Revolving Door

Some of the best parents we know, a couple in Los Angeles, can attribute the well-roundedness of their children to the parade of guests that come through their home. This couple (and family) is one of the most hospitable I've ever met. Their kids are used to having all kinds of people around and have learned how to relate and converse with most anyone.

The first time I went to their house, when Ted and I were engaged, their 8-year-old son came running, jumping up into Ted's arms, looking him in the face and shouting, "I can't believe it! I can't believe it!"

Ted looked at the small ape hanging on him and asked, "What can't you believe?"

"You're here! You're really here!"

Yeah, they're pretty over-the-top hospitable. We want our kids to be comfortable around most anyone. So we're happy that this fall, we've had a revolving door of guests that started with my dad, then a college friend of Ted's, then our friend Staci who was here during Halloween, and now one of my old students from my years teaching in Slovakia whose Austrian boyfriend is arriving tomorrow.

Abe is shy for all of five minutes but is quickly trying to rummage through their suitcases while asking them, "What are you doing now?" every 30 seconds.

I was searching for a decent picture of my student, but the only one I could find in our photo library is this one:
This was at her stuzkova (sort of like prom, but just a lot fancier and way more formal and much fewer drunken binges and DUIs). She's in the black skirt, on the right, the one with the most beautiful red hair you've ever seen. I took this in December of '06, the last time I was in Slovakia, which is much too long in my opinion. Having her here is making me miss it.

It's been really fun today to trade gossip on our old school while drinking wine (hey, she's 22 now, so it's alright). It's always a little bittersweet to see these sweet students growing up, making lives of their own.

I'm just so lucky that they still sometimes want to hang out with me. And they bring me fancy European chocolate too. Whole bagfulls of it. Like I said, I'm really lucky.

The One Where I Gush about Where the Wild Things Are

I never read Where the Wild Things Are as a kid. I was familiar with the art and the Wild Things but had never read the book from start to finish until I checked it out from the library with Abe several months ago. After our first reading of it, Abe looked me square in the eye and said, "read it again, Mom." So we did. Three more times in one sitting.

I cried the first time I saw the trailer for the movie and was pretty excited to see Spike Jonze attached to it. Also, the kid who plays Max is a Portland resident, also named Max. I loved the music they used for the trailer. I waited a few days to see the movie because I'm one of those people who gets annoyed in crowded theaters. Since Abe joined our family, I've gone a couple of times to see movies by myself at a local theater in our neighborhood. I go about a week after the release date, in the middle of the day so I don't have to share the theater with too many people. Otherwise, I'm distracted by the popcorn smacking (disgusting) and end up really grouchy and just wanting to leave.

Anyway. One day a couple of weeks ago when Ted was home, I went during Abe's naptime to see Where the Wild Things Are, all by myself. Ten minutes into the movie, I was already tearing up. The acting is incredible. Of course, Catherine Keener is lovely in anything she does, so we already knew that, but this Max Records kid is incredible. Just incredible. He had never acted before this film. There were so many subtle moments, so many tiny details that made Wild Thing Max very real, like any kid and every kid you've ever known.

Spike Jonze and Max Records

The term "feast for the eyes" is a cliche, so I'm sorry to be using it, but I have to. I can't think of a better way to describe the land of the Wild Things. I'm sure I had my mouth hanging open most of the time. A couple of reviewers complained about how slow the film was at times, that Spike Jonze's indulgence of showing you his love for this world slowed down the pace of the film. Well, fine by me. I love that world too and was content being there as long as Max was.

Though the bulk of the story takes place in the fantastical imagination of a boy, I was struck by the realism and truth presented in the film. I cried off and on through the whole thing partly because of how beautiful it is but also because of how truthful it is. Of course, you've probably heard by now that each Wild Thing is an aspect of Max's personality, that he's working through the problems in his real life by projecting onto these made-up characters. I can see that, but honestly, I wasn't thinking about that while watching the film. Each Wild Thing was distinct, each one so human, with all of our selfish instincts towards self-preservation, but also with wonder, imagination, insecurities and beautiful selflessness. The Wild Things are as complex as human beings are.

A reviewer for The Oregonian gave Where the Wild Things Are a basically good review but added that, much like the Wild Things themselves, it seemed to be written mostly for adults who never wanted to grow up. I don't like his insinuation that this is a bad thing. When I read that line, I felt a little pang of recognition in my chest because another reason why I was so moved by the film was the feeling it gave me of remembering so vividly my own childhood. Was that the only reason I loved the film so much? Because I don't want to be a grown-up and long to sail off to an island where I build forts with made-up creatures?
Hm. I'm not sure about that one. Some days I definitely feel that way. But it then struck me that probably the main reason I was so emotional during the film was because my introduction and full immersion in to the world Maurice Sendak created in his book only came because of my very own Wild Thing living in our house. My love for this story is completely tied up in my love for my son. Abe loves it, so I love it.

One of the best parents I know, a man my parents' age, became my friend while I was in graduate school and made an offhanded comment one day that will always stay with me. He decided against his usual french roast at the coffeeshop where I worked, going instead that day for a chai tea because, "Ben and Ali like these, so I figure they must be good." This may not seem like a big deal, but this man was a creature of habit, nearly always ordering the same thing. But he choose differently this day because he wanted to like the things his kids liked because he loved his kids and thought they hung the moon. I tear up thinking about it even now. I want to be a parent like this.

Where the Wild Things will be forever connected to my love for my son. Abe liked it, so I knew it must be good. His love for this story became my love for this story, and Spike Jonze did a damn fine job showing us this world on film.

Beka's Shower

Every baby shower needs booze and a copy of The Three-Martini Playdate, right?
Three reasons I love living in Oregon: I get to share it with these people.

Apparently, I didn't get the black/grey outfit motif, ruining yet another photo.

For some good, thought-provoking reading, go look at the comments in my last post. Ted even read through all of them and made the point that those are some good parents writing in. Love the well-mannered pirate story. Thank you all for all your thoughts. So much to think about.

What Battles Do You Fight?

One of my best friends from high school is now the mom to three kids, one more on the way. She is a very good mother. I mean, stellar. Totally stellar. She made the very good point one day that even though some people may consider her to be too strict, she never ever has trouble finding a babysitter. Her kids are lovely to be around, even the stronger-willed ones. Her kids are simply very happy. She's doing something right.

I sometimes call her with parenting questions, and we end up talking for a couple of hours at a time. I love her, love her, love her. She is also a straight talker, sometimes pretty blunt. One of my favorite quotes of hers is something like this, "I don't get people who say that you have to choose your battles with your kids. Honey, I fight every single one with mine, always to win." As any good Southern woman, she speaks in hyperbole, so you know, she's exaggerating a little. Maybe.

Since becoming a parent, I've thought a lot about what battles are worth fighting with my child and which are okay to let go, if any. The pastor of the church I grew up in had an extremely strong willed daughter who fought them on everything. One of the battles they chose not to fight with her was the battle over what she would wear every day. So every day, she got to pick out her own clothes, even as a 3-year-old. It was entertaining to see what she'd show up to church wearing on Sundays, but her parents' allowing her this area of freedom stuck with me. I thought it was wonderful. Because really, as long as your kids aren't naked or cold, what does it matter what they're wearing?

We definitely have chosen a few battles to fight with Abe. But I want to hear from you: what battles do you fight with your kids? More accurately, which battles are you most determined to win? Why?

Ted made the very good point that talking about parenting styles is akin to discussing religion or politics. Potential touchy subject. It's partially why I didn't disclose which battles we fight with our child; too much chance of sounding pious or like I'm trying to make someone with differing styles feel guilty. So feel free to leave anonymous comments if you want your identity hidden.

What Staci Did on her Oregon Vacation

I'm pretty sure just including a link to someone else's post is cheating for this month of daily posts thing, but I'm going to do it anyway. Click here to read what Staci did on her four days with us in Oregon. Cute Abe stories and pictures included.

That Woodsy Smell

When I was a kid, my parents used to go camping with us a lot. Sometimes we stayed in a tent, other times a cabin, sometimes we drove across the country in a borrowed big blue van to see Yellowstone, where my mom would yell at us to put down the barbie-dolls and look out the window. That was back in the day when a six-year-old didn't have to be strapped down in a seatbelt, so my sister and I would play on the floor of the van, building sets for the dramas going on in barbie-dollville. Who could be bothered to look at national forests when our little people were getting kidnapped, married and having babies?

These frequent camping trips are something my parents did right in raising us. There is nothing like waking up in a cabin or a tent and having breakfast outside among trees, preferably beside some water too. When we weren't driving cross country, we would camp in local national parks, like Tishomingo or Tombigbee. Tishomingo was my favorite because there were huge rocks with tiny crevices that we could hide in. And let me tell you: maybe it wasn't safe, but my parents let us wander. We'd often go with another family with kids, and all us kids would live out all sorts of dramas in those rocks and woods. We just knew that we had to be back to the campsite when it started to get dark. That was about the only rule.

On one of these trips, one night I went outside with a couple of the kids and one of the parents. I can't remember which parent; in a way, they were all peripheral characters on these trips. The three of us sat outside on the back porch of the cabin, two of us on a swing, one of us on a chair. We told "chain story" for what felt like hours. The only light we had was what would leak out through the window of the cabin window, so it was pretty dark. And it was scary too. That was the best part. If I could remember which parent this was, I'd be sure to tell him/her thanks for playing "chain story" with us so late into the night.

For a few years, I was a girlscout, and I went on several weekend trips to girlscout camp with my dad and my best friend's dad. Both of them were the "superdads" of our troop. We'd camp there in the yurt-style tents, the ones with a wooden floor and heavy canvas tops that zipped down both ends. There were four cots in each tent, so my dad and I would be on one side, my friend and her dad on the other. My best friend was an amazingly gifted farter, so she'd hold them in right until she thought we were going to sleep. Then she'd let one fly, and we'd all crack up, even our dads. She was this small dainty blond girl, but oh could she ever fart.

Our dads were kinda hard-core campers, so they always picked the campsite that was farthest from the dining hall. It probably wasn't even a quarter mile away, but as a kid, it felt much farther. I think they probably felt like our girlscout camp tents were too cushy, so they wanted us to tough it out by having the farthest hike from the dining hall. One night after dinner, we'd forgotten to bring our flashlights, so we had to make our way back to our camp in the pitch black. Maybe our dads weren't scared at all, but they sure didn't let on to us that fact. They sufficiently convinced us that there were all kinds of wild creatures lurking around the trees, slobbering and panting, waiting for young girlscout meat. And wasn't there a story told as well about a suicide in these woods? A hanging? On this exact same path we were on? Can't you hear the creaking of the rope in the trees and the crows circling? Is that the squeak of rats trying to nibble on the flesh of the deceased?

I loved that stuff. Loved it. So now as an adult, one of my happiest smells is that of a campfire. If I'm driving and catch a whiff, I'll roll the windows down and breath it in. Ted and I don't camp nearly as much as we should. We both realized that we're too old for tent-camping, on the cold hard ground. No fun in that. We do like cabins though, especially soft and warm hotels, like the one we're staying in right now.

Ted's working on a small film right now that is shooting near the town of ZigZag, one of my favorite place-names of all time. The hotel where the crew is staying is pretty dreamy, so Abe and I drove up yesterday to join them. I slept so hard in this pitch-black room on a bed with a down comforter in a room with a flat-screen tv and fancy bathroom that we decided to stay an extra night. We watched Kathy Griffin before bed, slept until 10, breakfast at 11, beautiful hikes along a creek and marsh, and now naptime for Abey Babey while Daddy works and Momma blogs.

This is exactly my kind of "camping." This afternoon, Abe declared to me that he is Little Bear, I'm Momma Bear, and Daddy is Father Bear. These are our names. I'm hoping he's inspired by these woods we're in and not just the tv show. No matter though: I realized while surrounded by these mossy woods with fern carpets, these beautiful Oregon forests, that I hope Abe and any future Rooney children fall in love with nature the way I did as a kid.

Don't worry: we'll be sure to leave the nice hotels sometimes too, though I can't garantee a tent. We'll go the yurt or cabin route, with as much freedom to roam as my inner mother-hen can tolerate. And I'll be content to be a peripheral adult too, letting the woods, rocks, streams, and campfires take center stage. I'm looking forward to hot chocolate and "chain stories" on a swing, hopefully one that creaks eerily so I can tell that ghost story I heard once at girlscout camp...

I Make the World Better

We have been taking a day to do laundry, catch up on the newspapers that have been stacked up, sleep later than usual, eat fried egg sandwiches and sweet potato casserole. In about an hour, Abe and I are driving up to Mount Hood to join Ted who is up there working. Should be interesting. We may be out of range until tomorrow night, with no internet connection (gasp), so I'm doing today's post early.

Our friends Dani and Tommy and Judah have put together a book to raise money for wells in Africa. It would make a fantastic Christmas gift. Abe and a few other blogging kids are featured in the book. Maybe my favorite thing about the book is the Amharic phrases, even written phonically so you can pronounce them correctly. I highly recommend it. Make the world better: go get a few of these books.

You can order some by clicking here.