Stupid Ali Stories

When Snan and I were children, I would sometimes tell her stories (I wasn't evil all the time, everyone needs a break now and then). Her favorites were always the Stupid Ali stories, with subjects like "that time Ali walked into the door" and "Ali's public attempt to use stairs ends very badly."

I thought of the Stupid Ali stories yesterday afternoon, during a routine ultrasound to estimate the baby's size (why they think mothers-to-be need to know exactly how many pounds of human they'll be pushing out... I'm not sure why they do it, but apparently it's a thing). After being bizarrely shocked at the baby's "large" size (on track to be about 7-8.5 pounds, just like all his/her/its sisters), the ultrasound tech turned the screen to show me a shot of the face.

My reaction: "Wow, it looks just like a baby!"

The ultrasound tech very kindly nodded as if I'd said something profound, rather than saying what I would have said, namely, "Lady, what the hell did you think was in there???"

***

Which reminds me of the time that I was around eight months pregnant with D, and Adi (who had just turned 3) decided that she, too, was pregnant. With twins. Twin sheep.

***

So I finally found someone to tutor me in Infi 2.

It was actually very, very hard to find someone, despite living in what's basically math geek central. It turns out that almost everyone who works as a math tutor doesn't feel confident teaching infi 2, and almost everyone who's taken infi 2 has no interest in teaching (/ability to teach) the material. Yes, I realize that this probably isn't a good sign regarding the course itself.

Anyway. This week, during our third tutoring session, the tutor looked at some of the work I'd done and said in a somewhat surprised tone, "You really do like math, don't you?"

Well, yes. Just not at the end of the semester. And even less so after what should have been the end of the semester, when I'm spending my "semester break" preparing for the "OK, moron, we'll give you one more chance" round of finals.

To be honest, I'm pleasantly surprised that my non-hatred of math managed to shine through as early as the third meeting.

(and on that note - back to improper integrals... )

Books!

Time for another book review:

The Leftovers (author, Tom Perrotta, category, fiction)

(Before I get started I should note, for the sake of complete transparency, that the author is part of my extended family. But I should note in regards to that note that in my world, being part of my extended family doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to pick up the phone if you call, much less buy and read your book. So bias is unlikely, I think.)

The basic premise of the book: three years ago, a bunch of people suddenly disappeared in an event very much like the Rapture, except for the part where the people who went missing seem to have been a completely random sampling of humanity.

"So... like 'Left Behind,' but for agnostics?" you may be wondering, if you are unfamiliar with Tom Perrotta's work. But if you've read anything of his before, you know it's all about the relationships and the personal discovery. Forget brave, suspiciously young and buff scientists investigating the mysterious disappearances, or people lobbing grenades at each other in some post-apocalyptic hellscape - how will the mass disappearances affect Kevin and Laurie's marriage? Will Tom realize he's been sucked into a cult - and if so, what will he do next? 

That might sound boring (at least relative to the option with the grenades), but I promise, it isn't. I don't usually like the kind of books that are less about where the story goes than about where the characters go (couldn't we have at least one suspiciously buff scientist-adventurer?), but I read this whole book by mid-afternoon.

And I realized something: I realized that I need a new scale for reacting to books, with more options than just "like" or "didn't like."

"Like" works for books that are both society-approved and make nice feelings when you read them. I'm thinking Harry Potter, Pride and Prejudice, that kind of thing.

"Dislike" works for books that society doesn't approve of and that are just plain boring and bad (I won't give examples here).

But there are so many other categories. Liked-it-but-would-never-admit-it, for example (looking at you, Twilight...). Couldn't-finish-it-but-don't-want-to-admit-that (cough *anythingbyDickens* cough). 

Perrotta books are a conundrum. When an author does a brilliant job conveying the precise feeling of being on a horribly awkward date, or of watching a relationship fall apart - is that something I "like"? Well, I didn't want to stop reading, but I don't exactly enjoy the emotions being evoked. 

I know, I know - that's what literature is supposed to be. Deep feelings, thought-provoking situations, etc, not sparkley vampires and happy endings. It's true. 

But it needs something more than just "like." Some pithy way of expressing "I was completely sucked into the story, and here I am recommending it to my friends - but the feelings it made me feel were often not fun." 

(It's sad how far back I have to dig in my memory to find other books like that. Studying math has turned me into a reader of almost exclusively no-brain-required books - or that's my excuse, anyway.) 

Nope, no kids' book this time

Normally I'd review at least one other book here, but it's late, and I'm large and slow and tired, etc, I'll spare you all the whining and excuses. 

Instead, I will redirect you to here: http://www.cracked.com/photoplasty_781_34-childrens-books-updated-modern-problems/ 

Read it, especially the #1 entry, which is a work of pure genius. 

(For readers who are unfamiliar with the "cracked" website - any article from there should be assumed to have naughty language and jokes about body parts/bodily functions. Continue at your own risk.)

Test

I've been busy again, this time taking a couple of math tests. Or more, frantically studying in hopes of maybe passing one of the math tests the first time around.
****

Yesterday I took the second test. There were several of us in the room who were taking the same math exam (the university puts different classes together for tests, but I could tell who was taking "my" test by the identical sets of lurid-green textbooks on their desks).

Aside from me, there was a hareidi (ultra orthodox) guy, a Muslim woman (in a hijab), a not-religious-looking Israeli-Israeli woman, and a Russian guy. People from all different walks of life, all suffering the same horrible math exam together. It was almost heartwarming, except for the part with the final exam (unsurprisingly, us lurid-green-books people were the last ones out of the room).
****

I've decided that math is to me what marathons are to the crazy weirdos who run marathons (seriously, people, just look at the name! "Marathon," after that time a guy ran that distance and then died immediately. Why????).
There's this cycle of:
1. OK, this is going to be tough, but I'm excited.
2. Off to a good start.
3. Wow, this is really challenging. I forgot how hard it is. But that's OK, I like a challenge.
4. It hurts.
5. It really hurts. Make it stop.
6. OK, this was a bad idea. I should just stop now and (go rest/go major in something normal).
7. Owwwwwwww.
8. ALL IS PAIN.
9. Oh hey, it's over.
10. (weird chemicals hit brain, presumably thanks to non-natural-selection-friendly mutation) THAT WAS AWESOME. I should totally do this again in another few months.
****

When I got home from my test last night, I told Viggy that I wasn't sure how it went, and still don't know if I'll have to retake one final in March, or two.

Me: But hey, at least there's one awesome thing that's going to happen in March, too, right?
Viggy: You mean having the baby?
Me: Oh. Uhhh... that too, but I actually was thinking of Game of Thrones coming back on the air.
Viggy: ......
Me: I'm a terrible mother, aren't I?

(To be fair, the baby might not be born until April.)
****

Also, this week A, N and D have all been home sick. Or more, A has been home sick (since Sunday), N has been home sick-ish, since Monday, and D has been home "sick" because I didn't have the heart to send her to preschool when she knew the other two (aka the Awesomest Big Sisters who are to be Worshipped in Everything Always) were staying home.

And then today, just as they were all recovering (/"recovering"), I get a call from S's daycare. She's also sick. And nobody does sick like a two-year-old. They're young enough to have no idea what's going on, but old enough to put up a decent fight (against what? well, mostly getting medicine or having their diaper changed, but also just life in general).

So tomorrow it will be me, 8 hours of work, about a dozen math problems (I did mention that I only passed one of those tests the first time around, right?), and one sick toddler. I haven't quite perfected my Ali's First Rule of Coffee equation, but I'm pretty sure that means tomorrow should be a 5-cup day. Except that 3 of those cups will have to be caffeine-free.

(It's tempting to just give in to the lure of 3+ cups of full-caffeine coffee... after all, this is a Viggy and me baby, what are the odds of low birth weight being an issue? But I resist.)
****

A few days ago, D asked what I was doing when I was studying math. I told her I was doing something kinda like the math she knows (זה כאילו צורה של חשבון).

A couple days later, a friend of mine overheard D explaining to her daughter what it is I do in the mornings, "She pretends to do math" (היא עושה כאילו שהיא עושה חשבון).

Uh oh... (or: on reading Matilda)

I've been reading the book Matilda with one of the kids.

It's a dark book in a lot of ways - there's an adult who goes around beating up little kids, emotionally abusive parents, child neglect, mentions of murder, etc. (As I may have mentioned, I have a theory that all the best children's entertainment - books, movies, poetry, etc - is pretty dark when you think about it.)

I was a little nervous about the particularly dark section we were reading tonight, where Miss Honey tells the story of her father's suicide-that-was-probably-murder, her abusive childhood growing up with Miss Trunchbull as a guardian, and how she's being forced to hand over most of her salary to Miss Trunchbull and live in abject poverty.

My (7-year-old) child's reaction to the concept of suicide: "What, so he did like this *puts hands in shape of gun, points in mouth* and just 'pow'?"

Me: *horrified* Umm... it may have been like that, the book doesn't say.

Child: *nods wisely* That's what [child's friend] does in class when it's really boring.

Good lord, where do they get these things.... (OK, the friend in question has an older brother in middle school, so I have a fair idea of where).

My child's reaction to the thought of Miss Trunchbull stealing all of Miss Honey's money:
"You know what I would do? I would give her money so she thinks it's real money, but really it's fake money. I would say *smiles cheerfully* 'here you go' and she'd think she had all my money and then I'd call the police and say 'she's using fake money' and she'd go to jail."

(OK, that one seems to have come straight out of my child's own active imagination. And I'm a little scared now.)

By the way, we previously had trouble getting through some parts of the story because she would get so mad that she would slap pictures of Matilda's father or Miss Trunchbull and we'd lose our place. I suppose it's good that her righteous indignation is being vented on books. 

Awww. And... ewww.

A conversation with the kids on the way home:

A: Daddy, do you give permission for me to be a teacher when I grow up?

Viggy: Whether I like it or not, honey, when you'll be a grown up you won't need my permission. You can do any job you want.

(Adi and Viggy walk forward. N thinks over their exchange for a minute and reaches the logical conclusion)

N: Mommy, when Adi grows up are you and Daddy going to die?

Me: No, baby, hopefully we'll live a long time! Look, I'm grown up, and my Mommy is still alive, right? And Daddy's parents are still alive. Hopefully we'll be alive even when your kids are grown up.

D: But your Daddy isn't still alive.

Me: Right. But he didn't die because I grew up. I was already grown up when he died.

D: Mommy, when are you going to get a new daddy?

Me: I'm not ever going to get another daddy.

D: *is on verge of tears*

N: Why can't you get a new daddy?

Me: Because it doesn't work that way, honey. Once you're grown up you can't get a new daddy, because your daddy is the one who is with you when you're a kid.

N: But have you asked anyone?

Me: Have I asked anyone to be my new daddy?

N: *nods* Like... maybe Daddy could be your daddy! Or Uncle T, or Zeidy! [note: Zeidy is my father-in-law]

Me: ........

Me: [does not want to get into the many reasons it would be extremely disturbing for Viggy and I to share a father, for Viggy's 27-year-old brother to be my father, or for Viggy himself to be my father]

Me: *is saved* Oh look, we're home! Time to go brush teeth!

Quotes, as promised

Adi told me she needed to bring a medium-sized candy with her to school for an activity. "Not big, and not small. You know, like, smaller than a watermelon, bigger than a bacteria cell."

***

N would prefer that I have a girl baby, "so that we can be five girls." That's it - no further explanation necessary.

Adi said a boy would be better "because right now it's like, girl, girl, girl, girl... We need a boy for a break. Like the period at the end of the sentence."

Adi also suggested that we compromise on me giving birth to girl-boy twins. I explained that (to her disappointment, and my relief) that is not going to be happening this time around.

***

The kids were out walking with a babysitter when D started climbing something she wasn't supposed to. (A fellow mother from daycare once told me, "That's what I think of when I think of D - that sign saying 'Warning: Do Not Climb, Danger of Death,' with your daughter trying to climb past it.")

Anyway. The babysitter told her to come down, to which D responded, entirely sincerely, "But if I climb down, how will I get to the top?"

Consider yourself warned - S - Spoiled

Hi all,

It's been a while. What can I say, I've been busy getting terrible grades on my calculus homework (yes, I already did calculus, and you thought you were done hearing me whine about it. But no, it turns out there are multiple calculuses (calculusii?). I'll try to save the whining for later).

Anyway. Spoiling kids. You only think it's possible.

See, spoiling kids is what happens when you give them whatever they want, whenever they want it. Then they never learn valuable life lessons like sharing, self-restraint, appreciation for the non-material things in life, and the fact that the world is a cold, cruel place that doesn't give a crap about them or their desires.

That's the theory, anyway.

Maybe it's just me, but from what I've seen, it's only possible to fill roughly 20% of an average child's requests either way. Sure, you could give them pizza for lunch, and let them watch TV all afternoon, but what are you going to do with the following:

"Mommy, how come only you get to have a baby in your tummy? I want one too!"

"I want a brother. An older brother."

"How come I was born in Jerusalem, and [child] wasn't? It's not fair!"
("What's wrong with being born in Jerusalem?"
"Because I wanted to be with the family!"
"You were with the family, honey."
"Not like that! You don't understand!!!")

"I want blue eyes."

"I want my hair to never have tangles."

"I want to be the Mommy now. It's my turn to be the Mommy, and you can be the baby."

"Fix the balloon for me." (said while handing me a mangled scrap of rubber.)

"I want a car."

"When are you getting married again?.... What do you mean, you're not getting married again???"

etc.

(for the record, that last one was a request from D that Viggy and I get married, because she wants to be at our wedding. When I explained that we had married before she was born, she was very hurt, and told me that when she's a Mommy, she'll be sure to wait and get married after the kids are born, so they get to come too.)

(Oh, and watching TV and eating pizza? Only safe "spoiling" activities if you have an only child. Otherwise, it turns into yet another debate over what to watch (Adi: Pink Panther, N: Pink Panther is boring. The pink one only does nonsense all the time, and the one with no neck is just like 'hurrrr.' N: Let's watch Arthur. D: No, Dora! S: DORADORADORADORA Adi: Dora is for babies. S: DORADORADORADORADORA. etc.))

So go ahead and buy your kids what they want, or don't. Either way, you can rest secure in the knowledge that most of their hopes will be disappointed.

******

In other news, I did a decent job sticking to my schedule today. I think I actually started to catch up on all the reading I have to do (the secret is to stop reading the proofs, and just trust the book to tell the truth about which theorems are real).

On the other hand, the "workout" bloc turned into the "read random crap online and eat biscuits" bloc. But you know what? That's OK. I'm confident in my body. I like the way I look just as I am. I don't need to torture myself to fit some crazy media ideal of "not a fat pasty blob that hasn't moved in two months."

Fried biscuits. I was eating fried biscuits.

(regarding "pasty" - you know you're in trouble when people from new england are telling you, in mid-January, that you've been looking pale.)

******

Doing terribly on math assignments is probably going to keep me busy for a while longer (if I keep working through my degree at this pace, for several years longer... ). But I'll try to update a bit more frequently, with random quotes and my latest thoughts on books, if nothing else.