Book Review: All is Vanity

all is vanity.JPGOne of my best friends thought I would like All is Vanity, by Christina Schwartz. She told me it was about an aspiring writer who rips off her friend’s life and creates a novel out of it.

I wondered if my friend was feeling…concerned?

The author developed the character, Margaret, as an over achieving, self-centered egotist – and she did a fabulous job of it. So many subtle inner thoughts of how fantastically wonderful she is for doing such and such a thing, and so forth. It was painful to watch her spiral deeper into self denial (in the same way I find it painful to watch The Office) and procrastination.

The story begins with her quitting her job to write the “great American novel.” The fact that she has never written anything – no blog, no short stories, no drafts, nothing! – seems to not matter to her. And what’s more, is that her husband goes along with this plan. I know it sounds unbelievable, but trust me that given their two personalities, it works.

As expected, Margaret runs into writer’s block, and can’t even get her story off the ground. She seems to miss the number one rule of writing, which is to write what you know, and decides to create a story about a Vietnam Vet named Robert who comes home from the war. This is about the furthest you can get from her own circumstances. He ends up doing a lot of cooking, because that’s about all she can relate to in his character.

Like I said, it’s so painful in that “how bad is it really going to get?” kind of hilarious way.

Several month in to the project, when all she has are a bunch of random notes about character, she realizes an interesting story is brewing in her email exchanges with her best friend on the opposite coast. Her novel – and her conscience – takes a turn for her benefit.

And I will leave you with that so as to not spoil the story!

As an aside, I’ve seen the term “chick lit” used around Shelfari and other book communities. And while I had a pretty good clue that it referred to books with a female audience in mind, I am now also cluing in that these books are pretty light and easy to read. They don’t require a lot of chewing or mulling. I don’t need to put it down after each paragraph just so I can absorb all the ways that one paragraph has changed my life.

After reading mostly books with such depth and seriousness, I am enjoying the less meaty “chick lit” options. I would classify All is Vanity as “chick lit.” It’s funny, it’s serious, it makes you think, but you can also read it while driving to your brother’s house amidst five million interruptions to “watch this mom!” requests.

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(For ratings and other reviews on books I’ve read, visit my Shelfari page and my books category.)

Book Review: To Own a Dragon (Reflections on Growing Up Without a Father)

to own a dragon.JPGThough To Own A Dragon is written by a man for other fatherless men, this book appeals to the human race. I think we are all “fatherless” in some way, in that our parents are not capable of being perfect or giving us everything we need emotionally. We all missed out on something important growing up, and I think that’s why I liked this book so much.

Don Miller, like Annie Lamott, is a writer I admire for his frank honesty and conversational style of writing. He reveals a lot about himself in this book – his shortcomings – taking responsibility for those while also mapping out what he lacked in training and modeling by not having a father.

I was particularly convicted at times as a parent. I know that in my own selfishness I have not led my children in ways that are important for them to be led, and I felt very convicted by some of the ways he describes how his boyhood mind interpreted his place in the world. I didn’t bring the book with me on vacation so I can’t quote directly, but I’ll do my best to recap what struck me the most.

He writes at one point that his mother worked long hours to support him and his sister, and was tired when she came home. At the time of his childhood he didn’t connect her exhaustion to his lack of having a father – to his mother not having a partner in earning income or in raising the family. Rather, his boyhood mind assumed he was a burden to his mom, and that her life would be much easier if he weren’t around.

Isn’t that tragic? The choices one man makes – his father – shapes how Don viewed himself in the world even into adulthood. It made me think of the way I act toward my kids when I’m trying to Get Things Done. I still haven’t figured out the magic formula for parenting AND keeping house – it seems in my home one is always lacking while the other excels. Never do I have well loved children AND a clean house ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

When I’m busy, I’m grouchy. And when they get in my way of Getting Things Done, I’m not very graceful about it. I have wondered lately: am I oozing a vibe that makes them feel like a burden to me?

So you can see how this book is not just for other men who don’t have fathers. You should read this book if you are breathing.

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(For ratings and other reviews on books I’ve read, visit my Shelfari page and my books category.)

Making the rounds

guitar heroWe are spending the weekend with my brother, his wife, and my seven year old nephew – about two hours away from Bryan’s family. We started off the weekend by playing Guitar Hero for about two hours, which, I have to say, is the only video game I have been able to beat my husband at. Ever. What can I say? I gots me some rhythm.

And also? It warms my heart to hear my nephew singing “hit me with your best shot” as he rocks the guitar with Pat Benetar.

computer budsMy nephew bonded with Bryan as he worked, playing his Game Boy along side his chair. He’s a pretty smart kid, trying to figure his uncle out. He already knew Bryan liked Guitar Hero, so he asked him to play a football game with him on the Playstation and Bryan was like, No dude, I don’t do sports games. So then he asked if he’d play Lego Star Wars, and Bryan was all over that.

Later when Scout was wandering aimlessly, Bryan told her to go lay on her bed, and she did. My nephew’s eyes bugged out and he said, “You mean, she does what you tell her to??” Bryan thought that was pretty funny.

Around seven the first night my nephew, who is an only child, asked me when “the little kids” were going to bed (Ruthie had been singing at top volume and Thomas was running around growling at everyone – all while Guitar Hero was blaring on the tv). “They irritating you already?” I asked, laughing. He smiled. “Me too,” I said. “But it’s going to be a couple hours.”

hot tubbingWe wrapped up this evening by lounging in the hot tub, and Ruthie got to practice her newly learned breath-holding skills from her summer swim lessons. She’s more daring in the water, now, and was willing to do some running jumps into the pool after she saw her cousin doing it.

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As a side note, we went to Disneyland on Wednesday with Bryan’s brother and his family and had a total blast. I can hardly believe it, but my kids lasted for TWELVE HOURS at the park – from 8am to 8pm. Thomas slept in the stroller for about an hour, but still…TWELVE HOURS. Ruthie was asleep before we left the parking garage.

More on that later – I’m actually working on a video.

Open mouth, insert foot.

California HomeMy FIL lives up in the hills, and the back of his property borders a wild area. Occasionally at night you can hear coyotes just across his fence and the dogs go crazy. The other night when Bryan and I and the kids were alone in the house, all three dogs went nuts barking at the back door. Ruthie ran to let them out and I stopped her, mentioning that there might be coyotes out there.

Obviously, I was not thinking clearly when I said this to an almost five year old city girl.

Later when it was time for bed, I told Ruthie to go out to the camper and get into her jammies. She had done this countless times, this running back and forth between house and camper. But shortly after she opened the sliding glass doors leading out to the back patio, she came running back down the hall, crying hysterically that there were “Hawaii’s out there!” (I love the mis-spoken words of preschoolers)

Let’s just say getting the kids to go to sleep that night was…challenging, and I basically had to stay in the camper with them until they were both asleep.

Don’t hate me because it’s sunny here.

Somehow I’ve managed to maintain my current weight this week even though every flat surface in this house is covered with something sugared or baked. I mean, for cryin’ out loud! I nibble a little here, and I nibble a little there, but for the most part I have avoided a full throttle gorge.

Christmas EveToday, Christmas Eve, it is delightful outside. It is the sort of day that requires one to use the word “delightful.” I’m wearing my summer capri pants with sandals (no socks, of course), and the kids are barefoot out in the yard. I told my mom this – my mom who lives in Minnesota – and I was ordered to “hush up.”

It’s true that a change of circumstances has lifted my Christmas spirit. While I would like to say I learned to find joy in the midst of my circumstances, what really happened is that I found sun and warmth in the midst of the Seattle rainy season.

Not very spiritual, but extremely practical.

It also helps that there is Christmas cheer everywhere in the Zug Clan. In fact, the evening we pulled up to my brother-in-law Brad’s house for dinner and saw his house wrapped in lights with lighted Santas in the yard, Thomas said, “Wow, daddy, that’s a lot of Christmas!” Bryan’s dad’s house is decorated, too, and even our camper has lights on it with a candy cane lined walk leading up to it.

A smattering of 2nd cousinsYesterday we spent the evening with all of Bryan’s cousins on his mom’s side. We last saw everyone two years ago, so it was fun to ooo and aahhh at how big everyone’s children were. There are six cousins in all, plus spouses, plus a million kids between everyone so it was a packed house, but so much fun.

I’m looking forward to some post-Christmas fun activities, including, but not limited to, a trip to Disneyland and an excursion to the Joshua Tree National Park.

If you are bored, or missing me, or both, follow my witty Twitters, which come more frequently than my blog posts.

California Culture Shock

It takes me fifteen minutes just to get to the interstate from where we are staying, on a hill high enough that my ears pop every time we go into town. On the interstate it takes another 10-15 minutes to get to Costco, or Target, or wherever I’m headed (because, you know, I saved all my Christmas shopping for when I was ON VACATION). For a girl who lives in a walkable community, a couple miles from everything else she needs, having time for only one errand a day was not on the agenda.

Californians are not hospitable drivers. They don’t like to speed up or slow down to allow for your merging needs. They would much rather you slam on your breaks at the end of the on ramp to avoid running into the guard rail.

Also? For some reason, as I drive around Southern California in our rented Chevy Trail Blazer with tinted windows (it was cheaper than the minivan – I promise), I feel the need to listen to the pop and hip hop stations. What’s up with that? Is it a California thing? An SUV thing? Is it a tinted window thing? I don’t know, but I think Bryan will dig his ears out with a spoon if he has to hear Justin Timberlake in the car one. more. time.

Reason #482 to stay with the grandparents:

Despite the fact that we didn’t go to bed last night until after eleven, Ruthie was still standing at the end of our bed at 6:45 this morning, demanding that we be awake now.

“I’m sure grandpa’s awake,” said Bryan into his pillow.

So I jumped up, threw some clothes and a box of cereal at her, and held the door open while she stepped out of the camper…then jumped back into bed.

Four people, one dog, seven checked bags, six carry-ons, and a partridge in a pear tree: Merry Christmas, California!

This morning it occurred to me, as I observed my daughter at the airport security check point, that this is the third time this year we have traveled by airplane with the kids. I was thinking of this because Ruthie walked right up to the x-ray machine, took her shoes off, and put them in a bucket to be sent through – no direction needed.

Not every kid knows what to do when at an airport security check point, but apparently mine do. I guess it’s the natural consequence of living far away from grandparents.

I think Bryan’s dad has in mind that we should stay here forever, which is exactly what Thomas and Ruthie keep asking. He and his wife, Marilyn, set up their pull-behind camper next to the house, fully hooked it up, and stocked it with wine, beer, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t notice after I saw the wine. It’s even decorated for Christmas with lights on the outside, a tiny Christmas tree, and stockings with our names on them.

And to boot, there is a brand new swing set in the yard and, like, an acre of land to be explored.

Ruthie keeps asking, “Is this our new house?” and “Can we stay here forever?”

To which I say, “As long as the wifi reaches out to the camper and the wine continues to flow, I just might consider it.”

Move over Subway Jarred, there’s a new skinny dude in town.

weight lossThis weekend we went to a swanky Christmas party. It was the first swanky event we’ve attended since last year’s swanky wedding of Chris and Ponzi. Since each of us only has one swanky outfit to cover all swanky events, it was a bit of a problem that Bryan couldn’t fit his swanky attire BECAUSE HE’S LOST SO MUCH WEIGHT since last December.

I mean, LOOK AT HIM! He puts me to shame with all that discipline.

I, on the other hand, sucked myself into a pair of control top pantyhose in order to hold everything in place, and wore the same green dress I’ve worn to nearly every event in the last year (not that it’s a bad dress – I quite like it, actually), save for that OTHER sexy dress I wore on my anniversary.

Go Bryan, Go! By next December he’ll be dainty.

Captain of the Sock Police

captured by the sock policeEvery year when the weather turns, Bryan goes into Paranoid Sock Police Mode. It’s not uncommon to hear things around our house like, “The reason you got sick, Ruthie, is cuz you’re not wearing your socks!” and “Thomas! You just coughed because you’re not wearing your socks! Where are your socks?”

Maintaining this level of Sock Security was easy with Ruthie because he just made her wear tights every day. But because Boys Don’t Wear Tights, he’s had a tougher go of it with Thomas. Apparently, as you see in the picture, he thinks pulling Thomas’ socks way up high will help keep them on. Tucking his p.j.’s into the socks also helps, and will increase Thomas’ chance of finding a wife.

I just roll my eyes at the insanity. The kids go all day with bare feet because I have bigger fish to fry than trying to find discarded socks throughout the house. But as soon as Bryan gets home from work he’s on Sock Patrol. I figure, if he wants to spend his energy policing bare feet, then so be it. I usually just end up sweeping random socks into a laundry pile at the end of the day.

In a related story, Bryan has also been known to wear socks with his sandals during cooler summer evenings, and even into fall. I have requested he not do this while in my presence, but I am not obeyed. “My feet are cold,” he always says. To which my normally irrational mind rationally thinks, “Then wear shoes…”

This piece of logic escapes a man with a Sock Blind Spot.

I recently laughed at him when he sent Thomas downstairs in these ridiculous black knee socks, and told him I was so blogging about it. He was all, Fine, but you should watch this commercial first, because socks are a NORTHWEST thing.

Yeah, baby. Sure they are.

Things I never noticed about Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer as a kid:

Rudolph Hermie blog.jpg1. Santa runs a racist sweatshop based on the recruiting style of the KKK.

2. Searching for lost little reindeer is “man’s work.”

3. Hermie’s expressed wish to be a dentist is a metaphor for coming out of the closet.

4. Yukon Cornelius needs a woman.

5. The way Mrs. Claus keeps stuffing Santa with food, he’s going to be dead from hypertension, high cholesterol, or diabetes before next year.

Because I couldn’t stand to see that last post on top…

I showered, I did some laundry, I made an actual dinner, I picked up the house. Suddenly the world doesn’t seem so dark, and now I’m wondering if I’m just being hormonal. Or maybe this is what peace that passes understanding feels like. Who knows? I don’t want to think about it for too long, lest something breaks and I feel like I’ve fallen into a hole again.

I finished a book tonight, Light On Snow, by Anita Shreve. My friend Dacia sent me this book in a care package ages ago, during a time when I wasn’t reading much. But now that I’m devouring fiction, it was nice to have this on hand.

This was a much easier read than The Weight of Water, also by Anita Shreve. I couldn’t finish that book – the trying to solve a murder that happened in the 1800’s thing just didn’t seem to grab me. But Light On Snow kept me engaged. It was sad, but light. I’ve read sad books that leave me feeling heavy and depressed, but this was a book about sad circumstances that always held a glimmer of hope. Or maybe it’s lighter because it’s told from the perspective of a 12-year-old girl.

Read this book now, though, in the winter – especially if you are surrounded by snow. It takes place in the New Hampshire winter, and there is nary a page without a mention of snow, ice, or some form of snow clothing. You would much rather be curled up next to a fire reading this than on the beach in July.