The week in brief

Two books on my desk. From their descriptions:

"Cormac McCarthy sets his new novel, The Road, in a post-apocalyptic blight of gray skies that drizzle ash, a world in which all matter of wildlife is extinct, starvation is not only prevalent but nearly all-encompassing, and marauding bands of cannibals roam the environment with pieces of human flesh stuck between their teeth. If this sounds oppressive and dispiriting, it is."

and

"Little Joshua Barker is in desperate need of a holiday miracle. No, he's not on his death-bed; no, his dog hasn't run away from home. But Josh is sure that he saw Santa take a shovel to the head, and now the seven-year-old has only one prayer: Please, Santa, come back from the dead."

It's important to be balanced. Now, I tried reading Cormac McCarthy a few months ago, when forced myself through No Country For Old Men and finally tossed it aside two chapters from the end (they all died except the sheriff, right?) so I'm not sure about reading another one. The new trend in grim realistic fiction is to leave out punctuation and plow through the dialogue with no hints about who's speaking or distinctions between speech and thought. (how i live now is another example.) Yes, I understand why, yes, it's effective, and yes, it irritates the crap out of me. Same with post modernism. And scrapbooking. But hey, The Road won the Pulitzer, so let's give it a try.


Leify update:

Leif grabbed his first object on Halloween almost 3 weeks ago, and now manages to get things (toys, cats, etc) in his mouth with fairly consistent success. And on Sunday he rolled over! Yep, unassisted, from back to front and front to back. It's wobbly work, and those pesky arms keep getting stuck under him, but the boy has discovered mobility at just over 3 months. He also laughs now, at just about everything. He likes it when we pinch his legs and say "Who's got ham?" He sings when we play music. (He has my voice. Or possibly the cat's.) And the other day he sang, "Ohhh, yummm mom." I am yum!

Gavin update:

The kiddo turns 6 in a few weeks; he's reading, making elaborate Lego spacecraft, and sprouting ankles out the bottoms of his pants. Sometimes I try to cuddle him up on my lap like my baby again, and he's a lumpy knob of knees, elbows, and ribs. He's obsessed with Star Wars, and wants a Nintendo DS (wtf?). Santa's got the hook-ups on that one, and another one of our parenting ideals flutters away. Conversation from yesterday:
"Mom, when me and Leif grow up, could we marry the same girl? Then our kids can have two dads."
"Well, most people want a person of their own, they don't like sharing."
"But I aaaalways wanted two dads."
"Really? Should I marry someone else?"
"Yep."
"Got anyone in mind?"
"Mmm, no. You can pick."

(I didn't.)

Postpartum update:
 

I'm officially within the healthy weight range for my height again. On the more nuts-and-bolts side of things, I'm having trouble with numbness in my hands again, and my right shoulder has painful range-of-motion issues, but at least my knees are holding out this time. I think my hair has stopped falling out, and I'm not entirely bald, so now I can relax and wait for that attractive chia pet 'do as the new crop grows in. Halfway considering chopping my hair off and letting it grow out again; my mother did last week, and she is cute.

Holidays bearing down like a big scary thing, and I have barely bought anyone anything. My birthday is next week, and I got a present early; a box of broken glass which contained the remains of "ripped" and "frogged" pint glasses from Ravelry. One survived, at least, so I will have a toast to myself this weekend. With sad diet soda.