coronavirus comfort

It's been forever and a day since I last wrote, but in light of the last few weeks, I've been feeling an itch to get back to writing. Like reading, writing has always kept me sane. I think the insanity of late might feel a tiny bit less insane if I check in here.

It also seems appropriate to resume writing on what would have been Ella's birthday. In my last post I talked about her death... and since then, I've felt pretty depleted, meeting daily parenting, marriage, and work challenges. Again, writing will help.

Plus, I made this Thai noodle salad last night. It was so good, but then today, I ate it cold, and man, oh, man, it was even better. Highly recommend.

Keep sweeping.
Martha

Finished reading The Hopefuls by Jennifer Close

sun on the carpet

The world has been moving way too fast lately, and I feel as though I haven't been able to catch up. The fall was hard. The spring was harder. And now, we're headed into summer, which I hope will just be nothing but lovely.

In these moments, I tell myself to breath. And, I hold tight to the little things.

Boy Beeton and I stumbled upon this Little Free Library on the way to a birthday party. These gems are scattered throughout our neighborhood, but this one was particularly sweet.

Mr. Beeton was reading poems by Charles Bukowski. I'd never read Bukowski, but I definitely had a clearly formed image of him from my graduate school days. I opened the book to this poem, which took me by surprise. Completely at odds with the poet I thought I knew and so expressive of my own feelings about parenthood. 

Marina
majestic, magic
infinite
my little girl is
sun
on the carpet-
out the door
picking a flower, ha!
an old man,
battle-wrecked,
emerges from his
chair
and she looks at me
but only sees
love,
ha!, and I become
quick with the world
and love right back
just like I was meant
to do.

Keep sweeping,

Martha

Read My Name Is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout. Watched Carol. Watching Catastrophe. 

we're having...

...snow much fun!

Keep shoveling,
Martha

Watched Sofia Coppola's Somewhere. Finished reading Lauren Groff's Fates and Furies. 

american crime

Mr. Beeton started his first week at Johns Hopkins. That means - for all intents and purposes - I'm doing the stay-at-home mom thing from here until the fall semester starts. Darn, if it isn't hard. Tonight, all I wanted was for everyone to go to sleep so that I could plop myself in front of the television and completely zone out.

I thought I'd watch the first episode of American Crime - a show my students highly recommended. It seemed fitting, given this week's (month's? year's? decade's? century's?) cultural climate and devastating circumstances.

Yesterday, Boy Beeton and I were role playing. He was being Peter Parker to my Mary Jane. In my narrative, Mary Jane's mother heads off the circus so that Mary Jane has to move in with Peter and Aunt May. That's how she and Peter become best friends.

Peter asks me, "Hey, Mary Jane. Is your mom at the circus?"

I respond, "Yes."

Then, he says, "Where's your dad?"

I pause to think - this is a part of the narrative I hadn't yet considered.

Before I can even come up with an answer, Peter says, "Oh... wait. You might have two moms. Maybe both your moms are in the circus?"

He said it with such matter-of-factness in his voice, no hesitation that not all families look alike, that this family structure, different from his own, wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

Oh, how I wish that all Americans would embrace Peter's loving acceptance. In his eyes, I saw a small glimmer of what our future could be. Our world could use a little more love and a lot less hate.

Thinking about Charleston tonight.

Keep sweeping,

Martha

Finished reading The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. Watched most of Wild.

a grain of sand

We got a sandbox this weekend, and it is already changing my life. Boy Beeton played happily while I read Roiphe. Today, he and our neighborhood friend S played while S's mom and I enjoyed a glass of wine. Cheers to a summer of this!

Keep sweeping,
Martha

five minutes more

Five more minutes of fame...

Keep sweeping,
Martha

Finished reading The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters and watched Obvious Child.

but a whimper

I wish I could say I ended 2014 with some excitement, but the energy level around here lately hasn't been conducive to merriment. I'm feeling positive about 2015, though, making resolutions at Bridget Jones's breakneck speed. Though my time - right now - would be better served working on my reappointment materials (which are almost - miraculously - done), I am going to follow in the footsteps of my truly inspirational undergraduates this semester and binge watch Vanderpump Rules. Forgive me.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer and Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham. Watched Gone Girl (!!!) and Girls: Season Three.

happy fourth

We are loving our new Fourth of July tradition - the Takoma Park parade at our friends' house on Maple Avenue (they throw a fabulous party!). Nothing says the Fourth like the 9/11 Truth Seekers and the Attachment Parenting Group all marching together in harmony.

2014

And flashback a year...

2013

I realize I've been missing in action a bit lately. I promise to return soon with a more complete update of our summer adventures. 

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch (loved).

in the meantime

I saw a post today on Facebook about poetry. A friend of mine from graduate school had assigned another friend of mine from graduate school the poet Amy Lowell. The idea behind the assignment was that my second friend would then make her own assignments to anyone who liked or commented on her post. Reading these exchanges first and foremost brought back excellent memories of a study abroad trip to London (TOX02, Wagamama, weekend trip to Dublin, creepiness) - both friends were on that trip. But, it also got me thinking about poetry - something I rarely read now but read a lot of while living in the first state.

I posted Deborah Digges's "For Sylvia Plath." I hadn't read much of Digges and didn't know her tragic story, but of course, I'm a sucker for anything Plath. And reading that poem prompted me to re-read the poem that Plath wrote for her son, Nick. It resonated with me as I laid out the rug in Baby Beeton's big boy room and as I sang "Away in the Manger" to him tonight.

Keep sweeping, Martha

PS - I know that I owe a post about our trip to the Sixth City. It's coming. I promise.

Nick and the Candlestick

I am a miner. The light burns blue.   
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.  
Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,  
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium  
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish—
Christ! they are panes of ice,

A vice of knives,  
A piranha  
Religion, drinking

Its first communion out of my live toes.  
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,

Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?  
O embryo

Remembering, even in sleep,  
Your crossed position.  
The blood blooms clean

In you, ruby.  
The pain
You wake to is not yours.

Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses,  
With soft rugs—

The last of Victoriana.  
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,

Let the mercuric  
Atoms that cripple drip  
Into the terrible well,

You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.  
You are the baby in the barn.

Finished watching Girls: Season 2. 

return to

Who in their right mind would want to go back to work when you could play peek-a-boo all day?

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.

burning in my heart

For those of you who may not have heard, the DMV area found themselves smack-dab in the center of a heat wave these past few weeks. As a result, it's been too hot to blog. I've started several posts but haven't finished them. Today, however, it's a glorious 75 degrees and cloudy. I'm still recovering, though, so all you'll get from me is a top ten list, some photographs, and a short little video. Enjoy!

Top Ten Ways to Beat the Heat

10. Pick radishes. You've read about our past experiences with container gardening here and with our community garden plot here. Well, I think we finally got it right. We constructed our own little raised garden plots at the side of our house, and we've got radishes!

9. Read Ann Patchett and watch Weeds. No explanation needed.

8. Visit the National Gallery of Art. This D.C. site has lots to offer in a heat wave - air conditioning, gelato, Leo Villareal's Multiverse, and a nearly empty contemporary art gallery where little ones can crawl around until their heart is content.

7. Follow up visit to art gallery with a visit to RDF. After strolling around the art museum, we stopped off at RDF for some hummus, beer, and white sangria. A great halfway stopping point between the museum and the metro.

6. Trek out to Tysons Corner. We window-shopped, played at Barnes and Noble, and dined at Gordon Biersch. Unfortunately, a lot of other people had this same idea. As a result, Tysons Corner wasn't much cooler than our living room.

5. Learn new tricks. We thought we could make this video go viral by replacing our silly jabbering with "I'm so mad at Pepco!"

4. Drink Pimm's Cups. This drink really is the ultimate heat wave drink. Combine a quarter of a cup Pimm's with three-quarters of a cup of ginger ale. Add ice and a slice of cucumber.

3. Make baby-friendly popsicles. There are so many creative sites out there with recipes for popsicles! I made mine with yogurt and frozen blueberries, and I put them in the rocket pop molds that I bought at Whole Foods. Yummy!

2. Make your own country club. Combine one inflatable pool with one goofy grin. What heat wave?

1. Get a haircut. Yup. We finally did it. A few tears were shed (mine, not his), but around these parts, it's a hundred percent cooler.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading State of Wonder by Ann Patchett. Watching Weeds: Season 7. 

Happy day-after-birthday to Fairy Godmother M! We love you lots around here.

good night sleeps

A while back someone I work with wrote me to say that she had googled my name, looking for my email address, and this site came up:

CAROLINE SMITH AND THE GOOD NIGHT SLEEPS

My colleague, who has a baby the same age as Henry (in fact, we delivered in the same hospital and are still wondering how we didn't run into each other in the hallway), thought this search result was hilarious, and I do, too. After all, a good night sleep is all I've been dreaming of this entire past year.

I've been reading Gluten-Free Girl every free minute I get this week. The chapter I'm working on now for my food memoir book is about food blogging, so instead of reading memoirs in hardback, I'm trolling through blog posts, reading about and looking at delicious food.

Revisiting these posts, I realized just the other day, couldn't have come at a better time in my life. It's funny how certain books find you at certain moments of your life.  The Novel. The Bell Jar. Animal Husbandry. These books found me when I needed them. Shauna, the site's author, has a definite passion for life, having nearly lost hers in a car accident and living, painfully, with celiac for a long time. She truly experiences an epiphany upon hearing her diagnosis and promises to live life fully and to truly appreciate it all. Her site is not just yummy; it's uplifting.

I'd like to think that I've been one to carry Shauna's zest for life. It doesn't take much to make me happy. Things like sunshine, cold milk in a mug, purple hydrangeas. But, this past year, I lost some of that. But, I'm getting it back.

And, I know that part of getting it back rests with getting, well, rest. Baby Beeton, as anyone who knows me knows, has not been a great sleeper. He's restless. He's not too hard to get to sleep, but he has had a devil of a time staying asleep. And, since we sit with him before naps and at night until he dozes off, that means a lot of work for us (I know, I know, don't lecture me... drowsy but awake... next one, I promise). It's been a tough year. As someone who was used to getting about ten hours of sleep a night (and not waking up before 8:30 pm), it's even tougher.

But, the past few weeks have been infinitesimally better. Naps are regulating themselves and night sleep has followed. Baby Beeton still wakes up quite a bit, but he'll sleep now from 8:30 pm until 6:30 am or 7 am with relatively little work for us to do during that time. It's made a big difference in the way I see the world, and it's made me realize that nothing lasts forever... even though sometimes it seems like it might. Knowing that one day he'll sleep soundly and consistently has helped me to make peace with the fact that that time isn't quite yet now. But it will be. One day.

So, today, while he napped, I took a break from reading. I took a bath. I had a cold coffee. I watched some bad reality television. I remembered all the little reasons why life is good. Good night sleeps, I'm sure, aren't far away.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched Away We Go (again).

the emperor's new clothes

The other day we got an email from a college friend of Mr. Beeton's who was expecting her first baby. The little one, already almost two weeks late, was seriously resisting making his entrance into the world. He'd gone topsy-turvy, and it looked like the only way S & S were going to meet their new little one was if they elected to have a Caesarean section. S was nervous. She'd imagined something very different.

You said it was dangerous after Sunday
And I knew you loved me

I understood her hesitation completely, and I emailed her to tell her the crazy adventure we had with Baby Beeton. I've realized, since Baby Beeton's birth, that very rarely is anyone concerned with each little one's journey. All that matters is that he or she arrives. People don't really care about the details. So S was surprised to hear that despite the joy having Baby Beeton brought, having Baby Beeton wasn't all that joyful.

In writing back and forth with her, I realized that a lot of what I've been going through lately took root on May 31st when all of the sudden I was being wheeled into a surgery room. I remember feeling totally unprepared. I remember the profound disappointment that washed over me when I was told I needed to have a C-section. I remember my sheer panic at hearing my baby cry but not being able to see him for what felt like hours. I remember thinking over and over again, "This isn't what I expected." Emailing with S brought up all these horrible emotions - ones so tightly interwoven with the competing elation I felt when I finally got to hold my baby.

But you know how it is
And how a pregnancy can change you

Mr. Beeton and I have been in our own little bubble these past several months, trying to process what happened and trying to survive the present. We finally admitted that what's been going on has been larger than we can handle on our own, and we've reached out to family. I've gone to the doctor, been evaluated to rule out any physical problems. I've cut back on caffeine, which was making me jittery and sleepless, begun eating better, and started going to a postpartum depression support group. Every time I have a negative thought - about our birth experience, about the potential tragedies lurking behind every corner, about my inadequacies - I try to replace that thought with a memory from when I was pregnant, those nine months when I felt fantastic.

If I treated you mean
I really didn't mean to

And, this past week, things - while not perfect - have felt more normal. We visited with friends in Virginia on Friday night. We had dinner at Austin Grill in Silver Spring with Baby Beeton on Saturday night. And, on Tuesday night, I went to bookclub where I was the resident expert on babies. I'm the only one who has one, though another member just made the announcement that she is expecting in July. It felt good to be with old friends, and it felt even better to feel like I had something to say about mothering. More often than not, I feel as though everybody else is telling me to do something this way or that way, so it was nice to be asked my opinion, to feel like I had an answer, and to be listened to.

All I want to do is just sit here
And write it all down and rest for a while

We listen to a lot of She and Him around here. Baby Beeton loves it, especially the song "I Was Made for You." I keep hearing the refrain from "Me and You," and I'm trying my best to remember to do it. I know that this period won't last forever; I'll feel better one day. And, for now, I've just got to hold tight to those little moments that make me smile and focus, focus, focus on them...

You asked if I'm scared
And I said so

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched Midnight in Paris and Parenthood: Season One. Finished reading The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides.

milestones

The other day my neighbor now friend sent me a link to the following article. I thought it was so perfect because it captures some of the sneaking suspicions I've been having about myself these past two and a half months. I joked back that the article resonated with someone whose ideal target audience is 18-year-olds.

It's true. I have trouble with babies. I don't like to hold other people's babies; I'm not a person who does well with lots of loud noises (like crying for minutes on end); and I'm also a person who LOVES, LOVES, LOVES her sleep. But today I realized that even if babies aren't my thing, my baby is my thing.

Baby Beeton took his first nap in his "big boy" crib today. We've been keeping him in a bassinet in our room since he was born for both naps and nighttime slumber. But, he's getting very long (must get his height from his parents... um, no) and has almost outgrown the bassinet, so we thought it was time to (slowly) transition to his own room in the beautiful crib that his Nana and Pops bought him. When I put him down to sleep, I got a little tear in my eye, realizing that this little peanut is in fact growing each day. And that's when it dawned on me that while I'd still take an 18-year-old over a newborn, I wouldn't trade my little baby in for anything.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched The Beaver.

lucky number ?

Sometimes I'm amazed at how many comments some bloggers get on their sites, and I wonder how to make that happen. Recently, while in OCNJ, my sister (who knows all the good blogs) turned me onto Young House Love - a couple who blogged about their DIY home renovation projects so successfully that they are now make a living as full time bloggers (so jealous)! I've been wondering what I can do to further promote my site. Have my post updates announced in my Facebook feed? Change the name of my site? (Did you know that the term "homekeeper" has strong Christian connotations? I'm wondering if people stumble upon my site and leave confused...)

My sister insists that the only way to have a successful blog is to have giveaways. Yes, giveaways. (Apparently, she is of the belief that to make money you have to spend money.) At first, I thought that was just silly, but then, when I accidentally ordered two copies of the same book the other day, I thought, "Hey. Maybe I'll give this a try."

I'm sure that some of you have heard of Ruth Reichl - food writer extraordinaire. My new book - which is about contemporary women's food memoirs - deals a lot with Reichl because she loves, loves, loves to write memoirs. I stumbled across a book she wrote, Not Becoming My Mother, the other day and decided to order it. Then, I noticed that there was another book listed For You Mom, Finally, so I ordered that, too. They are the same book, however; Reichl changed the title when she got some flack for seemingly bashing her mother.

So... if you'd like me to mail you a FREE copy of For You Mom, Finally (the paperback edition), just post a comment on this entry. Next Friday, I'll pick the lucky winner and send whoever it may be a copy of the book. Sound good?

Now get writing.

Keep sweeping, Martha

sweet and sour

As I may have mentioned, while I'm a homekeeper at heart, I'm an academic by day and spend most of the year teaching and writing about women's literature. With academia comes highs and lows - as with any job, I suspect. This summer (so far), I've been on one long high (despite the revise and resubmit letter I received today for an article about Sylvia Plath that I have written), working on a new project about food writing, specifically the work of women food writers.

While I suspected this summer would be all about reading about eating, it started off with a reminder that I haven't left my old love of chick lit behind. In early May, I received an email from Joanne Rendell, whose written a new book entitled Crossing Washington Square. Her work, from what I gathered, was chick lit about academics, which, of course, immediately appealed to me. And, her new novel, which will be released in early fall, is about a chick lit scholar and a Sylvia Plath scholar who find themselves at odds and are forced to confront some misconceptions that they have about one another and the literature they love. Joanne contacted me to see if I'd be interested in reading an advanced copy. Of course! I replied.

You see Sylvia Plath was the author who really launched my whole graduate career. I had enrolled in graduate school in English only because I desperately wanted to complete a Museum Studies degree and work in the education department of a museum upon graduating. At the graduate school that I attended, you were only allowed to receive a certificate in Museum Studies if you were enrolled in a degree program. I picked English because I loved to read. Naive, I know.

Something curious happened, though, as I sat in on classes and began to teach. I found out that I really wanted to be a professor. And I found myself thinking critically about literature in a way that I never had before. I wrote a paper on Sylvia Plath and The Bell Jar (which I've since revised more times than I can count and which is the ill-fated essay that I spoke of earlier); I got interested in food and literature; and I discovered chick lit - a contemporary women's genre which is all about consumption (food, sex, shopping). Despite discouraging remarks from an older, female faculty member who noted I'd never get anywhere writing about "beach reading" (shame on her! bad feminist!), I wrote my dissertation on chick lit, looking at British and American novels - from Bridget Jones's Diary to The Cigarette Girl - and analyzing the way in which the books engaged with consumer culture, particularly women's advice manuals. So, I found it freaky when Joanne said her new novel was about a Plath scholar and a chick lit scholar - my self, split, it seemed. But, her book wasn't freaky at all. It's actually very, very good and speaks - on a fictional level - to a lot of the issues that I discuss in my own work.

So... how did I arrive at food memoirs this summer? In my disseration (which later turned into a book - out in paperback this month!), I had a chapter devoted to domestic-advice publications, like Martha Stewart's Living. My current project is slowly growing out of that chapter as I search for interesting food memoirs to read and write about. I've got a whole stack in my back room right now that I'm waiting to devour. It should prove to be quite a yummy summer.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading The Professors' Wives' Club and Crossing Washington Square by Joanne Rendell. Also read Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper: A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China by Fuschia Dunlop.

homemade lives

Life has been busy in Washington lately. Last week, I was working my way through a stack of student papers. For my colleagues, this is an unpleasant task; for me, it almost seems insurmountable - in part because I just take too darn long to read and comment. I need to sit with the egg timer and be more disciplined. That way, I can clear out some time for activities that are much more enjoyable like cooking or reading.

On Friday, when I finally handed the papers back amidst groans and a few tears, I arrived home to find a copy of Molly Wizenberg's A Homemade Life. For those of you who don't know (shame on you), Molly is the author of Orangette, a premier food blog. Like many bloggers, she's written a book. I had pre-ordered it, and it was waiting for me when I arrived home after that extremely long week. It's been sustaining me ever since, and I'm anxious to try some of the recipes which range from ginger cake to bread stuffed with chocolate. It's a great read, and I'm sure, when I'm finished, I'll be hungry for more.

Keep sweeping, Martha

haters

Seems like Mrs. Beeton has found herself surrounded by haters lately. To start, she's in the library for two hours on Super Bowl Sunday because her students have a paper due on Friday. Extended office hours are the only way to appease them. Then, she opens her email. A student reporter inquires about her policy of BANNING laptops from her classroom. Does she care to comment? Then, a text message from a friend. Will she and Mr. Beeton be coming to a Super Bowl party being hosted by a mutual friend? Mr. Beeton swears he already RSVP'ed no to that soiree. And, finally, Mrs. Beeton just found out that an old colleague will be interviewing for an open position in her program - a position with considerable power. This former colleague looks like the Joker. Scary. When she confides in a friend, he dooms her to an increased course load if the Joker gets hired. Sigh. Stop bringing me down, people.

And, this, Mrs. Beeton reminds herself, is why she started The Happy Homekeeper. After several other failed blog attemps (one where she served as the ghost writer for Ella, one about wine, one that was a bit too truthful to not cause issues), she settled on this one because the only way to pull herself out of a funk is to cook some chilli or do some laudry. 

Tomorrow is a research day. Laurie Colwin, Diana Abu-Jaber await.

Keep sweeping, Martha