July 5, 2009
Music Together
I feel compelled to chronicle Donovan’s excellent taste in music at the tender age of two, mostly because I know that his father’s and my influence on what he listens to is going to be relatively short-lived. For the time being, however, we’ve managed to limit the “kids music” in our household to one Raffi CD sent for Christmas by my aunt (I have to admit; I kinda dig the retro, hippie vibe to it), and Jack Johnson’s Curious George soundtrack (hardly feels like a compromise, as most of the music is so similar to his other deeply mellow surfer dude material).
I’m also blown away by his ability to identify songs from the very first note, and to recognize the vocals of bands/artists that he knows even on songs he hasn’t heard before. No doubt about it: This kid has an ear for music. So, in no particular order, here are some the most-played artists and songs on Donovan’s playlist:
1. Jamie Lidell. He especially likes to sing “Another Day,” but he thinks he’s singing “meet you” instead of “me to.” This is why it’s referred to as “Meet you song” and Lidell is called “Meet you man.”
2. “Funny Song” – refers to just about any Flight of the Conchords track.
3. Shuggie Otis. A relatively new favorite – all of that playing “Inspiration Information” and “Strawberry Letter #23″ while Donovan was in utero must’ve done the trick. For some reason, he gets a special kick out of “Aht Uh Mi Hed;” he repeats some of the words (not always correctly) and then bursts out laughing as if it’s the funniest joke in the world. Maybe I’m missing some sort of subtext to the lyrics.
4. “Shotgun Willie” by Willie Nelson. He likes it because of the word “underwear.”
5. Fitz and the Tantrums. I’m not sure what makes Donovan so crazy about Michael Fitz’s band, but he never tires of the soulful, retro tunes on the “Songs for a Break-Up” EP.
6. Zero7. Regardless of whether it’s her singing or the other female vocalist, he always calls it a “Sia song.” Incidentally, Sia is my top name choice if our next child is a girl.
7. The Ting Tings and Santigold. I’m lumping these two together because I think Donovan’s affinity for these two artists is mostly a product of how much I’ve played their debut albums when we’re in the car together.
8. Common and Erykah Badu. Again, neither of these artists would qualify as one of Donovan’s all-time faves, but I like them so much that I can get him to groove to some of their tracks. And he did randomly request Common by name a few mornings ago.
9. “Amelie song” and “other Amelie song” AKA “La Valse d’Amelie” and “L’autre Valse d’Amelie” by composer Yann Tiersen. Shiny, happy music – perfect for little ones.
10. “Battlestar Galactica song” AKA “The Shape of Things to Come” by composer Bear McCreary.
11. And finally, two of my guilty pressures that are undeniably catchy, but nonetheless cause some embarrassment when Donovan starts enthusiastically singing them at family functions: “Womanizer” by Britney Spears and “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga.
Addendum: Donovan can successfully identify Joe Strummer’s voice from the very first utterance (whether he’s singing or making one of his little mutterings or grunts that precede the song lyrics) in both Clash and Mescaleros songs. A very proud moment for me as a parent. Also, we were listening to the band Phoenix in the car yesterday, and during the beginning of one of their songs, Donovan said, “It sounds like the Strokes” (that particular song did). Genius.
January 30, 2009
Comfort in the Chaos
Yesterday evening we hosted a bunch of old friends for a dinner playdate. Three families came over, and each represented a different stage in early family-building. Our friends visiting from Minneapolis have a four-year-old girl and 13-month-old boy; the mutual friend who was hosting them during their stay has a 2-year-old girl and is 7 months pregnant with her second child; and the last couple has been married a little over a year and are just starting to think about having a child.
To me, the fairly astonishing thing about this party was how little I worried over and prepared for it, and yet how well it turned out. I’m hardly an entertaining maven, but hosting anyone other than family or one or two very close friends at my house usually involves some stressed-out scrambling and general ill humor toward my husband or anyone who I feel is interfering with my preparations. I fret over whether we’ll unknowingly serve someone a drink in a glass encrusted with dried food particles, how well the meal will turn out, whether there will be places for everyone to sit, if the absence of alcoholic beverages will be cause dismay in our guests, and so on.
For this particular get-together, I let everyone know we’d be ordering pizza and that was it; they were welcome to bring anything else they might like to eat. I didn’t plan on serving wine, dessert, or any beverages other than what we had on hand: room temperature bottled water and Coke Zero. I found a sufficient number of unmatched but clean-looking glasses, decided that paper plates would be easiest, environmental-correctness be damned, and figured people could sit wherever they wanted to eat supper.
Our guests showed up with a modest green salad and one fantastic bottle of wine, which miraculously turned out to be plenty to go around. All of the kids played beautifully together despite their age differences, which I took as a testament to their essentially good natures (and our skilled parenting, naturally). And we adults sat comfortably scattered throughout the house – on the couch, at the dining table, on the floor – and caught each other up on all the recent changes in our lives as the kids ran happily screaming from room to room.
I realized later that one of the awesome things about having young children is lowered expectations, at least when it comes to entertaining. People with kids tend not to expect much from dinner at another family’s house. After all, it’s almost foolish to go out of your way to create the perfect dinner party – sparkling-clean house, matching designer flatware, three-course meal with thoughtful wine pairings, etc. – when your home is about to be overrun with kids who could care less about all of the above. Sure, you want to create a pleasant evening for the adults present. But sometimes all that takes is a decent meal that somebody else prepared and some other kids to keep your own rugrat out of your hair for a few hours. I know that’s not far off from my idea of a perfect evening.
January 15, 2009
A Bouncy House Day
I remember those heady days of liberation when Donovan was a little baby: free of my workplace cubicle, free to spend each day exploring a new neighborhood, breathing in the springtime air as I pushed the stroller mile after mile. After spending my entire adult life working at full-time desk jobs, suddenly having my weekdays free to spend however I wanted (within the limitations imposed by the accompaniment of an infant, of course) was a revelation and a joy. I marveled daily at my surroundings: brightly blossoming trees, tree-topped hills silhouetted against a setting sun, rapidly shifting clouds and sunlight on an intermittently rainy day. I’d find myself exclaiming out loud on a daily basis at the beauty of it all.
Nearly two years later the fun of being the mother of an energetic little boy still (usually) outweighs the frustrations. This is particularly true on those days when my husband takes the bullet and gets up at 6:30 in the morning with Donovan so that I can sleep in. (Otherwise, getting way jacked up on caffeine can sometimes do the trick.)
It’s tough not to get bored and frustrated during a week of all-Donovan, all the time, however. There are some days when the thought of going to another playground leaves me almost paralyzed with ennui. Sure, it’s great to spend time outdoors and delight in the spectacle of my child running, climbing and tumbling. But…uh, like, what’s in it for me? Making small talk with the other parents (or nannies, as the case may be) is rarely stimulating or enjoyable. Forcing too many smiles at other people’s babies worsens my crow’s feet. And scaling jungle gyms and chasing Donovan across suspension bridges doesn’t keep me amused for long. I am, after all, 31 years old, and as much as I want to embrace the joie de vivre, sometimes I’m just not in the goddamn mood.
But if I manage to completely lose myself in crazy toddler activity, or to share in my son’s fascination with the world around us, for at least part of the day, I figure I’m in good shape. I call this a bouncy house day.
Often, this label can be applied quite literally. There’s an awesome indoor playground up the street called the Coop; it has a ball pit, light-up game floor, plasma cars and bouncy house. Best of all, the parents are fully encouraged to use all the equipment, so visiting the Coop is a lot like attending a 10-year-old kid’s kick-ass birthday party.
But a bouncy house day doesn’t have to involve an actual bouncy house. Yesterday afternoon Donovan and I went up to Griffith Observatory, where we wandered the grounds and half-heartedly checked out the exhibits before heading up a dirt trail to watch the sunset. Donovan held my hand and chattered about everything he saw as we hiked uphill, and then we sat quietly together on a bench and ate a snack as we watched the sun sink into the Pacific. It occurred to me that this 21-month-old boy makes quite a lovely companion. Sure, he does his share of whining and demanding, but he’s also amazingly sweet-natured, funny and engaging. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I feel really lucky to share his bouncy house.
December 15, 2008
Furry Happy Monsters
Has anyone seen that episode of Sesame Street that features REM performing a version of “Shiny Happy People” called “Furry Happy Monsters”? It’s currently one of three episodes available On Demand that Donovan and I watch over and over again (yeah, I intended to hold out on letting him watch TV until after he turned two, but we didn’t quite make it. Hey, dinner’s not going to make itself). Anyway, this segment is a great little pick-me-up. I’ve never been a particularly huge REM fan, but watching Michael Stipe jumping around with a bunch of muppets is flat-out adorable. If you haven’t seen it, it goes something like this:
The fellas of REM are standing around with a bunch of monsters as the beginning strains of “Shiny Happy People” begin to play. Each band member is interacting sweetly with the excited monsters, one of which is gussied up with a wig to resemble that chick from the B-52s who accompanies on vocals. Then Stipe starts hopping up and down excitedly and singing about “furry, happy monsters feeling glad.” It goes on like this for awhile, and then the monsters start crying for no particular reason: “something has gone wrong…faces have turned long…” Over the bridge, the singer reassures the monsters, “You don’t have to cry, we can be happy!” Then everyone cheers up, Stipe starts jumping up and down again and I hop around my kitchen like a spastic monkey with a big smile on my face. The song is so damn infectious to begin with, and when you throw in the incongruity of Mr. Everybody-Hurts Stipe partying with a bunch of muppets, I just about pee my pants with delight. Donovan, on the other hand, isn’t the least bit moved by the performance. He’s usually quick to join in on a family dance party, but in this case, I think he’s just waiting for Elmo to come back on. Fuckin’ Elmo.
September 11, 2008
You Named Your Kid What?
Overheard at a Studio City park the other day:
Child calling out to another child: India!
Male Parent (in fashionably longish hair, deep tan and True Religion jeans): Which India?
Child: India with a “Y.”
Many of you may have noticed a trend toward unconventional baby names over the past few years. I would even go so far as to say that non-traditional names are now the standard, and naming your newborn Jason, Jennifer or Michael would almost seem like an act of rebellion. Even our uber-traditional, fundamentalist “hockey mom” Republican VP candidate named her latest progeny Trig, for Christ’s sake (no pun intended).
Over the past year or so, I have come to know children and babies named Brixton, Kingston, West, Fremont, M (yes, just the letter M), Hollister, Potter and California. I’ve also overheard the following interesting monikers: Addison, McKenna, Jackson, Cailan, Neilan, Emory, Jett, Sierra…and plenty of others that I can’t recall offhand at the moment.
Pretty much all of these names would horrify my mother-in-law, incite teasing from my father-in-law and cause my own parents to roll their eyes. I, on the other hand, am fascinated – I’d even go so far as to say delighted – by this baby-naming zeitgeist. Obviously, I’m a product of my generation.
