Velveteen Mind

Cotton Candy, Freaks & Geeks. Yep, it's Easter time!

The carnival is in town!  This same one came last year at Easter, too, and we had a ball with Pants.  He was the king of the Super Slide and we must return to defend his crown.  I absolutely love carnivals, fairs, the circus--  anything that generally involves a lot of glitter and fanfare, but is actually run behind-the-scenes by a bunch of unseemly carnies. 

I've read too many books about carnivals and circuses, apparently.

I just finished reading Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen and really enjoyed it.  It's one of those great immersion books about a second-rate traveling circus, where you feel transported to that time and place.  I didn't want the book to end.  It's set during the Depression, as narrated through flashback by an old man in a present-day nursing home that used to be part of it.  The author did extensive research on the whole Barnum & Bailey era and it is truly rewarding.

Another fantastic carnival-themed book is Geek Love by Katherine Dunn.  It was a book that I happened upon by accident.  I was in college, broke and browsing at Books-A-Million, and caught it's florescent orange cover out of the corner of my eye, buried on the library remainders table.  Cheap entertainment being all I could afford, after reading the flap, this book seemed to meet that description on several levels.

Geek Love is about a family of freaks and geeks (not the cute NBC kind) that travel around as a circus.  This is literally a self-made family, in that the mother and father deliberately breed freaks, through horrifying experimentations with drugs and what-not while the mother is pregnant.  Sounds like a charming book, right?  Well, it sort of is.  I don't know what to tell you.  Read it.

By the way, after years of thinking that I'm the only one that has ever read the book (I mean, the library didn't even want it anymore), I was pleasantly surprised to see it in a hip bookstore window on Magazine Street a couple of years ago, actually showcased.  Apparently, it was an anniversary edition or something and, according to the sign below, was the "in" book of the season among the Uptown crowd in New Orleans.  Well, I'll be.

I have actually seen two real freak shows in my life, and not of the Bravo network variety.  I was really little and don't remember many details other than at one there was a five-legged goat (he had a limp fifth leg growing out of his shoulder area) and at the other there was a "World's Tiniest Woman," which was, in fact, an incredibly tiny little person sitting on a tiny sofa on a raised platform in a tent.  I remember being disappointed at both.  I was picturing the fifth leg being functional and the tiny person being pocket-sized.  I think I was seven.

Needless to say, I'm fascinated by all things carnival.  We'll be going tonight, however, not for the elusive freak-show, but for the omnipresent Super Slide and the all-important cotton candy.  Nothing says summer is on the way like the call of cotton candy, corn dogs, funnel cake, and twinkling lights on the death-trap carnival rides.

I love being a rube on the Midway.

Beyonce Knows Best

The Feminine Mistake, by Leslie Bennetts, is most certainly popular blog fodder for mom blogs this week and I hate to jump on the bandwagon, but I can't help it.  In fact, I wasn't going to write about this because I've already posted about it on a mom's board I'm a member of, not to mention from which the majority of my readers originate.  However, the more I think about this, the more convoluted it seems.  Forgive me, mom's board readers, if some of this is the same as I've already posted.  Just skim.

I saw the author interviewed on the TODAY Show and was intrigued, to say the least.  Check out this link for a video of the interview with Ann Curry.

In brief, the author suggests that women who choose to stay home and raise their children are engaging in "high risk behavior," because statistics show that odds are, your husband is going to either get fired, leave you, or die, and you will end up on the streets with your kids, unable to get a job because you've been out of the workforce for too long.  I'm paraphrasing, but check out those links and see for yourself; I'm pretty close to her point.

First of all, let me say that I have not read her book.  At this point, I think I might read her book, but I know I won't buy it (we're a one-income household, after all, bordering on homeless waifs any day now when my husband inevitably gets fired/ divorces me/ dies).  Too bad our library washed away in the hurricane.  Once I read it, I'll decide if I'm going to support her by sending my money her way through a copy of my own.

Her book will most certainly make money.  But does it make sense?

By her logic, even if you want to and can afford to stay home and raise your babies, it is irresponsible to do so.  So let's say we do what she suggests:  we pop out our babies, deposit them into a chute that delivers them directly to an adequate daycare (according to her, most are), and then go right back to work.  Should someone ask why we have returned to work immediately, our response would be something along the lines of:

"Oh, I can afford to stay home, I'd love to stay home and raise my kids, but I'm afraid my husband is going to get fired/ leave me/ drop dead any day now, so here I am.  It's the only responsible thing to do...  Now please excuse me while I go back to counting the signs of the Apocalypse.  Hey, is that a plague of locusts outside the window?!"

I refuse to live my life in fear of what may happen.  Worse, live my life anticipating how my husband is going to fail me, as I have evidently handed my fate over to his totally unreliable hands.  Yes, something could go wrong at any time.  Anything can happen.  Believe me, I know this, Big Worm.  That's where a contingency plan comes in to such brilliant play.

We have life insurance.  Should my husband die, it will buy me some time to get back on my feet and either find another sucker to support us (kidding!) or get a job.  If he loses his job, well, that's already happened and we aren't on the street.  In fact, I stepped up and opened an eBay store, which I run from home, where I continue to raise my children.  If he leaves me, well, that's where a good old-fashioned "coffee can savings plan" comes in.  I may not be able to move directly into my own apartment with the boys, but you better believe I have my ducks in order enough that we won't be on the freakin' street.

But I digress.

Again, let's follow her logic through.  At this rate, a working mother who does leave her children in daycare is being irresponsible if her job does not solely pay enough to support her and her children.  Now, this working mother would avoid the pitfalls of having been out of the workforce for any period of time, though, which she says is a huge obstacle to finding a job once your deadbeat (or just plain dead) husband finally drops the ball.

You know, Beyonce warned us about this.  Consider the masterpiece Bills, Bills, Bills:

You triflin', good for nothing type of brother
Silly me, why haven't I found another?
A baller, when times get hard
I need someone to help me out
Instead of a scrub like you
Who don't know what a man's about

[Chrous:]
Can you pay my bills?
Can you pay my telephone bills?
Do you pay my automo' bills?
If you did then maybe we could chill
I don't think you do
So, you and me are through

Leslie Bennetts also says that employers are reluctant to hire mothers at all.  When they do, they offer lower pay.  Hell, woman, get to the point: do not have children at all, right?!  Is she anti-children?  Does she have any children?  Does she like her children?  Does she bake them in her gingerbread house oven?

I understand that controversy sells.  At the very least, this should assuage some of the guilt of working mothers (those that have guilt for whatever reason).  Hell, I included a link to her book, even if I don't intend to buy it.  I'd like to offer the option of considering both sides.  Nevertheless, some of this just doesn't make sense.  It's not realistic.  It's too black and white.  It's too pessimistic.

Does anyone know the statistics for divorce among stay-at-home mothers vs. working mothers, by the way?  For a moment there, I really thought Ann Curry was going to ask that question.

In closing, we return to the Gospel According to Beyonce, as found in Independent Women:

The shoes on my feet
I've bought it
The clothes I'm wearing
I've bought it
The rock I'm rockin'
'Cause I depend on me
If I wanted the watch you're wearin'
I'll buy it
The house I live in
I've bought it
The car I'm driving
I've bought it
I depend on me
(I depend on me)

All the women who are independent
Throw your hands up at me
All the honeys who makin' money
Throw your hands up at me
All the mommas who profit dollas
Throw your hands up at me
All the ladies who truly feel me
Throw your hands up at me

Beyonce's kids are going to attend a sweet daycare.  I'm sure her nanny will be able to speak fluent English, too.  Rock on.   

An Oreo Never Killed Anybody

Let me quote that again for anyone out there baking organic cookies and saying, "Weeellllll...."

"An Oreo never killed anybody."

This is good news for me and fantastic news for Pants, our resident Oreo addict.  For him, though, Oreo's aren't just a special treat, they are a memory in-the-making.

We don't keep Oreo's in the house.  We don't really keep many snacks in the house, mostly because our resident health nut can not control his snacking, so we have to eliminate temptation.  Therefore, Pants has to get his Oreo fix from my parents' house, which works out nicely for him as their house is in our front-yard.  It looks like I haven't mentioned yet that we moved into my parents' guest house after losing our home in Katrina.  We are certainly eagerly working toward moving into our own home again, but in the meantime we are grateful to not be in a FEMA trailer or Katrina Cottage like so many other families on the Gulf Coast.  But I digress.

I'm not sure when it started, but my dad gives Pants an Oreo almost every time he goes up to their house to visit.  It's a grandpa thing.  I had a grandpa thing with my Grandpa Charlie:  Starlight Peppermints. 

In fact, I remember the first time I saw Starlight Peppermints in a store.  I felt shocked and a little betrayed; I thought that they were my grandpa's candy, as in he was the only person in the world from whom you could get this stuff.  It seemed wrong that you could just buy it in a store.  And another bit of innocence falls away, sniff sniff.

Everyone should have a grandpa thing.  Hell, they should have a grandpa thing, a grandma thing, an aunt and uncle thing, a brother/ sister thing, and most certainly a mom and dad thing.  Lots of them, in fact. 

This is why I loved what I found on Paula Spencer's site and blog, Momfidence.com.  I heard about her on Rush Limbaugh (ever since becoming addicted to Radio for the Blind in New Orleans, I only listen to talk radio these days) and had to Google her last night.  Her book Momfidence seems so right up my alley.  Her tagline is "Lose the Guilt, Love Your Instincts."  Thank you.

I want to do right by my kids.  I really do.  But at the end of the day, I have to believe that I know what's best for them.  Yes, I read all of the parenting magazines and lots of books, but when I'm done with them, I walk away.  They aren't my Bibles.  I take what works for our family and leave the rest.  I choose my battles, as I know that if I trust my instincts (along with a healthy dose of education to inform those instincts), I will win the war.

Sometimes that means letting Pants watch hours (yes, I said hours) of TV one morning while I do something for Mom.  I'm right here with him, paying loose attention to him, but otherwise he's on his own.  For the most part, on those mornings he doesn't even watch whatever is on the TV screen.  He just plays in front of it on and off, using whatever is going on on-screen as inspiration for whatever play he's acting out with all of his "guys."  I'd love to feel guilty about this, but I would also love to remain sane, so you pick and choose.

Sometimes that means hanging out in our pajamas all day and snacking on and off on our favorite food.  No organized breakfast and lunch, just us cows grazing.

MoodSwingingMommy had a great post about this parenting approach recently.  One of my favorite parts:

I am no June Cleaver!  Today Dear Son was "feeding" his Cookie Monster the crumbs that he found on the floor.  Cookie Monster is mighty well-fed living in our house.

And yet, somehow, I doubt that they are filthy little buggars.  I imagine they bear the hallmarks of a lived-in home:  clean, comfortable, accessible...  amid all of the dinosaurs, Dora's, piles of books, balls, Cookie Monsters, and yes, crumbs.

So I ordered Momfidence from Amazon.com and will let you know how it turns out for me.  I'm looking forward to a little support for a parent who is simultaneously laid-back and not afraid to be the boss rather than the buddy.  I'm the Mom, aka The Omniscient Boss.  I do not quiver in the face of either parenting magazines or my own little cookie monsters.

Our Lady of the Slab

I am consumed with Looking for Mary: Or, The Blessed Mother and Me by Beverly Donofrio.  It is absolutely fascinating.  I promise this is not a religious blog, but you've caught me at a religiously-interested moment. 

I converted to Catholicism when Al and I got married.  Women on my mother's side of the family were Catholic, so it was an easy decision.  Then again, my dad has a habit of referring to Mary as the "hoo ha" lady and to the rosary as "clickey beads."  Clickey beads is self-explanatory, but the "hoo ha" is for the Mary statues you see in people's yards, with her arms held low and open, palms up, as though she were rotating from side to side saying "hoo ha!  hoo ha!"  Picture Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman, though she's been the "hoo ha" lady for long before that.  I guess you could say I did have a few preconceived Catholic notions to overcome.

Nevertheless, Al's mom is very Catholic, particularly involved in the church and teaches at the Catholic school.  I think part of me was expecting to become that kind of Catholic (not devout, but certainly active), yet I failed to realize that I was marrying the son, not the mother.  Al is not exactly a practicing Catholic.  He can barely answer my Catholic questions and he went to Catholic school his whole life.  As a result, we haven't loaded the boys up every Sunday and hauled them off to mass. 

In recent years, I inherited some beautiful Catholic icons from my female relatives.  I began to collect a few pieces on my own, as well.  Not until I became Catholic did I feel comfortable having statues in my own home, but my converting seemed to translate into permission to begin displaying my faith.  Like I wasn't a poser anymore.  One such piece I bought myself was a simple vintage porcelain bust of Mary, bought at a little store in the French Quarter.  I am only drawn to a very particular type of Mary, and this was one such face.  I adored her.

Of course, you know what's coming...  the hurricane destroyed them all.  All of the statues.  All of the rosaries.  Everything from my grandmothers, my great-aunts, my aunts, my great-grandmothers...  all of it. 

Or so we thought.

Al went to our slab one day shortly after the storm and came back with all that he could find that was ours.  It could fit in an Easter basket, so little was to be found.  But what was found was remarkable:

The Blessed Mother's Farewell Tour '07

Friday night we took the boys out on our regular Friday night date:  dinner at Los Tres Amigos and then hanging out time at Barnes & Noble.  We've been doing this for a couple of months now and I love it.  It's sort of an unofficial date right now and I think we should make it an official family date night so that we can look forward to it each week.  It's one of the only times during the week that Pants gets to see other kids, and even Cheeks got to play with another baby.  If things work out as planned with our mother's helper, though, I do plan on beginning to take Pants to the Lynn Meadow's Children's Museum each week for their Bear Cub Club playgroup.  We'll get to it.

When we get to Barnes & Noble, we definitely have a routine.  Pants and Al hit the magazines so that Al can get something to read while Pants plays at the Thomas the Tank Engine train table.  I take Cheeks and hit the Starbucks coffee line, then browse the new fiction tables.  I don't usually buy anything, but that night it was all I could do to not buy four books.  They had put out new displays on the tables and the selection was like a feast for the famished.  Everything I picked up looked good enough to devour on the spot.

Since Cheeks was still strapped into his car seat, he started fussing and I had to get us moving, so I began wandering.  I had picked up a paperback copy of Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs but decided to hunt for a hardback version instead.  I figure, if I'm going to rebuild my library, I might as well do it right.

I found the Biography section and the hardback I wanted, but then spotted the beautifully simple cover of Looking For Mary: Or, The Blessed Mother and Me by Beverly Donofrio.  I scanned the description and immediately put down the Burroughs memoir.  I can read that one anytime, but this Mary book seemed to demand my immediate attention.  Any summary with the phrase "a 'lapsed Catholic' inexplicably begins collecting Virgin Mary memorabilia at yard sales" is the book for me.  Right up my alley.

I began reading it that night and I can already feel the hunting instinct creeping up on me.  I know that's not going to be the point of the book, but I can't help seizing on the "memorabilia-hunting" aspect of it.  By the way, using the word memorabilia in reference to the Virgin Mary is just entertaining to me.  Like she was a tour that passed through. 

One night only! 

The Blessed Mother and the Supreme Beings! 

Get your tickets now or burn in hell for all eternity!
Subject to service charges and convenience fees.