Excuse the sporadic posting. It's a reflection of where my daily life is at right now. I never know if I will have the necessary chunk of time to post something worthy of you, dear reader.
A general update seems necessary.
Frieda is doing well. Lately her vocalizations range from those audible only to dolphins to others low and growling like nightmare monsters. She is definitely testing her vocal boundaries. Her sleep schedule, such as it is, consists of a good-sized morning nap followed by a couple catnaps in the afternoon. In the evening she flails against sleep, flinging her arms out as if fending off blows: the kid hates to go down for the night.
Henry is also doing well. He has adjusted to his new school and teachers and happily gets on the bus each morning. He still likes his string but lately it seems easier to distract him with other activities. Dare I hope that this phase is waning?
In my life as an individual person whose apron strings can embrace more than child-raising, cooking, and cleaning, I am re-reading "War and Peace." Henry James famously called it a "big, baggy monster." He meant it as a criticism, but I love big, fat, sprawling novels -- also known as "chunksters." I've read a couple novels of Mr. James', and I have to say that I'll take Tolstoy's thousand-plus page opus over one of James' finely-written, compact novels any day.
Indeed, they are so finely written that I have a hard time figuring out exactly what is going on within them. I do, though, get an enormous sense of accomplishment upon finishing one, rather like I felt after my 28-hour tooth repair session at the dentist last year.
My progress on W&P, though, is bound to be slow this time around. I get about 15 minutes of reading in before I pass out at night. At this rate, I'll finish it sometime next year.
During the day, especially during nursing sessions, I watch TV. Since Frieda was born, I've become a captive audience. I'm therefore able to say with hard-earned wisdom that nearly any show beginning with a number (particularly followed by the word "most") is bound to be crap, e.g. "100 Most Embarrassing Hollywood Divorce Hottie Swimsuits." Sometimes strangely compelling crap, but crap nonetheless.
Of course, viewing one of these takes me away from other highly educational shows such as "Split Ends" (in which hairdressers trade salons for a week -- hilarity ensues) or "Nanny 911."
How can you, who read W&P with some regularity, also enjoy "Nanny 911"? you ask.
You might say my tastes are like that big, baggy monster: sprawling and chaotic, consuming everything in its path, reality shows and literary classics of the last century alike, and regurgitating it all for the edification of my readers.
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