As I said a couple of days ago, I’ve sort of stopped collecting my comments from elsewhere–for now–until the next time I change my mind. But I actually have some old (old, old) ones I’d already collected and was keeping for a rainy blog day, or even a day when it’s not raining but I don’t have time to post anything new. And such a day has arrived! Was that enough of a preamble for the following blog-comment dregs? (If not, I can come up with more. It’s not hard! You just type everything that comes into your mind! It’s what I like to call the Stephenie Meyer approach to writing. But then I feel bad for being so rude, when clearly I will never be a blockbuster-writer myself. Clearly I have sour grapes. Which make interesting juice, and even more interesting blog-comment dregs.) (The other thing about just writing whatever comes into your mind is that your metaphors don’t have to make any sense.)
And away we go!
At “The Apron Stage,” Rebecca shared a story about teaching an unruly, unlucky kid. I said:
I have often thought I love kids way too much to be able to handle the emotional challenges of being a teacher — the limits to my influence in contrast to how much influence I’d like to have would be frustrating in the extreme. (I do have one formal teaching experience to my name, but that’s a long story.) Actually I love kids way too much to even read the news or pay attention to world events. I don’t mean that I really don’t read the news, just that it’s painful to become aware of suffering and neglected kids. I do have to believe that even when we can’t turn a kid’s life around, every kind act does count.
At “Visual Anarchy,” Lis talked about her daughter’s “Kill Jar” for bug collecting, and said, “Just last week I said, “You know, this house could really use a box full of dead bugs.” I replied:
Great idea! I think that could definitely go well with the general themes of chaos and return-to-nature we have going around here, too. I see I’ve been going about things all wrong and I need to stop fighting the chaos and instead embrace it and accentuate it.
[Little did I know that within week’s we’d have our own kill jar; in fact, it’s still up there on top of the fridge, even though I think Ike’s done collecting bugs for 7th grade science.]
On Louise’s list post at The Apron Stage (which you should definitely follow this link to go read,) I said:
I loved both of these lists.
I can match both you and Elise: I will never ride across Turkey or Egypt in a bus, while pregnant, while all the male passengers chain-smoke, and my wallet gets stolen. This should also spare me ever again seeing a youth with dime-sized blackheads in his ears.
I was kinda sad when I got married that my husband’s and my 10″ height difference made it not work very well for me to borrow his clothes (although I did borrow them for the Egyptian bus ride back in the day–good maternity clothes were hard to find in the Middle East) but I will say that it has never even occurred to me to borrow his underwear.
Also at The Apron Stage, Lisa has a great what-not-to-name-your-baby post. Here’s my contribution:
I hate that I’m so late to this conversation (I’m so far behind in Reader that I’m soon going to have to declare bankruptcy) because I always love this conversation. I loved your take on it, too–very witty. (I do actually like the name Apple a lot better than some of the other names your commenters have referenced, though.) I do agree with both the person who said that a likable kid will carry off any name, and also the person who said that no matter how hard they try, parents are bound to get it wrong.
I agonize over names–I like traditional, old-fashioned names and family names, and my husband likes uncommon names. Hence my kids are: Isaac, Mabel, Rose, Henry, and Hazel. Mabel doesn’t like her name and wanted us to name baby Hazel Rianna instead. We wouldn’t go along with that but told her she could call herself that if she wanted, and she did start telling her friends to call her Rianna, but after a while she forgot about it.
As for my own unusual name, it has a pretty solid Mormon pioneer pedigree (although my mom thinks the first one was named to rhyme with a twin sister Lina who died at birth) and is also a family name on both sides, and usually I’m pretty comfortable with it–although once in a while I do think “They really named me that?!”
Over at Seriously So Blessed, TAMN confided that she’d purchased cloth diapers but was “too grossed out to use them.” I said:
I know a woman who once sold a hand-embroidered diaper for close to $100. (Totally true story.) I think the only way to use that diaper is to put it OVER a disposable one. Which is what I recommend you do with your cute custom fitted cloth diapers. You did buy cute custom ones, right? Not plain old white ones? Plain old white ones, as everyone else has explained, are meant to be made into cute custom burp cloths. Oh, sorry, I know you already know all that . . .
P.S. Here’s another true diaper-related story. I’m the second of nine kids, and my mom used the unfashionable plain white diapers (and yes I do know how to rinse out a diaper in the toilet; why do you ask? Also how to hold my fingers behind the pin so that if something gets stuck it’s me and not the baby. Also how to rub a diaper pin in soap so it will slide more easily through the layers of cloth. Not that I have ever availed myself of any of this knowledge in the diapering of my own five children.) Anyway, once at some sort of social gathering my mom said, “Oh, you should never throw away old diapers,” and she was about to finish the sentence with “because they make great rags,” but before she could a woman interrupted her with, “You have to stop having babies some time!” FRUDE, huh! (That’s your pioneer-times history lesson for the day.)
Random photo o’ the day: Bouncing baby runs out of steam