Four and Done

In which Kelly Corrigan lets me off the hook

Four Children with a Trumpet, Tadeusz Makowski, 1929

“The way I see it, if you have four kids, you don’t really have to do anything else, ever.”

That quote is from Kelly Corrigan’s wonderful book, The Middle Place. I cling to it like a talisman, a tangible bit of permission. A pat on the back.

She goes on:

If you’re a mother of four, you definitely don’t have to have a career or volunteer for the school fund-raiser or even bring an appetizer to the dinner party. In fact, people give you a lot of credit for wearing both earrings and knowing how to spell chaos and antidepressant. Four kids gives you a pass for every forgotten birthday, overlooked appointment, and missing form. Plus, you can be late for everything the rest of your life and never return phone calls.

Is this official? Can I have it engraved somewhere? Maybe on my body?

I have four kids and have been waiting for someone, anyone, to tell me I’m off at least one hook. The babies have all reached adulthood, they’re all alive, and I’m in recovery. Why do people keep asking me what I’m going to do now? I’m still looking for the earrings! I’m a very good speller, and I actually did take an appetizer to the dinner party. Extra credit for me, right?

“You know what it’s like having a fourth kid? Imagine you’re drowning, then someone hands you a baby.” Jim Gaffigan

I clearly remember reading The Middle Place in bed, a few years ago. It touched a neglected nerve in a weary woman. I poked Steven and gleefully read him the above passage (he wasn’t nearly as appreciative as he should have been, but he’s managing his own recovery so I’ll give him a pass).

It’s not the case for everyone, of course. I have friends with four kids and they seem (on the outside) pretty capable and busy. I have a friend with five kids who has been a lawyer, a judge, and a university administrator. There’s no reasonable accounting for some people’s energy and ambition. Is it genetic? Madness? Drugs? No one is telling.

I, however, have little to no ambition. Truly. I want what everyone wants — food, shelter, love, books — but will generally seek the path of least resistance. I worked hard raising the kids, it was my project and my passion for many years. But finally, Kelly Corrigan has handed me the golden ticket. I can rest on my laurels. It’s all I really needed, just one voice saying, “Good job. You’re done now.”

To confirm, according to Kelly, I “don’t really have to do anything else, ever.”

Anything else. Ever.

I’m going to take that and climb in the hammock with an Italian soda. Maybe I’ll text my kids, make sure they’re all still alive.

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Things to share:

• I’ve been enjoying Liza Donnelly’s newsletter, Seeing Things. Her posts are quick and charming and maybe even important. Being Zen, or Whatever really spoke to me, as she honestly questions her role as a creator and ability to create in the face of *all this*. “I am not sure what to write about today.” Me too, Liza. Every day.

• Katherine May’s book, Enchantment, is just the thing we need. A description from her lovely newsletter, The Clearing:

  “Enchantment is a book about finding sanctuary in this post-everything world. It’s an exploration of the ways we can re-engage with our fascination and wonder, how we can learn to perceive the infinite in small, mundane things, and how we can reclaim the right to make meaning, even when we’re not sure what we believe. I wanted to show how we can renew a connection with the land beneath our feet and the air around us, one that is sustaining, comforting and even magical - how we can become enchanted again.”

  Sanctuary! Sign me up. And the cover truly is gorgeous.

• A new translation of Halldor Laxness’ Salka Valka is out and I’m intrigued. I loved Independent People years ago, as I love so much Nordic literature. On a broader note, why do I love dark, plodding, epic books? All that sad, rambling, ruminative prose. All those sagas jammed with everyday minutiae. I loved Kristen Lavransdatter, with its 20th century stab at medieval language and all the drama of prestige TV. (There’s a new translation that I should probably read, but it’s over 1000 pages and I’m tired). I loved Per Petterson’s short, stark novels — Out Stealing Horses and To Siberia — that seem fairly unacquainted with joy. And Knausgaard’s six volume My Struggle was a revelation (I’m at volume four). Zadie Smith agrees.

  Archipelago Books @archipelagobks

  from Zadie Smith: "KARL OVE KNAUSGAARD. MY STRUGGLE. It's unbelievable. I just read 200 pages of it and I need the next volume like crack."

  Perhaps I’m descended from Swedish royalty or Vikings. Or a small-town Salka Valka. Maybe I’m a melancholiac. Nothing like a heavy winter saga to get you through the heavy winter, I guess. Yes, I know it’s July, but I need plans. Winter is coming.

Happy high summer, thanks for reading!
Lisa