Overheard in the post office

Kiddette and I were on line when two little old ladies entered behind us and their "cute baby!" radars immediately pinged. "Oh, how sweet, she's looking at Mommy, how old is she," etc. Then one started to tell the other about her granddaughter, whose name is Danica.

"Oh, is that Hungarian?" the other asked (I'm assuming the grandma was Hungarian).

"No, it's for a race car driver," the first explained to some amazement. They spent several minutes going back and forth about the interesting race car driver.

So which is funnier, that someone thought so highly of Danica Patrick (despite, or because of the Go Daddy commercial?) that they named their child after her, or that even after Danica Patrick's full media onslaught of the past couple years, two little old ladies had no idea who she is?

Anyway, the postal worker at the counter and I were amused.

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... Aaaand happy to report that I have completed my Jane Austen project, just in time to head back to work and lose all leisure reading time that does not involve "The Wheels on the Bus" or "Red Light Green Light." Celia will be less pleased to know that I liked "Northanger Abbey" but did not love it; I think I just enjoy Austen's heroines more when they're smart and self-possessed, not wide-eyed and innocent. I did laugh at how "Northanger" makes fun of Gothic stereotypes, and there are a couple of passages in praise of novel reading and of writing that appealed to me. But my favorites are still "Pride and Prejudice," "Persuasion" and "Emma," in that order.

Scalpel?

Actually I don't know if scalpels are used in strabismus surgery. Maybe they use something else equally sharp and horrifying.

We went for our second opinion this week. Kiddo was pretty well-behaved, I must say. We read a Highlights together in the waiting room (infinitely more interesting than Rachael Ray on the TV) and after we headed to the examining room, he was perfectly happy to play with the toys in it while hanging out in the big chair. He answered the opthalmologist's questions like a pro. Even after getting his eyes dilated, he shrugged it off pretty quickly and bopped around the rear waiting room -- clearly designed for dilated kids and bored mamas, with more toys and a few magazines -- not even trying to escape and run wild through the place, which he's been known to do. The opthalmologist was impressed, calling him both smart and mature for his age. Excuse me while I bask in that for a minute.

Of course, he also said kiddo absolutely needs surgery. Excuse me while I freak.

He said 25 percent of kids with this problem grow out of it more or less on their own, and the trick is figuring out whether the kid you're looking at is in the 25 percent or the 75 percent that need intervention. He also said he doesn't think patching ever works and he's had kids come to him after patching, vision therapy and glasses but he's never had to redo a surgery. And that the parents most against the surgery in the first place tend to be happiest with the results.

It's a half-hour procedure, they put the kid under for it, he's been doing it for years, etc. and yada and yikes.

I can't argue the fact that kiddo's eyes are worse. And obviously patching only worked for a little while, and you can't patch an eye indefinitely unless your name is One-Eyed Willie. And boy, there was absolutely no hesitation on the doctor's part; about five seconds into the exam he was talking surgery.

So there's the second opinion. The pediatrician recommended yet another specialist if we wanted to explore the issue further; do we try for a third?

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Better writers than me have already weighed in on the late lamented Mr. Salinger, but I thought I'd note that I just reread "Catcher" a couple months ago and liked it all over again. Holden's such a screwed-up kid, but you can see the wry, caring adult he might actually become if he can manage to survive to adulthood. I especially like when he offers to buy the nuns a drink, which is both kinda creepy and a nobly failed attempt to be as sophisticated and gentlemanly as the adults he hates.

I think I'd like to be the catcher in the rye too. Except I'm old enough to know you can't always save people from themselves.

Strabismus: The Sequel

For the longest time we thought kiddo's eyes were better. The patching seemed to work. It was almost like the visits with the pediatric opthalmologist were a formality.

Yeah, that didn't last.

So his eyes are worse. To the point where someone besides us might notice the wandering eyeball if they watched him closely enough. Sometimes he seems to do it deliberately, push them in opposite directions to get a rise out of us, and then he looks a little like a lizard creature. Which kills me, because he's a pretty adorable kid.

And the doctor's verdict, so far, has been, and I'm paraphrasing here: "Huh. Looks worse. See you in three months."

I cannot believe there's nothing else we could be doing right now. What are we supposed to do, sit back and wait for it to get bad enough to require surgery? Because that seems to be the doctor's strategy. And surgery doesn't always work. And also: It's surgery! He's not even 3 yet.

So I'm taking him to another specialist for a second opinion, because I'd like to feel like we really did exhaust all other options.

Periodically I meet another adult who clearly has a variation on what he has, and it's incredibly disconcerting. You can't tell whether they're looking at you, so you can't watch their face for social cues. Makes conversation difficult. I always want to ask them about it -- have you always had it? did anyone try to treat it? how does it affect your life? -- but of course that would be crazily rude so I don't. And then I feel like a jerk, hoping my son doesn't turn out like them.

On the plus side, he seems to function pretty well with a wonky eyeball. He loves being read to, and is starting to figure out the words in books (by having them read to him over and over and over and over and sigh). He can focus on his toys or his food or that godawful "Super Why" show with no problem. Just sometimes, when he's tired or cranky or when he feels like it, he unfocuses.

I hope the doctor tells us something useful.

I hate to eat and run, but the kid sure doesn't

This time around on the baby train, I've definitely expanded my repertoire of semi-public  places to nurse in. I don't know if it's because I'm more laid back about the whole thing or because kiddette is hungrier than her big brother was (which I find hard to believe, considering his monster appetite). For instance, I discovered handicapped fitting rooms in department stores work nicely, because the stroller fits in them and there's a seating area. But it does bring up the Miss Manners question: "So, Miss Manners, does a hungry baby get dibs over a disabled person looking to try on a blouse?"

I was using just such a fitting room recently when I heard a knock on a door -- couldn't tell if it was my door -- and a woman poked her head in, saw me (didn't see much else, I'm quite discreet), apologized and backed out. I heard her wheeling something away and muttering something or other about trying the store's other set of fitting rooms. And I thought, Oh dear Lord, I just prevented a woman in a wheelchair from using the fitting room legally designed for her use. And I felt horribly guilty. And also annoyed because if regular fitting rooms were bigger, I could've used one of those; if there were another sort of private-ish room I could use in the vicinity, I'd use that; if people weren't so weird about mothers nursing in public, I could just grab a bench near the food court and no one would blink an eye, and I wouldn't have to worry about, say, getting the cops called on me at Target.

But I finished feeding kiddette and put her gently snoozing body back in the stroller, then opened the door to see the same woman from before. And I was hugely relieved to see she was pushing ... another stroller. I told her we were done and she was welcome to the room. We chatted briefly, exchanged our daughters' vitals (age? weight? serial number?) and then kiddette and I headed out. I have no idea whether the other mom wanted the room to feed in or just to try stuff on in, but it's a bit of a moot point.

Still my etiquette question remains. What if it had been a woman in a wheelchair? Because normally I get all kinds of peeved at non-disabled people who use disabled fitting rooms and restroom stalls and parking spaces. But if there isn't another space available to use, what's a mother (and wailing baby) to do? You'd think, as more women breastfeed and do so for longer periods of time, that this issue would pop up more often. 

In case you were wondering what other wacky places I've nursed lately: Church. Precisely one minute into the baptism we were attending. (In the hallway, not the pew.) Hungry little stroller jockey, isn't she?

Fanny Price is a pill!

That is my conclusion after finishing "Mansfield Park." It's part of my maternity leave reading list. Last time around, I read "War and Peace." No, really. It's good. All you ever hear about is how long it is, boo-hoo and wah, but if you can handle the last four or so Harry Potter books you can do this too. Worth the effort.

So I thought, what should I read this time around? Because the thing about nursing is that you spend lots of time sitting down. You can get on the phone, you can watch TV or you can read. You can of course also interact with your baby, but your baby will be feeding for up to an hour, every two to three hours, and no matter how much you want to be Ultimate Mom, you're going to want a diversion after a while.


Now I love "Pride and Prejudice." I've read it over and over. I've seen, I'm fairly sure, every movie version, including the Bollywood one ("Bride and Prejudice," so-so acting but great dance scenes). But I realized that I'd never read Austen's other novels, and she only wrote six (not counting "Sanditon," which was unfinished at the time of her death). Hey, I can read five novels in a few months.

I was surprisingly so-so on "Sense and Sensibility," finding it a little overwrought plotwise. Also I felt like the ending sold out Marianne a little. Which is odd because I didn't remember getting that sense from the movie. Also odd: One scene that stuck in my head from the movie -- a heartbroken Marianne standing in the pouring rain, reciting poetry to the house her lost Willoughby was in -- wasn't in the book at all. When she falls ill, it's solely from Willoughby spurning her ("dumping" doesn't sound right, does it?). People in these novels keep getting sick just from hearing bad news. Delicate 19th-century constitutions?

I liked "Emma" a lot; it has a light, arch tone that makes it a fun read. The heroine is so sure of herself, and so completely wrong about everything, that you sort of want to roll your eyes and hug her simultaneously. Also I developed a new appreciation for "Clueless," which is a surprisingly faithful adaptation, aside from having a pretty good soundtrack.

"Persuasion" is the one you want to read when feeling most cynical about human nature. The satire verges on viciousness. (Occasionally you get the distinct feeling that Austen didn't like most people.) But Anne Elliot is someone you want to root for, getting a second chance at love even though she's a spinster in her late twenties (ancient, I know).

"Mansfield Park," though, has left me a little cold. All the other heroines are likable in their way, from calm and sensible Anne to smart, witty Lizzy Bennet. But Fanny Price is completely reactive. The entire novel happens around her, and she just mopes and cries and waits for her beloved Edmund to get around to noticing that she exists, and gosh, wouldn't they make a cute couple? Which the reader picked up on somewhere around chapter three. I read that Fanny was Austen's favorite heroine, and I really hope that wasn't true.

It's funny how contemporary the novels feel. Frenemies! Lousy parents and spoiled kids! City snobs snarking about the country! (Oh you New Yorkers with your better-than-Jersey holiness.) Not to mention adultery, illegitimate children and the occasional gold-digger. I don't know if it's reassuring that society hasn't changed that much, or depressing.

But this has been a fun read. Just "Northanger Abbey" left, assuming the library has it, and then I think I can legitimately consider myself an Austen fan. For whatever that's worth.

But at least they gave us gelt

A local Jewish group was holding a menorah lighting ceremony at town hall, so we figured we'd go, since we'd already hit the town's tree lighting-palooza. Plus there'd be latkes and doughnuts. I refuse to make latkes from scratch because there's only so much work I'm prepared to put into dinner, but I'm happy to eat them if someone else makes them. (Side note: Trader Joe's frozen latkes are quite good.)

So we showed up a few minutes late and figured the menorah -- a decent-sized electric one next to the lit-up tree -- was already lit and the party had moved inside, except for the few stragglers still around the menorah. Then we realized the stragglers were the party. The entirely outside party. After dark. In December. With the wind whipping through our entire bodies.

Outside?

Let me just say, you all seemed like very nice people, as much as we were able to talk to you in between the teeth chattering, but ... outside? Two feet from a parking lot? In the freezing cold? With children in tow?

I know the whole point of Hanukkah is to shine a light against the darkness and all, but you know what else beats back the darkness? A well-lit room. With heat.

I almost made us leave on the spot, but we'd promised kiddo latkes so we trooped on over. There was a radio playing Hebrew party tunes, a table with doughnuts and dreidels, and that was just about it. We politely stayed a few minutes and then skipped on out before our children got frostbite. "You brought a baby -- you must really be dedicated!" one man called out as we were leaving.

No, sir, just expecting a *ahem* warmer reception.

And I wouldn't even be that annoyed, except that here was how the tree lighting party went: chorus sings, fire trucks blare, Santa arrives, tree lit, big crowd heads inside for Santa photo ops, balloon animals, cupcakes, hot chocolate and other assorted goodies. Sure, one was town-sponsored and one was a private group. But they were both held at the same spot, so yes, folks, comparisons are inevitable.

Jews are not good at outreach. Or PR. I think we're so used to everyone hating us that it doesn't occur to us that people might want to, say, know more about our culture, or maybe attend one of our cultural events without it being unbelievably inconvenient. (DH has complained before about feeling unwelcome in all-Jewish places.)

In all fairness, it's easier to get into the Christian holidays because they tend to have a secular (pagan?) component to go along with the more serious religious component. Christmas has Santa. Easter has the Easter bunny and gobs of candy. Neither one is the point of the holiday, but they give the kids (and wary Jewish adults) something to hang onto unless and until they're ready for the real point. Jewish holidays are the point. There's no Pasky the Passover Pascal Lamb, for instance. Just the seder. And gobs of matzah.

But the end result is that we are going to do our damndest to educate our kids in both sides of their heritage, and Judaism is going to be a harder sell. Unless we can find better Hanukkah parties.

Santa Santa Santa and also Santa

People make such a big thing about Christmas envy. Oh, you poor Jewish thing, you must've hated growing up watching your friends and their Christmas this and Santa that. Trees and lights and ham and lamb and mint sauce (I still don't understand the mint sauce, can some gentile out there enlighten me?) and candy canes and TV specials and stockings. You poor deprived child. Boo hoo and wah.

But not really. The thing is, I like Hanukkah. Always did. You get to play with fire -- in front of your parents, no less -- you get to hear a cool story about war and miracles, and you get eight nights of presents. And no matter what Lewis Black tells you about back-to-school holidays, some of us actually got toys at Hanukkah. Like the Cabbage Patch dolls and the Pound Puppies and the Nintendo and could I be dating myself any more here? Anyway, Christmas-Hanukkah never bothered me.

(Easter-Passover, that bugged me. Macaroons? Chocolate bunnies? No comparison.)

What I'm realizing, though, is that when it comes to the sheer fun quotient, Hanukkah can't compete. It's just outclassed.

We took kiddo to see Santa on Saturday -- right, the day it snowed, and then tried to find a tree even though there was snow in our eyes the whole time -- and went to our town's tree lighting on Sunday. He had a blast. He ran right up to Santa, high-fived him, sat on his lap, said thanks for the candy cane, and then while we were drinking our hot cider he ran back over to Santa and scored a second picture. Probably would've shot for a third if we hadn't dragged him outside to the tree lot. We'd have an album full of him mugging with Santa.

For the tree lighting, everybody gathered outside the municipal building while every single fire truck and ambulance the town owns (or it felt that way, anyway) came screaming into the lot, followed by Santa on a smaller truck. Kids shrieked when they saw him. Santa is a rock star! Then everyone looked up at the big tree at the top of the hill and counted down to 1, when the tree magically lit up in primary colors. And then inside for cupcakes and hot chocolate, plus pictures with Santa (absolutely not, it was a mile-long line).

Such excitement, such drama. Even I got a thrill when I knelt next to kiddo and pointed: "Look, here comes Santa! Look at the tree, they're turning on the lights!" It draws you in. I started to wonder what it would've been like for me, celebrating these things as a kid. What would it have felt like? What's it like to see Santa for the first time, and to believe in him? Kiddo looked dazzled.

(I am aware that Santa is not actually the point of the holiday. We'll tackle that part, too, when kiddo is old enough to understand a little better. Right now I'm focusing on the more secular aspects.)

Hanukkah has a pretty compelling story in its own right, but it's a more quiet sort of celebration. It's not even a major holiday on the Jewish calendar, nowhere near the status of Passover or the High Holy Days. Any attempts to raise it up to the level of Christmas are -- let's face it -- Christmas envy.

We celebrate both, obviously, but we don't mush them together. They're separate holidays held for separate reasons and that needs to be acknowledged. Still I wonder how much more we'll have to push to make Hanukkah stick in the kids' minds. Because Christmas has a magic that's hard to resist.