Maternal Meltdowns and Existential Opacity

In high school, our dean used the acronym PDA to refer to Public Displays of Affection. Some twenty years later I still find the acronym to be an apt descriptor of behavior in which it might be inappropriate to engage in front of innocent bystanders, although it now stands for Parental Displays of Anger.

When my daughter was around 5-6 months old, I remember being out on a walk with her asleep in her stroller. We lived right by an elementary school, and on that particular afternoon we encountered a mother engaged in an enraged altercation with her son that also involved his coat, the sidewalk, and possibly a plastic guitar. The mom was furious, the kid was crying, and there was some screaming, and forceful shoving into a carseat, and much mini-van door slamming followed by an angry screech of tires.

I spent the first 9 months of my daughter's life in a blissed-out bubble, and I could not at that time comprehend how this mother could be so impatient with her child. Her angel. Her sweet baby. Flesh of her flesh. I looked at the peaceful face of my sleeping infant, and felt foolishly superior. Never would that mother be me. Flash forward a few months, and the bubble burst, as bubbles tend to do.

It happened at an airport, at the end of a long flight following an even longer trip involving hotels and rental cars and restaurants and guest rooms and disrupted nap and bed times. I don't even remember what happened. I'm sure it was some routine and minor annoyance, but it was one more than I was ready to deal with and suddenly I was that screaming mother, shoving my daughter forcefully into her stroller, slamming my suitcase around, and pushing my way angrily up the walkway toward the ticket counter, uncomfortably aware of my audience of flight attendants and gate agents who had, undoubtedly, seen it all before (and probably worse) but whose wide-eyed opprobrium still made me feel like a terrible person, not to mention a bad mom.

How I longed to give the backstory! I wanted to lay out for them how this was just the inevitable endpoint of holding everything together so well the past five days. How I had been a model parent through pteradactyl tantrums and jelly legs and evenings where I couldn't leave my hotel room after 7 pm. Beyond that, I wished I could hand them a flier tallying up the nights I had lain awake with my daughter as she wheezed her way through a cold or cried her way through an ear infection without so much as a peep of protest from me. I felt like I should be wearing a sign outlining the sacrifices I had made and indignities I had suffered as a mother because I know what I looked like in that one moment: an inpatient, inflexible lunatic.

Talk about tipping points. Somehow mine are doozies, and they always seem to happen in public.

It happened again this week at Starbucks. We'd gotten our usual egg sandwich and a foamy drink, and my daughter was (mostly) sitting (mostly) happily (mostly) eating when out of nowhere she started screaming "Egg! Egg! Egg!" (even though one was sitting on the table right in front of her) and crying and rubbing milk foam on her face while trying to stick her fingers into my scalding coffee. When I tried to hold her hand back from the cup, she started a crazy lip splutter which ended up spraying the contents of her mouth onto my face, the only upside of which was that it tasted like caramel and we both ended up smelling like sticky cupcakes. Still, I hadn't signed on for a sticky cupcake morning and, momentarily enraged, I set her down forcefully in her seat, packed up her food, wiped the chair off and hustled her out of the store. The lunatic strikes again. All that was missing was the plastic guitar.

Cooling down in the car on the way home, I thought back on that mother and son and their previously inexplicable altercation. It doesn't seem inexplicable to me now. In fact, I feel a great deal of empathy for both that mother and her son. It's hard to be a parent, sure. But it's also hard to be a kid. As a parent, I often feel like my life is ruled - directly and indirectly - by my child. And yet, I remember very clearly that feeling as a child that I had control over nothing. And no one likes to feel out of control. Well, at least I don't.

In graduate school, I spent some time forced to contemplate the indeterminacy of translation. (Philosophy rears its ugly head!) The classic example, from Willard Van Orman Quine, is when a foreign speaker points to something, like a rabbit, and says "gavagai." How do you figure out to what they are referring? You can't take for granted that what they are really saying is simply "Lo, a rabbit." Maybe they're referring to undifferentiated rabbit parts, maybe to time-slices of rabbits. Maybe they are talking about hunting, or food, or magic tricks.

I wasn't a huge fan of this kind of inquiry. At the time it seemed like loopy, self-indulgent, hair-splitting. And quite possibly delusional. However, in the past year, I have come to see that the problem of referential opacity can serve as a useful model highlighting the problem of existential opacity. Well beyond the imprecision of language, you never know what is going on in someone's head or life - or at their table in Starbucks - until you have some backstory. Or context.

This is Quine's response to the indeterminacy of language; you must be pragmatic and gather enough data to make conclusions that are consistent with behavioral evidence.

When I snap at my daughter and storm out of a store, it could be because I was up all the night before cuddling her croup-y body, worrying about her wheezing and snuffling, soothing and singing to her. Or it could be because she was screaming the entire way to the store, and will be screaming the entire way home again, and I am just beyond gosh awful tired of screaming. It could be because she begs for eggs all the time and then refuses to eat them and no amount of reasoning or refusal seems to break this interminable cycle. It could be because I am a selfish, shallow, spiteful person who should never have reproduced. Or if could be that once again the kid agenda and adult agenda have come into conflict, and I am just too frustrated, or furious, or flummoxed to take a step back or a deep breath and negotiate this particular impasse with poise or humor.

I have little hope for the middle east when this most primal of power struggles rages regularly in bedrooms, and carseats, and shopping carts and, yes - in airports and Starbucks - around this country. I wish for more patience on my end, and more tolerance, and a more mellow toddler - or at least better judgment about when and where to take her our in public - but I also find myself returning to my earlier wish that I could somehow situate this moment in time for those who are looking at me like some shrew of a mother.

There are always a million things threatening to spiral out of control as my daughter spins along like a pre-verbal cyclone of partially-met wants and needs. But most days, most errands, I am reasonably good at managing and responding to her emotional typhoon. Not that I'm perfect at it. But not a total maniac, either. In both public and private, I am far more likely to engage in displays of affection than anger.

If only I could hand out a highlight reel of my best parenting moments or find a snappy way to fit them on a message tee. Because that would be a whole new world of PDA: Pretty Darn Awesome.

The Reject's Top Five: Notable First Dates

One of my readers - a friend who is possibly my only reader - mentioned that she enjoyed reading posts but wished I had been blogging during my pre-child, pre-married life. Although many of those stories are not for mass consumption, it's never too late for a look back at those that are. Here is a post in her honor.

5.) Two for one at the Indian Buffet - a good female friend and I ate lunch at our favorite Indian buffet at least 2-3 times a week for a period in graduate school. All the servers got to know us, not only because we were at the restaurant so often but also because most of the other patrons were men who worked in the surrounding offices or large Indian families. There weren't a lot of other single ladies going crazy over the goat curry. One day, while grabbing a plate for my second round of pakoras, one of the servers stocking the buffet asked me out. I explained that I had a boyfriend. Without missing a beat, he asked "what about your friend?" Although not technically a first date, I feel like I have to include this because I still find it so darn funny.

4.) Rude Boy - I embarked on this date with an ex-hockey player full of misgivings. He had basically stopped his car and asked me out on the street, which was novel enough to get my attention. Also, at that time I had been on enough bad dates with reasonable people that he got to take advantage of the "why not" heyday of my dating days. He was cute, but something seemed off. Minutes into our drinks, it became obvious what that was: his sense of appropriate conversation, not to mention boundaries and personal space. He kept trying to touch me and started telling stories (really, really loudly) about training camp when the coach "dumped a box of condoms on the table" and asked whether women still "wore their pubic hair in the landing strip." He told me all about ex-wife "The Bitch," his daughter "The Mini-bitch" (seriously?), and driving drunk. The date ended with an unpleasant kiss - him leering in with a creepy poker tongue, me trying to get away and winding up getting licked on the cheek. Next.

3.) MBA - Most Boring American. As bad as being rude on a first date is being boring. If you've seen the movie LA Story, remember that scene where Steve Martin and the blond british chick are at a dinner and sneak off to fool around while some super-dull dude is giving an interminable yawner of a speech? This date was like that - the speech, not the sneaking off part. He was in business school and spent at least half an hour chronicling the ordeal of getting his name badge for his summer internship. From what I can recall, this involved a lot of miscommunications about what building he needed to report to for his photo. ("And then I went to Building B. But they sent me to Building A. And the folks in Building A send me back to Building B! But the folks in Building B had already sent me to Building A. So I went back to Building A. Can you believe it? Heh heh!") Heh heh. Meh. What could have actually been presented as a funny comedy of errors in under 3 minutes nearly put me to sleep in closer to 30. He ended the evening with a delusional "Wow. What a great date!" Couldn't disagree more.

2.) You, me, your friend, and the drunk girl - for this first date, we doubled with the guy's best friend and his date; a weird arrangement, in retrospect: me and three strangers. The friend and his date were in an unspecified relationship that today would probably be classified as "friends with benefits." Although I think it was maybe just about the benefits minus the friendship. Anyway, the date was dressed like a naughty nurse. Wait, no. That's wrong. She was a nurse, and she was just dressed naughty according to Midwestern standards. We went to a brewpub where there were a bunch of taxidermy animal heads hanging behind the bar (also weird decor, in retrospect) and right above where we were sitting there was some kind of stuffed cat. She spent the evening getting drunker and drunker and making more and more references to "pussy" and pointing at the cat head, cackling, until she - literally - fell off the bar stool. The three of them went home together, which was by that point, quite a relief.

1.) You and Tequila - the night after I explained how I was totally not ready for a relationship, I met this guy for coffee. "Coffee" actually turned out to mean "sushi and sake" and we had a bunch of both. As we were leaving, the guy said sushi never seemed like a meal and asked if I wanted to go to the restaurant across the street for some real food. He ordered us butternut squash ravioli with brown butter and sage and a bottle of '96 Dom Perignon. Then we walked to his apartment to see his collection of balalaika records. Ha ha! Kidding! (That's a Bell Jar reference, ducklings.) I mean his collection of tequilas! We drank most of a bottle of Herradura Anejo and I explained that I could not drive home but that I would not take off any of my clothes. He slept on the couch and gave me his bed, which was made up with insanely high thread-count sheets and smelled quite good. In the morning, he made me a cappuccino and a plate of melon wrapped in proscuitto with limes. I think this was the best first date of all time. Two years later I married him.

What about you? Good dates? Bad dates? Memorable dates?

The Reject Entertains: Canapés for those you Hate

At some point during the holidays, you will likely be called upon to entertain. If not this year, then some year. And even if the idea of planning a Martha Stewart style "cocktail and canapé buffet for 27" fills you with glee, there will be guests you do not like but to whom you must extend an invitation. If you must deal with these people, try to make the evening as pleasurable and stress-free as possible - at least for you. Do not attempt to minimize annoyance by sprinkling a few undesired guests into a series of dinners and open houses otherwise populated by friends: like a few rancid pine nuts they will spoil the whole pesto. Instead, throw one special party for guests you detest and get the whole darn thing over in one swoop. You pick the date and place, here is what you serve:

Savory

Tataki chicken (sashimi style) - who doesn't like a perfectly seared piece of tataki tuna? Well, here's a way to give your guests what they want without having to worry about potentially dangerous levels of mercury OR the environmental impact of over-fishing! (After all, you're never going to help that ex catch the eye of the cutie across the room sipping spiced cider if they've got their nose buried in the list of safe and sustainable species!) Substitute thinly sliced chicken breast and limit your concerns to a more manageable exposure to salmonella! (Prettily wrapped Z-pacs make a thoughtful take-away gift.) Save time by using pre-cut chicken tenders.

Anchovy paste faux "dog doo" tartlets - delight the animal lovers among your guests by filling pre-made canape shells with anchovy paste, twirling tube as you go for realistic presentation. Couldn't be easier! May substitute crackers for canape shells, or blini if you are expecting a more discerning crowd.

Jellied fish sauce consommé "shooters" - mix fermented fish sauce with unflavored gelatin and follow package directions. Serve in shot glasses. Jicama or cucumber spikes add a nice garnish. (Also a subtle way to touch on the missing element of tuna in the tataki appetizer. Guests appreciate that kind of attention to detail.)

Sweet

Chocolate strawberry "cream" cups - melt chocolate chips and drizzle or spread in cupcake liners. Chill until chocolate hardens. Fill with cut up organic strawberries and garnish with jaunty dollop of shaving creme. Add sprig of mint if desired. (Scotch bonnet peppers or grape tomatoes may be used in place of strawberries if organic strawberries are unavailable.)

Powder-dusted brownie bites - this is the go-to dessert for those who have no time to cook. Purchase pre-cooked brownie bites and display on festive/attractive plate. Dust with baby power or baking soda. Garnish plate with crushed-up candy canes.

San Marzano Cake Pop Surprises - creative gastronomy is all the rage! If you aren't ready to try your hand at this trend with a cheesecake "cigar" or octopus-ink "licorice", the following project is one that will have your guests talking for days! Drain liquid from can of whole plum tomatoes (San Marzano brand works well). Fill with stuffing of your choice: salmon mousse, goat cheese, or hummus are ideal. Insert Popsicle or craft stick (available at most confectionery and craft stores - can also use tongue depressors), freeze, and frost with your favorite icing. Serve cold for best effect.

Additional ideas

Serve toast points with thin-sliced slivers of garlic. Looks just like butter!

Spike punch with rubbing alcohol for an extra kick!

Legal Disclaimer: obviously, you shouldn't really serve any of these to anyone. No matter how much of a scrooge you are, no matter how much you dislike them. Except for maybe the fish sauce shooters and the toast points with garlic. Those could actually be good, if you like fish sauce or garlic.