"It would seem that something which means poverty, disorder & violence every single day should be avoided entirely..."

I can’t remember why I thought I wanted to read either Maybe Baby or Susan Cheever’s As Good as I Could Be.

Seriously. No recollection. And for the sake of my blood pressure, I kinda wish I hadn’t bothered.

Maybe Baby is a collection of essays by famous and semi-famous writers debating the merits of having children - or not. I didn’t mind the truly thoughtful, introspective essays – I do believe some people just don’t ever experience a maternal urge or their ticking biological clock, and I am fine with that. (Some days I wish I’d ignored mine.) I understand that children take up a lot of time and resources that many people are not willing to surrender. But is it necessary to be belligerent and rude about MY choice to bear children? I do realize there are parents who have no right having kids, but my boys are sweet and mostly well-behaved, and I try very hard to be a good parent, instilling in my children (I hope) thoughtfulness, consideration for others, the importance of family, and a decent work ethic. H and I work hard for our money and act responsibly with it, and if we choose to spend it on children, that is our prerogative, isn’t it? Why must you be so aggressive and downright venomous about our choice? I don’t care that you have chosen NOT to have children. Yes, there are days when I am exhausted and fed-up, but I love my boys, and I can’t imagine life without them. It might be neater, quieter, wealthier, and less hectic, but it wouldn’t be my life. So, you know, BACK OFF.

As for Ms Cheever – let me put on my Judgmental Hat for one moment now – she married three times, had a child each by her second and third husbands, and then spends several chapters decrying the horror of divorce and the terrible anxiety it inflicted on her son and daughter. She wonders, My kids--a daughter who is now a Freshman at Princeton, and a ten-year-old son--didn't have many of the things that kids are supposed to have--family stability, money, consistency--yet they are fabulous, wonderful children. In thinking about how that happened--what it was they did have that helped them so much -- I began to think about writing this book..

Well, my solution for divorce-scarred children is simplicity itself – don’t do it. I understand the reality of marriages and divorces – sometimes totally necessary – but there comes a point at which it’s just careless to marry/divorce again and I venture to say that three is my magic number. If your spouse dies, or runs off, or abuse is involved, I get it – but to just decide, “You know, we just don’t LOVE each other anymore.” Well, guess what, maybe you should have thought of that before you procreated together.

I realize I am probably in the minority in my views on this, but I am unapologetically a huge believer in staying together for the children. H and I would not still be married if it weren’t for the kids; I love him now, but five years ago, we were ready to not only go our separate ways but as fast as possible in completely opposite directions with nary a backward look. However, this desire was complicated by a couple of little guys, and neither of us could bear the thought of not seeing Primo and Seg every single day, not kissing them goodnight, not waking up to them - in essence, not parenting them, together. We kicked around several ideas and ultimately decided that we would live in our big house as roommates. We hashed out a care schedule so each of us would have a few evenings free, and figured out the money situation, and proceeded to be *very civil* roommates, until H recovered from his premature midlife crisis, and I got my head screwed back on straight, and we tentatively proffered olive branches and slowly returned to the other. And now things are, if not idyllic, good. Happy. Solid. Mostly. We disagree about things, and we fight, and there are days when I could cheerfully clobber him, but I love him. We have history. No one knows me as well as he does. And our boys still have two parents every day, under the same roof, and I would not have it any other way. It hurts my heart to think of my children having to figure out where their bathing suit or stuffed bear or lunch box is – Mommy’s house or Daddy’s house? So I chose to do what was best for my kids, and fortunately in the long run best for me as well, and I am still married to their dad. And I find I have little patience for Ms. Cheever’s selfishness and subsequent cluelessness.

So, here you have it. My eloquent (ha!) review of two “parenting” books I probably should have skipped.

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*Phyllis Diller

"And I'll drink and dance with one hand free..."*

I packed up three days worth of stuff for the older boys and a day’s worth of stuff for the baby and now I am on my own for the next 36 hours.

H trundled off to the Great Thomas Adventure with Primo through Terzo (I kissed Primo and Seg goodbye but only Terzo did I squeeze breathless and actively wish he was staying home with me. Even though he will enjoy Thomas the most of the three, as he’s totally at the right age and obsession level.)

Am I the only freak who, instead of being happy that they will have a great time and enjoying a little peace and quiet for myself, instead worries that there will be a horrific van wreck, or H will lose track of them in the crowd, or he won’t realize Terzo can’t reach the bottom of the pool, and he’ll come home minus one, two, or all three of them? (I have already decided that if this happens, I will divorce him and take the baby and go live quietly off the grid somewhere up north. I have a PLAN.) I know they make me nuts, but I would miss them if they weren’t around. (Especially my sweet Terzo, who makes me happier than any mom has a right to be.)

I KNOW I am morbid, but there have been so many horrible stories in the news lately and I am terrified when they are not with me. (Not that this stops me from fobbing them off on babysitters, friends, grandparents - heck, anyone who'll take 'em for an hour or two - so I can’t be THAT terrified. It’s more of an abstract terror, I guess.) I eyeballed the little boy whom my babysitter also cares for: Could he be a homicidal maniac just looking to squash a baby flat? Or bop the baby on the head? Or feed him Doritos?

I have been looking forward to this respite for months but now that it’s here, I admit that I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I have lots of writing to do, and editing for clients, and trim work to paint, and a doctor’s appointment this evening. But right now I think I will lie on the couch with my cup of coffee and play Wordtwist, and then finish Alice Hoffman's newest novel, and maybe I’ll stop at the grocery store on my way home from the doctor’s office to buy potato chips and onion dip for dinner.

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*"Back in the High Life," Steve Winwood