All the way to Hong Kong

Look! A dear, old friend of mine from high school got my book delivered to Hong Kong. And there it is. The Hong Kong skyline. And that, most likely, is as close as I will ever get to seeing the view myself.

But, don't you think the book looks good in that light? Very sexy. Very sophisticated.

On life after birth

So I'm attaching this monster ship of a maxipad to my underwear, and, based on size and weight alone the thing ought at the very least to require staples if not full on nails and a hammer, when it dawns on me that if I continue to use these super size pads, I will fill every landfill on the planet.

But, hey, it happens. After babies, you get what my midwife cheerily called "a return to fertility." You know, your monthly friend. Little red friend from Kansas.

Anyhow, this little friend of mine has changed since the kids came along. She's not what she used to be, way back, when she was younger. I can't really blame her, I've changed too.

Whoa! Help! I'll have to write more later....the current is taking me downstream on my kayak of cotton--

Has this ever happened to you?

I opened the refrigerator door and located a glass container of jam. Opened it. Inserted knife. Oh, the hollow, sad sound of scraping glass.

Someone in my household had returned said jar to the fridge.

I guess they were thinking it could still be licked clean.

Say, if you had the tongue of a dog.

Eat Your Peas!

And butter. And cheese. And bread.

I don't want to have to say it, but I've got a skinny daughter. I'm wondering where I went wrong. Has it already started, the culturally prescribed rite-of-passage body-obsessed diet-crazed habits of girlhood?

I mean, she's only fifteen months old. And I'm standing over here like an Italian grandmother practically pouring lard down her throat. She walks around on legs like a new born fawn, straight shoots from the hips down. My son, on the other hand, had rolls you could hide your cash in, say, if you didn't feel confident enough to put it in the market.

Well, if you want an exercise in futility, tell a burgeoning toddler to eat her dinner. She is too young to bribe with dessert, too clever to simply take what you offer--if she doesn't like it, she spits it out--and too good to be left in her high chair until she eats what she's been given. I could not even get her to eat bread and butter. Until I put jam on it. And while she wouldn't eat yogurt before, she will eat it now with honey in it.

You can feel free to give me advice, but I'm sure I don't need it. If I want to fatten her up, I'll have to put her on my diet: chocolate, baked goods, and chocolate, for variety. But what do they say? Girls are made of sugar and spice? They are certainly not made out of peas.

More on Motherhood

Thinking more about my yesterday post and comment interchange--here's a reprint of the fantastic Nantucket Today magazine article in which I scandalously refer to motherhood as a spiritual calling. And YES, you SHOULD buy the book!! And one small caveat--I wax a bit on what I love about staying home with my children, but I certainly do not now, nor ever have, believed all women should stay home. I feel all women should only do what EACH women feels called to do and I admire and respect mothers who do whichever.

Read the review here.

You Know Not What You Do

I have just finished The Ten Year Nap by Meg Wolitzer, a novelist I adore, and you may have to stop me because I have more to say than anyone has the time to read, but being frank, as one can be while blogging, I have to confess, I didn't like the book primarily because I DO NOT AGREE with this premise that our time raising our children is anything like a "ten year nap." Also, it was not at all funny. (But then neither is this blog post.)

What disappoints me on a large scale (like bigger than a billboard), is the fact that women continue to act as though raising children is not of any significance, pining away for something worthwhile to do. (Um, gee, I don't think there EXISTS more worthwhile.) The characters in the book are all, mostly, aching for a sense of accomplishment and purpose. Paying no attention whatsoever to the reality of their lives.

What happened to me the other day: I come back from the grocery store. I have a car full of groceries including milk, cheese, frozen yogurt--you know, COLD things--and I discovered as I put the baby in the car seat at the store that she is soaking wet (through her pants). I am feeling a great senseur of urgency about my work, necessity, and, of course, purpose. I need to get the groceries in the house, unpack them, get the baby dry and clean, and entertain the toddler meanwhile or at the very least keep him from destroying himself or something in arm's reach and just at that moment, a door-to-door Sierra Club guy walks up the driveway and wants to talk to me, and I think to myself, HE thinks I can talk to him because I am simply "staying home."

I told him I don't have the money. My husband does. When he persisted, I told him I'm not sure we even like the Sierra Club. I said, AGAIN, I have a soaking wet baby and some thawing frozen food in my car. This may not make the national news, but it's as pressing and necessary as anything. And please, won't the women wake up from the thorny stem of feminism that has poked them into slumber like a reverse fairy tale, and realize that life is not happening SOMEWHERE ELSE. It is happening here, among the detritus of home life, as well as in the boardroom, and that somewhere, food needs refrigeration and that if you are the one to keep it cold, you have a purpose. A very fine purpose, in fact. Keeping frozen yogurt cold and edible may, actually, make this world go round. Never mind the act of service in cleaning a tiny, baby bum. (But p.s. if you pay attention you will be rewarded with a sense of purpose.)

Coming off of soap box now. Stepping down. Walking away from the silence of the computer.

WHEE-HOO!

Is this fun? I am having so much fun these days. (Minus moments of boredom, exhaustion, tedium, you know, the stuff of live.)

I have a new favorite person: Eliot Baker. He's a staff writer of Nantucket Today magazine. A father of one about to be a father of two who's read my book (and liked it!) In addition to being a funny, lyrical, interesting writer, he's a fan of mine. (Go, self-absorption, go!)

Here are a few things he said about THIS LITTLE MOMMY STAYED HOME.

Illuminating the dark corners of motherhood in “This Little Mommy Stayed Home” with light prose and breezy language, Wilde goes where no chick-lit has gone before.

The quick hits of lean, raunchy comedy tantalize readers like bites of spicy chocolate as protagonist Joy McGuire reclaims her femininity from drooping body parts amid a floundering marriage and illicit love interests.

Joy charms the reader with her wit as she punctuates smoldering inner monologues with punchy dialogue. Her cynicism is matched only by her disillusionment (which ultimately sublimates into a disarmingly authentic self-awareness).

But Wilde dives into that aching, sleep-deprived psychology head-first and smiling. Her gift for humor and comedic timing allows for an effortless foray into potentially-dangerous territory. She won’t shy away from sexuality or nasty thoughts, but Wilde knows how to temper the bad stuff with good humor. And she can be counted on to whisk her readers away from anything too dark before it becomes a bummer.

Now what could be better than that?