Balance Is a Crock, Sleep Is for the Weak

Balance Is a Crock, Sleep Is for the Weak: An Indispensable Guide to Surviving Working Motherhood

By Amy Eschliman and Leigh Oshirak (326 pages)

Published by Avery

Bookish rating: 4

I’m not sure why working motherhood is such a lonely endeavor. I mean, gazillions of us do it. I suppose we’re just too busy to discuss it during play dates because WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR PLAY DATES.

Anyway. Balance Is a Crock is a witty parenting book devoted to working mums. It has some flaws, but I loved it. The tone is irreverent, wine drinking is encouraged, and there are no paragraphs insisting that working motherhood is the RIGHT CHOICE. Nor does it suggest that staying home is the WRONG CHOICE. It’s just accepted that working is what the reader does and moves on. And I liked that.

The pregnancy section is sort of filler, because pregnancy might affect your job somewhat, but beyond having to (1) correctly time when you tell your boss (e.g., taking into account things like long-term projects, potential promotions, the fact your stomach is taking on the shape of some sort of melon), (2) cope with morning sickness while pretending to be fully functional, and (3) plan maternity leave, your career doesn’t REALLY suffer until you have the baby—and come back.

At which point, the book becomes much better. The authors advise mommies to “fake it ‘til you make it,” and this is sage advice. My boss told me, “I’m amazed you get here as early as you do—and with make-up on.” That’s me faking it. And the authors are right: Start by trying to fool others that you’re competent and totally together despite the fact you were covered in spit-up breast milk at dawn and thus are wearing your Tuesday outfit on Monday, and you’ll eventually fool yourself and—behold!—become competent and somewhat together. You know, with time.

My favorite section dealt with sick kids: “For dual working parents there is no phone call you dread more than the sick kid bomb from school. We liken it to getting bitch-slapped. It comes out of nowhere and it hurts that bad. . . . Just seeing the school’s phone number on caller ID is enough to get our hearts racing . . . If you get the call and your kid is genuinely sick, we’re sorry. Your life is about to suck on so many levels” (pp. 176–177). Oh, the truth of these words! Nothing makes you want to throw in the towel on working more than a sick kid. The disruption of routine, needing to be two places at once, and simultaneously tending to deadlines and a sick kiddo—it’s awful. Also: “If you are lucky you won’t get sick until the kids get better. God have mercy if you all get the tummy bug at the same time” (p. 180).

Truth.

The other particularly good section covers the sad fact that your career will, in some way or form, become the “sacrificial lamb” due to your decision to procreate. No blanket statement can be made for all working moms, of course, but the authors encourage (which I appreciated) finding value in things beyond position and money, such as flexible schedules, telecommuting options, job-sharing, a position you can “leave” at work for the most part, good bosses and employers who have your back, and on and on. There’s much truth (again!) in this. For me, I’m sure my career would move forward faster without Charlotte, but that’s not something I even have room to regret. I’ve got a good schedule, occasional telecommuting, and a great boss. It works.

Still, the book is a little flawed. Like so many working-mother books, the authors are relatively high-powered, but working mothers are not just executives wearing Prada. They’re not all professional, even. They include school teachers, store clerks, doctors, nannies, receptionists, congresswomen, alligator hunters, and ship captains. The authors outsource a lot (which I TOTALLY support) and rely heavily on nannies and babysitters, with maybe a dash of daycare thrown in. This requires pretty impressive cash flow, which not all working moms have, despite being wage-earners. And the nanny thing—sigh. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Daycare presents unique challenges that need to be fully addressed in a book like this, because most young children of professional women attend daycare. In this case, an author decided daycare was too stressful and hired a nanny. Not exactly the how-to advice for those of us refusing to go down the nanny route (fun fact: with two kids in daycare, a nanny would be cheaper for us than daycare, but I’m one of about 2% of people who think daycare is superior to nanny care, at least for older toddlers and preschoolers. But that’s a post for another day, and not on Bookish!)

This book contains much good advice but mostly it’s just a fun read that reminds you, oh working mother, that you’re pretty effing amazing. For that, I highly recommend it to any working mum.

The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine

The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine
By Alina Bronsky (262 pages)
Translated from German by Tim Mohr
Published by Europa Editions
Bookish rating: 4.25

The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine is a refreshingly unique novel that is simultaneously depressing and hilarious. We begin in Soviet Russia, where our narrator, Rosa, learns her teen daughter, Sulfia, is pregnant. Despite a botched abortion attempt (forced by Rosa), granddaughter Aminat (who, Rosa realizes, is actually quite pretty and thus worth keeping around) is born. We then follow Rosa, Aminat, and Sulfia for the next 20 or so years.

Rosa is the best narrator I've read in a long time. She is absolutely unreliable, evil, controlling, convinced that Her Way is the Only Way, and she's a bit of a martyr too. Why, if something must be done right, she must do it herself. For example, as Roas meddles in Sulfia's business, straightening up her closet so Aminat "doesn't live in filth," they have this little exhange:
     "Sulfia was, as always, ungrateful. All she said was, 'Just leave it mother.'
     She even screamed at me. That was after I straightened out her wardrobe. I sorted and folded the underwear, bras, and leggings, and repaired the holes in them by hand. I did all this depsite the fact that I would rather have been watching TV or reading the paper. But she shouted at me so loudly that Aminat came to the door of the room and asked, 'Mama, are you crazy?'
     Up to then Sulfia had never shouted. She had just helplessly exclaimed, 'Mother, why? Just leave it, mother. Mother, please don't touch that.'
     I let her scream. . . . But after a few minutes I also thought that enough was enough. When I decided she had gone on long enough, I picked up my boot and hit Sulfia in the face with it." (p. 60)

So that's Rosa. Bronsky expertly gives Rosa a fabulously self-absorbed, mean, yet weirdly disarming and almost charming voice. Her observations and perceptions are depicted in such a nuanced, ironic way--the text is meaty, multilayered, and brilliantly funny. I mean, Bronksy lets Rosa convince us readers that handing over her preteen granddaughter to a pedophile is not such a bad idea, and that Sulfia is, well, rather dim-witted. We discussed this in the book club--how did Bronsky get us all on Rosa's side?

The fact that the novel--hence, Rosa's narration--is translated from German makes all the more impressive. To have a voice as clear as Rosa's via translation is remarkable. Highly recommended.

Rumors

Rumors: A Luxe Novel (448 pages)

By Anna Godbersen

Published by HarperCollins

Bookish rating: 3.75

As I continue my quest to read more young adult literature, I picked up Rumors, the second in the Luxe series by Anna Godbersen.

As I’ve mentioned before, part of the draw of the Luxe books are the oh so pretty dresses on the covers. I’m a sucker for a pretty dress. Marketing schmarketing.

Rumors picks up where The Luxe left off—the same conniving, spoiled debutants and dandies of the previous book, now even deeper into drama (and, in some cases, debt) on the eve of 1900 in Manhattan. Godbersen continues the fantastic attention to historical detail that marked her previous book—dresses, fabrics, wallpaper, writing instruments, furniture, glassware, manners—which plunges the reader into the era in a delicious sort of way.

Compared to the first book, the plotting was a bit less lively and the sass (which I loved in The Luxe) was brought down a notch, so Rumors is not quite as good as its predecessor. Still, this is a perfectly enjoyable historical read. Recommended.

The March Book

For the month of March, our book club will be reading The Story of Beautiful Girl by Rachel Simon, a book chosen by Diana. I had been eyeing it on Amazon and had debated reading it, and then Diana made the choice for me. Ta dah!

The book involves a woman with an intellectual disability and a deaf man, put away in an institution in the 1960s. They escape, have a love child, hand her off before the authorities catch them, and the rest of the book apparently unfolds with a 40-year saga to the present day.

The book was just released in paperback, which subsequently lowered the Kindle and Nook prices, so the timing is excellent. We’ll read it for March, and discussion starts April 1. Happy reading!

Love and Logic Magic for Early Childhood

Love and Logic Magic for Early ChildhoodBy Jim Fay and Charles Fay (200 pages)
Published by Love & Logic Press
Bookish rating: 3

Booklover, I should have warned you that Bookish has a tendency to review that lowly genre of books, parenting.

I considered that perhaps I should just skip reviewing parenting-related books, but you know what? These books actually affect your life. Your children. So, I deemed them important enough to review.

I blogged awhile ago about Charlotte going through a rather impatient, willful stage. A friend recommended this book, saying that it had helped her with her willful first-born, but she warned of a major cheese factor.

I’m glad she warned me. Cheesy? Yes. This book reeks of the stinkiest of cheeses.

The overall concept of the Love and Logic brand is that you let the child choose the behavior and consequence. For example, if the child throws her food on the ground, dinner is over. This is pretty much in line with the advice of The Happiest Toddler on the Block. The authors insist on a happy, sing-song voice when doling out punishment, which I think most children would find patronizing. Finally, a whole lot of reasoning takes place. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to reason with a toddler. I wouldn’t recommend it.

Love and Logic shines when discussing misbehavior as teachable moments, rather than something to punish. A child learns a consequence. She learns she’s in control of a lot, even though she’s so short. I also appreciated this book’s “permission” to let Charlotte struggle. I’ve lately backed WAY off from helping her do things, and “I DID IT!” is now one of her top phrases.

Love and Logic also encourages chores, which we’ve started implementing. Charlotte is responsible for cleaning up her toys, putting her coat in the closet, and emptying her lunchbox. I recently added putting her books away, putting mommy’s shoes away (just the ones she takes out to play with), and helping unload the dishwasher.

Love and Logic is against cry-it-out for babies, which sent off some warning bells for me. They cite only speculation of what a child thinks or feels, and all their philosophies on “independence” fly out the parenting window. Sleep research and evidence supports cry-it-out, and it teaches children to fall asleep independently. Love and Logic offer zero research and evidence, but the authors suggest every flaw your child has is a result of your parental failure to perfectly abide by the Love and Logic brand of child-rearing.

Overall, this book gave me a couple extra tools to use with Charlotte—for example, offering choices for as much as possible, giving her control when it doesn’t matter, letting her struggle, adding a few chores—and teaching a child that her behavior has consequences—and that she can control it—is a very important philosophy. But between the cheese factor and the lack of research, this parenting book ranks at the “it’s okay” level.

Dairy Queen

Dairy Queen
By Catherine Gilbert Murdock (274 pages)
Published by Graphia
Bookish rating: 3.75

I resolved to read more young adult lit this year, and Dairy Queen is part of that valiant effort. My friend Lauren recommended it, with the caveat that "it's not perfect, but . . .," so I went ahead and picked the book up.

Dairy Queen falls into a category I call "Agricultural Royalty Literature." There's something about the tongue-in-cheek mix of corn and tiaras that authors--or marketers--can't resist. Or maybe it's just coincidence. Still, there are The Princesses of Iowa by M. Molly Backes (a debut author), which won't be released until May (I look forward to reading it), or the Sweet Potato Queens series.

It didn't take too many pages for me to see what Lauren meant about the the book's imperfections . . . BUT. This book has some flaws, the most irritating one being the looooooong, drawn-out, rather repetitive internal monologues of our narrator and heroine, D. J. Pages and pages go by with nary a break for some dialogue. Or action. A tad more "telling than showing," as perhaps a writing instructor would say, was desperately needed.

But.

D.J. is a disarmingly likable character, with a unique voice. A farm girl in Wisconsin, D.J. is solely responsible for running her family's dairy farm after her dad's injury. Her mom already works full-time as a teacher, her older brothers are off at college (playing football), and her younger brother is a baseball star and thus has no time to help out. She begins training her school's rival's quarterback as a result of a rather implausible plot point (his coach makes him work on her farm to learn about "real" work), and while romantic sparks inevitably flare, D.J. makes the more important decision to JOIN HER SCHOOL'S FOOTBALL TEAM.

And that's just a concept for a book that greatly appeals to me. I loved that.

Murdoch ultimately pulls this novel off, and shines when depicting the farm, D.J.'s tense relationship with her dad, and football. Lauren tells me the sequel, The Off Season, is far better. I'm totally game for another match-up with the dairy queen of Wisconsin (puns intended). Recommended.

The Violets of March

The Violets of March

By Sarah Jio (293 pages)
Published by Plume
Bookish rating: 2.75

“Mom, you know that book that’s set in Seattle that I thought you might like and that you picked for the book club and that you bought and that you read super fast because that’s how you roll and that you let me borrow so I didn’t have to actually buy it?”

“Yes,” Mums said, not pointing out my run-on sentence.

“I’m almost done. I don’t think I like it.”

“Yeah. It’s sort of  . . .  Lifetime Movie of the Week-ish,” Mums said.

“Totes. And generic. And uninspired. And predictable.”

“You said you hadn’t finished it yet.”

“I haven’t. But I’m predicting what will happen.” (It did.)

So, that was a first. I don’t think Mums and I have ever agreed upon books. Sure, we generally agreed that The House on Oyster Creek was pretty good, and I will die with the contentment of my mom calling me in college, shouting into the phone, “HOLY [NAUGHTY WORD], Rochester is MARRIED?!” when she decided to take a little foray into Victorian gothic literature. But in general? We have very different bookish tastes. And I can’t really recall both of us going “eh” together over a book.

Considering that my mother and I have practically nothing in common except brown eyes,  a propensity for overreaction, and unfathomable adoration for Charlotte (third-generation brown eyes, by the way), our mutual “eh” was quite the mother–daughter moment.

So, I guess that Violets of March gets a point for that. It gets another point for being set in the lovely Pacific Northwest, on Bainbridge Island. And let’s face it, the cover is purdy.

The premise? Emily—a bestselling author (riiiiiiight) gets screwed over in love in NYC so leaves the mean East Coast for the friendly, fleece-wearers of the Seattle area. She stays with her aunt on Bainbridge Island (oh, to be able to waste a whole month doing nada because some you hit a bump in the road of romance), and uncovers an old diary from the 1940s. It turns out Emily is sort of connected to the people in the diary, and so she puts in a couple hours of sleuthing to give herself some sort of semblance of productivity, I guess.

The writing was bland and generic, the dialogue flat (do you know how many phone conversations we have to read of “Hello?” “Hi.” “It’s Emily.” “Oh, hi, Emily.” “How are you?” “I’m fine.” REPEATEDLY. I mean, that’s just shit dialogue right there.)

The diary aspect fails, as it’s written in the same personality-devoid voice as Emily’s uninspired voice.

I was really expecting this book to be so much better than it was, but instead we got an artless piece of plotting. Everything seemed forced. Kind of amateurish. I love the idea of a literary fiction novel taking place on Bainbridge, especially in that most temperamental month of March, and the whole effort just fell so flat.