I’m halfway through the new edition of Madame Bovary, and I’m closing the book. I’ve done it one other time, yes, I mean in my life, and it was with Herzog. It still irks me because I know it’s me and not the book.
The part that kills me is that Madame Bovary is exactly the type of thing I love to read. I cannot make heads or tails of it right now, and I’m questioning my intelligence, my attention span, and my ability to read. I’ve always questioned my writing ability, but never my reading.
I’ve been running on empty lately. I’m clocking in at under five hours of sleep a night and I think it’s effecting my brain. I’ve been reading the good Madame, on the train home at night after work (I write only in the morning. After a day at work, my creative energy is nil.), and I’ve been reading it a page or two at a time. I find myself doing that thing, you know the thing where you read a couple of paragraphs and then realize you don’t know what the characters are doing because you zoned out the preceding couple of paragraphs?
I’ve been reading and rereading the same stuff, or just moving on because I’d read it and not retained it and just didn’t want to read it again. The book is driving me to drink (in all fairness, a short drive), and tonight when discussing my frustration with my husband he said, “So, pick something else.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate that I can’t read this.” Because I’ve failed, is what I didn’t say.
“Right now. You can read it later. Now just isn’t the time.”
Yes. That’s it. Now is not the time. He knows when I need to be let off the hook and can’t do it myself. Now a little bit about synchronicity.
Last night, the toddler got the barky, seal cough that every mother and father knows and dreads. It is terrifying no matter how many times you go through it. He had a bit of a new twist on it, you know, trying to keep us on our toes after the other two, and decided that he’d wheeze his breath in, silence, no breathing, nothing, then exhale. Nice. He was coughing at 4:30 am, I went in, sat him up, then as he fell back to sleep I heard the silence. That half a beat of no breath on a boy not yet three. I called in to work. Then laid in his bed until at 6:45am, he bright-eyed and bushy tailed, happy to see mommy in his bed, said, “It’s morning! Let’s go Mommy!” as he climbed out.
9:50am, I’m in to see the nurse practitioner, and he’s a happy clam with a nasty cough. The concern is his tonsils. They’re each about the size of a quarter normally (enormous), and now they are slightly bigger, with swollen lymph nodes. Looks like we have a bit of sleep apnea on our hands. He has a cold, but it’s the tonsils causing the disaster. He’s on three days of steroids, and some nasal spray that we are to hope reduces the swelling until he can grow into these bad boys.
An aside. A man I work closely with, had his son in to have his tonsils out two months ago. His son is also two. They lost him twice on the table and still don’t know why. You read that right. Lost. Him. Twice.
They stopped the procedure, his son came to, and they didn’t take them out. They still don’t know what caused it. His son is fine. Phew.
If I were to say there is no way in hell my son is going under anesthesia at his age, would that sound like I was uncertain? I told the nurse the story, and then I told her that this is not an option, just in case she wanted to write that in the file. No way in hell. He gets his lollipop (got to soothe the throat right?) and we’re off to Target.
We pick up a couple of small things for his brother since his birthday is coming up, and we buy the toddler a new bike helmet as he’s outgrown the toddler-sized one. He now has one in the shape of a shark face with a rubber fin on the top. He’s wearing it the next time we go and someone wants to mention anethesia. He’s that tough in his new helmet.
The best part was that I got him out of the toy aisle by telling him if we didn’t leave, we wouldn’t have time to look at the books. Yep, that’s my kid. Race out of the toy aisle. Off we went, when what popped right out at me but Olive Kitteridge. It keeps coming up lately, and I believe in signs. Olive went in the cart, as did Mater the Monster Truck in 3D! I know. Jealous much? They were out of Olive in 3D, but I shall persevere.
I have my new book, my new notebook, my toddler all steroided out (did I mention steroids make children hyper? Cranky and hyper, oh yeah, bring it.), and after all of this, I had to laugh. Seriously, was I that bummed about not reading Madame Bovary? The day turned so differently, and that became a joke. It’s all about perspective. I’m looking forward to the new book, and I’m thankful for all of you who gave me the permission I needed in my own head, to read it now.
If any of you, don’t have a husband like mine, and need someone to let you off the hook, let me pass it on. Put down that book, that story you’ve been working on that you hate, that thing you’ve been meaning to do and the reason you’re not is because it’s not the time. Write something you want to, read something you want to. Do it.
Thank you for the offer. I have one myself. He calls it pruning. I’ve learned a lot from him about doing only what you want. I watched my mother get caught up in the obligations of life and where did that leave her? She spent her last years caring for an ungrateful, spiteful mother who threw her under the bus at the drop of a hat. I wonder if she had the chance to do it all over again, what she would choose. Time is precious. If the book sucks, close it. You don’t owe nothing to nobody.
I’m so sorry to hear about your morning. What a good mommy you are! Big huge healing hugs to your little one.
Wow. That’s a whole lot of italics. I only meant for pruning to be highlighted. Sometimes technology really sucks.
Okay, I give up.
Pruning. Perfect.
All of the italics give me the feeling that I’m reading from inside your head.
Don’t you just love it when you stay up all night willing your child to breathe, and the next day s/he’s raring to go and you’re Dead Mommy Walking?
I’m glad you aren’t letting the Bovary drag you down!
When people are new to parenting, I chuckle when they think the newborn phase is when you get no sleep. I don’t mention that they’ll adjust to sleep-deprivation and that as a mom they’ll never sleep again.
Bless their innocence.
(Looks like an italics kind of day. I don’t know how to turn it off, MSB)
Oh, please don’t ever say lost twice again. It’s the kind of thing I don’t even let myself think about.
Learning to let go of those things that just aren’t right at the moment is such a valuable lesson. How much time do I waste in a day with the shoulds?
I had to read Madame Bovary once and read it again on my own when I had literally nothing else of obligation – no job, no kids, only a husband who was never home. A lifetime ago. I doubt I could read it today without the noises in my head making me reread paragraphs.
Perspective and timing. Such concepts for life and writing.
Hope your little man is well soon.
Sometimes it’s only when you’re lost that you find what you were looking for all along, no? And sometimes those answers are right under our noses.
Great advice. And I loved Olive Kitteridge! Enjoy the read. I finished ROOM a few days ago and am sad that it’s over.
ROOM is also on my list, but…I’m uncertain if I’m at a place where I can read about the topic with a 5 year old boy as the narrator. Too close to home.
Timing really is everything, isn’t it. I’m on page 121 of MADAME BOVARY, and I haven’t picked it up for at least a week. I feel guilty. I like the book, but it’s not firing me up. What’s the deal? Who knows.
Laura, I’m glad to hear you liked ROOM. I loved that book. And OLIVE KITTERIDGE was great too — I’m trying to hoist it on my book club, but they’re not biting.
Gee, don’t I sound disappointed today. It must have been the 3 hours I spent at the car dealer for the 45 minute service appt, or the cleaning of the outdoor grill, or Lucy almost escaping today to bite George, our UPS man. Shit, I don’t know. Or maybe it’s that I’ve barely slept this week! And I don’t even have a child for an excuse, just peri-menopause and breaking into flop-sweats at 1 and 3 and 5 a.m.
I will say that my fingers are crossed that this post comes out in italics. I’ve never been able to figure out how to do it when I want to, so here’s to pressing “post comment.”
Maybe we’re both not in the right frame of mind for the great Madame.
You’re in luck! Welcome to italicworld!
when my son was four months old, he had a very rare case of mastoiditis (celluloid matter behind his left ear, at the base of his skull, became infected making his small infant head swollen, he looked like the guy chained up in Goonies). it was the result of a severe ear infection and his infectious disease control dr., ENR doctor, and pediatrician all said: put tubes in his ears. it took me months to let them do it because of the anesthesia that he’d have to do.
i hear ya with Madame Bovary too. I read her in college and haven’t picked her up since.
And once again, we see why Madame Bovary isn’t going to be the end. A baby with an infection at the base of his skull? Yeah, that’s real life.