Sunday, March 23, 2008

health food?

I have convinced myself that dark chocolate peanut M&Ms are good for me. I don't just mean for my spirits. Though that argument has some merit.

Even though I know that they are full of sugar and fat -- and that the "dark" chocolate probably does not have significant, real cacao content -- I argue to myself that they are almost a health food.

They have peanuts -- some nut protein. The dark chocolate may have some benefit -- "low class" as it may be. They are like trail mix, right? (Trail mix also can have a ton of fat and calories... my argument is breaking down.)

I run and exercise enough that I am just breaking even -- not gaining, not losing. But I probably could be rid of my remaining baby belly (which is really not so bad, considered) if I stopped eating dark chocolate peanut M&Ms.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

this mom thing

Not sure how I'm feeling about this mom thing lately. Where are the perks for me? Sure, the neck hugs from my 9-month-old are sweet. But are they enough? My (almost) 4-year-old says "thank you" without prompting (and I didn't even train him to do it!). But that is not enough. I love them more than anything, yes. But, again, enough?

Az -- the 9-month-old -- had slept through the night for two weeks (amazing -- his brother Iz didn't even consider it until 18 months -- and, as with the "thank you" mentioned above, we did no sleep training). But the past three nights, he has decided he is unable to sleep without me by his side (now this I recognize -- Iz had a monitoring system -- a foot, a hand, that would sense any movement away from him). Az does not want to breastfeed (which is what Iz wanted); he just wants to lie next to me on the "guest" bed in his room and sleep. Like a mini, peachfuzzy, diapered boyfriend.

And last night, he decided to wake up at 3:30am and be "playful" -- coo, gurgle, scratch my cheek, stick his fingers up my nose (I've got to cut those fingernails), and pull my hair. This went on for an hour. I thought it went on longer, but it turns out I was then dreaming about trying to get him to sleep by jiggling his butt. I figured that out when my alarm went off at 5am.

So what is in it for me, huh?

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

yes, a word cloud

I wish I could keep a permanent one up on my blog -- but I am not savvy enough to figure that out (nor do I have the time to figure it out).

(Thanks to crumbs for the link.)

Sunday, March 09, 2008

made me think

"With a few big exceptions, I don't much care for abreactive or confessional memoirs. I'm not sure how to explain this. There is probably a sound, serious argument to be made about the popularity of confessional memoirs as a symptom of something especially sick and narcissistic/voyeuristic about U.S. culture right now. About certain deep connections between narcissism and voyeurism and the mediated psyche. But this isn't it. I think the real reason is that I just don't trust them. Memoirs/confessionals, I mean. Not so much their factual truth as their agenda. The sense I get from a lot of contemporary memoirs is that they have an unconscious and unacknowledged project, which is to make the memoirist seem as endlessly fascinating and important to the reader as they are to themselves. I find them sad in a way that I don't think their authors intend." (David Foster Wallace, Introduction, The Best American Essays 2007)

Since I am thinking about writing (and beginning to write, really!) that memoir/novel, this opinion struck me. Am I being narcissistic? Is narcissism always necessary to write a memoir? It would be about me after all. Of course, I am not writing some over-the-top thing because, honestly, my life was and isn't over the top (with drugs, crime, family drama, whatever, you know what I mean). But there is a story there. So I think I want to write a good story, whatever form it takes. But I don't think it is about saying, "Look at me! I'm endlessly fascinating and important!" Yeah, that's so me (sarcasm -- I am a rather shy individual.). I know Wallace is not blasting all memoirs, but his harsh words made me think.