All talk

I’m very much looking forward to my son starting to talk the same language as me. For one thing, it will be a huge relief to have him explain the cause of his crankiness rather than me having to constantly guess. I can’t wait to be able to ask him what’s wrong and have him reply, “My gums really hurt” or “I’m hungry” or “I think it’s separation anxiety” (he will be very self-aware).

Although right now he’s extremely patient as he repeats himself for my benefit, I fear he will grow increasingly frustrated with my slowness until one day soon he will simply give up on trying to communicate with me forever.

Him: Bubbadoos. Bubbadoos!

Me: Barbecues? Bubble juice? 

Him: [Leaves room, rolling eyes and shaking head]

Me: BIBLE TOURS?!

At the moment his most clear and consistent word (is it a word?) is “uh oh”, which reveals quite a lot about the kind of little boy he is and the kind of parents we are. A couple of weeks ago he dropped a bottle of my husband’s old cologne on the bathroom floor – “UH OH!”. Our apartment still reeks like a teenage boy on a date. He also says “mummy”, which would be quite touching if it was reserved just for me. “Mummy”, however, also means “Daddy” and “I want that toy” and “Hello, strange person” and “Look, there’s a cat”, among many other things. It helps that he points.

Stay tuned for a future blog post, maybe somewhere around the “But, why?” phase, in which I wish that my son would not talk so much.

Nope, I was wrong/NIV 2011

from here

This is the fourth (and final) stupid thing I've seen this month: Mary Kassian's 10 reasons why the new NIV is bad for women. I feel like my frustration has mostly been vented through reading the comments to this post, although "reasons" 5 and 6 in Kassian's article still make me angry.

Kassian is a fan of Bible translations that aim to translate each word from the original text as closely as possible rather than as accurately as possible convey the overall meaning of the original text, which is why she reads the ESV rather than the NIV*. Both approaches to translation are great, but they aim to do very different things. I'm trying unsuccessfully to think of an analogy... Mac versus PC? Football versus netball? "10 reasons why football is bad for women"... Basically, if you prefer one approach over another, no translation using the other approach will satisfy you, and it is therefore not surprising that Kassian (and friends) aren't happy with the new NIV. I think that fundamentally her angst has more to do with the translation approach than it does with all of the gender stuff. I may be wrong.

We bought an NIV 2011 on Monday. Yesterday as I was reading, I noticed footnotes for Matthew 6:22-23 that weren't in my old Bible:

²² “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. ²³ But if your eyes are unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!

According to the notes, the Greek word for "healthy" in verse 22 implies "generous", and the Greek word for "unhealthy" in verse 23 implies "stingy". These two verses now fit in with Jesus' instruction to not store up treasure on earth (which comes immediately beforehand), and his "No one can serve two masters" teaching (which comes immediately after). I'm sure I always figured they weren't completely random, but now I know why!

And, of course, the new gender-inclusive language sheds light on things often ignored by Complementarians, such as the fact that there is no gender distinction when Paul writes about spiritual gifts (below is 1 Corinthians 12:1-11 and 27-30, because the whole section seemed too long to copy in!):

Now about the gifts of the Spirit, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed. You know that when you were pagans, somehow or other you were influenced and led astray to mute idols. Therefore I want you to know that no one who is speaking by the Spirit of God says, “Jesus be cursed,” and no one can say, “Jesus is Lord,” except by the Holy Spirit

There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work.

Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good. To one there is given through the Spirit a message of wisdom, to another a message of knowledge by means of the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one Spirit, to another miraculous powers, to another prophecy, to another distinguishing between spirits, to another speaking in different kinds of tongues, and to still another the interpretation of tongues.All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to each one, just as he determines.

Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. And God has placed in the church first of all apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then miracles, then gifts of healing, of helping, of guidance, and of different kinds of tongues. Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all have gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret? Now eagerly desire the greater gifts.

Mary Kassian can stand by her ESV, but as for this "poor little girl", I'm in love with my new Bible.

* I did an essay on this last year but cannot for the life of me remember the official terms for these approaches to translation. Dynamic? Direct? Something like that.

The third (and final) stupid thing I’ve come across in the last month

from here

I realised the other day that I’d bought the ‘Cheddar Cheese Flavoured’ Bega cheese sticks for my son rather than the ‘Original’ ones that he likes.  When I called Bega to ask about the added flavour I was told that it was dehydrated cheddar cheese that was added to the mozzarella cheese. I (of course) asked why, if Bega made cheddar cheese, they needed to add cheddar cheese flavour to mozzarella cheese? Couldn’t they just make cheddar cheese sticks? “Oh, we do!” was the excited reply.

For those of you who are confused, it turns out Bega makes mozzarella cheese sticks for kids, cheddar cheese sticks for kids, and cheddar-cheese-flavoured mozzarella cheese sticks for kids. Apparently they also make Swiss-cheese-flavoured mozzarella cheese sticks for kids. I didn’t ask whether they have cheddar-cheese-flavoured Swiss cheese sticks or mozzarella-cheese-flavoured cheddar cheese sticks, but it was clear from our conversation that Bega is the kind of company that would already be on top of all of the possible cheese combinations.

I let the woman know that the packaging of the different flavoured cheese sticks was unhelpfully similar, and hung up feeling tired.

A gift for Grandma

 (I should point out that my son was not unhappy because of his dad's haircut - we purposefully cut it while he was awake so that he wouldn't freak out, but he couldn't have cared less.)

I'm wondering exactly how to break the news to my Grandma, who has probably been praying for this day since she first found out that my husband was planning to grow his hair long. I really don't know whether it would be cruel or hilarious to post her this bag (thoughts, Maman?):

So my husband has short hair again. On the up side I will no longer be attacked by dreadlocks each time we hug. On the down side, he's lost all of his strength.

The second stupid thing I’ve come across in the last month

While waiting in the babies section of a department store recently, I somehow managed to get completely caught up in browsing and comparing the wide range of potties available. For those of you who have not had this pleasure, I can tell you that potties are all fairly similar. There’s not too much you can do with a plastic seat for number one and two-ing in except change the colour or the height of the sides, which is indeed what some companies have cleverly done in order to catch the eye of weary, toilet-training parents (slash people who are distracted easily).

Perhaps the Gruen Transfer peeps would agree that it’s when products are so similar that one is likely to see the most bold and ridiculous advertising, but I was still surprised by one of the selling points on this ‘infa-secure’ (because you do not want your kid to fall off this thing while doing their business) potty:

As you can see, this particular B10 Comfort model of the Highback Potty apparently makes a “Great Travelling Companion.” I know you’re not supposed to think too hard about the space-fillers on packaging, but I just can’t help myself and have therefore compiled a list of 9 reasons why a potty would in fact make a very bad travelling companion:

1. A potty cannot choose or change the music
2. A potty cannot take over the driving when you start to feel tired
3. A potty cannot pass you snacks/beverages/tissues
4. A potty cannot pass your child snacks/beverages/tissues/toys
5. A potty cannot play Spotto
6. A potty cannot check maps or give directions
7. A potty cannot chat
8. A potty cannot send a text to let someone know that you’re approximately 30 minutes away
9. A potty cannot “keep its eyes peeled” for toilets/road signs/food stops

They're all I can be bothered thinking of (suggestions are welcome, bien sûr*), but I feel like these are enough to justifiably recommend to infa-secure** that the line ‘Fits in a car’ is much more accurate. I would also highly recommend that someone immediately make up some ‘Great Travelling Companion’ t-shirts. I want one.

* This is French for ‘of course‘. I like to use little French sayings every now and then, not to be pretentious but to try to convince myself that the 3 years I spent studying it at university were not a complete waste of my time.

** Is anyone else bothered by the fact that the company's name is all lower-case, but everything else on the sticker is unnecessarily capitalised?! No? Oh. Alright then.

The first stupid thing I’ve come across in the last month

Not long ago I opened up a new box of moisturiser from a company that may or may not start with ‘D’ and end with ‘ermalogica’ and found a helpful little booklet inside containing information about the product, such as the fact that it’s intended for excess oil production (*sigh*) and is made up of all sorts of exciting natural ingredients such as silk amino acids and cucumber. It’s stuff that you’re mildly interested in if you buy a product that you’ll be absorbing via your skin. But then, underneath that, was this handy picture showing you where to apply the moisturiser:

Okay. So I know there are some people out there who do misguided things like drink shower gel to clean out their insides, although the line ‘For external use only’ still makes me shake my head. But are there seriously people who don’t know where on their face to apply their facial moisturiser?! After recovering from my shock, I immediately began to imagine the kind of mail the company must receive (on a weekly basis, I'd like to think):

Hello! After seeing the picture in your instruction booklet, I no longer apply Active Moist moisturiser to my eyeballs and ears. Now it takes me nearly twice as long to get through a bottle, and my eyes don’t burn so much! Thanks, Dermalogica!

I'm also concerned by the fact that the face is broken up into so many segments, as if it were possible to buy a product which only applied to one cheek, the bit between your eyebrows, and the left side of your forehead.

This guy I know, Depression

I don’t like him at all. I panic when he turns up, bringing along an oppressive lack of air and a dark cloud which hangs overhead for the length of his stay. When he comes to visit we usually just hang out together, quietly. Sometimes, mostly while I lie awake at night waiting for sleep to arrive (sleep’s always running late), his pessimistic whispers make me cry. At any moment he can turn nasty; he’ll suddenly attack me, trying to suffocate or drown me, leaving me gasping for breath but, hypocritically, wishing he’d been able to finish the job. I never know when he'll snap; I can never relax when he's around. When he’s grumpy, he’ll point out heights, knives and pills, and make gory suggestions. He hates me. He wants me dead.

He introduced himself many years ago, when I was a teenager, though I only found out his name in 2009. It took me a long time to notice that he showed up even when everything else was going well; that there was a difference between feeling sad and the added weight I felt when he was around. Though we’ve spent many hours together, I don’t miss him at all when he goes. Last time he left, after a particularly long and vicious stay, I watched the remnants of his cloud disappear and then celebrated for months and months. I thought he’d gone forever that time. I thought I’d conquered him, proved to him that I was stronger than anything he could throw at me, forced him to find someone else to torment instead. 

But he’s come back, angry at my arrogance and scoffing at my naïveté. I’ve set up a bed for him, but I’m scared to ask for how long he’s planning to stay this time.

I hope he’s just passing through.


 
The photo's from here.

Hello.

In high school, our English assessments were called ‘polished pieces’. I’ve thought about that term a lot since starting this blog; I've decided that polishing is my favourite part of writing, and writing is my favourite form of therapy. In order to polish, though, I first need to write, and after having not written for some time now I have sentences flying around in my head like sugar-fuelled children trapped in a giant cage. Figuring out how to tame these unruly words so that I can lead them free, marching in an orderly manner, is a daunting but necessary challenge; if I don’t do it now I’ll soon have to move my brain elsewhere in order to think clearly. That could get quite weird, not to mention bloody. So, to start the rescue, below are mini-reviews for three of the books I’ve read over the last few weeks.

The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas

This book is certainly thought-provoking, though I can think of few other positive adjectives to describe it. Most of the 8 stories in the book aren’t actually about the slap. According to the blurb and many rave reviews (and this is what scared me most about the book), The Slap is about things like parenting and commitment and everyday life. I really hope that’s not actually true; to quote Disey, who commented on a review of the first TV episode, “If this is an example of ’today's Melbourne’, then all I can say is ‘yuk!’” It’s full of ugly language, ugly sex and ugly, angry and selfish characters who are utterly unlikeable. DO NOT READ THIS BOOK. (The ABC series may be a different matter, as the language and sex in particular will have to be toned down drastically for its timeslot... You're allowed to watch that, if you want to.)

Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom

I enjoyed The Five People You Meet in Heaven by the same author, which is what made me search this book out. I like the length of Albom’s books; this one, like ‘Five People’, was nice and short. Unlike ‘Five People’, however, this one left me thinking, Whatever! And that’s never a good sign. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m Australian or I'm not dying or I was just in the wrong mood, but I very quickly tired of Morrie’s guru-ey, I’m-dying-therefore-everything-I-say-is-quotable-material aphorisms and Albom’s unabashed worship of his old professor. Yay for their relationship, yay for the fact that the book covered Morrie’s medical expenses, yay for Albom’s writing. But, overall? Meh. Read it if you like, it won't take up too much of your time. But keep a bucket handy.

Things the Grandchildren Should Know by Mark Oliver Everett

Okay. This review will be harder to write because I really, really liked this book. Like, wow. Everett, aka E, is the genius behind Eels, a band responsible for two of my favourite songs of all time. I’m obviously a terrible fan, though - I had no idea Everett had written his autobiography. It’s taken me 3 years to discover it. 

Everett’s life has been crazily tragic, yet he tells his story in a way that celebrates life rather than begs pity (without making you gag with its positivity, unlike Tuesdays with Morrie). It’s simply but powerfully written; in no way is it emotionally manipulative, but I laughed, cheered, cried, grumbled and, ultimately, celebrated along with him. A quote that made me smile (from page 185):

Kids know what's going on. They always respond to The Beatles, for instance. Doesn't matter when they were born, they always seem to respond. Show me a kid who innately doesn't like The Beatles, and I'll show you a bad seed.

Understanding the inspiration behind Everett’s lyrics has made me adore his songs all the more (Hey Man (Now You’re Really Living)  is one perfect example), and understanding how much work goes into arranging the song order on an album has made me repent of often picking out my favourite songs rather than listening through from start to finish. Unlike The Slap, this book left me feeling happy. If you haven't yet met Eels, open up grooveshark.com and introduce yourself immediately. And then read this book.