, he might have had me apply there, though I was skeptical of not being able to major in English. He had volumes of classic texts that he would buy from what I believe was a small Catholic press. I have no idea, now, what the press was. I remember that the endpapers were designed with their repeating insignia, but as it had no significance to me then, I can't recall whether it was a symbol of Catholic significance. I believe it was.

If he went to Mass when I would have been old enough to remember, I can't say. I think he was among those disappointed by the changes following Vatican II. He was certainly disenchanted with the local Archbishop and the administration of the Archdiocese. He had no visible signs of his faith that I can pin down, unlike my grandmother, who had her rosary--and should still. I will hold in my heart always my image of her, sitting on her porch with her rosary, waiting in case my mom and I were able to visit her with my Doodle, but thinking that it was too late for us to come. I have wondered if he received Last Rites. I hope so. I believe my grandmother would have seen to it. I was disappointed for his sake that his funeral, sadly presided over by a painfully nontraditional priest. My aunt, Hispanic Catholic-turned-Protestant-Evangelical (off & on), liked the service. She felt that the funeral was for the survivors rather than the deceased. I think that a traditional Catholic funeral would have healed many of us more effectively. . . Certainly, it would have moved me closer to the Church sooner.

I have so many memories that I can't contain them all here. I remember as a very small child, I would always tell him "bonsoir" as I was leaving his house. It was the special word that I associated with him. I remember his stubbly cheek, and the smell of red wine on his breath in the evening. I remember running as a child of 5 or 6 to bring him a Budwieser from the old fridge on the "next door" side of the shotgun double when he came home from work. I remember his retirement party when I was in 5th grade--a year younger than my son is now. How he would sit on his porch swing on the back porch. How he hated the squirrels who ate the cypress balls and caused the sticky cypress mess to fall on the bricks of the backyard. I was recently reminded of this by some responses to this post about Darwin's lost tomato. My grandmother would tie homemade "sacks" around the figs in her fig tree to keep the birds from getting them before they were ripe; my grandfather would shoot the squirrels with a b-b gun to keep them out of the cypress tree.

I wrote this poem as an undergraduate in response to his death:

In the Garden of the House
on Dublin Street

Monet never painted one like this:
How the colors follow no pattern.

How within the chaos each leaf has
Its discernable place, and therefore

No one is very surprised to see
The cypress tree that is their brother;

Not surprised by the year, chipped in stone.
This garden swallows the dead. I know

When my grandfather died, he became
A porch swing, wooden, or an oak, life.

How life is dull, while death and still-life
Are colored alive, like the flowers.

How he never painted brown swallows
Dying on stone fences in gardens.

He had seven children, six of whom survive. He has 13 grandchildren, 10 of whom he knew, and 3 great-grandchildren who were not fortunate enough to meet him. He is strong in many of us. My siblings and I--all except one--inherit his eyes. My Doodle inherits more than that. She favors that side of my family, perhaps more than I do. I inherit his fear of death--especially, of a painful or lingering death, which is exactly what he had. I hope to be able to greet him one day. I pray that we will be reunited. When I was younger, growing up without a grounding in formal Catholicism, I was convinced that relatives who had died before I was born, specifically, my grandfather's parents and my mother's older brother, were looking down on my actions, taking an interest in or being proud of me. I wonder how I had a sense of the Communion of Saints--it was not something I learned from the Protestant churches I had attended. I never imagined that they had become "angels," as popular culture would have it, and I did "pray" to them in a way. I hope that he is looking down on me, on my children, and on all of my family. When I pray for the souls in Purgatory, I pray for his especially. If you could, please offer a prayer for him for his birthday, so close to the anniversary of his death.

Politicians and Morality

I like to say that I consider "personal integrity" important in a candidate. By that, I mean accepting the consequences of one's affiliations, words, and actions--standing clearly for something and sticking with it, or else being able to admit when one realizes that one is wrong, has been proven wrong, or discovered to be wrong. Now, this is not to be confused with morality. I can respect a candidate's personal integrity while considering his or her morality suspect. However, I consider that to be a separate issue. And if I feel that a candidate is suspect morally, but has personal integrity, well, the next question is in what areas the suspect morality comes into play, and how it will affect his or her execution of duties and things like national security. I don't expect any candidate to be spotless morally. I might expect his or her moral weaknesses to exist outside of the realm of public duties, but that's different. I think there are differences of scale when it comes to politicians' moral transgressions even when it becomes public. I don't necessarily think that every politician who cheats on his wife and is found out should automatically resign, though 'fessing up and accounting for oneself and taking responsibility for actions are on the menu, and the higher up one gets in government the more accountability I require. Illegal actions are another matter. Actions that interfere with one's execution of office are another matter. Actions that undermine the integrity of the government in power need close examination. Now, "morally suspect" and "morally abhorrent" are different things entirely. Even if there is some measure of personal integrity, I can not support someone whom I find morally abhorrent. I wouldn't like it, but I would support someone morally suspect with little personal integrity to keep out someone morally abhorrent. So yeah, I'd take John Kerry over Obama.*

*Though I do hold politicians who publicly declare themselves to be Catholics and imply their full Communion with the Church to a different standard. But you know, there are enough people out there to point out the wrongs of their behavior. On what grounds do you criticize someone who will claim no distinct belief?

Potty Training Questions--and Some Tentative Answers

In response my plea for potty training advice and encouragement, here, which refers back to my potty training despair post, here, Lilybug and Melanie have raised some interesting questions about readiness. Lilybug has been contemplating potty training Lilybaby and observing the much invoked "signs of readiness," while Melanie asks:

"How do you know when your child is ready? What are good books to read? Should I even be worrying about this now or should I just wait and see?"

Well, I've never been one for reading lots of parenting books. I just kind of "wing it"!--you know, like teaching. ;) Actually, I've always had a lot of parenting advice courtesy of my mom, and having seen her in action, I have trusted her advice. So I can't recommend any books on potty training. It went off without a hitch with my son--and that was a long time ago, so I don't really remember the details. Having said this, I have heard potty lore, and I guess I've stubbornly decided not to try the quick & easy gimmicks of potty training.

I still think I'm a decent gauge of readiness. Readiness for me means

1) They show a conscious awareness of bodily functions
2) They are reasonably capable of communicating the need to use the bathroom
3) They show an inclination to use the bathroom.

The only one I question is that last one. Why, you might ask? Because an inclination to use the bathroom is maybe not developmental. Especially if they can "regress" in the way I'm seeing. Surely, she is developmentally ready, since she was almost there. But she's not particularly inclined right now.

Forgetting for a moment my "not reading parenting books" policy, Doodle has made me issue a plea for parenting books in the past. Blog-friend Sarah R. lent me her "baby whisperer" books--which I am long overdue in returning (sorry!!). The books are sensible, readable, and amusing. Here are some tidbits about potty training from Secrets of the Baby Whisperer for Toddlers:

--"I don't believe in pushing little ones into doing anything their bodies aren't ready for them to do, but at the same time, we need to present opportunities for children to learn. Sadly, too many parents are confused between two issues: behavior that needs to be taught and natural progressions (developmental milestones that automatically happen)."

[insert helpful metaphors]

--"Physical readiness for toilet training depends partially on your child's sphincter muscles. [. . .] It was once believed that these muscles didn't mature until the ace of two, but research is now divided on the subject. In any case, training is both a matter of physical readiness and practice."

--"A three- or four-year-old whose parents keep waiting for him to come 'round on his own already has control over his sphincter muscles, but he might never show an interest in 'going potty' unless he's given the right kind of guidance, encouragement, and sufficient opportunities to learn."

--"You must be observant . . . so as to identify the best 'window' for starting potty training--when your child's body and mind are ready and yet before the inevitable child/parent power struggles begin. For most children, the optimal time to begin is between eighteen months and two years." [proceed to guidelines with helpful acronym]

I want to pause there for a moment. I have never heard it phrased quite like this. Especially this phrase, which means so much for me with Doodle: "before the inevitable child/parent power struggles begin." I've clearly covered THAT topic before. In short, I missed the optimal window. But that's because of other received wisdom on potty training. You've all heard it--don't potty train when there is some major upheaval, life or family event. So what was going on last summer, when Doodle was about 18 months? I was pregnant and we were moving. Common wisdom says don't potty train around a move or when a sibling is expected. Which was fine for me, because I was exhausted from pregnancy and teaching and didn't think I would be able to do it effectively. However, a few times last summer, she did use the bathroom. On her own. No prompting from us, only assistance. Hello!! Window of opportunity!! And in retrospect, the birth of a new sibling was not traumatic for her as I feared it would be. We might have had a bit of potty training regression, but how would that be different from now?? So I waited. First mistake. *sigh*

I don't know if this helps with the readiness questions. I'm not sure it would necessarily have helped me, clouded as I was with anxiety and pregnancy hormones. You know the cliche about hindsight.

So more from the "baby whisperer." Here is her Help-ful acronym (ha ha):

H--Hold back until you see signs that your child is ready [She explains the signs that the child is aware of the sensation of peeing, etc.]

E--Encourage your child to connect bodily functions with words and actions

L--Limit your child's time on the potty

P--Praise the Lord and pass the toilet paper! [She extols the virtue of silliness and parental encouragement.]

Now, most of these I have known, but it's helpful to be reminded. Apart from missing the readiness window that would have lessened the conflict of the process, I have gotten a bit weak in the "Praise" category. 'Cause you know, after a while, it's just not that exciting. And life intervenes with all of its frustrations, and the newly mobile infant is eating paper in the living room, and "YAAAAAAAY!!!" changes to "yay. now wipe," and well, what the heck is the point if Momma isn't excited, right? Then I started getting impatient with accidents, since she was already doing it and at some point it should become expected behavior, right? So the rewards system came to seem more like punishment, I guess. *sigh*

The baby whisperer further offers the "Four Ps of Potty Training": Potty (as in potty seat), Patience (which I am sorely lacking), Practice, and Presence ("sit with him and cheer him on"--I've been remiss on this one sometimes, too, and I just couldn't wait until she would take the initiative to go & try herself).

So where do we go now that I've botched 2 of the signs? Well, this morning, as she clung to the nighttime pullup, I rather unceremoniously ripped it off. To stop her indignant wails, I changed the subject, and we went to look for the Cinderella panties that I bought recently. (No, it's not the same as Disney princesses. Trust me. It's a matter of marketing.) She has a sing-along with the mice from Cinderella singing about fixing Cinderella's dress for her. So when we found the panties, we sang the song, and she went to the bathroom without a fight. We haven't repeated that success this morning, but no accidents either. She simply has never wanted to "go" before the point of crisis. At least, not for a while. Perhaps because for 1/2 of the time, her efforts were spoiled by bubble bath irritation. Perhaps because of sheer toddler stubbornness. My first was never so toddler-y.

To deal with the not wanting to stop & use the bathroom, Academama suggested a timer. I may have to try this. There should be some novelty & excitement to hearing the buzzer or chime and saying, "Potty time! Potty time!" Perhaps we can circumvent the stubbornness. M&Ms as rewards don't work for her. She'd just as soon do without them as submit to someone else's will. I just hope that the battles of wills that have already occurred won't have any lasting effects.

So these are some preliminary answers and my revised strategies. Any thoughts? I'll keep you posted. . .

A Post-Script

In all of this, I have been bothered by the rhetoric of potty-training, in which "the earlier the better" is the standard mentality. This usually has to do with the convenience of the parents, the expense of diapers, the convenience of the day care workers, and other things that are absolutely irrelevant to the toddler or his or her well-being. The other problem I have with this is that it sets expectations for the parent and the child, to which they are held accountable. I'd like to stop being such an over achiever and not let it bother me, but truth is, I'm judging both of us because of it, and that's the last thing we need right now. :( So I'll be working on that, too.

And Another. . .

Inspired by Jen, I decided to see what I was blogging about last year. On June 11, my post-ultrasound and post-move post contained the following observation:

Overall, now that the major part of the stress is behind me, I can declare, tentatively, that the move was a success. The baby is much freer and happier, albeit getting banged up from running around boxes. She goes to sleep much earlier because she exerts more energy during the day. We take occasional walks around the complex and have even gone swimming once. It is a bit hard to keep track of her sometimes, but she has some little designated play places and is exploring new (old) toys (courtesy of brother and aunts & uncles)--like dishes & Potato Heads. She is also expressing interest in potty training, but I don't know if I'm ready for that. . .

Yeah. Window of opportunity. Missed it.

Being More Direct. . .

. . .Than in my "woe is me" potty training post. . . Anyone have any similar experiences to share, tips, advice, encouragement? I'd love to hear from you. Really. Please. I know you're out there--I have Sitemeter!!

Utter and Complete Failure. . .

That's where we are with potty training. After 2 months. After Easter, things were going great. We were almost completely potty trained at the beginning--heck, in the MIDDLE of May! No pullups except at night, and then, they often stayed dry. Then, we had setbacks. First, the pullups stopped staying dry at night--no big deal. Then the nervousness about public toilets flushing turned to all-out terror. That transferred to fear of all toilets--at least, sitting on them with the water beneath. We have to put a potty-seat on the home toilet with the potty-chair insert inside of it. The fuuny thing is that she still likes to flush it herself. When the terror reached its peak, we lit a candle at church on a particularly difficult Sunday and realized later that day that most of the extreme difficulty had started when we switched bubble baths. And I even bought Burt's Bees!! All natural my foot--yeah, natural except for the perfume!! :( We took care of that, and she stopped fighting us. And then, she got sick. Toilet kind of sick. The kind you don't want to clean up so you put the pullups back on. It only lasted about 24 hours, but that seems to be enough. We have total and complete not-caring-if-we-wet-ourselves kind of regression. At least, today. Twice. She did make the effort a couple of times, but I'm still totally frustrated. At least we don't have the pressure of fall child care riding on this. Maybe I'll go petition St. Elizabeth Ann Seton.

And then have a beer.

My Tenuous Relationship with Alcohol

-or- The Post in which Literacy-chic Reveals Herself as a Complete Lightweight!
(so go easy on me, Darwin)

I was married with a child before I turned 21. This little fact cut in to my party days considerably, you might say, though I never missed the experience. Truthfully, I would never have had the opportunity living with my mother while going to college. Not that she objected to alcohol. I remember when I was a very young child, probably about 3 or 4, that she would always have a glass of Lancer's red wine. I would get tastes sometimes. I didn't like it as much as Lipton tea with milk. Around the same time, when it was just the two of us, my mom would often take me to the lakefront after school and sit by the levee eating Cheetos (which I always called "chee-wees" and she would drink a Heineken.

Beer was something different. I never liked it. But I was around it. When I would stay with my grandparents during the summer, or after school, or whenever, I would always bring my grandfather a cold Budweiser. It was a privilege. My grandfather always had a glass of red wine with dinner, and even made his own wine on occasion--dandelion, elderberry. . .

Alcoholics were a part of everyday life, though I never demonized alcohol because of it. One aunt's boyfriend, one uncle, probably my grandfather, my mother's second husband--his poison was Jack Daniels. One aunt was known to be less-than-sensible with alcohol, and another coped with high school with a bottle of vodka in her locker, but only drank wine to try to dull the pain of her immobilizing headaches by the time I was conscious of it all.

Although "tastes" were a-plenty in my family, I never really liked beer. When I was old enough to go to pubs and have others buy drinks for me (roughly 17), I came to like Guiness. I could actually handle a pint with little problem, and only a little tingly feeling in knees. I was never trusting enough of other people to let myself get more buzzed than that. When my husband and I were dating, I would sometimes try a new beer (sips--confidentially, I have rarely had a whole beer to myself). At this point, there are a few distinctive ones that I like, though I am much more the connoisseur of red wines--particularly Spanish reds ( I like Tempranillo and Garnacha) than beer. Recently, I have become enamored of a couple of brews--Blue Moon Belgian Ale is about the lightest I will go. I bought their summer brew last night--can't wait to try it. While their standard brew has orange citrus notes, the summer one has lime. I was also impressed lately by the Shiner Hefeweitzen, though I don't like their Boch. Shhhh! I could get kicked out of Texas for admitting that! I prefer Ziegen Boch, though I don't like it enough to buy a whole 6-pack. Confidentially, time was that a 6-pack would last 6 months in my fridge. We once had one in for so long that the whole thing turned to foam before we tried to drink it. Not so lately. . .

Now, that's not to say that they move quickly. Chiclette was baptized on March 1st. We just polished off the last of the 2 6-packs we bought that weekend--umm. . . yesterday. Pathetic, no? We've gone through a bottle or two of wine in that time, but that's used for cooking. And as wine goes, we've got a 7 year-old bottle of sweet Greek wine in the back of the fridge. Dessert wines are a bit different, though. Now, as for the Irish cream. I didn't drink it because I found out I was pregnant with Doodle--February of 2005. (I will do occasional wine when pregnant, but nothing more.) Does that stuff go bad? And my mom gave us a bottle of Champagne in December of the same year. I'm thinking of making a soup out of it.

Cooking with beer, I have found, is tricky. I tried to make a St. Lioba Beer & Mushroom soup from my Monastery Soups cookbook with a darkish beer that I would have LOVED to drink. Instead, the whole thing got flushed. It was bitter beyond belief. *shudder* I bet that Pumpkin Ale we got a few years ago (and kept for almost a year) would be good in a recipe!

In recent weeks, I have stepped up my beer and wine consumption--somewhat dramatically--to one (bottle or glass, respectively) every day or two. I wonder about this a bit. It also corresponds to a drastic increase in my coffee consumption. I drink the coffee in the morning to wake up--mentally & physically. In the evenings, I drink a glass of wine or have a beer to de-stress & unwind. Who needs yoga when you can foster a little chemical dependency? While I know this is still light-to-moderate, I wonder at myself a bit, more because of what it indicates about my mental state. On the other hand, if it works. . . *shrug*

When I start switching the times of the coffee and alcohol, then I'll worry.

Decisions, Decisions

I have been stressing about the child care issue for the fall. If you've been hanging around here, you know that I don't much like to have my babies in child care when they're little. I'm all about working with kids arounds--I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. But I'm also O.K. with having them in preschool programs when they're 3 & up. Two if I'm really pressed, and I did actually enroll my Doodle when she was almost a year, though I only kept her in for a day. Because I'm protective, germ-conscious, and not really very trusting. Go figure. So we decided that the fall would be a good time to start Doodle in preschool, and my son's old Montessori school would take Doodle in the 3-year-old class even though she won't be 3 until October, as long as she's potty trained. Well, that has been going pretty well, but it's a long, slow journey with lots of stops along the way. Most recently, after months of increasing success, she has become scared of flushing toilets--first in public bathrooms, then at home. We uncovered an irritation due to bubble bath that probably made things worse. Meanwhile, I have been getting increasingly frustrated--and the baby who has decided that sleeping is overrated is not helping (turns out there are teeth involved, and she probably needs more solids!). I've been feeling a lot of pressure about the potty training thing, in part because of the success-turned-failure aspect, but also because plans for the fall rest on potty training success. That's a lot of pressure to put on a toddler and her parents. Also, let's face it, I'm super-maniacally ambitious for my children, and what I see as realistic goals are not always realistic. *whew* Glad I got that out!! (Yeah, 'cause you didn't know that, right? Literacy-chic? Overambitious? Naaaaah. . .)

Meanwhile, I had two other issues. First: the summer. Because in July I'll be teaching every day. Then: the fact that the Montessori school wouldn't really accommodate my fall teaching schedule. In fact, it would be afternoons only, so it would actually make things worse, since I would literally have to kick the friend who would be watching the two girls out of the house after I taught so that I could bring Doodle to school. Besides that it would destroy nap time and make for a really weird schedule otherwise. All of this for Doodle-free office hours? Not worth it. Then, I've got the person I'll be working closely with in the fall making cracks about not getting involved in my schedule because it's too complicated (perhaps with a touch of disdain--not sure. . .). Yeah, try it from my end!!

I had considered sending her to my parish child development center, but they're the ones that didn't work out before. Too many things to go into, really, but all made me very uneasy. They have a new director now, and my main reservations had to do with the fact that Doodle, who will be 3 years in October, would be in the 2 year class to keep her in line with public schools. Now, I'm not particularly interested in what public schools do. I went to a private school when I was in K-1 so that I could circumvent those rules and start Kindergarten at 4, and I would not hesitate to do so for my children. In fact, I would love to do so for my children! But I don't know if I have to start just yet.

Doodle is a very intelligent child, which is making the toddler years particularly difficult. She resents all constraints on her activities. She is a good child, but stubborn, and spirited. Sensitive, but strong-minded. I was very different when I was a young child, but I can't help but see her as combining some of the more--umm--troublesome characteristics of myself and my husband! And yet she is empathetic and sweet and smart, kind and loving. She doesn't understand punishment. It hurts her feelings and accomplishes nothing. She has the endurance of the most stubborn of martyrs. It's incredible. She doesn't pitch the same kinds of tantrums that other toddlers pitch, she simply does not yield to anyone else's will. So while I think she would be fine in the 3-year-old class for a number of reasons, I'm not sure if she is ready in other respects.

You know, it goes against every fiber of my being to admit that I need a break from my strong-willed child--the one I worry about the most. I remind myself that my brother, whom I helped raise when he was her age--was much more difficult. But I think the fact is, it would be good for both of us for her to start school relatively soon. So I am going to start her in the parish's child development center in their summer program part time, and continue part-time in the fall. Next summer, I plan to be off (if I can distribute my 9-month salary over 12 months) so I can spend that time with my children full-time.

It's funny how a blog makes you confront your beliefs and practices. I am not wholeheartedly in favor of child care, especially for my young children. I don't like the idea that I need a "break" from my children. I am totally not on board with the idea that school can give them things that I can't. Yet there it is. What can school give her that I can't? Playtime. Not much else, but I just can't stand to watch a child outside. I hated it when I was young and I really have to be in the mood now that I'm a parent and obligated. Playgroups don't work for me because I can't sit back and let the kids play. It's not in my nature. Things happen on playgrounds. Don't those parents know that?? There are bugs and fire poles on playground equipment and other people's kids!! Oh, the humanity! But Doodle needs that. And I really need the girls to take naps at the same time so I can recover my sanity.

So my Doodle will be at school 3 days in July. Now, Chiclette is another matter. She's still small and roly and docile, with limited (but ever-increasing) mobility. So she'll get some mommy-only time, and sister can share germs with her when she gets home! *sigh*

Dollies, revisited

I've heard of it before, but I've never seen it. I'm not sure I entirely believed that children did it. Doodle breastfed her babydoll (named "Baby B. . .") this morning. Very seriously, very discretely, very affectionately, in a "house" (made from my cardboard cutting board) on a bed of pillows. :)

A New Blog

In my never-ending attempt to trick myself into working, I have created a new blog, Booknotes from Literacy-chic. Since some of what I will be writing on that blog is closely tied to my topics of scholarly research, I have decided not to make it Google-able, but I don't want it to be private, either. So it is listed with Blogger, but not with search engines, and it is completely and freely open to the public. Blogging and professional scholarship can be a tricky issue, but the blog will really represent my thoughts on what I'm reading--not ready-made research ideas, but notes. Here is part of the introductory post:

"Booknotes from Literacy-chic" will (hopefully) be a record of the various books I want to read in the coming weeks, months, even--who knows?--years, as I gather material for future scholarship and teaching. I don't promise reviews; this will be more "thoughts that occur to me" with a wrap-up when I finish the book. But if I'm posting thoughts on the book all along, it might keep me honest--you know, I might actually finish the book lest the blog be disappointed.

More of my "plans" for my first-reads follow. Hope some of you decide to stop by!

The Politics of Baby Dolls

I was thinking--why is it that little children sleep with baby dolls? Don't they know that sleeping with babies is dangerous? Pillows and covers and parental warmth & such increase the risk of suffocation, and we should take the baby dolls away from the little ones at bedtime so that they learn this important lesson about child care--after all, that's what playing with dollies is all about. Right?

I started thinking about this as my toddler, who has Christened her baby doll "Baby B. . ." (named for her sister), made a playhouse out of my cardboard cutting board and filled it with pillows, then snuggled down with "Baby B. . ." There is a lot of banter out there about children's toys and gender rolls. I didn't withhold baby dolls from my son, he just wasn't interested. And even for Doodle, Buzz Lightyear and Pokemon get equal time with the dollies, not to mention Legos and blocks. Am I an irresponsible academic parent if I admit that the issue doesn't interest me at all? That I played with Barbies and wasn't even remotely traumatized by it? That I want Barbie to have a big bust and small waist like she used to because she looks better that way? (Just don't get me started on Bratz and Disney Princesses--ugh!)

Anyway, I was thinking "Awwww, she must be thinking about how [Chiclette] sleeps with us sometimes!" But well, sleeping with baby dolls is pretty universal, no? It seems to give the same kind of comfort as a stuffed animal, according to the child's preference, regardless of the sleeping arrangements of the child's family, and no one really questions when a child plays with a stuffed animal. So should we accept that an anthropomorphic toy, identifiable with the most vulnerable stage of the species, offers equal comfort to a small child as a cuddly bunny rabbit? There is a case to be made that caring for the dolly is modeled behavior, possibly gendered, maybe socially conditioned--I can talk the talk, you know (also learned behavior). But what about cuddling? Is that learned or instinctual? Yes--the child learns to display affection based on the affection shown to him or her. But beyond that? What about the object that is chosen as suitable for cuddling? (Doodle's preferences change nightly, daily, hourly. . .)

Consider this: Children's preferences for toys to cuddle are impulsive, subject to a myriad of whims, learning opportunities and emotional variations that as adults we have left behind and so can't even begin to understand. Yet, children see the image of a baby as equally cuddly and comforting as, say, a puppy dog. And yet there are adults who would see no contradiction in considering a dog a more fitting, loving, desirable, and comforting companion than a baby. Might we learn something in this area from our children? That while we care for our children, and they depend on us, they are also a source of comfort for us. We hope in and because of them. We feel ourselves to be loved by them, and fulfill ourselves in loving them. The same could be said to apply to moms or dads, if the truth were known.

I'm sure by now everyone is aware of the unfortunate, horrific story out of Austria about the girl who was kept by her father in an underground bunker, repeatedly raped, abused, impregnated. Most of the emphasis has--rightly, I think--been on the inconceivable (to most) evil of the man's actions. But in all of the discussion and coverage, I was amazed at the strength of the woman, to have survived all of the abuse, in the most seemingly hopeless of circumstances. Why did she not give up? Why did she continue to exist? And how did she endure repeated pregnancies stemming from that abuse? Think of the two most oft-cited reasons for permitting abortion: rape and incest. Both present in this case. But we have no evidence that she resented her poor children--trapped in the dungeon-apartment as she was. I am certain that she had to have clung to a faith in God, first of all. But I also feel certain that her children were an unimaginable comfort--that she clung to them instinctively as the only source of love in her dark world.

When the Babies Decide LIfe is Too Boring. . .

--The infant hits the 6 month mark and wants to nurse every 45 minutes one day after only nursing 4 or 5 times the previous few days. . .

--The baby who slept through the night since she was WEEKS old decides to compete with the toddler who has almost ALWAYS joined Momma & Daddy by crying and wanting to nurse 2 or 3 times a night(!). . .

--The toddler, who was potty training admirably and treated every store as the potential locale for an exciting adventure to the bathroom has decided that her bottom can never touch a commercial toilet again--and arches her back and cries to support this theory (having just asked to use the bathroom). . .

*sigh*

Another Pro-Life Post

"The greatest act of evil was the murder of the second person of the Blessed Trinity. But this greatest act of evil wad turned to the greatest good."--Fr. Tom Euteneuer, president of Human Life International, in a homily on EWTN on the feast of St. Isadore, about the importance of the Cross to Christianity

It's been haunting me lately. It's always all around us--the problem, the "issue" of abortion. I want it to Go. Away. I'm weary, weary, weary of thinking about it. Worrying about it. Visualizing it. Being sad. Being emotionally involved with it. And this is not to say that I want to stop worrying, because it's obvious--I have choice when it comes to my own emotions. Clearly I could choose to stop worrying about it and being emotionally caught up in the wrong--wrong--wrong rhetoric in favor of abortion, but to do so would be to go against all of my moral principles. I used to feel as though the issue was very much removed from me. After all, I knew that I would never, no matter the circumstances, choose to have an abortion. And what others did, well, that was subject to their own beliefs, right? I think in part I did not realize that abortion was so hugely important to some people. I was appalled by the news of anti-abortion activists committing murder. I wasn't sure that something that was a moral question could be enforced by law. I didn't think that I should be paying for what was obviously someone else's immoral choice, but I just didn't see that it impacted me otherwise. I have always felt that abortion was an act of desperation, and so didn't want to judge women who were in such a horrible state that they would consider what must seem like a grievous evil to anyone, right? I'm not so sure anymore that abortion is always considered regrettable, unless the testimonies I have heard are not genuine, but to say that someone might be misled in their choices, not capable of making the choice, misrepresenting their feelings about the choice, etc., etc., is implying all sorts of bad things about the individuals involved. So, believing their own testimony, I have come to see that abortion can indeed be a very casual choice to some. And this saddens me. It was a gradual conversion of the heart to move from "always regrettable, but. . ." to "always regrettable and shouldn't happen--ever."

Someone who is tired, tired, tired of being emotionally involved in pro-choice/pro-abortion arguments (and I don't think the two are necessarily the same, as I was not "pro-abortion" when I considered myself "pro-choice by default"--though they frequently are, as in my examples below) has no business being on the internet. At all. And 'lest anyone get their knickers in a bunch, I don't (unfortunately) see the "right" to abortion being taken away, or a certain court interpretation being overturned. I think anything we can do must be done culturally rather than politically. Save not supporting politically those who believe that abortion is an inalienable right. 'Cause it's not. Even "choice" is a better term than "right," though I suppose it comes to the same thing, inevitably. But I am on the internet, too often for my own good. And I stumble across and into things that hurt and upset me.

Last week, for example, I was first discovering the new blog I've been mentioning, Stuff Christians Like. I took a look at a post about being honest in pre-marital counseling about one's past sins. It kind of throws into sharp relief the beauty of Catholicism's teaching about sexuality. Like, ummm, what part of "never outside of marriage" did you not understand? Meanwhile, poor Protestants find themselves able to stumble around and make their own theological justifications for this or that sexual encounter. Not all do, but it is something that can happen. And as many of the comments on the post imply, that causes hurt--to more than oneself. My first impression of the post about confessing one's past sins to one's spouse was, "Hey! This is exactly how Catholics feel about Confession! Cool! This is an opportunity to explain the concept to some who might misunderstand--as I did when I was not Catholic!" Well, that part of my comment was never addressed, and the comments devolved into a discussion of the evils of abstinence-only education and, finally, an overt pro-choice/pro-abortion statement, which I answered only by saying (in a nutshell), "No, not all Christians think that abortion should be permitted in cases of rape and incest," "Some arguments can't be won, but we could at least try to listen to one another," and "Where there is Life, there is Hope." Although I was restrained, I am always the most disturbed by so-called Christian justifications of abortion. In this case, the commenter who led the thread astray said, "My God has a plan and a will and it's bigger than doctors and lawyers and scary teachers waiting to seduce your children into satans arms (or whatever)."

Well, I put off addressing this until my daughter turned on the TV this morning, which was on EWTN and happened to be in the middle of the homily quoted above. And well, doesn't that say it all? The fact that God can turn an evil act to his own purpose and make of it the greatest possible good does not make the initial act any less evil. Free will and God's omniscience play into this, too: While God knows what choices we will make, He does not endorse our wrong choices, and we are free to make them--just as we are ultimately free to reject Him, though He desires our love. I was reminded of Tolkien's discussion of the great song of the Valar with Illuvatar in the beginning of time, in which the Valar were co-creators, along with Illuvatar of what would be Middle Earth, without realizing the significance of the song they were helping to create. Melkor would try to introduce discordant melodies, but each time, Illuvatar would weave the discord into ever greater and more beautiful melodies. God does not endorse evil; rather, He supersedes it and sanctifies it by His Grace and what wonders he works after, out of, and upon it.

Case two that I wish to mention is Sitemeter. I would be much better if I would just remove it from my sidebar. You see, many, many people find my site while doing Google searches relating to being pregnant in Grad School. That, as I see it, is likely a good thing. But they also find the Berkeley Parenting Network. Most often, they find the thread relating to terminating a pregnancy because one is in grad school. They find advice like the following:

• Remember, though, that you made that choice because you're a responsible parent who wanted to make sure your two existing children received the attention and support they're entitled to, as well as ease any blows to the marriage from the stress of the an additional pregnancy and new baby. I had the same experience. Two wonderful little children and I got pregnant with a 3rd. At the time, my second was a terror---- tempermental to the max. It was very demanding, emotionally. I didn't want #2 to become an ignored, middle child and make my future life more miserable, due to lack of attention from child #3. I chose abortion.
• Just because everyone else is having 3 kids doesn't mean you have to, too. There seems to be a bit of peer pressure/keeping up with the Joneses to have 3 kids. Pro-choice isn't just for non-marrieds
• I had an abortion earlier this year-- totally the right decision for our family (we decided long ago to only have one)
• I'm not in your situation but I felt that I needed to respond because I remember that aching. I have always wanted children. I got pregnant when I was 20 and felt very connected to that child. I new it would be a girl, I knew what she would look like. I was in a stupid relationship and really felt that I had no option but to terminate the pregnancy. I am now in my 30s with a wonderful toddler.
• I commend you in taking consideration all the consequences of bringing another into your family. I beleive it is a wholeheartedly selfless act on your part to want to maintain the preservation of your household and family by not adding to it. Bringing a child into this world should always warrant such consideration--everyone should want their children to be raised in optimal conditions

"Safe, legal, and rare"? I think not!

I debated about quoting these. However, they are on a public forum, searchable through Google. I will not post a link. I also think it is a crime that this is the second or third hit that someone gets when searching for information about pregnancy in grad school--depending on the search terms entered. So while I realize that I am offending the sensibilities of some, I feel the need to offer some contradiction to these sentiments.

What tore me apart were the mothers who have 2 children--or any children, really--who have chosen to kill a child because of the other children. Not wanting the second to be a "middle" child? My God! What if I had felt this way??? I struggled with these concerns, too. Not wanting her to be jealous, resentful, etc. But when abortion is not a "choice" that's even on the radar, you have to accept the situation and work within it! And what about the other children, those children whose welfare was the determining factor in the elimination of their sibling(s)? Their families have been deprived of the moments when they show their tender affection to their siblings, loving , learning and playing with and alongside them, yes. But I wonder about something else. . .

When a pro-choice mother teaches her child about abortion as a valid choice, does she share her own experience? And what does her child think? Does s/he think that could have been me? Glad I was the one Mommy wanted? Am I the reason I don't have a younger sibling? I have wondered about this for some time. Unless the fact is hidden from the children, which is probably preferable. But one can't hide something and pretend it's no big deal, even to oneself. Admittedly, not everyone thinks it's no big deal to have or to have had an abortion. But some do. And they shouldn't.

I think I need comments off for this one. I had to get that off of my chest so I could stop composing it in my head, but I don't need to be checking back obsessively. In fact, I might take a blogging holiday and edit my dissertation. Or read a book. See you in a week or so.

My Kids are Night People

I was poking around the Stuff Christians Like blog and read a post about taking a trip to Narnia. Sounds innocent enough. I have a bit of a history with Narnia myself, including my sole scholarly publication to date (which, apparently, was reprinted recently). But I was struck by the following:

I'd probably get stuck in the wardrobe next to a baby. It'd be crying and wiping its nose on all the fur coats that are in there. I'd want to say what I am always tempted to exclaim when I see a family in Venice with an infant strapped to their stomach like a deer on a roof rack, "Look, this baby could be going to Wal-Mart for all it knows. Why bring it Narnia?"

The implication seemed to be to leave the kids at home because they wouldn't appreciate being taken anywhere anyway--particularly someplace with aesthetic, historical, or adult appeal. (Except that, well, this is Narnia, and not Venice. . .) Predictably, I took issue with this:

Ummm... Can I just say... OUCH!! Uh, shoulda left the baby with grandma?

I don't mean to be harsh, but is it because the baby won't get anything out of it (aside from being with its parents, that is) or that it will ruin someone else's enjoyment? Though I feel certain that C. S. Lewis would have shared this view of infants. Tolkien, not so much...

The blog author clarified:

I guess it's more of a statement about whenever parents drag kids places. Like to the movies at midnight or to barnes and noble at ten PM. I guess I am overly sensitive to when I see some kid that can't form a sentence crying because it's four hours passed his bedtime and the parents are essentially like, "Calm down kid. Yes we decided to have a baby but that shouldn't really impact our lives." I was trying, poorly I might add, to make a statement about treating kids like accessories.

I'm totally on board with this, but believe that children can be very portable, if the parents respect their needs, schedules, temperaments, etc. I also said that my children tend go to bed after 10, just by way of saying that that's not always an irresponsible parenting move. I didn't mean to start the thread that followed:

1)Our kids (4 and 2) go to bed at 7. I get home from work at 4:30 so we're still able to get some kid time in. It's the only way my wife and I can get a few hours together too. But different folks have found their own way to do it for certain. I'm by no means the parent police.

2)Jon, Your children probably go to bed about the same time as my daughter does. This is only frowned upon because in London, England your 7pm is probably our 11pm. But it is nice to know that when I'm getting my angel to sleep you are doing the same! lol

3) (my favorite) I was out shopping the other night at 9pm and there were kids all throughout the store melting down. My kids were tucked away in bed with daddy at home. I assumed it was the product of single parents trying to make life work in an imperfect situation.

Parents are opinionated. We know that. And too often any decision that is different from one's own is frowned upon, which is not so bad as when a statement of one's own parenting choices or style is taken as an implicit critique of the way others do things. So not to critique, because putting kids to bed early is easily the norm, and I totally understand the justification for doing so (spending time with one's spouse, or oneself!), I've gotta say that my babies have started out night people and have pretty much maintained that trend unchecked by me. Which means that they are less cranky at 11 P.M. than they are around nap time. I've always felt that it was just a natural part of nursing on demand to let them take naps and go to bed on their own schedules. And my babies seemed to adjust to my schedule of waking and sleeping while in utero, and after they were born, they seemed to go to bed around the time I did while pregnant (and do normally)--between 11 P.M. and 1 A.M. This is when Chiclette currently goes to sleep, though the past few nights she has seemed to want to go to bed for the night earlier--about 10 or 10:30. If I put her to sleep any earlier, she thinks it's a nap and wakes up in an hour or two. The other issue--even with Doodle--is that if I want them to sleep to 8 or (even better) 9 A.M., I need to put them to bed later rather than earlier. Now, bedtime gets earlier as they get older and less dependent on nursing frequently (as Chiclette's schedule indicates), but even my oldest has never really gone to bed earlier than 10 P.M. This means that "us" time is generally "all of us" time--at least, unless the babies go to bed closer to 11 than to 1. (Doodle is almost always in bed by midnight.) But it's pretty much always been like that. And it's never hurt our relationship. There are advantages to having children early--children feel like less of an intrusion when they've been a natural part of the family from the beginning. When do I get things done? Whenever. Whenever I'm not procrastinating. You pretty much learn how to do things when you can! I'm a very "play it by ear" kind of parent (my mom's phrase). I don't do fixed schedules. At least, not fixed schedules that we predetermine without letting them evolve naturally. And yet, my children don't seem to suffer from lack of structure. There are boundaries. I do wonder sometimes if we're the only crazy parents whose children don't go to bed between 7:30 and 9. I went to bed at 8:30 or 9 when I was young, but not all of my siblings had to do that. It is possible that Doodle and Chiclette will go to bed closer to 9 by the time they are in Kindergarten. Who knows? But even if we are the only crazy parents who do it like this, I'm okay with being crazy. I'm a total weirdo. I know it.

But really, isn't this kind of flexibility necessary for "ecological" or "on demand" breastfeeding? And you can't really be draconian with an infant or toddler if you let them set the schedule from the beginning, can you?

The Problem with Sola Scriptura?

Is apparently the neverending attempt to make the Bible "accessible," since everyone's got to read & interpret it for him or herself. That's not to say that everyone should not read/interpret it for him or herself, but that the accessibility issue--not to mention the making Jesus hip and fun issue--can be problematic, like when meanings are represented are unambiguous, but are essentially someone else's unambiguous interpretations (read mediation) masquerading as the real thing. Personally, I don't think a footnote is out of line, especially one that explains the translator's rationale. And having an orthodox interpretation is comforting--it eliminates the "anything goes" of Bible reading/study. On the whole, though I like this site. It's a tongue-in-cheek guide to quirky Protestantisms--written by a quirky Protestant. It's nice to see these guys laughing at themselves. It makes me laugh rather than criticize (well, mostly), and that might just help promote mutual understanding.

P.S.--I found Stuff Christians Like through a link from great Catholic blogging endeavor--Stuff Catholics Like. Check it out! It's a group effort by some of your favorite Catholic bloggers!

Catholic Carnival 172

The Catholic Carnival is a collection of posts from various Catholic bloggers arranged by a host blogger. You probably know this, but it took me a while to figure it out, so I thought I'd give a definition! Sarah introduced me to the concept, and because she so often solicits submissions and gets excited about the results! So I submitted my mommy-reflections from a while back. And it was a super-colossal Catholic Carnival this week, hosted by the Organ-ic Chemist, with 26 submissions! (Mine is down near the bottom. . . Apparently, I was the third person to submit! Go figure. . .) Here is what the Organ-ic Chemist has to say:

Naturally, there was a wide variety of different topics, but there were some definite themes: Pentecost, Mother's Day, First Communion, Confirmation, book and movie reviews ... you name it, it's in there.

It's been a busy season liturgically speaking, with holidays sprinkled about, too! So go, read, enjoy! :)

Happy Mother's Day!--Updated

To all Moms!

My post yesterday was brief; I stayed away from the computer for the most part. I had a very pleasant day. I woke up for Mass and my husband was making biscuits. R.E. is finished for the year, so my son doesn't have to get up early & go before Mass, so he was happy to sleep in. I had some coffee & got ready myself, and we weren't even late!! During Mass, Doodle was quieter and more patient that usual. I think her behavior is getting better as she is able to communicate bette--perhaps she's past the toddler learning curve of frustration with the discrepancies between what she wants to do/say and what she is able to do/say. Today she told her sister, "Oh baby, I love you." That was a first! She's never said that to anyone!

I always enjoy Pentacost. Confirmation was a very exciting part of the Sacraments of Initiation for me. There were so many things that I didn't really understand before I was Catholic--the Holy Spirit was one. So it was a special treat that Mother's Day fell on Pentacost Sunday this year. The readings were wonderful and the homily was very good, too. However, it had to do with the deacon's grandmother, in part, and her sewing. She collected every fabric scrap she encountered in a pillow case, which to her was something unified, with every bit as important as every other bit, though to Deacon "Fred", they were just scraps. Eventually she made a quilt from the scraps, and the unity and importance of the pieces was apparent to him, as it had always been to her. A nice, and unusual, metaphor for the Church. Of course, I have been sewing. And because I have been sewing, my mind was playing with the scrap-bag quilt idea, thinking about what scraps I have, wondering how all of her scraps could have looked nice together in a quilt, wishing I could see the quilt, wondering what kind of a quilt it was, remembering my aunt and grandmother each making a rag rug. Yeah, I was distracted. That's the problem with interesting homilies sometimes. My mind had been wandering a bit anyway. You see, our pastor had requested that everyone wear red to celebrate Pentacost, but we really didn't have any red clothing that was Mass-appropriate. Then, Chiclette needed to nurse at the beginning of Mass. So I was thinking about my purple nursing cover: Hmmm. . . Purple. Lent & Advent. Too bad it's not red! Hey! I should make a nursing cover for each liturgical season! But not of satiny fabric. No, it wouldn't breathe and would get too dirty. I should market these on a Catholic web site! Or maybe eBay. Naaaah. I could just make them for myself. Maybe I could make them reversible. But I couldn't pair red and green. No, too Christmas-y. So red could be with purple, green with white, yadda yadda yadda. This punctuated by hard blinks and reorientation of my attention to what was actually going on. And yet, I was paying attention. Really! I promise!! And all of this started before the homily about scraps & quilts. *sigh* It was a very nice Mass, and a very good homily about one's gifts and talents, and the different gifts each of us are given.

Afterwards, we avoided the "fancy restaurants," which we tend to do on big "eating out" days--Valentine's, for example. Instead, we went to our favorite pizza buffet, which was quite satisfying! We bopped around Bed, Bath and Beyond and bought a couple of fun things. Then, we came home, put the girls down for naps, and my husband stared preparing the grill to cook a pork loin that he had marinated the night before with his own version of Jamaican Jerk seasoning--a favorite of mine. Yum! My son played video games and I cut out a pattern to make myself a pair of shorts and a jacket. Saturday I had finished a top for myself that was actually a "trial" of sorts, but wearable. So I am gaining confidence in my ability to sew clothing. Most of my previous projects for myself have been very limited successes. Or failures. Smme have definitely been failures. The pork took a long time to cook, but at the end of the cooking, I boiled some red potatoes, made a sauce from the marinade, and steamed some veggies in the microwave. Everything was delicious!!

My family gave me a case for sewing supplies for Mother's Day, which was nice. It was just one of those days when everything is pleasant, which is a gift in itself!

My mom's day was not so good. She has been having some health problems that the doctors aren't willing to treat, really. So by the evening, when I was planning to call her, she wasn't feeling good enough to talk. And she didn't get the chance to visit her mother, either. Hopefully she is better today, and will be able to visit my grandmother soon. One brother, two sisters and I sent her a box of goodies that she should get tomorrow or Wednesday, including the newest (PBS) version of Sense and Sensibility, which I know she will love. I have not seen it yet, but Jay says it's good! So I know that some time during the week she will have a happy surprise.

All the best to all of you who are mothers, who will be or want to be mothers, and to all of your mothers, too! :)

Thoughts on a Nursing Home Visit. . .

I just spoke to my mother, who is gearing up for a visit to my grandmother, who has been in a care facility for probably a year and a half now. She had been having some problems with slipping in and out of consciousness in the sense that she was technically conscious, but unaware of her actions and surroundings. She had recurring UTIs that worsened whatever was wrong in the first place, which doctors have yet to pinpoint--which doctors have stopped trying to pinpoint. They tell her children that "Mama is old." My aunts and uncle have come to believe that a radiation treatment on her eyes is to blame. I saw her during Hurricane Katrina, when I was 7 months pregnant with Doodle, and she was strong--sad, but strong. I saw her when Doodle was 6 months, and have pictures of her holding my older daughter--her second great-grandchild. She was having some hip problems, but was very much herself--though lonely, and sad. Praying her rosary on her porch when we drove up; she had thought that we wouldn't make it to see her before heading back to Texas, but I felt very strongly that she needed to see Doodle. The last time I saw her, I was very newly pregnant with Chiclette. She had been in the home for months by that point, but was in the ER after a fall and another UTI was discovered. After weeks of not seeming to recognize anyone, she was aware that we were coming to visit, and asked about us. She faded out once or twice while we were there, but for the most part, she was herself, only weak and sad. Not too weak to banter with the physical therapy people and give them a difficult time, and aware enough to express her humiliation and the pain it caused her. She asked my son about school, tried to get a shy Doodle to talk to her. On my way out, I told her that I was pregnant. She was so pleased & surprised. I wasn't used to the idea myself, but I thought it would be good to leave her with some hopeful news--something to look forward to. Returning home, I agonized about her care, which, I understood, was not too good. Her 6 surviving children (of 7) visit her daily, as they can. None of them know about me calling the nursing home to make sure she was taken the Eucharist regularly. It seemed like the only thing I could do. The woman I spoke to understood my concern, and knew what I meant when I said that I doubted that it would seem a priority to any of her family who were there. She had been taken out of Mass one day by one of my aunts, who was indignant that she had been in Mass in the first place. This did not surprise me, and it may have been that she should not have been out of her room. After all, they did not heed the sign that said that my grandmother was a "fall risk," and they let her fall, which was the immediate cause of her hospitalization the last time I saw her. . .

I have heard very little since then. I understand that she has varying levels of awareness from day to day, week to week, hour to hour. Very soon after I had my Chiclette (a week or two), someone printed a picture of me with both girls on my lap rocking them to sleep and brought it for her to see. She was aware enough to tell them to tell me that I was doing a good job. It wasn't just postpartum hormones that brought tears to my eyes. Since then, I have fished a bit to see if she was aware of the pictures I sent at Christmas, but no one will say. My mom will be taking new pictures of us to her tomorrow. My mom wants to print them out in poster size. I wish my grandmother could see my Chiclette in person. I want her to be aware. I pray for her to be aware. But when I asked about it, my mom remarked that she eats well sometimes, and has better days and worse days, but that my aunt thinks that her responses are automatic--that my grandmother has memorized what the correct responses are to certain questions and comments. Basically, that there is no consciousness or self awareness behind the responses at all. And how does she know this exactly? Is there anything to this assumption besides weariness and loss of hope from someone who has been bearing the weight of her mother's illness for going on two years now? Might there be some comfort in thinking that her mother is not aware of the bad things if she's not aware of the good? I see this as very dangerous thinking. The family has criticized my grandmother's doctor for waiting for her to die. Well, that's the feeling I get from this doubting of her awareness. And I am more apprehensive since I have no idea that there is any religious belief at all left in my extended family. I know that one aunt's MySpace page indicates that she considers herself agnostic. When I see "atheist" or "agnostic" listed on the profile of someone I care about, I feel a little spasm inside. My aunts & uncle fell away from Catholicism decades ago, though I'm sure there is an element of Christianity remaining for all of them in some corner of their consciousness. But then, I considered myself Christian for many years while embracing the notion that as long as I was "true to myself" (whatever that means) and vaguely ethical, I would be O.K. with God since he must be too busy to worry about me, right? That Christian-flavored-agnosticism made any manner of things O.K. And, well, I'm concerned with the implications of this line of thought for my grandmother. Christian-flavored-agnosticism does not view dignity of life issues in the way I have come to view them through Catholicism. Because really, that worldview is one without hope. And when you have no hope for the next life, one's comfort and awareness in this life is of ultimate value. If that is gone, then one's life is invalid.

I believe that my grandmother is conscious and aware on some level. I hope for her to be able to express this awareness. I pray for her patience and endurance and comfort. I would like, above all things, for the pictures of my family to allow her self to be manifest to those around her, so that they will know that she is still who she has always been.

Not a Baby Anymore. . .

This evening we were taken out for dinner by my brother, who proposed that we go to Olive Garden, as he had never been, then unexpectedly treated us all! We were seated at a round table--four of us in chairs, one high chair, and one "sling" to hold a baby carseat/carrier--in what felt to me like the middle of the way. As we had had an unusual amount of attention paid to us by other patrons one of the last times we were there, I was hoping for a more out-of-the way place, and even asked the hostess pointedly if this wasn't rather a high traffic area. She didn't bite. So we got settled--Doodle and Chiclette placed together for some odd reason. We had been sitting for a little while when a party of two elderly couples passed by to be seated. I heard a grandmotherly Texas drawl say, "Hang on a minute. I want to check out this little one!" (Chiclette was closest to the side on which they passed.) So she stooped to look at Chiclette and murmured some words about how cute she was while my husband & I smiled obligingly. Looking across the table, I caught sight of Doodle's face. Now she is a prettier-than-average toddler, though I say this with not a little maternal bias. She is frequently admired alongside Chiclette--if not before Chiclette!--when people trouble to admire either of them at all. So there was my pretty Doodle, looking at her sister, and looking at the woman, with a little shy smile and shining, smiling eyes. The woman made a parting remark to me about the baby being beautiful, then turned and walked away. Doodle's expectant eyes seemed to question, and then darken as her little spirit was let down after expecting a friendly word to be turned to her. I know it's a little thing, really. I don't want her to expect always to receive attention, by any means. But it was sad to see this realization in her sweet face--that she was not noticed. At all. A small hurt--but not small compared to her stature and her experience of the world. And it broke my heart. Then the breadsticks came.

If I did this Challenge. . .

. . . And I'm not saying I will. . .

Chris, bookworm extrordinaire, is always getting tangled in this web of book challenges over at his blog, Stuff As Dreams are Made On. It's a neat concept, much more attractive to me than the "community reading projects" you hear about from time to time--or the Oprah's Book Club kind of thing. For one thing, you don't get the impression that the people who start challenges have any hidden agenda other than to get other people to read what they want/like to read. In my discipline we get so caught up in balancing how much of what type of work and which kind of author and what social, political or intellectual currents, the whom-you-can't-leave-outs and the whom-you-should-really-includes according to this or that view go onto our various reading lists, from syllabi to prelim lists to works in papers and articles we write, etc., that I'm not sure we even know what it means to simply enjoy a work of literature anymore. Of course, this is a sweeping generalization, and so not entirely true, but you know what I mean. So I find this reading-blogging sub-culture is really cool. I want to get sucked into this level of enthusiasm. So Chris is currently doing one challenge (among many) that encourages people to read 10 books from a list of 1001 "must reads," thus making themselves 1% more well read. Certainly a noble cause. I could benefit from something like this, I think. So I perused the list. Many titles--er, most titles--are pretty unknown to me. And the ones I chose, I confess, are largely on my to read list anyway. And I'm not sure I can really do something like this--too many other things going on. But if I were to choose, and if cheating were permitted (that is, choosing with an eye to the "useful" or "things I planned to read anyway"), I would choose the following:

1) The Hours – Michael Cunningham
2) Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden
3) The Name of the Rose – Umberto Eco
4) If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler – Italo Calvino
5) A Passage to India – E.M. Forster
6) Jacob’s Room – Virginia Woolf
7) Ulysses – James Joyce
8) Tono-Bungay – H.G. Wells
9) Ficciones – Jorge Luis Borges
10) The Book of Laughter and Forgetting – Milan Kundera

Only the last one is a complete unknown to me. Sounds intriguing, though. I want to keep my eye on these book challenges--and get motivated & excited & stuff!--and I actually signed up for real for a different challenge that I'm behind on, so I'll talk more about that soon! I've got an idea for a Lenten book challenge for next year--Catholic must-reads of various types: choose one book of apologetics, one of fiction, one encyclical. . . you get the idea! If you have suggestions, let me know!

New "About Me"

Thought I'd share my new self-description. The old one was getting stale...

Read it "Literacy chick" or "Literacy chic": I am a newly-minted-Ph.D.-packin' Orthodox Catholic Momma who reads sometimes, writes a lot, and thinks too much! My literary scholarship focuses on literacy: Does literacy affect consciousness? More importantly, do writers think that literacy affects consciousness? I love my husband and proudly wear his name (off-blog); I do my best to live the Catholic faith into which I was Baptized & Confirmed in October 2004. I am a Catholic academic, seeking what that means in my life. I believe that where there is life there is hope, and uphold Life on those grounds (and others). I think academics can afford to share many values with SAHMs, and I keep my children around whenever possible. I hold and express unapologetically many opinions of varying popularity, but what's a blog for, after all?

Sounds accurate, right? ;)