My Stories

I went to a literary event last week called Mother Words. It's an annual celebration of mothers who write about motherhood. This time the theme was breast-feeding, a topic I have pretty much zero interest in at this stage of the game, but the authors were such good writers that I still had a lovely time.

During the Q&A, someone asked about privacy and if there was a time when the authors would stop writing about their children because the stories were no longer theirs to tell. It touched on a nerve I've been feeling...truthfully, I've always worried about mentioning the teenager, even though I've never done so by name, because that line between my story and his is so blurry. (Luckily, I have a readership of, like, 25.) But now, as my boys get older, I'm aware that they are capable of finding and reading my blog and I wonder what they would think.

For the record, all of the authors said they rarely write about the details of their elementary-aged kids' lives anymore...although they've all written books chronicling the early years.

Then today, I read this debate over whether it's okay for parents to tell their children's stories in memoir. Again, the lines are blurry, but I can't help but think that those arguing staunchly in favor of doing what's best for the story over the children, don't actually have any children.

This is all to say that I'm back to trying to figure out what to do with this blog. Do I retire it? I can't just delete it - I'd be sad to lose all these memories. I could make it private, but leave it up here for my own reference. I could use one of those applications that turns it into a printed book...

Part of me doesn't want to let go of this blog until I finish my 40 by 40 list. I could do that. I could just stop detailing the activities of my children. Or I could start a new blog and bring my 40 by 40 list with me.

These aren't real problems, I realize, they are just questions I'm trying to answer. Is there any value in continuing to blog? Well, yes, to me there is. But I know I have to be more careful to separate my stories from my kids' stories. It's not worth hurting anybody, even if it's not intentional.

And so, I'm trying to view this as an opportunity to make my blogging more focused - less schizophrenic - but I don't really know what I'd focus on...baking and reality TV? Is general neurosis a focus?

Any ideas? Please share.

Words of Wisdom

A friend who I hadn't seen in awhile - but one to whom I am inextricably linked through our shared experience in the NICU - invited me to a reading the other night. All I knew about the event was that my friend's friend, Kate Hopper, was one of the readers and that she had written about her own experience with her daughter being born early and staying in the NICU.

It's funny because I don't regularly think of myself as the mother of preemies - especially not now that my preemies are gigantic six-year-olds - but when the opportunity arises to identify myself as part of that group, I am enthusiastic in the way survivors of anything are enthusiastic to share their knowledge and learn from others who can empathize. Not to mention that I am always intrigued by women who have managed to turn such a heart-wrenching experience into a book. (Let's face it, I'm intrigued by everyone who has had the determination required to complete a book.)

As expected, the reading was wonderful. All three women are fantastic writers. What was not expected, was that one of the authors was someone whose work I had already read. I didn't even recognize her name (though my fellow mamas might), but Vicki Forman had touched my heart more than a year ago.

Through the other autism mama blogs I read, I had learned of her son's sudden passing in July of 2008. Back then, I had found her on Literary Mama, where she was the Special Needs Mama, and I had been moved by her post "The Mother at the Swings."

That piece so eloquently summarizes what a parent of a special needs child is faced with when meeting new people - and I say that knowing that I have only the most peripheral of understanding on the subject given the relatively mild symptoms that Owen demonstrates.

I think I was most moved, perhaps, by her ability to paint the picture in such a positive light. The way she sees the best in the mother asking questions at the playground when it can be so easy to view such inquiries in a more sinister, judgmental light. I was struck by the way she seemed so at ease, where I often found myself fearing what that other mother might say, how she might fail to see the beauty in my child. This is something I believe I will struggle with even more as Owen gets older, now that the "little kid" behavior, like tantrums, is falling away from his peers, creating greater contrast between them.

Sadly, I didn't put the pieces together while I was at the reading, with this amazing mother and writer standing before me. The lightbulb was just beginning to spark in my brain and it wasn't until I got home and Googled her that I realized our paths had crossed before (or rather, that I had strolled along hers briefly). Not that it really matters - her reading was powerful regardless of whether I knew who she was. Her strength under more hardship than any person should bear, is mind-boggling. Her ability to channel that strength and pain and grief into words that comfort others is truly extraordinary.

Her book was swiftly placed on my must-read list. Inspiration is such a happy thing to stumble upon.

Hittin' the Books

I appreciate all the notes of concern and/or encouragement re: my last post -- you guys are sweet and say all the right things. Thank you.

Onto my current indulgence: books. (and Leinenkugel's Summer Shandy, but maybe that's for another blog...) Now that my boys are almost FIVE (how did this happen?), I sometimes actually have time to read again. And not just children's books and the occasional magazine article. Sometimes I find myself reading entire chapters of books before I hear my boys fighting over whose turn it is to do whatever. It's amazing.

So I thought I'd share two book recommendations:

I just finished reading "Mamarama: A Memoir of Sex, Kids and Rock 'n' Roll" by Evelyn McDonnell. She's a riot grrl rock critic turned mama in Miami. I actually found much of the book difficult to get through partially because of her ego and partially because of mine...as in, I wish I could say I had been the music editor at the Village Voice and that I'd hung out with Throwing Muses back in the day. Still, it's a decent momoir (is that what they call those?) in the end.

The thing I hadn't expected is that she actually married a guy with two kids, thus becoming a stepmom to teenagers -- difficult teenagers, too. She doesn't spend a ton of the book on that particular subject, but I still found her perspective interesting - especially this paragraph, in which she's talking about one of her stepdaughters when she was failing out of high school:

"I wish I could have reached her when she was in that dark place. I wish I hadn't said and done things that probably deepened the chasm between us. I think there are some things a parent can't fix; all you can do is stay on the ride and hope you come through the tunnel and out the other side." Let's all breathe a little sigh of relief for that.

I am now reading Anthony Bourdain's "Kitchen Confidential." I know it's old, but I just finally got around to it after Tivoing his show forever. I LOVE it! I don't want to do anything but read it! In fact, I'm going to end this blog soon so that I can go back to reading it. It's great.

And thus concludes Reading Time with the mama/reality-TV-addict/wanna-be-chef. Who knows what I might read next?