Alice Bradley — Finslippy

I forgot to say

2013-05-16T21:28:21Z

I was a guest on the One Bad Mother podcast, which is always entertaining, and I don't think I did too much damage. I gave them terrible advice about the first trimester.

I have a winner for my books giveaway, and she is Commenter #28: Roseanna! Your books are on their way, Roseanna, I swear it.

ALSO ALSO I chose my glasses. My favorite from the beginning was the Je Ne Sais Quoi, and enough of you agreed that I went for it. That said, the rest of you have me planning on the Ruby Red for my second inevitable pair. How I treasure you all.

Here I am, smiling at myself. My hair seems to have grown a few inches in the past week? And it's a different color or something? I'm not clear on what's happening. Next week it will be down to my butt and I'll braid pussy willows into it.

And now I am serious. So very serious.

Okay, that's all, move along.

BUT WAIT: Thanks to commenter (and neighbor) Deirdre, I'm going to try acupuncture on my neck. My last couple of acupuncture experiences ranged from underwhelming to gory, but I'm determined to try. One last time. Unless I bleed out on the table, I hope to report back.

Certainly not feeling sorry for myself

2013-05-16T01:53:56Z

I messed up my neck. I don't know how. Stress, most likely. Our hectic modern stress-filled lives! I don't know how I've managed to keep my neck out of danger for so long.

I use my neck, I have discovered, most of the time. On any given day, I'm liable to tilt, bend, stretch, turn, roll, crane, you name it. But not this week! This week I am lurching around like Frankenstein and yelling whenever I forget and move the damn thing. When I do move the damn thing every neck and neck-related muscle seizes up and I contemplate death. A couple of times I blinked too hard and the pain was so intense that I had to freeze in place and let the tears come. Both times this happened in the middle of the sidewalk. I'm sure I looked like I was getting ready to be Raptured, or I was on drugs, or I just remembered that I was supposed to be in jail.

Today a guy walked by with his dog, a cute woofy thing, and the dog headed right for me to wag and accept my pets, and when I tilted my eyeballs 30 degrees downward my dumb neck followed suit so I emitted a weird bark-shout. WAAAAAIOOOUU, like I was terrified. Or unable to form human words. At the same time I was reaching out to pet the dog, but reaching out also hurt, so my arm froze there like I was warding him off and/or charging up to emit a laser beam from my palm. The guy was like, "I'm sorry! He's only being friendly!" I wanted to explain but he had already passed me, and since I couldn't turn my head or project my voice I would have to pivot my entire body and then toddle after him down the street and THAT, my friends, that would not have been less weird.

You know what else hurts? Typing.

Happy book-birthdays to us

2013-04-26T04:00:00Z

Rita, Eden, and I were emailing recently about how our books have recently celebrated (in their own quiet, unassuming way) their birthdays. Sleep is For The Weak is now a five-year-old, while Let's Panic About Babies is in its Terrible Twos. (Or "Terrific Twos," which is what the pre-pre-school program Henry attended was called. Those liars. Terrifying, maybe. I guess no one would have signed up for a class called "Terrifying Twos." I would have, and maybe that's why we had so few playdates.

Oh, memories. Puzzling, dark memories.)

ANYHOO, we thought we'd each do a giveaway to celebrate these milestones, because look, someone has to. Our books are feeling terribly neglected.

Sleep is For The Weak is a collection of the best of various parenting blogs. I had a bunch of posts in there about the toddler years, and reading them now is awfully therapeutic. I can't look at pictures of him at that age without choking up and whispering "Sunrise, Sunset" while my lower lip trembles and falls off. And then I read only slightly exaggerated moments such as this one, when he presented his list of demands:

 II. TELEVISION

1. Will be ALL THE TIME, unless I say differently. While watching TELEVISION, you are to sit by my side, quietly, hands folded in lap, whilst I enjoy my shows.

a. You may arise to fetch me a SNACK or a DRINK.

2. No DIAPER CHANGING or PLEAS TO ENGAGE IN PHYSICAL ACTIVITY will be tolerated during the watching of the TELEVISION.

3. Turning off of the television will result in much SCREAMING.

III. TOYS

1. There will be many.

a. They will always be strewn about the house so that I may simply reach down and pick up a toy, no matter where I am.

b. They will be loud, complicated, and contain many small bits. I enjoy the SHOOTING NOISES that go w-shooooop or zim zim zim.

c. Nothing that results in LEARNING, please.

And I feel much better. Now he's evolved enough that, were he to request a thing, I can respond with an observation like, "You can buy that once you've saved up enough allowance," or "You can get that yourself, you big, strapping boy." Or I can simply raise an eyebrow and he gets my meaning. Sure, he reacts, but it's nothing compared to toddler behavior. The worst that happens is he goes to his room and slides angry notes under the door. So fun.

I miss the toddler-to-preschooler years more than I miss having a baby around, I have to say. Babies are cute and all, but they're kind of lumpish. Squealing and lumpish. And they never ask you how your day has been. Still, they have that nice head-smell. I don't know, those years are all a blur. Occasionally I'll get weepy over some goddamn cute picture, and then I can always reach for solace in our book, which is also only slightly exaggerated. Excerpt alert!

How do you train a baby to sleep through the night? It's easier than you think. Just follow this simple procedure exactly, with absolutely no variations at all.

8:00 p.m. Put Baby down in the crib.
8:05 p.m. Pace nervously outside nursery as the shrieking starts up.
8:07 p.m. Rummage through refrigerator for snacks. Loud rummaging will drown out the crying.
8:10 p.m. Enter Baby's room and pat her back three times. Not four times. Three. Say "Shhh" four times, in three-second intervals. Retreat quickly.
8:13 p.m. Glare at husband. Surely this is partly his fault.
8:15 p.m. Cry for a little while.
9:00 p.m. Go back into Baby's room. Pick up Baby. Swear to Baby that you'll never leave her alone again. Rock her until your arms go numb.
10:45 p.m. Put Baby back down. Dim lights. Whoops. You forgot to do that at 8 p.m., didn't you? Just because I didn't specifically say to? Must I spell out everything?
11:00 p.m. Back into Baby's room. Three pats on the back. Not too hard, now.
11:15 p.m. Your husband's asleep. Stand over him, seething.
11:30 p.m. Back in Baby's room, your mere presence will soothe her. Without touching her, reassure her that you are there, and that you're just going in the other room, just for a little bit, it's not like anyone is disappearing, for Christ's sake, isn't she being a little dramatic?
11:45 p.m. Loudly ask your husband if he wants to take over for a little bit, maybe, if it's not too much trouble. He reluctantly gets up. Reluctantly, though. Christ!
12:00 a.m. Try to sleep but don’t because you're now furious and can't believe you ever thought getting married was a good idea.
1:00 a.m. Wake up, even though you didn't realize you were sleeping in the first place. Hear your husband muttering angrily while pacing back and forth with Baby.
1:15 a.m. Tell him he's not doing it right and to just forget it.
1:30 a.m. How does he get to sleep so fast? Jerk.
1:45 a.m. Place Baby back in crib. Dim the lights again, do those soothing "shhh" sounds AGAIN. Back slowly out of room.
1:47 a.m. She just woke up. Pat her back seven times.
1:50 a.m. Okay, ten times. But no more. Now retreat. Retreat!
2:00 a.m. Reassure Baby from other side of door that you're still around. Continue to reassure as needed.
3:30 a.m. Is your voice getting hoarse? I recommend recording your voice and replaying on a continuous loop!
4:00 a.m. Accidentally throw something at husband, injuring him into consciousness.
4:30 a.m. There's silence! Run into room because you think something's wrong, but nothing is wrong! The baby is asleep, and you can be, too!
5:00 a.m. Wake up because you thought you heard the baby, but it turns out you didn't.
5:15 a.m. Oh, wait, you did. Crap.
5:30 a.m. Baby's up for the day, full of smiles and burbles. You made it! Sort of.

Do this every night until it works, or Baby enlists in the military.

Guess what ten-year-olds do? They go to sleep on their own, like sensible people. Really, there's no contest.

Speaking of contests, she segues effortlessly, would you like your very own copy of our books? Did you know that Mother's Day is coming up? And what could be a better gift for the prospective mother or harried mother of a relatively small person? If you want in, comment thusly: if you have a child, explain what your favorite age has been. If you don't have a kid, you can either tell me about a niece or nephew or some beloved family member, OR your own memories of when you were particularly charming.

I'll announce the winner in one week. Eden and Rita are giving away books as well, so if you want to increase your chances, you know what you have to do.

What are you reading?

2013-04-24T00:46:02Z

There's a podcast called What Are You Reading, hosted by the clever and funny Matt Debenham, and I would tell you to subscribe even if I hadn't made an appearance. I did, however. So you listen to my episode right now, do you hear me? And then listen to the others. Clear your schedule!

We covered all kinds of book-related topics, including my favorite books from every year since I was ten, and I got so swept up in our witty repartee that I completely forgot about Judy Blume. I may never forgive myself. I know Judy Blume will never forgive me. Or maybe I read them before I was ten? I was awfully sophisticated.

As we discuss on the podcast, I read a lot and this makes me feel pretty superior, but immediately upon completion of each book the memory of it exits my brain. I fear that I'm less brilliant than I tell people I am. I try to recommend books, and it's a joke. You should read this book. Because it's good, that's why. It's about a guy who does stuff. I don't know. This thing happens in it. I think he wears a shirt. I once got to the last sentence of a book (Housekeeping by Marilynn Robinson, if you must know) and realized I had read it before. The last sentence. What about that last sentence jogged my memory, I'll never know. It wasn't "You already read this, dumbass." I now remember Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson because it is The Book I Forgot Until The Last Sentence. Also, stuff happens in it.

When Matt interviewed me I was reading The Moviegoer, by Walker Percy, which I had read in the early nineties and remembered only that I used to list it among my favorite books, and when I reread it I was worried about early-nineties me. That book is bleak as shit. It's a good thing early-nineties me doesn't exist anymore. We also talked about John Irving, so afterward I was inspired to reread A Prayer for Owen Meany, another book I couldn't remember except for a vague sense of approval. Oh, and Owen Meany was a small person. Not to mention, something something sports. And: war.

I liked it again, mostly. But why, John Irving, why you gotta italicize so many words? When your writing is strong enough that you don't require it? It puzzles and distracts me. I hope you've learned to control your italicizing tendencies, award-winning writer who doesn't give a hoot what I think.

Okay, look. I'm done addressing John Irving. He's not reading this blog! In the podcast, you get to hear how we met. Then dated. It gets pretty explicit. (We never even hugged. Although we shook hands for a while. Maybe a few seconds? It was intense, though. You could tell. His wife was in the room. She was into it. I don't know what I mean by any of this.) He interviewed me for a job as his live-in assistant, and I did not get said job, the end. Reality is so disappointing.

Seriously, though. What are you reading? Besides this blog post, smartypants.

I'm back

2013-04-19T01:06:06Z

A month ago I realized I had been blogging for over nine years, and I sank right into a blog crisis. What am I doing? I thought. How can I continue? Shouldn't this end at some point? Nine years! Am I going to blog until I'm old and then dead?

I asked myself these questions, and then I waited for answers. I hid myself away from the world. I created a massive vision board. I walked until my feet kind of hurt. I sat down. I drank tea. Then coffee. Finally I realized that my questions were dumb.

Why do I do this? Because I like it, I guess. Is it unseemly to go on for this long? I have no idea what that even means. Did I really create a vision board? Of course I didn't. I was unable to find images in magazines that resonated emotionally for me.

I considered scrapping this blog, the Finslippy name and everything, and creating a new one, with a new name, new theme, new LEASE ON LIFE!!!! (Multiple exclamation points!) But that's kind of like getting a boob job when what you really want is to know if God exists. (Don't look too closely at that analogy. I know I won't.) A new look wouldn't cure my existential crisis. I just had to power through it, and meet you on the other side.

While I was gone, I did make some changes to the ol' website. I tore out the ads; they were using valuable real estate, and the monthly checks had dwindled to the point that they made my bank sad. With the freed-up space, as you can see, I added a link to Flickr, so now you can see any new paintings I've, uh, painted. So that's nice.

There's no good way to write the "I'm back!" post after being away for too long, but sometimes you have to take a break, and then when you return it has to be awkward and uncomfortable. It's a rule. And then you can get back to the good stuff. Or at least the less-awkward stuff. Now: who wants a cuddle?

A conversation about the cat that has nothing to do with her weight

2013-03-20T17:53:48Z

Henry: The cat hates me. She's always biting and swatting.
Me: It's not personal. She's a cat. Cats are nuts. They hate it when you show too much affection.

Henry: I wasn't even touching her. I was looking at her.
Me: Yes, but with love, I bet. That's your first mistake.
Henry: I was lying there, and she reached over and swatted my face.
Me: You were gazing right at her, right? With love? WITH LOVE? Confess.
Henry: You're weird.
Me: Listen to me. With this cat, the more you like her, the less she likes you.
Henry: She loves Dad.
Me: Because he deeply, deeply dislikes her. And she can't get enough of it. She's all over him the minute he walks in the door. Do you need more proof that she is utterly bananas?

Henry: She's nice to you, too.
Me: Not as much as Dad, though. Because I don't hate her. But I do express my displeasure with her, frequently. That keeps her interested. I'm telling you, if you're more aloof she'll come around.
Henry: Fine. I don't think I like her anymore, anyway.
Me: Keep talking like that and she's going to fall in love, son.

Building my tiny empire

2013-03-13T13:25:57Z

How great are all of you, sharing in my Tic Tac box obsession? I knew I was surrounded by a community of fellow weirdos. I just didn't know how weird.

And now I know. Deeply, deeply weird. You are all invited into my blanket fort.

Secondly, I have a couple of business announcements. Behold!

The Practice of Writing is almost but not quite full, so I need to close registration in the next few days. If you want to sign up, now's your chance!

Also, I am officially hanging out my shingle as a writing coach. If you're serious about your writing and could use one-on-one help with your manuscript, stories, essays, poetry, or blog, here's more information.

(I'm really excited about this. I've been unofficially coaching a handful of students, and I love it more than I love Orange Tic Tacs.)

Other ideas I'm tossing around for the future: a mini-Practice of Writing course (maybe a week long?), as well as workshops for smaller groups. If you have any thoughts on what you'd like to see offered, what questions you need answered, what needs I can fulfill, speak up!

Or maybe I was just super weird

2013-03-12T17:56:09Z

Reminder: r egistration for The Practice of Writing is still open!

On Sunday Henry had to join me for errands. Our expedition entailed walking a total of maybe ten blocks, round trip, but some of us do not wish to experience the out-of-doors on what is supposed to be a relaxing Sunday when one wishes only to simultaneously play Minecraft and listen to Minecraft songs. Some of us, however, don't feel like going out alone to buy someone else underwear and socks only to return home and find out that some of us purchased the terrible kind. So some of us HAD TO GO.

There was yelling. Then I said I'd buy him gum and possibly a pack of Magic Cards if he was particularly great (translated by Henry: definitely Magic Cards, multiple packs, get your pants on before she changes her mind).

Out we went, and after finding the acceptable varieties of both underwear and sock, Henry decided he wanted Tic Tacs. I never buy Tic Tacs, I don't think about them, but while he was mulling over the flavors at the checkout counter I was filled with nostalgia: not for the candy, but the packaging.

When I was little, I had a thing for empty Tic Tac boxes. My mom bought the spearmint flavor, which was too intense for my delicate girl-mouth, but whenever I found an empty box I snatched it. I'd take it up to my bathroom, where I would spend far too long than is healthy playing. With the Tic Tac box.

First I had to remove all the labels, because duh. And then scrub it until the glue came off. But carefully, because you didn't want to scratch the box. Without the labels, I found the entire thing to be perfect. It satisfied me in ways I can't explain. That hinge! Did I open and close it, then open and close it some more? Why, yes. Yes I did.

And what did I do my beloved Tic Tac box, after I regarded its perfection? Well! I filled it with either 1) water, 2) shampoo, 3) a sludgy mix of water and talcum powder, or 4) Jean Nate After-Bath Splash. And then I poured it out, and filled it up again. If I had glitter, you can be sure as hell the glitter got in there. On one particularly heady occasion, I nabbed some food coloring and filled a couple of tic-tac boxes with various shades of tinted water. They were too beautiful to be disturbed, so I hid them under the sink for a number of years. I took them out on special occasions and held them up to the light.

It's not like I didn't have an entire room filled with toys. But they couldn't equal the perfection of the Tic Tac box. Which, if I'm going to be honest, I'm still itching to grab, although I don't know why. What would I do with it? I don't even own any Jean Nate!

I was going to tell Henry this story while we were walking home, but he already worries about me. And now I'm telling you. But you understand, right? Maybe you're a little concerned, but surely you had something similar? Come on, now.

The Practice of Writing #3: Registration is now open! (Update: RE-opened)

2013-03-07T15:56:19Z

UPDATE: I mistakenly set up the course registration to end...yesterday. Whoopsies. If you tried to register and it told you registration was over, you have my apologies. Try again--it will work now.

For THIS one, I've joined forces with Ruzuku, an online learning platform, to host the course (and, I hope, other kinds of courses, down the line). The great thing about Ruzuku is...well, there are all kinds of great things. Their support frees me of numerous technical headaches and allows me to focus on the lessons and my students (i.e. the only things that matter). Plus the course just looks better; it's better organized, thanks to their system, and there's a discussion forum for each lesson. And I can keep track of each students' progress. It's great.

I've updated the course information page, so check it out, if you're interested. If you click on the enrollment link it will bring you over to the Ruzuku registration page. Payment is still through PayPal. Please note that the course price is now $150. Unlike the previous iterations, registration is now limited. I've been getting huge groups, which is great, but I want to be able to give more personalized support, so I need to keep the size a bit more manageable. If you're interested, I recommend signing up as soon as you can!