The Dangerous Book for Boys

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from Andi Buchanan asking me if I'd like to participate in one of Mother Talk's upcoming blog book tours. I scanned the list of books and immediately honed in on The Dangerous Book for Boys. Partly due to its most compelling title and partly due to the fact that Warren was desperately trying to buy it over a year ago. (It was only available in England at the time.)

When my copy arrived in the mail, Warren was so excited that it was several days before I was able to wrangle it away from him. As soon as I did, Satchel sidled up to me and said, "Can I look at it Mommy?"

And of course it wasn't long before Jiro wanted a crack at it too.

Soon Satchel was asking if we could grow crystals. Warren was planning to set up a battery making station in the kitchen. Jiro set his sights a bit higher--he wanted us to get started on a tree house.

The Dangerous Book for boys was written by two brothers, Conn and Hal Iggulden, who had always wished for such a book when they were younger. The book is hardback and looks like a treasure from a great grandparent's attic. With the perfect mixture of text, photographs, and illustrations, it covers everything from grammar to go-carts to girls. I have to say that as I flipped through I couldn't quite determine what, if any, order the book was in, but it didn't seem to matter as each page seemed to be more fascinating than the next. (Who knew that Navy ship flags actually transmitted secret messages? Or that invisible ink could be made from one's own urine?)

This afternoon, Satchel grabbed the book and some paper, and sat down at the kitchen table. He opened it up to page 2 ("The Greatest Paper Airplane in the World") and immediately started folding.


I was impressed, to say the least.

Warren (who I thought knew everything), Satchel (who can't even read yet), and Jiro (who is the epitome of dangerous), and me (a woman!) wholeheartedly endorse this book. I can't wait for the monkeys' reading skills to improve so that they can delve deeper into the book's contents. I totally expect to come home and find them discussing the world's greatest battles or constructing a bow and arrow. No doubt the book will become dog-eared, tattered, and possibly spineless. And I am 100% sure that the words "I'm bored" shall never leave the lips of a member of Team Oster ever again.

Here's a cute youtube video for the book and an interview with the authors. If you don't have the cash to buy one, or can't wait til Christmas when I plan to give one to everyone I know, check out the Harper Collins contest that includes 100 free books and badges.

Psst! What do you think the Dangerous Book for Girls should include? You know, in case I decide to write one someday...

It's a Girl!

Today I am participating in the It's a Girl: Women Writers on Raising Daughters Blog Book Tour arranged by editor Andrea Buchanan. As I was rushing to finish the book, I realized that my period was a day late. That gave me a chance to engage in my "Could this be my daughter?" fantasy I have every time my period is past due.

I often picture a little rosy-cheeked girl named Piper chasing after her big brothers. Sometimes she is asleep in her carseat in the VW bus we bought after she was born. Sometimes I am wearing her in a sling while we look at three bedroom houses (with a garage).

This time I didn't really fantasize for too long since I got hung up on the fact that a pregnancy would severely limit my ability to be a roller derby star. I figured I could sneak through try-outs on Tuesday, but I couldn't quite figure out how I'd hike my fishnets over my second trimester belly, much less be able to lace up my skates for our first bout in November.

The essays in It's a Girl are varied and touch on a number of subjects. A few of the essays like "Cheerleader" by Miriam Peskowitz and "The Food Rules" by Ann Douglas freaked me out a little bit. I kind of felt like I did at Rosh Hashanah services when I noticed the tween girls had on bras. (And the bras had boobs in them!) The idea of my offspring being really girly or struggling with eating disorders was hard to imagine. (I can see Jiro struggling with the fact that one cannot subsist on cheese and juiceboxes alone.)

I realized that girls come with a lot of baggage, and that mothers have to unpack their bags right along with their daughters. Having sons eliminates the whole "re-examine your relationship with your mom" or "re-examine your own childhood" issues that seem to be so prevalent among the contributors of this book. (Not that I'm opposed to this--I seriously lucked out in the mom department and I have fond memories of childhood.)

Having boys is an adventure for me and appeals to my anthropological leanings. I feel like I am getting the inside scoop on men and I love the challenge of molding my boys into (I hope) future feminists. But I will admit that a few of the essays like Gayle Brandeis' "Zen Mind, Daughter's Mind," Jody Mace's "Time Capsule," and Andrea Buchanan's "Learning to Write" did give me a few pangs and made me miss what I was missing. Instead of dressing Warren and the boys in matching pajamas, I could dress myself and Piper in matching skirts. While Warren showed the boys how to fix motorcycles and build fences, Piper and I could read Judy Blume books and go see romantic comedies. And let's not forget the elaborate menstruation party I could coordinate!

Or not.

It's a Girl gave me the opportunity to see how "the other side" lives and I really enjoyed my visit. For now, I think I'll pick up a copy of It's a Boy and fantasize about a rosy-cheeked granddaughter named Piper.

Calvin Trillin

On March 24th, I read an essay on Salon.com by Rebecca Traister about an essay in the New Yorker by Calvin Trillin.

I'm embarrased to say that I had never heard of Calvin Trillin, but Rebecca Traister's essay did more than pique my curiosity. She had grown up reading Calvin Trillin's books and was a big fan of his and his recently deceased wife, Alice. Traister wrote:

And so, when I saw this week's New Yorker story, "Alice, Off the Page," I settled down to read it quietly, privately, at home. Imagine my surprise upon discovering -- within the first few paragraphs of Trillin's 12-page remembrance -- that I was not the only person who loved Alice, who mourned her passing, or who admired her marriage without having met her or her husband. He writes of getting condolence cards from many people who never knew her, including one from a young woman in New York who wrote that sometimes she looked at her boyfriend and wondered, "But will he love me like Calvin loves Alice?"

That was enough for me to leave work early and go directly to Bookstar and purchase the March 27th New Yorker (the one with the baby in a crib with barbed wire on the front). I sat in the store reading it for about half an hour, then I drove across town and read it in the East End parking lot for awhile. I skated for a couple of hours, and then went back to sit in my car and finish it. (It was twelve pages afterall!)

When I was done reading it, I felt like I had just made a new friend--two actually. Since then, I've ordered Trillin's Tummy Trilogy and passed my New Yorker on to several people. Today I decided to look and see if the article had gone online, and was thrilled to find that someone in Missouri had (supposedly) transcribed the entire thing! So, now that my New Yorker has made its way to Virginia, I ask you all to read Calvin Trillin's most excellent essay, Alice, Off the Page online.

You'll be glad you did. I promise.