Quick, critique your autobiography!

Last night I was challenged by a timed writing exercise which asked me to write a New York Times style book review of my own autobiography. Only problem:  the fictional autobiography in question had to be based on my true life. No exciting lies to vamp it up. Sixty minutes later and all I'd come up with was I'd been born someplace, went to school, and eventually married and grew come kiddos. True, sure, but so, so boring. Alas, it's as though I've never lived at all.

Which of course isn't true. I've had a homebirth, for goodness sake! So I've been thinking about it since and have given myself another chance. Here is one reviews of much, much better autobiographies. I gave myself my lunch--30 minutes--to write it. Hope you enjoy!

The Squirrels Are Coming!

Thomasin E. N. Propson's darkly comedic autobiography The Squirrels Are Coming! immerses the reader in the wacky world of the author’s childhood within a large homeschooling family and her subsequent attempt to blaze a trail of her own.


In contrast to rosy-cheeked, brightly-scrubbed versions of the typical homeschooler, Propson reveals the lifestyle’s mouldier notions, including a tale of an actual decomposing apple she kept underneath the kitchen sink--a botanical lifecycle lesson gone wrong--as well as the delight she took threatening her younger sibling, fearful of the ever-leering backyard squirrels, that a squirrel uprising was near at hand.


From her early childhood in Seattle, Washington suburbia to the teenage years spent in small-town Silverton, Oregon, Propson describes a childhood when walking into town to spend money on non-organic candies was still heralded as a girl's birthright rather than the parental neglect as it is commonly agreed to be today. Though hopped-up on sugar, her academic accomplishments are noteworthy, albeight tainted by the homeschooler stigma. As her innate quietness of spirit, initially attributed by society as  homeschooled awkwardness, gradually became recognized as supreme creative soul (confirmed in adulthood by DiSC testing) so did grow Propson's confidence--unpublished poetic genius vibrantly alive.


Propson's life since childhood has not been your typical homebody affair. After a brief stint as a “Bud Girl,” and a humerous fling with an older rock star, her dissatisfaction with the fast life of the west coast lead her to move east, where she settled in wholesome Wisconsin, graduated a proud Badger from the UW-Madison, and met and married the love of her life, chiropractor Justin Propson. Together the couple have slapped a coat of paint on an older home on Madison’s north side (which she claims to  love even though it lacks a dishwasher) and are raising two beautiful daughters, or as Propson lovingly refers to them, "future dishwashers."


Propson's life has come full circle, from child to wild and now again immersed in the beauty that is family. “I look forward to the day my brother visits,” she says, “so I can point out the squirrels who steal from our birdfeeder.” We are who we are, they say. And so it is.

Not perfect, but much better than last night's attempt.

Wait, still crappy, you say? Do better yourself, I dare you. In 30-60 mins. It's more difficult than you first realize.

Uli's Sea Fresh Plus (Jason Naturals Brand) Toothpaste Review



This tastes like it would sound if I heard it in my stomach.

So there you have it.

Whatcha Readin' Wednesday: a poetry reading

For the past year now, my husband has been working through an anthology of American poetry with Uli as part of her bedtime routine. Poem by poem, night by night. Hundreds of poems.

As a three year old she may have only a limited grasp of the poems' meanings, but surely listening to the rhythm and vocabulary of the great works of American poets has the potential to be more mentally enriching than another round of The Pokey Little Puppy.

The other night Justin shared with me that evening's poem and suggested I post it for a Whatcha Readin':


The Reading Mother

I had a Mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
"Blackbirds" stowed in the hold beneath.


I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.

I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gélert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trustily his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.


I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings --
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!

You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be --
I had a mother who read to me.


~Strickland Gillilan.


I'm flattered he equates me in some manner to the mother in the poem, since, while I do intend to read to Uli and Ilse each day, I honestly don't always meet that goal. But Justin? He does, indeed. Truly he should get credit as a father who reads to his girls. A poem written for him. He's opening worlds to them with every book they read during the day, for every poem at day's end. They are indeed lucky, my girls. Jewels and gold are nice for some, sure, but my girls have a father who reads to them (reads poetry!), and I wouldn't trade that for a million caskets of loot.

Easter Dress Take Deux

Once upon a time I had a little two year old who was also an only child. It was Easter and she was thrilled. Thrilled to be outdoors. Thrilled to be at grandma and grandpa's house. Thrilled to find these mysterious things called Easter eggs just lying about. 

Eggs galore, 2011

Croquet 2011. Because we used to be fancy like that.

Now it's 2012. Yes, she's wearing the same dress. (Last spring it was roomy. This year it was only with effort we got her arms in--but she was determined it would be worn. Yes. It. Would.) 

But she's not the same lawn-gaming tot. Dearest, no. Uli is now Three with Attitude. And sunglasses that perch Just So. 

And lest she be left out of the trip down memory lane, do let us remember little sister Ilse has developed over this past year as well...

Ilse, Easter 2011

Ilse, Easter 2012.
Doing the baby splits or something near enough. Best picture I got, sorry.

Don't even try to tell me that next year Ilse will be wearing her big sister's dress. No she will not! (She might. She's my roly-poly baby compared to thin little Uli. But we can't think like that. Three years of the same dress would make us crazy overly thrifty, right? Even if it's super adorable?)

The Very Hungry Ilse

Introducing that first taste of solid food is a milestone for which I believe the camera was specifically invented.


Curious



Wow. Unexpected!



Not so sure this is a good thing.



OK. One more try.



Well, well. There may be something to this "solid food" thing!

 We've barreled through several new tastes since turning 7 months, starting with the apple sauce captured above, moving on to an extremely successful mixture of beans and apples and breastmilk, and then to banana/avocado/breastmilk and now to carrots and coconut oil.

I've felt empowered this time around, making our own baby foods at home. I know exactly what is going into Ilse's tummy, and I know that it's tasty (because, of course, I taste test it all!). Thanks to Tara of  BebeMeals and her class at Whole Foods for giving me the gumption to take this baby food making business into my own hands. So much nicer (and less expensive) than buying jarred food. And extremely fast. I don't know what I was sweating about, thinking I'd be laboring for hours in the kitchen. Wrong. (Sorry, Uli.  I didn't know better back then.)

Twitterpated

Uli:   Mama, do you love me?

Me:   I do, Sweetheart. I love you with all my heart!

Uli:    {nods & shrugs}  I love bananas.

March is over. It came in growling, its slumpy dark clouds and rain smashing my spring is near mood back down to less than joyful. Then the record-breaking eighty degree warmth roasted us all out of our sweaters and had us burrowing under our beds to rediscover our winter-banished shorts and tanks. At the same time it dashed the maple syrup industry's opportunities and squeezed the apple trees' blossoms out from the trees tips many weeks too soon, setting the farmers all aflutter (and creating some not insignificant a-fears). Even as the crocuses bloomed and we swatted the year's first mosquitoes, the threat of a last horrifying frost lingered in the back of everyone's minds. (And continues to linger.)

The last few days of March looped back to seasonally-appropirate gloom and damp, but left us with the hunger for summer. Forget spring, summer will be here before you know it! Summer, my true love. Or, if you're not me, then perhaps March shocked you by presenting summer far too soon and you're now thankful for the retreat back into regular spring. April's clouds, rain, mud:  they make you happy because they don't require sitting in front of a fan sipping iced tea though what's wrong with that I just don't know.

Uli embraces this novel non-snow-covered world with her whole soul, gathering and arranging the pinecones (illicitly gathered from the neighbor's yard, though I dare say Nancy wouldn't mind) and snapping flowers off by the head to present to Mama (sweet, though what do you do with ten stemless blooms a day?). I watch her attempt to scramble up trees after the squirrels, scoop garden rocks out of the beds to create towers on the steps, and shiver with the excitement of holding a slug and I remind myself that though it means muddy shoes and sweaty hair that she is very anti-washing I'm witnessing a child falling in love (again) with the outdoors.

It makes me smile. It makes me fall in love with my daughter that much more.

~TPropson

The Mind Locust (i.e. TV) and What I'm Doing About It

On the one hand, she became a slave to television;  on the other hand, she expressed her contempt for nearly everything she saw...

~from A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving



I watch too much television. I wish I could claim my boobtube time is all spent viewing various PBS shows, but that would be a lie. I watch The Secret Circle, for goodness' sake (though, in my defense, I was thinking about deleting it from my TiVo list. It's getting too scary...).

I've felt an ever-growing personal challenge to pursue the life I want by being more of the person I want to be {just that... }. I don't want to be a mom that watches television, I want to be a mom that reads. I want to model a healthy lifestyle for my girls. The requirement being, of course, that I be a consistent and positive model.

So, where to start? With reading, of course. Not just reading in front of the girls, but reading about reading. I've recently re-read and found pages of inspiration in

Montessori from the Start: The Child at Home, from Birth to Age Three
by Paula Polk Lillard & Lynn Lillard Jessen.

If I'm going to focus on the written word (and, of course, for children my girls' ages, illustrations) and turn my back on television, I need to ensure we offer good quality literature in our household. I've recently finished reviewing my own bookcases and have also been weeding our stash of children's books (which is a grand one) and pitching (or at least packing away) the books that I find lacking in literary or developmental value.

Montessori from the Start suggests those caring for children:

Have books for the child under six years old that are based on reality, rather than fantasy. The young child needs to explore the real world before he can appreciate a fantasy world created by adults...

When the entire world is out there to be discovered (polar bears. thunderstorms. DNA. Greek food. knitting. rhyme schemes. lava. gravity. the Netherlands. meters. embryonic development.) why add talking purple mice in Candyland into the mix? Focusing on our actual world is the starting-point. Once that's established, then add-in the imaginary lands and beings and have at it.

(Disclosure:  I admit, as a fan of imaginative storytelling, I've struggled with this concept, but I have decided it does make good sense. It's only by comparing/contrasting my favorite fantasy or science fiction with other "straight" genres that I can fully relish the subjects and structure of each. Basic [reality] first, and after that---no limits! Also, my entertainment requirements as an adult--familiar with the world in general--are different than those of a child. Even should be different, perhaps?)

So, as I said, I've been going over our bookshelves at home, reviewing each board and picture book individually under the new reality and quality guidelines. I've made some exceptions to the pool of books my girls will be handling (for instance, I adore adore ADORE reading aloud the poetic word-music in Bear Snores On and am keeping it out even though it doesn't fit a strict "based on reality" requirement). But most of the books out now meet the young child guidelines I was looking for.

Some additional ideas from Lillard & Jessen:

...[T]he number of books available should be limited: four is the maximum for a child under two years old. The child's favorite book of the moment can remain out, but rotate other books from a supply in a closet.

This one is next on my list. Uli is three, so she should be able to handle more books and playthings out and about without being overwhelmed. However, Ilse is not yet one. So... what to do, what to do? And as far as rotation goes, would we rotate books daily? Weekly? And who (Mom or Dad) would be in charge of the rotation?

In addition to the books freely accessible to your child, keep a supply of books of good literature and beautiful illustrations in a closed cupboard or closet shelf. These are books for you to read out loud to your child each evening before bed or at a special time during the day... What is important at this stage is the child's absorption of good language and expressive thought.

Done!

Choose books you find interesting. Your child is not likely to grow up loving reading if he associates it with parental boredom or an obligatory parental duty.

This was part of my weeding project. Done. Boring-to-Mama books are packed away! Those left are books I truly enjoy reading with the girls.

Just as essential as reading to your child, he must see you reading for your own pleasure...it is a good idea to set aside a designated time for your own daytime reading.

I do read daily in front of them now, though, not at the same time each day. I'll work on that (I'm thinking mornings before work or just before we get them ready for bed).

I'm also focusing on reading only "real" books infront of the girls, versus reading my Kindle. I love the Kindle and bring it to work and keep it on the nightstand, but if what I'm going for is to model reading/enjoying literature it's important to me that my girls know that when I'm reading I'm actually reading a book and not surfing the web or checking Facebook. So book books it is. For now, anyway.

And we'll see how it goes. Cutting down my screen time. Modeling reading. Reading aloud from quality books. Continuing to include stories as part of bedtime preparation. I have high hopes.

on the move

"M" is for March Movement!

Earlier this month Ilse started to crawl forward. She's still honing this particular skill, but she now reliably moves toward her toys/sister/cats/[and delectible treats called magazines] more often than backward and away from them.

She just gained the ability to push herself from prone into a seated position. Mostly. She still struggles with this occasionally, flailing backward and screaming about the indignity of babyhood and the groveling it requires.

She has also this March started to insist on pulling herself up to a standing position. The couch. The coffee table. The bookshelves. She hoists herself up on them, joyfully looks around  (King of the World!) and then falls. On her face. And that makes her mad. But not mad enough to quit, oh no.

Yesterday, March 14th, 2012, Ilse stood up on her own. Not pulling herself up using the couch. Middle of the floor. She was sitting, then leaned forward, got her little tootsies planted, and pushed off from the ground. One had stayed on her pop-up toy. Legs extended. She wasn't fully upright, but she was standing. Not sitting. Not kneeling. Not rolling. Not laying. Standing.

And then falling. Plop. Right onto her diaper. We made eye contact.  Me:  I can't believe you just did that!  Her: Did you see me? I'm awesome!

She kind of repeated it once, with this downward dog pose, but that's as near as I got to catching it on camera.

She's only seven months old, but she's not gonna let a little something like age (or lack thereof) stop her. Baby is on the move!