New England Mamas

Kids, Robots, and Peter Gabriel in Mind

Took the Kidlet to see WALL-E last night. It received an enthusiastic four thumbs up from the two of us. The trailers didn't give us much to go on except that it's a movie about a cute anthropomorhised robot who fall is love. It's actually a very clever meditation on our consumer culture, gluttony, and stewardship that manages to move its audience without being preachy. One of my favorite moments actually took place during the closing credits when Peter Gabriel's contribution to the soundtrack unwound it's lush, swoon-y goodness. (this is an unauthorized video, sorry I could find the track itself to embed- lyrics are in the description box- song is available on itunes)


On the off chance that the showing we wanted to see was sold out, I decided to check my favorite movie site to see the ratings on some other films of interest. Back when Kiddo was an infant, a friend of mine sent me two websites designed for parents who want to research movies before screening them for their kids. Now as much as we love these people, we know that they are staunch Calvinists so I usually take a deep breath before going to sites they recommend. Our religious (and most social views) couldn't be more different, but we all adore one another on a thousand levels that have nothing to do with our personal beliefs about gay marriage.

The first of the two sites I found very... preachy. Imagine Mandy Moore from Saved! writing movie reviews. SO not for us. However, the second site Kids in Mind was a different story. It lists in exacting and excruciating detail every possibly questionable scenario played out on screen and leaves it to the parents to decide what they think. For example, Kiddo loves Ann Hathaway- she thought her performance in Brokeback Mountain was vapid, but adored Princess Diaries- so I was thinking of taking her to see Get Smart. After looking at the details (and you have to be content with spoiler alerts on this site) I decided it wasn't anything I wanted her to see; not the nudity and violence, necessarily, but because of the name calling, specifically "retard and whore." (and no I didn't really let my kid watch Brokeback Mountain. Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

After I checked out Wall-E, I looked at the review of Sex and the City. Heh.

After a long hiatus, I'm back to blogging at my new site: www.intothesilentwater.blogspot.com and www.thankastranger.blogspot.com  Come on over!

No regrets

Today is Valentine's Day.  Tomorrow is my birthday (thank you and none of your damn business).  In recent years, having these two days side-by-side has stirred evoked an odd nostalgic melancholly.  Those of you who know me well know that I have nary a romantic, sentimental bone in my body.  I like to think of myself as thoughtful and- on occasion, when occasion demands- appropriately reverent, but hearts and flowers are not my thing.  Fourteen years ago, I met and fell head over heels for someone who is my polar opposite is very sweet and before I beat it out of him used to indulge his young sweetie with grand gestures of love, including a proposal in front of ten thousand people. 

Despite the violent eye rolling that I usually do when in the presence of mushiness and people who listen to Celine Dion on purpose, I am very affectionate with the people closest to me.  If I know you or feel as though I know you becaue I've become buds with your spouse through his blog (hi Oodgie!), expect a hug cracks your back and if you say anything funny around me when I've had a few glasses of whatever, expect me to poke you (I don't know why I do this, but Hubby now takes a step back when I'm buzzed and he says something amusing). 

These days, my public displays of affection are reserved for my friends and fam but your little blogging friend as a teen and young adult was what we could call "enthusiastically affectionate" in the pre- Sex and the City, you go girl! days.  I raised plenty of eyebrows, but my behavior back then was motivated by the  fact that I didn't want to end up like my parents who married young, divorced young and went back on the market just as I was entering my tween years.  I didn't want to grow up and have regrets, and I really liked kissing boys.  And I also knew that I needed to keep men at a distance- present the appearance of closeness, but don't really let him in (well, I don't think I really "knew" that at the time, but an itemized list of every relationship I had until the one I'm in now indicates this fact- I still have a lot to learn about relationships). 

And with the imminent approach of my birthday and a day that celebrates romantic love, I find myself looking at the lines on my forehead I need to have Botoxed, and while I'm choosing an outfit that will best hide those pale and squishy parts, I remember that once upon a time, I had a smokin' bod and plenty of boys who thought I was cute.  This year, for reasons I can't explain, I googled some of them (sweet, sweet internets, you are so full of stalkerlicious goodness). 

There's a scene in High Fidelity where Rob realizes that he's re-written history in his own mind.  It's a perfect moment of epiphany and release and I found myself feeling some of that as I went through the virtual rolodex.  That cutie lifeguard? He's a pilot now and as I learned from his wedding website he found an amazing woman who also likes to dress up in latex with him.  See?  Soulmates, it was meant to be.  I don't really like black lipstick and synthetics.  I'm happy for him (truly, he was- and still appears to be- a great guy).  Tragic-high-school-boyfriend-who-I-was-sure-I'd-probably-end-up-marrying-despite-my-best-judgement?  His police record tells me I dodged a bullet.  Hottie summer romance guy?  He's a professor of paleontology at a prominent university in the midwest, also married (Okay, that one stings a little mostly because he's brilliant,  he still looks hot and went on to do amazingly well without me- this may be the only time that a beer gut could have been a healing balm). 

Professor, pilot, addict, executive, head case, freak- these men, most of whom I haven't seen or spoken to in more than fifteen years show me that I wasn't slutty in my youth, I was smart.  Because every night I get to sleep next to my best friend, and every day we have the joy and privilege of raising our child.  Though some days mere curiosity may prompt me to enter a familiar name into a search engine, I know that it's just curiosity and nothing more.  Each one, in his own way, helped make me who I am today.  And I have no regrets.

cross posted at Fear and Loathing in Stepford

Because I needed to see the ocean

I picked Kiddo up yesterday and surprised her by saying "let's go to the beach."

"Can't we just go home?  I'm tired"

"Kiddo, I really need to see the ocean"

So off we went, north on 495, taking the back way through Amesbury, through the center of Newburyport, past my dad's old house, and straight on to Plumb Island.   I hyped it as a road trip when really I just needed some time in a place that was serene and familiar.  Sure, I know the Pats' loss on Sunday really isn't important in the big scheme of things- the guys on the team are fantastically talented multi-millionaires.  They'll bounce back. Still,  I couldn't help but feel crestfallen, and more than a little sad. 

I have a friend who's on assignment in Iraq right now.  He wrote an amazing post about watching the game in Baghdad with a bunch of servicemen and journalists from Massachusetts.  It's amazing how something so apparently simple as a sporting event can make strangers come together in a moment that feels like home.  I told him that it seemed as though the Boston media just sort of decided not to talk about the game yesterday.  Thank goodness for Super Tuesday and visits from Hillary and McCain. 

I find so much comfort in being near the ocean.  We walked the shore and collected shells and picked up some garbage.  Went to the Parker River wildlife refuge and I talked to Kiddo about salt marsh habitats and brackish estuaries and coastal ecosystems and how we're all connected and that losing even one plant or animal can have an effect on the entire community.

In an attempt to escape, however briefly, I was reminded of how connected we all are, and how much we depend on one another.  And as we drove home the gathering clouds blocked the colors of the sunset, but not the sun. The days are getting longer.  Spring is coming.  There is hope.

And in nine days, pitchers and catchers report.

Holy Night

I’m not a Christian.  This position comes less from a lack of faith in God, and more from a distaste for organized religion and a few millennia of atrocities committed in the name of (insert deity here). 

 

But I do love me some Jesus.  The whole water to wine and resurrection thing?  Beautiful ideas in theory, but I don’t believe that part of his story.  I dig Jesus because he was a trouble maker.  His ideas were so radical that today, more than 2,000 years after his death, nobody’s ever really tried them.  I think of his mother and her constant worry over her child who was essentially homeless, consorting with prostitutes and the dregs of society. He lost his life for teaching love and compassion.

Given that Jesus’s death and resurrection are the most awesome chapters of his life, I’m always a bit miffed by the Christian and societal fascination with Christmas.  Surely Easter should be the bigger of the two major Christian holidays, and yet- commercially anyway- Easter is Christmas’s poor cousin.  Every year, I lament the decadence and commercialism of a day that’s supposed to mark the birth of the man who was as antiestablishment as they come, who lived in poverty, tending to the poor and down trodden.  Every year I say “that’s it.  Next year, no gifts.” But here I am again, doing last minute shopping, sending out cards and stressing over preparing for guests and planning menus.

This, like every year, I take the time to celebrate Christmas because I grew up believing that on the day of Jesus’s birth, the promise of salvation came in the form of a baby.  Born into wealth or war, deeply wanted or unplanned, each fragile new life holds the seeds of salvation: to a parent, to a family, to a country, to the world.  Every night a child is born is a holy night.

That’s why I celebrate Christmas.

This is, in my huble estimation, the best Christmas song ever recorded.  Lyrics here.

Merry Christmas.

Testing

Just to test the categories.