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Archives for August 2016

My books are the home I take with me

August 29, 2016 by Suzanne Leave a Comment

photo-1464865885825-be7cd16fad8dBy Hannah Nersasian 

International shipping isn’t cheap. You fill boxes, weigh them, use up the remainder of your overdraft in paying to have them wrapped and shipped 3,000 miles. The boxes travel slowly, meandering their way across the ocean, waiting in containers in ports with other boxes containing other lives, with other destinations. It takes time and money and effort to pack up and move, so it makes sense that you’d choose only the most precious possessions and that you’d weigh their value against their literal weight. You wouldn’t choose things that could be purchased again on the other side of the ocean for far less money than it’d take to ship them. You wouldn’t choose to take things you’ve already used and probably won’t use again. You wouldn’t choose things that are worn and old and probably have a resale value of about 20 cents. Except of course if you’re me, and those things are your books, and where you go, they go, no matter how inconvenient or irrational or expensive.

So when I moved to a suburb of Boston in 2010 (from London), I didn’t take furniture or dinnerware or even my good chef’s knife. I didn’t take my spice collection or some of the larger artwork that had hung on my walls since my teenage years. I didn’t take my stack of old love-notes and photographs. Some I’d pick up later, cramming what I could into overfilled suitcases and hoping my theory of ‘if I can lift it, it’s not too heavy’ would hold true. But most I’d leave behind in my parent’s house, dodging my mum’s comments of how once you’re married you really shouldn’t still be storing things in your parent’s attic.

What I did take, packed tenderly into two cardboard boxes with reinforced sides, were my books. Books that I devoured during my teens, trying desperately to understand myself and the world and love; books I’d destroyed with highlighter during my undergraduate degree; books that had changed my life; and books I’d never read but always meant to. In a few instances I took two copies of the same book for different reasons: a cherished inscription, a favorite cover. And as they sauntered across the Atlantic, as I finished up a job and attended my own leaving parties, as I spent three misguided months couch surfing to save money and pay off the aforementioned overdraft fees, I felt them missing from me. Their weight and familiarity, wit and wisdom, temporarily boxed up, sealed and floating on a dark ocean without a track-your-package option.

They arrived in Boston before me, a chunk of my heart waiting (along with my fiancé) when I got off the plane, claiming space for me in an apartment that was bleakly utilitarian, male and overrun by mice. I hated that apartment. The kitchen floor seemed to be designed to look dirty and the linoleum tiles had tiny pock marks in them perfect for catching dirt and never letting it go. The bedroom was painted a dark mauve. Our upstairs neighbor was a big guy who ran on a treadmill right above our bedroom every morning and the whooshing sound below seemed reminiscent of the womb, except not in a good way. The basement was semi-finished and smelled of mildew and mice. I was glad to be in America and thrilled to be in the same country as my husband. I hated that apartment.

Moving countries comes with the longest and strangest to-do list you’ve ever encountered. I had to complete a series of HPV vaccine shots (because for a brief moment in time it was a visa requirement, until it wasn’t), learn to drive, sign up for a Social Security card in my maiden name and then switch it to my married name once my green card arrived. I had to find a volunteer role to keep my resume from stagnating and find friends to keep my spirit from stagnating.

But top of the list was a bookcase for my books. I knew if I had to live in that apartment, finding a space for them would allow at least a corner of it to feel like home. I was right. Once my books were unpacked I felt myself start to relax a little, as if they emitted a quiet calm energy just for me. I spent those early months stubbornly working my way through the to-do lists and buying more books, feeling as though each new acquisition grounded me more definitely into my new life and claimed more space for me in that hideous apartment.

We’ve now moved, thank goodness, and my books were the last things I packed and the first things I unpacked. Even in an empty house littered with boxes to be emptied and belongings to be found, a full bookshelf equals home to me. And placing books on shelves is a sacred ritual, weighing each one for a moment before sliding it onto the shelf, that helps me accept and embrace my new environment. Filling shelves with books is an immediate statement of home and a quiet-but-bold declaration of self. Like a tortoise with his shell, my books are the home I take with me, just a little more awkward and a lot more expensive to carry.

Hannah Nersasian is a first-time ‘mum’ from rural, southwest England, currently living in Framingham, Mass., with her American husband, son and cat. You can read more from Hannah on Boston Moms Blog and on her personal blog. Find her on Facebook, or follow her on twitter @Alien_Hans.

We’re asking some friends to share their answers to one question: What makes a house feel like a home? If you’d like to contribute to this series, email thesmartdomestic@gmail.com.

Filed Under: Miscellany Tagged With: books, feels like home, home, home decorating

Don Quixote at home

August 22, 2016 by Suzanne Leave a Comment

By Katie Colt

As an adult, I’ve moved a lot. I don’t mean a couple of times—we’re talking ten moves in ten years. Ten moves from permanent dwelling to permanent dwelling, with “permanent” to me clearly meaning “temporary.” These moves do not include transitional stays at family members’ houses, in hotels, or a month’s summer study abroad program. My twenties were nomadic.

Though there have been good, compelling reasons for each move (Cohabitation! Bigger place! BATS!), the amount of mental, physical, and emotional schlepping required to complete each transition really takes its toll on my well-being. This is most likely why, no matter where I end up, the following art takes up residence on the wall of the most central room in my dwelling:Don Quixote at home

There he is: Don Quixote, naked, on a ghostly horse, in all his semi-cubist glory.

He’s quite the conversation starter. Why he is naked—and why my grandmother chose to paint him naked—is a mystery for the ages. But his presence in my home(s) has come to represent an appreciation for goofiness, familiarity, and a connection to family that allows every place I’ve lived to feel like I belong there.

My grandmother Miriam was many things: a college-educated woman at a time when many were not; a marriage and family therapist; a beloved mother and  aunt; a talented cook, baker, and hostess; and a skilled artist, taking classes at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago during the mid-20th century. Having loved Picasso and cubism, she started painting and emulated him, later creating gorgeous and bright abstract collages, which hung proudly in her homes and in the homes of those she loved.

As a child, Grandma Miriam toted me along to the Art Institute innumerable times, showing me Monet, Degas, Van Gogh, Cassatt, and Picasso. She took me to the theatre, painstakingly tried to teach me how to knit (it never quite stuck), and allowed me to practice all my ice skating jumps and spins on her parquet floors (as long as I didn’t crash-land into her glass coffee table or indigenous clay sculptures). Spending time with her proved to be the earliest, most immersive cultural and creative education I never intended to receive.

I’ve made choices that have taken me in multiple different directions, both in physical location and career path. Along the way, I’ve struggled to feel confident in my creative abilities, which were always at the center of my person. However my self-esteem has suffered, at least my sense of humor has not.

Every time I walk into my living room, whichever living room it may be at the time, I can’t help but smile at the painting’s colors, its boldness, and its brazen embrace of the absurd. And I think of Miriam, and her artistic vision, her priorities, her love, and the importance of pursuing creative expression. No matter how nomadic my future, it is comforting that Don Quixote will follow, nakedness and all.

Katie Colt is a daydreamer, a diaper-changer, a writer, a baby-wrangler, a composer, and a carry-out queen. You can follow her on Instagram and Twitter @katiebabyhorse for a mix of the magical and the mundane.

We’re asking some friends to share their answers to one question: What makes a house feel like a home? If you’d like to contribute to this series, email thesmartdomestic@gmail.com.

Filed Under: Miscellany Tagged With: art, family, feels like home, home, home decorating, painting

Decisions: Back to full-time

August 22, 2016 by Leslie Leave a Comment

Back to full-time

Decisions is a series dedicated to the choices we make in our lives and the factors that led us to our given resolutions. We welcome guest posts to this series to hear about how you’ve tackled a life decision. Email your story ideas to thesmartdomestic@gmail.com.

A little over a year ago, I quit my job as a consultant to stay home full-time with my daughter. It’s incredible to think it has only been a year. The stress, the joy, the sleeplessness, the firsts, and the snuggles: they all blur together. They’re muddled in my mind as one big, gooey ball of my new life. Since my co-blogger has returned to work after the birth of her second child, questions about how to balance work and family still come up as we talk to each other and navigate our lives.

Here’s the blog post I blissfully wrote when I quit my job. It meant only worrying about home and baby for a while. Now, that I’m on the other side of that, I’m ready for a change. For myself (mostly) and for others who are at this point or going to be, here are some of the reasons why I’ve accepted a full-time position at my library. (I had previously been working part-time, 3 days a week.)

Mental break

I know that I need more sleep. I know that I need to eat healthy, stretch, exercise, and rest. I had no idea that I would need to take mental breaks from life at home. It wasn’t on my radar. Work for me is that mental break. Everything at the library is somewhat in my control; solutions are to be had, mysteries are easily solvable, there is a schedule, and my patrons are great to be around. At 17 months, my daughter can be unpredictable. What she liked yesterday, she doesn’t like today, and then I am searching through the cupboards trying to fill her belly with something she will eat. At work, I don’t have to worry about this for 8 hours. I push it from my mind and take a break. It is absolutely crazy that work gives me that break, but it does.

Educational play

We play with the alphabet magnets, we sing songs, read books, and I talk up a storm with her. But quite frankly, I am too pooped from a long day of just watching her to do activities or make plans for educational play beyond that. That is why I am happy to send her to daycare. With other kids she can paint, go in the sprinkler, play with sand, squish play-dough between her fingers, learn social skills, and gain a little independence from mama. I’m totally committed to giving her every learning opportunity I am capable of, but there is no sense in making myself crazy. I’ll take the help where I can get it.

Opportunity

I didn’t actively seek going back to work full-time. It just happened that a position opened up at the right time. It’s a move upward and a pay increase. Not to mention, finding full-time work in libraries is difficult, so when an opportunity presents itself, you take it. I’m looking forward to taking on more responsibility and continuing to create a great library experience for every patron that walks through the door. I also like that my career journey continues. I made a personal master plan seven years ago, and while the details are different than what I imagined, I’m continuing to move and grow.

I can’t help but come back to the most important reason why this all makes sense for me; I got a year home with my daughter. I am incredibly lucky that my husband and I were able to make that happen. In the United States, we’re not guaranteed paid time off after the birth of a child. More than one friend has told me about how horrible it felt that first day back: thinking of the baby, being uncomfortable, not being able to concentrate on work. I fortunately only experienced two weeks of that before I quit. But having a year to adjust and get used to life with a child made going back to work full-time an easy decision.

Tell us your experience going back to work. What was it like for you? Is there any advice you would give to those who are returning? Post a comment below, on Facebook, or email thesmartdomestic@gmail.com. 

Filed Under: Decisions Tagged With: babies, decisions, maternity leave, motherhood, work, work-life balance, working mom

What comes out of you?

August 12, 2016 by Leslie Leave a Comment

Tiny Fey Quote

Filed Under: Quotes Tagged With: babies, fatherhood, motherhood, parenthood, parenting, quotes

What to read (during maternity leave)

August 8, 2016 by Suzanne Leave a Comment

Suzanne asked a few friends for recommendations to occupy her mind while she’s home with a newborn. Today, blogger (and mom of two) Hillary Copsey shares her recommendations for what to read. 

Reading is, in many ways, the perfect thing to do when you have a new baby to tend.

It’s quiet. It transports you from the tedium of diaper changes and the pleasant yet prickly trap of a nursing or sleeping baby. It can be done in fits and spurts, in any place and at any time – even in the dark of night, thanks to phones and tablets.

And reading aloud endlessly will quiet the screaming of a colicky child – at least for a bit. (May you never discover this for yourself.)

When Suzanne asked me to compile a maternity leave reading list, I dove into the search for recommendations with two big assumptions, based on hazy memories of my own reading habits after my sons were born. I read less when my boys, now 6 and 8, were wee, and the reading I did was short and light.

Both assumptions are false.

I’ve kept track of every book read, by month, for nine years, and because my boys’ birthdates are just two weeks apart, my maternity leaves fell in the same three-month period. Even as a first-time mom with a colicky newborn, my book count during that three-month period remained at the nine-year average. When my second son was born, I read two books above it.

I’m an omnivorous reader, and my maternity leave reading history reflects that, too. Just as in the years when I wasn’t rocking a newborn in the wee hours, my book lists from early 2008 and 2010 are a mix of genre and literary fiction, nonfiction, short stories, young adult, long-form journalism and favorite rereads.

All of this geekery to point out this essential fact: If reading is a vital part of your identity, a baby won’t change that. You will find time for it – and, if you have one, you should ask your partner to help you make the time. Reading was the thing I did to remain who I always was even as I became something new, a mother.

I have a list of recommendations, but here’s my best advice: Read what you enjoy.

Avoid parenting books. Skip the books you “should” read. Instead, turn to comfort reads, whatever that means to you. Take this time to wallow in what you love – baby and books.

Favorites from My Maternity Leaves

The Book of Lost Things, John Connolly – great particularly for boy moms

The Dexter books, Jeff Lindsay – quick, dark humor

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Michael Chabon

The Underland Chronicles, Suzanne Collins – The Hunger Games author

The Good Soldiers, David Finkel – longform journalism

White Teeth and On Beauty, Zadie Smith – So, here’s the peril of maternity leave reading: These two very good books blur together, read as they were in fits and starts while my youngest son was tiny.

Short Stories 

I always say I don’t love short stories, but my book lists shows that to be false. These collections are great, delivering smart, often funny or poignant social commentary in manageable page counts.

Tenth of December, George Saunders

Some Possible Solutions, Helen Phillips – particularly “The Doppelgangers,” but on a good day when you can laugh at yourself

The Paper Menagerie, Ken Liu

Drown, Junot Diaz

Where The God of Love Hangs Out, Amy Bloom

Vampires in The Lemon Grove, Karen Russell

Fiction 

This is a collection of books I still think about after reading in big, greedy gulps.

Lucky Us, Amy Bloom

The Royal We, Heather Cocks & Jessica Morgan

This Is Where I Leave You, Jonathan Tropper

Flight Behavior, Barbara Kingsolver

Ready Player One, Ernest Cline

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, Robin Sloan

Alif the Unseen, G. Willow Wilson

Where’d You Go Bernadette, Maria Semple

The Flavia de Luce mysteries, Alan Bradley

The Night Circus, Erin Morgenstern

Mudbound, Hillary Jordan

Horns, Joe Hill

How to Tell Toledo from The Night Sky, Lydia Netzer

Monsters of Templeton, Lauren Groff

Summerland, Michael Chabon

The Likeness, Tana French

Finnikin of the Rock, Melina Marchetta

Speak, Louisa Hall

Old Favorites

These are the books I return to again and again. Even if you’re not usually a re-reader, you might find it comforting when your hormones are raging and you’re covered in bodily fluids.

Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

Anne series, L.M. Montgomery – Go for the later books. I’m telling you, Anne Shirley Blythe is a feminist role model.

Grimm’s Fairytales – I particularly like this version, Fairy Tales from The Brothers Grimm, by Philip Pullman

Song of the Lioness series, Tamora Pierce

Pillars of the Earth, Ken Follett

Nonfiction

This list was compiled with the same criteria as the fiction list.

The Boys in The Boat, Daniel James Brown

Data-ism, Steve Lohr – Read this with Speak from the fiction list.

The 50-Year Silence, Miranda Richmond Mouillot

Being Mortal, Atul Gawande

Men We Reaped, Jesmyn Ward

Between The World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates

Online

We all have our corners of the internet that suck us in for hours, so I’ve kept this brief.

“The Midnight Zone,” Lauren Groff – my favorite line: “I taught them how to read, but they could make their own lunches.”

NextDraft – This daily newsletter from Dave Pell will keep you up-to-date with everything happening outside your house.

Tom and Lorenzo – Follow the celebrity fashion machine with witty commentary and lots of pictures of pretty dresses and pretty people.

Twitter is great for night-time feedings: Someone is always up, and you can pick and choose what you read further. Authors like G. Willow Wilson and Rainbow Rowell are great on Twitter. Following all your favorite news sources is never a bad idea. I also recommend @XplodingUnicorn for funny observations about parenthood.

Medium – The daily digest is a fairly decent round-up of interesting reads and/or the reads people are talking about.

After 10 years in Florida, Ohio native Hillary Copsey returned to the Buckeye State, where she works for a nonprofit arts agency, blogs at Not Raising Brats, and reads copiously. Find her on Twitter @HillaryCopsey. She and Suzanne would both like to #MakeAmericaReadAgain. 

Photos from the Library of Congress (1, 2, 3)

Filed Under: Miscellany Tagged With: #makeamericareadagain, books, favorite books, fiction, nonfiction, reading, short stories, what to read

Decisions: Parenting with nostalgia

August 5, 2016 by Suzanne Leave a Comment

decisions - nostalgia

Decisions is a series dedicated to the choices we make in our lives and the factors that led us to our given resolutions. We welcome guest posts to this series to hear about how you’ve tackled a life decision. Email your story ideas to thesmartdomestic@gmail.com.

Today, contributor Stephanie Mangino discusses how she’s merged her retro pop culture sensibilities with her daughter’s modern tastes. 

Merging our pop culture past and our kid’s present

By Stephanie Mangino

As my 7-year-old daughter and I walked hand-in-hand the short distance from the parking lot to her summer day camp, we talked about the music we’d just listened to on our car ride.

“You know, those guys I just played for you were friends with the ‘King of Rock’ guys,” I said. She looked at me. “Those earlier guys were RUN-DMC and ‘King of Rock’ was the flip side of the ’Walk This Way’ single.”

FYI, the first “guys” in question were the Beastie Boys. I played “Shake Your Rump” of “Paul’s Boutique,” because the girl is all about butts (in a joking way, not a Tina Belcher of “Bob’s Burgers” way).

The girl gazed up at me, smiling. “Mom, zip it,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Zip it, lock it, put it in your pocket?” I asked.

“Yep,” she said as we continued walking.

Now, most of the time, I’m not politely asked to “Zip it,” nor is my husband, when we introduce the girl to the stuff from our childhoods that we love. I don’t remember making a specific decision to be fairly retro, in all ways, with the girl. Instead, it seemed to be a natural outgrowth of who we are as people, a couple, and parents. I nursed the girl with “Bonanza,” “Little House on the Prairie,” and “Magnum P.I.,” playing on the Hallmark channel. I had to cut out “Magnum,” though — its sounds seemed to irritate her tiny baby ears, for some reason.

So, our daughter, in 2016, actually has an opinion on whether she prefers “The Munsters” or “The Addams Family” (Munsters, usually), is very familiar with all the characters on “The Andy Griffith Show,” knows that Davy Jones is ALWAYS falling in love on “The Monkees,” can compare a fantasy medieval character on a kid’s show to the “farm boy” in “The Princess Bride,” and sing parts of both “Beat It” and “Eat It,” preferring “Eat It.” She happily wears Labyrinth and Beatles T-shirts and, courtesy of a “Psych” episode, has become a bit of a Tears for Fears fan. She’s seen Witchiepoo from “H.R. Pufnstuf” and “Sigmund and the Sea Monsters.” She knows the “WKRP in Cincinnati” theme song and always smiles when Def Leppard comes on a classic rock radio station. I listen to A TON of classic rock in the car. A TON.

Why is all this good? Why does this matter? Well, for me, it matters because I consider this stuff cultural and generational connective tissue. Here’s how I think about it:  My mom grew up watching “The Andy Griffith Show.” She quotes lines from it still, like “Nip it in the bud,” or “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never touch me.” I quote those same lines, and she and I laugh whenever we say them. My husband loves them, too. And now, so can my daughter. Her exposure to the show lets her get the joke while sharing something with all of us. We’ve conveyed our collective sense of humor to her with a few lines and a show. With the pop culture memories drawn exclusively from our own childhoods, something similar occurs. However, in this case, our moms remember how much we loved something and then share that info with the kiddo, which makes it impressive. (You know grandparental words carry far more weight than parental ones, yes? They’re so much more trustworthy than those people who remind you to brush your teeth each night.)

When we play the songs we like for her, we hand parts of our past to her in convenient little bundles. Whether or not she likes what she hears or sees, she’ll know we cared enough to share part of who we are with her through music. That goes for movies and books and general stuff, too.

Now, I can be a little pedantic about the things I enjoy, and I’m naturally inclined to lecture, which can turn off the girl sometimes. For example, my excitement and interest in the record player Santa brought means that the turntable is usually turned off. But when I step back and put a song on that I like, or play an old video just because, cool things can happen. One day, I turned on some Duran Duran videos, for the hell of it. To my delight, the girl loved “Rio.” My husband is more relaxed. He’ll turn on the TV and start some old show, without comment. The kid loves TV and eventually she rolls on over, watches and finds something she likes about it. Boom. Instant shared cultural currency.

All that said, we don’t completely live in the past. We listen to new songs, have cut the cable cord and run all our home media via the internet. The kiddo likes Minecraft and iPad games and the Kindle Fire. (She even reads from time to time, too.) She, like many others in the elementary school set, REALLY likes “Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae).” When our family attended a party recently, the girl and a friend of hers caught lightning bugs and then decamped to her friend’s room to watch “My Little Pony” as the grown-ups listened to The Motels and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts on vinyl. She was upstairs making her own childhood memories as we were downstairs reliving some of ours. One day, if we’re lucky, both sets of those memories will meet and the girl will carry her personalized cultural currency to another generation.

Stephanie, a.k.a. Nostalgia Mom (www.nostalgiamom.com), is a former radio, print and web journalist, sometime blogger and full-time marketing writer. She has a history degree and a love of all kinds of old junk. She’s a wife to a husband who also loves old stuff (including her :)) and mother to one awesome kid, who unintentionally lives out Viv Savage’s maxim from “This Is Spinal Tap”: Have a good time, ALL the time.

Filed Under: Decisions Tagged With: motherhood, music, nostalgia, parenting, pop culture, television

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