That Baby: A MotherTalk Review

After my three-year-old and autistic seven-year-old watched the music videos on the That Baby DVD, they refused to listen to any car music except the That Baby CD's "Butterflies!" ("Happiness Runs/Circle Game") and "Flowers!" ("Garden Song [Inch by Inch]"). Though after hearing the introduction to the instrumental piano piece "Get Together," three-year-old Mali declared, "It's soooo beautiful!"

She's right. That Baby's music is beautiful, and the accompanying videos are obviously a work of love and considerable care. As a bootstrappy, DIY kinda gal myself, I have to respect the effort that the creators put into this project. I especially appreciate that their videos include kids with disabilities having fun with typical peers.

I just wish I liked That Baby, or thought it lived up to its very sweet motto: "Acoustic rock classics for kids and the grownups who love them."

But I don't. I think it's an example of the kind of kids' music that drives me batty: tunes that parents like, and want their kids to like. (Dan Zanes is a good example of this genre.) My kids refused to listen to any of the other songs on the That Baby CD, or watch the non-butterflies or -flower videos. Even Mali insisted on skipping "Get Together" after that first declaration.

Why? Probably because most of the songs are really poppy, in a Disney Channel afternoon programming kind of way, and simply do not feature the structured phrasing and articulation younger kids latch on to. I wonder if my kids rejected those songs and videos because all the video imagery is obviously for very young children, whereas the music itself is quite complex.

And, again, much of that music is exquisite, with lovely vocals (the man who sings "Pony Boy" sounds like Lyle Lovett, whose voice is the closest thing this world has to a siren's call), extraordinary musicianship (established names like Tony Furtado), and thoughtful arrangements (the cover of The Beatles' "I Will" is a jewel). But it doesn't sound like kids' music. It sounds like soft adult rock, or lost Lilith Fair tracks.

There are obviously many families and parents who think That Baby is wonderful. Perhaps, as I teach my kids to say, That Baby is simply "not to my taste." But I also suspect that if I recommended That Baby to my own friends, or put anything other than "Happiness Runs" or "Garden Song" on my family's annual Kids' Music holiday gift compilations, said friends would kick my ass. And that would probably feel about the same as having to write this less-than-positive review about a project so painstakingly parent-produced.

But, hey, you can always do what I advise my eldest to do: research and form your own opinion. Go to the That Baby website, listen to songs from the CD, and watch a video preview of the DVD.

If you decide to place an order, enter the coupon code "MotherTalk" when purchasing and save 20% on your entire order! From now until May 18th, all orders using the coupon code "MotherTalk" will be entered in a drawing to win a new iPod nano.

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The Liar's Diary

A MotherTalk Review

I intentionally do not read others' reviews before writing my own, but I doubt my experience with The Liar's Diary is unique: there is bloody little of this book I can talk about without revealing, or at least alluding to, spoilers. This is not a bad thing. It means Patry Francis's novel is so carefully put together, so painstakingly plotted, that it will satisfy those purists for whom reading means active sleuthing. Or passive readers like me who just like to be entertained. Or perhaps even those who wish Sue Grafton would get serious and write a murder mystery contemplating suburban women's relationships.

Jeanne Cross, a superficially perfect but dull mother and wife, forms an intense, unlikely friendship with Ali Mather, the beautiful, vibrant, scandalous high school music teacher. Despite her initial misgivings over Ali's many and open extra-marital affairs -- and her husband's disapproval -- Jeanne soon succumbs to Ali's magnetic personality. Wine-soaked book chats and walks by the lake ensue. Doesn't it sound dreamy? Don't we all wish that a really interesting person would suddenly take a special interest in us, and write about us in a diary like Ali's?

Unfortunately, the dream evaporates into stark, harsh reality when Ali is murdered in her own home, her diary goes missing, and the main suspect turns out to be Jeanne's teenage son, Jamie. After this point, nasty revelations begin to erupt, and -- trite but true -- I doubt anyone will be able to put the book down until the mystery is cleared. You've been warned.

I wish I could write more about the plot, but, again, I cannot. Though I can let you know how much I enjoyed Ali's consistent portrayal as gorgeous and luminous and in her late 40's, not despite her age. I also appreciated how much empathy Ms. Francis demonstrated towards her characters, including Jamie with his teenage bravado and bewilderment, and Ali's beleaguered but faithful husband George.

If you enjoy a good gossip purely because you crave insights into others' minds, hearts, and actions, you will enjoy the twists, turns, people, and surprises in The Liar's Diary.

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Flirting in Cars: A MotherTalk Review Cars: A (Positive; I Swear) MotherTalk Review

My first reaction to the cover of Alisa Kwitney's sneakily clever Flirting in Cars was, "What the f***? This is a fricking Chick Lit Book! They told me it was about a mom dealing with her kid's learning disability! I can't believe I agreed to read a book that I would be ashamed to be seen with in public!"

Books are one of my lifelines, and it pains me to waste time on crappy or frivolous stories. As a result of wanting two kids, ending up with three, and then having one diagnosed with autism, I have found myself in a grueling parenting netherworld whose soundtrack is mostly the soft dribbling of my brain leaking out of my ears. I love my family, but I live a less-than-interesting life. While I will occasionally search for inspiration in the stories of special needs parents who raise hell and/or find peace, I do not otherwise care to read about contemporary women whose lives are compelling enough to spawn a novel. Especially a life that can be summed up with a pair of red heels*:

Thankfully Ms. Kwitney has given us a smart book in a silly book's cover.

Flirting in Cars' Zoë Goren is not a chick lit heroine. She is a single parent in her forties; she is intelligent, centered, and refreshingly neurosis-free. She speaks several languages and is an established journalist. She is an independent woman who likes but doesn't moon over men. She isn't waifish, and she isn't worried about it; in fact she is extremely comfortable with both her body and her sexuality. She could care less about shopping or shoes. (If she lived in my area, I would probably follow her around and ask if we could be friends.)

Not to say that Zoë doesn't have worries. Her fractured relationship with her parents is a source of pain. She has to move out of her beloved Manhattan so that her dyslexic daughter Maya can attend a school that helps learning disabled children gain classroom confidence and skills. Also, Zoë both can't and won't drive, which is a problem in her new rural home (hence the title, sort of -- Zoë has to take driving lessons, and finds herself getting involved with Mack, the local who offers them).

Much of the story focuses on Zoë's adjustments to rural life, and her relationship with Mack; there is some not-so-subtle lampooning of both corrupt rural politicians and rich "weekenders." But Ms. Kwitney also contemplates the mindsets of soldiers and veterans, the workings of and our interactions with automobiles, Iraqi culture, environmental issues, the politics of national vs. local businesses, and religion. All of which I enjoyed, and which helped me ignore that awful cover.

I was disappointed by how little of the book actually focused on Maya's dyslexia, or Zoë's somewhat hands-off manner of dealing with it. However the small sections that did describe Maya and her school treated the subjects of learning disabilities frankly, in a sympathetic manner that I hope enlightens both the parents in the book and its readers.

Those who go fishing in the pink section of the bookstore will find Flirting in Cars breezy enough to carry them away to the wonderful land of Women Having Hot, Well-Written Sex With Men Who May Actually Deserve Them. I hope those readers don't mind learning quite a bit about contemporary politics, environmental issues, and special education along the way.

*These shoes may actually be called mules.

This review sponsored by MotherTalk.

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Becoming Jane

As I have mentioned too many times before, I've had a stressful stretch what with the moving and the tandem potty training and my autistic son frequently mistaking me for a punching bag. At the moment, even things that would usually make me happy just make me grumpy: the latest Harry Potter movie and book twin treats left me more irritated than sated.

But you know what always makes my heart grow three sizes? A nice dose of righteous indignation. And the new fictionalized Jane Austen biopic, Becoming Jane, has oh-so-many sweet jolts of it. The opportunities for genteel outrage shouldn't surprise any Austen fan -- we are smart romantics with feminist underpinnings, after all, and Austen wrote primarily about the friction between those people who get us, and those people who definitely do not. But it was lovely to be able to experience new Austen-generated irate pleasures without having to sit through yet another filmed version of her novels.

Oh, the carefully worded slights to our smart, kind Jane! Oh, her sharply courteous retorts! No one in her world understands her, except her father and the man she can't have! It's soooooo unfaaaair! And so utterly enjoyable.

Another salve for my bitter, oozing little soul is a well-made period piece, especially one that takes place within the familiar framework of Austenland. Becoming Jane has the costumes, the witty dialogue, the stately homes, the lush country scenery. Though there were a few behaviors that would have been out of place in an Austen story -- such as how Jane's father attempts to disprove her mother's statement that he is nowhere close to perfection -- they felt right for a story about "real" people, Regency-era or contemporary. I sank into the movie, I connected with the characters, I suspended my disbelief, and reached that that Nirvana-like state so craved by overstressed parents: Pure Escapism.

I also got a vicarious thrill from the mad, passionate, doomed romance of Jane and her Mr. Lefroy. I am someone who almost fell in with a Wickham but had the good luck (and the hunting instincts) to end up with a Darcy, and I dearly remember the heady adrenaline rush of my romances in their earliest days. Silly, reckless, young lovers drowning in each other's everything; how I envy them. How I appreciate a movie that can portray them well, and empathetically, without getting soggy.

My only caveat would be that Anne Hathaway's startling beauty distracts from a movie in which the sets, actors, and staging are mostly naturalistic. I am guessing that, as with the filmed version of My Fair Lady, Becoming Jane's producers wanted a bankable star. But Audrey Hepburn blended into her movie's glitzy styling, costuming, and set design; she became Eliza Doolittle, whereas Ms. Hathaway is far glossier than anything else in her film. In her well-made, enjoyable film that should please anyone who has ever wanted more Austen than the author's scant six novels provide.

For more MotherTalk reviews on Becoming Jane, visit www.mother-talk.com.