Book Review: “Why Can’t We Just Play?”

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book review, Books, Parenting

Now that we are home and (relatively) settled back in after our big trip (more on that later), I was able to spend some time searching the local library system for books I’ve been wanting to read. I’m always surprised by what they have in the system — and equally, by what they do not have. This title, Why Can’t We Just Play? What I Did When I Realized My Kids Were Way Too Busy,” by Pam Lobley, just happened to be sitting on the “New Books” shelf by the checkout desk, so I picked it up, and read it the same day.

It is an easy-to-read and entertaining book; Lobley is a good writer and there is plenty of wry humor sprinkled throughout.  Her premise was to give her kids a “1950’s Summer” –one with no sports, camps, or other adult-structured activities –and the bulk of the book describes what they actually did that summer, and how everyone in the family reacted to it.   Mixed in are her musings on the pace of family life today and the frustration and futility of trying to do/be/have it all, reflections on what life in the 50s was really like, and her regrets about how childhood has become a race to the finish line.  I found myself agreeing with a lot of her points, although they weren’t particularly new thoughts.

Lobley did quite a bit of reading in her investigation into life in the 50s, and when she began investigating Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique, I expected to disagree with her. However, interestingly, she focused on the role that advertisers played in trying to elevate and at the same time stifle the role of women, by making them professional consumers.  There is much in Friedan’s book that I do not agree with, but this point is certainly one that was true at the time, and has only intensified in the present day.  I appreciated that Lobley came to the conclusion that, if women were unfulfilled in the 50s, adding the demands of a professional career, to a plate already overloaded with domestic and personal responsibilities, has not exactly resulted in an epidemic of satisfaction.

Why Can’t We Just Play? is not particularly ground-breaking, but it addresses many current-day topics in an enjoyable and humorous way.  By attempting a 1950s summer (a concept I find strange, since all the children I knew in the 80s and 90s spent summer the same way), Lobley creates an interesting juxtaposition, encouraging the reader to look at things from two perspectives.  It makes a great summer read, while still addressing a meaningful issue, and provoking a thoughtful response from the reader.

 

Happy Advent!

Our Waldorf birthday ring, dressed up for Advent!

Dirt: A Review

One of the six books I am currently reading happens to be entitled Dirt: The Quirks, Habits, and Passions of Keeping House (ed. by Mindy Lewis).   It was on a shelf at the library in the vicinity of some other books I was searching for, and so I checked it out last week.

The book is not about dirt/cleaning in a “how-to” kind of way, but rather, is a collection of essays about what role housekeeping (or the lack thereof) plays in the various authors’ lives, relationships, and worldviews.  Some of the pieces are well-written and others are entirely skippable; but overall, I think the book (or the idea of it) fits in nicely with my idea that how we do little things (like dusting) is not insignificant.  How/when/why we wash windows, set the table, and arrange our belongings is often either the symptom or cause of larger things in our lives.

For example: it is important to me to separate out the baby’s laundry and use a gentler detergent.  Now, lots of people do this, and it is true that irritants in harsh detergents that don’t bother adults may cause a reaction in an infant.  However, to me, it’s more than that (and from the times that someone else has done the wash, it’s obvious that A. can tolerate Tide and Gain just fine).  It’s a way of honoring his littleness, a way of saying that these tiny garments are special.  It’s a way of saying he is special.  It’s also something that my mother did, and so carries the significance of this-is-how-it-is-done-ness.

That’s a fairly obvious example, however.  For more in-depth psychological analysis of what effects washing (or not-washing) the windows has on the psyche, read Dirt!

The Upside of Pantry Months

It started when we noticed little yellow-green larvae-like things crawling across the ceiling.  We removed them, but they came back. And back.  And back.  We thought maybe something had laid eggs in the light fixture and were considering calling the landlord about getting an exterminator.

Then, last weekend, I decided to clean out the kitchen thoroughly — including the cabinets.  And I found more and more and more of them.  All three of us went into panic mode and threw out every single piece of food that wasn’t in the refrigerator. 

I felt bad about wasting so much food –  but I was aftraid that if we didn’t completely start over, that anything more we bought would likewise become infested.  And the larvae were really disgusting. We wiped everything out with bleach, and started over.

And actually — it looks and feels great.  For the first time since I moved in here, I know exactly what we have in the cabinets.  I know that everything is fresh (and not infested, because everything is now sealed in plastic zipper bags).  In the past week, we have had fresh, delicious, reasonably-wholesome dinners every single night.  This weekend, before grocery shopping, I planned out our meals for the week, and only bought what we needed.

Here’s hoping I can keep this up!

Baking Bread

Nothing in the world can possibly be more welcoming and home-y than freshly baked bread. 

I had a brief conversation about whole wheat bread with the cashier at the grocery last week.  He was commenting on my purchase of whole wheat flour, and how he loves whole wheat bread and tried to make it once.  “That was about 15 years ago.  It was really good, but it took, like, all day to make it.  So I’ve never done it again,” he told me.

It does.  A friend tells me it can be done “in less than half the time with a bread machine.  And you don’t have to keep poking it.”  I imagine she’s right.  I’ve never tried a bread machine, and I don’t really want to. 

See, I like to keep poking the bread.  I like that it takes all day to make it.  I do enjoy the finished product, but I think I enjoy the process even more.  Baking bread is both art and science; there are specific directions to be followed (I suspect that people who say they can’t make bread either don’t have the proper instructions, or do not follow them precisely) and judgment calls to be made.  Many other kinds of baking are enjoyable and rewarding, but there is something so basic, so elementary, about taking flour, water, milk, yeast, and salt, and turning it into bread, the Staff of Life.   Kneading bread is grounding and satisfying; the texture is slightly gummy and sticky, but soft and flexible.  “Poking” it is necessary to see how far the rising process has come along; and it has to rise three times before it is baked.  Although this whole production does take a good four to five hours, the baker isn’t constantly watching the bread during this time; it can be started and left alone in between kneading and rising.  It’s a very comforting thing to have happening in the background. 

For anyone who wants to start baking their own bread, The Laurel’s Kitchen Bread Book is the best book to purchase.  It is full of instructions and explanations and excellent recipes.   “Buttermilk Bread” and “Fresh Milk Bread” are two of my favorite recipes.  Be warned, there is a lot of information in this book, but you certainly don’t need to read or understand all of it to produce a beautiful loaf: