Skip to main content

My Susie

 I do not have the best coping skills--and I'm concerned this trait has reproduced itself in my daughter.


Having read nothing about antibiotics, I thought it would be a genius move to disguise amox-clav in a cup of Lactaid. My daughter took one sip and threw her cup to the floor. In fact, the "disguise" method can backfire--because your child then rejects *both* the medicine and the life-sustaining milk that you try to give to her. 

I attempt sing-song cheeriness; I attempt loud, exaggerated empathy; I attempt effusive praise. Eventually, I grow weary, and I try to level with my daughter: "This drug just isn't all that bad." (My spouse objects to this approach; quietly, he says, "Listen, she is gagging.")

I do think that my daughter is wonderfully literary; she has a fondness for Sandra Boynton that seems off-the-charts. (If you try to tell me that every child in America has this same level of fondness, I will politely disagree.)

I'm on a campaign to "sell" Susie on Tomie dePaola; I've selected one of his final books, "In a Small Kingdom," which is a parable about Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton. Susie has reservations, but, also, she isn't two yet; I think, in terms of dePaola, she will "get there."

We're also enjoying Doug Salati's illustrations for the writer Matthew Farina--and I'll leave a few of those pictures here. Happy Presidents' Day.























Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more