this woman’s work

You are browsing the archives from 2002 October.

Shana, who has also suffered miscarriages, left this comment to my recurrent miscarriage post:

There are no guarantees. And I can’t get my mind around that, that I may be condemning my children to die by the simple act of conceiving them.

That’s it *exactly.* That’s exactly how I feel. It’s not what I *believe* (I believe that those little spirits have many opportunities to come to earth if not with me, then with someone else; and I’m really not sure when life begins officially anyway), but it’s how I *feel.*

Thanks, Shana, for explaining it so well.

Development experts say children suffer due to lack of unstructured fun

This article is depressing. And frustrating.

Here’s the next one in the series: Creative play makes better problem-solvers

You know what makes me sad about this series? It’s the reminder that Noah will not have the care-free childhood I had. Even if we lived in the out-lying suburbs as I did as a child, there aren’t enough stay-at-home families to sustain the kind of running free that I enjoyed. When I was growing up, there was a mom in just about every house on the block and so it was safe to have the children cutting across backyards to get to each other’s house. My neighborhood here in Columbus was built on a big U-shaped street so that all of the backyards touched each other. The neighborhood code didn’t allow fencing so it was like we shared this big community backyard. It sucks that Noah won’t have that.

This neighborhood where we live now isn’t the kind of place that Noah could take off on his bike someday when he’s older. And there are no kids on our street. None. So I have to drive him to playdates where the time is already mapped out. I hate that. I wish he had more unfettered time with friends. More casual time. More just showing up at each other’s house time.

Well, at least he’s not growing up in the London blitz, right? It’s a luxury to be worried that my son’s play isn’t playful enough, I think. I guess I better quit my moping and go count my blessings instead.

I’ve got poison ivy. I used to think I was immune but alas, I’ve got it on my arm and both my legs. Yowch. Very itchy. Here’s the trick and it works for mosquito bites, too. First off you need a microwave. Then you need an old sock. Then you need some rice. Pour a big bunch of rice into the sock. Tie the sock shut. Stick the sock in the microwave on high for 30 seconds to a minute. Now take it out and put it on the poison ivy (or mosquito bite or whatever) for as long as you can stand it. Don’t burn yourself but leave it there. You should get such an intense itching that you feel like clawing through your skin down to the bone. See, the heat is making your body release all of your histimines — the stuff that makes you itch. Once it’s released it all, you’ll have relief for a couple of hours or more. Really. It works.

For the month of October, we will be featuring the sublime Grace Paley. Why should you love her? How can you not?

From here: Whatever your calling is, whether it’s as a plumber or an artist, you have to make sure there’s a little more justice in the world when you leave it than when you found it.

and from that same interview: One of the things is — I’ve never really said this — but one of the things that has interested me is that women have bought books by men since forever, and they began to realize that it was not about them, right? But they continue, with great interest, because it’s like reading about another country. Now, men have never returned the courtesy.

And not only is she a feminist, a “combative pacifist and cooperative anarchist”, and a mother (not to mention grandmother), she’s also one hell of a writer. If you haven’t discovered her yet, pick up one of her books (fiction, nonfiction or poetry) because you’re in for a treat. I’m going to go grab The Little Disturbances of Man off my bookshelf as soon as I hit save here.