Books and Writing

Alright, I finally finished the James Patterson book I was reading a couple of days ago and it wasn’t a moment too soon. My dad (who is a big mystery/thriller reader) and several friends have promised me that he has some really good books, but this obviously was not one of them. It was called Hide and Seek and the premise sounded interesting except he forgot to have any of the characters, you know, do much of anything. The whole book was build up to a big fat nothing. You knew what happened before it happened. Or if you didn’t then you weren’t actually paying attention. I thought the whole purpose of this genre was surprise and thrill. Yeah, this one missed the mark completely. I’ll give him another try with some that my dad is hand picking from his personal library, but that’s it. One more chance James Patterson!

The good news is that now I’m free to pick up Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine, which I did last night. And it’s lovely. I mean I feel like I’m reading a fairy tale it’s so lovely. It’s definitely not a brain candy book, but the language he uses is just so gorgeous. And one of my favorite things about his writing so far is that he just doesn’t care if the metaphor he’s using actually makes sense. What he cares about is if the words match the feeling and how they feel in your brain as you roll over them and incorporate them into your own experience. It’s amazing. And not in the least bit nonsensical as it might become when you care more about emotion than the actual words you choose. It’s just an unabashed romp through childhood through an adult’s eyes. As if you were to go back through the wonders of your childhood with your grown up vocabulary and ability to put your actual motivation into words.

His writing has already drawn me a bit out of the suspenseful and into the summers I spent in Nebraska. So it will be interesting to see what kinds of stories I write while this panorama of nostalgia is imminent in my mind and memory.

Parent/Teacher Conference

When I went to my first parent/teacher conference at The Boy’s school, his teacher pretty much told me what I expected. He was pretty much where they expected him to be. Right in the middle of the pack. I was fine with that. He’s just in kindergarten after all, and at this point I’m much more worried about setting him up to love school rather than making sure he’s reading by a specific age.

But at today’s conference, I started to get a bit worried. He’s shown improvement, but not much. And there are some areas that he was excelling in originally that are now falling off. He’s kind of always treated language with a bit of distain. As if he didn’t really understand why it was all that important. He had these appendages after all, using them and going really fast were much more important than talking about playing. He’s a doer, not a talker. Which is fine, he’s a boy and I suppose that is somewhat typical.

It also speaks to the main disconnect between my son and I. Words and language have always been central to my identity. I taught myself to read when I was 4 because I was tired of not understanding all the writing on the walls. I was reading Shakespeare in first and second grade. I was writing my first short stories in kindergarten. As you can tell, my love for all things written has only grown with time. So there is a part of me that just flat doesn’t get him in this respect. And that makes it very hard to help him.

I guess right now I’m most worried about not having the tools necessary to help my son. I desperately want him to love learning and to have confidence in his intelligence. I don’t so much care if he winds up with some label as long as that label gives us the tools to help him reach his potential, whatever that may be. I want to help him figure out how he learns. I want what every mother wants. For my son to be happy and successful. For me to have helped, not hindered him.

Cussing like a Sailor

I really like to cuss. From the moment that my friend B and I first dared each other to say “damn” for the first time, I’ve loved that particular sub-set of words. I guess you might even look at my prolific and persistent use of swearing as a vice of sorts. They are such an integral piece of my own personal vernacular, but there is always a thrill that comes when they roll off my tongue in mixed company.

I’ve learned to control my mouth most of the time. Especially after one particular incident at a friend’s house in high school where I dropped the f-bomb in the middle of dinner with her parents and little brother sitting right next to me. That was bad. I put my mouth on a leash after that one.

I’m self-aware enough to curb that impulse when talking to doctors, clients or my son’s teacher, but get me with a group of girlfriends and watch out. My mouth develops a mind of its own and there’s just no telling what’s going to come out.

I’m also especially bad when I’m driving. Like today some silly woman decided to make a double turn lane where there was none and without even thinking I exclaimed, “What are you doing you dumb bitch?!?!” The Girl was in the backseat and without even skipping a beat immediately parroted back to me “Who is a dumb bitch mama?” It was awesome. Only not.

She’s much more of a mimic than her brother ever was in that once she finds a phrase she likes, she continues to use it over and over, whether it’s appropriate for the situation or not. So I’m just waiting for her preschool teachers to call me aside after school one day to regale me with a tale of how my perfectly sweet 2 ½ year old daughter just asked for the fucking glitter during craft time.

I do worry sometimes about how my use of cuss words will influence my children’s burgeoning grasp of language. And I wonder how to explain to them how to judiciously use those words when the situation calls for them. Jiminy Christmas, I’ve no idea.