It’s a Girl

So my favorite Oregonian food writer, Leslie Cole, did an article recently about people trying to get off the grid, getting back to nature, growing their own food, keeping chickens, spending more time with their families, yada yada yada. If this sounds like retro hippiedom, well, it is. But now, as an old-school activity decked out in trendy millennial clothing, it’s got a much edgier name: radical homemaking.

Radical in the sense that getting off the corporate treadmill, saying no to the big American bucks, and choosing to take the slow lane are radical, at least by current go-go standards. Not so radical, however, is the model offered for emulation: mom quits day job, stays home to raise her kids. So maybe an apron is more comfy than pantyhose, but work is still work. And guess what? Nobody pays you to stay home with the kids.

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Right after my college graduation, a dozen-odd years ago, I flipped through the book on my dad’s nightstand: Anne Lamott’s Operating Instructions. I’d seen him snickering at it, and occasionally sniffling, and wondered what was up.

First published in the early 1990s, the book — now a classic of the memoir/parenting/spiritual-journey subgenres — is nothing more than a journal kept by Lamott during her son’s first year. (These days, of course, she would’ve kept a blog.) I laughed at a few passages — the cat’s disgust with the new baby, or the inevitable adult comparisons of the oblivious tot to, say, a drug addict (loving the playground swing waaaay too much) or a dog (a drooling St. Bernard). The book alternated between caustic humor and tearful poignancy. I could see why my dad enjoyed it. And then I forgot about it.

Until, of course, I found myself having a baby at about the same age Lamott did, and decided it would be worth a second look. Yes, the book is still funny, and still weepy. But this time around, I found myself first nodding in agreement with the book, and then shaking my head in disbelief.

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Delphine hit the big one-oh a few weeks ago, on Sunday, March 21. We had planned a party for her in Cambridge, but then, well, our plans got rejiggered, and we ended up just having a little party for her here at home.

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