I am a hopeless magazine junkie. I do read lengthier literature, but I am not at all above diving into virtually any magazine and pouring through it cover to cover, often in one sitting. I love the combination and juxtaposition of the text and the graphics; it almost (almost) makes me understand how people can love comic books. I have subscribed to many magazines throughout my life and have eagerly anticipated the arrival of each crisp new issue in my mailbox, but only a few collections have earned a spot on my bookshelf, permanently safe from the recycle bin.
Wondertime was one of these publications. Like many of my favorite delicacies in life, my sister introduced it to me. It was a parenting magazine, but, with all due respect to all other parenting magazines, it was safely in a class all its own. First of all, its pages were larger and slightly more square than a typical magazine—kind of like some fancy photography journal. And said pages were in a matte finish. Let me repeat: a matte finish. Sigh. My eyes just love a matte finish. My fingertips just love a matte finish. Matte is all about understated sophistication, and if I can be truthful for a moment, I secretly, vainly hope that people describe me in the same way: “Oh Kimberlee…she’s all about understated sophistication.”
But beyond those gorgeous pages, the heart and philosophy of Wondertime was true to its apt name: articles, featurettes, and gallery-worthy photography celebrating the magical, wonder-filled years of childhood. It wasn’t so much a “how to” magazine like most other parenting magazines, repeatedly covering ear-infections, tantrums, and the on-going immunization debate. Wondertime was more of a “get to” magazine as in, “Well isn’t it just the bees-knees that I ‘get to’ be a parent?!” Each issue was packed cover to cover with information that was genuinely fresh and interesting, even to research-obsessed parents like myself, and the overall approach was decidedly get-on-your-knees-and-look-a-child-in-her-eyes rather than affectionately-pat-her-on-the-head.
Alas, as you have undoubtedly deduced by the past-tense verbs, Wondertime is no longer in publication. I have no idea why. I sang its praises to everyone I know, and I am really loud. There wasn’t even any warning or big going-away fanfare; I happened to notice one day that I hadn’t received any new issues in awhile and then put two and two together that the flimsy, sensory-assaulting “family” magazine that had been randomly showing up in my mailbox was in fact its obscenely sub-standard replacement. It was like trying to pass off polyester for cashmere, skim milk for cream, flat-leaf parsley for cilantro; it simply can’t be done. Sure enough, March 2009 was its final issue. I was, and continue to be, genuinely disappointed.
I am under no delusion that I can simply pick up where Wondertime left off. I have nowhere near the artistic skill or experience to even attempt it, and I’m pretty sure that even using the same name would be illegal somehow. Nevertheless, I believe in its purpose, and I think that someone, somewhere needs to carry its torch, even if it’s more like a pocket flashlight. I adore children—even the naughty ones. I love their chubby rolls and wobbly walking and toothy grins. I love their lisps and grammatically incorrect sentences and sticky hands. I love their crocodile tears and lovies and unconditional trust in their caregivers. And I love their ceaseless curiosity and shouts of delight as they discover and learn about the world around them. Children are absolutely essential to the well-being of a grown-up’s spirit. It is a humble privilege to parent a child, care for a child, or even befriend a child.
This, then, will be a space devoted to celebrating all things directly or remotely related to children and the “wonderlust” that fills their lives and rubs off on those of us blessed enough to be around them. I anticipate lots of personal anecdotes and observations, some soap-box editorials, and perhaps even a few pieces that will demand I crack a book or two. Most will be humorous and heart-warming, I hope, but I can already feel a few weightier, more sobering topics tumbling restlessly about in my heart demanding to be discussed. Childhood is not all snuggles, kisses, and blissful exploration for all children, and their stories need to be told, too; I am a child welfare social worker, after all, and I truly can’t help myself.
You should also know that, personally, this is a bit of an “out on a limb” moment for me. I dream of being a writer someday, but until someone else is willing to hire me, I’ve decided to hire myself (the pay is measly, but I get to make my own hours and choose my own topics). These posts will make excellent practice for me, but truthfully, if no one ever reads them besides my husband and my mom, it will all still feel worth it for the joy of writing itself. Nevertheless, if someone else does stumble upon these missives, I welcome any feedback. Really, I mean that.
Enough said. Thus, I embark…
Wondertime was one of these publications. Like many of my favorite delicacies in life, my sister introduced it to me. It was a parenting magazine, but, with all due respect to all other parenting magazines, it was safely in a class all its own. First of all, its pages were larger and slightly more square than a typical magazine—kind of like some fancy photography journal. And said pages were in a matte finish. Let me repeat: a matte finish. Sigh. My eyes just love a matte finish. My fingertips just love a matte finish. Matte is all about understated sophistication, and if I can be truthful for a moment, I secretly, vainly hope that people describe me in the same way: “Oh Kimberlee…she’s all about understated sophistication.”
But beyond those gorgeous pages, the heart and philosophy of Wondertime was true to its apt name: articles, featurettes, and gallery-worthy photography celebrating the magical, wonder-filled years of childhood. It wasn’t so much a “how to” magazine like most other parenting magazines, repeatedly covering ear-infections, tantrums, and the on-going immunization debate. Wondertime was more of a “get to” magazine as in, “Well isn’t it just the bees-knees that I ‘get to’ be a parent?!” Each issue was packed cover to cover with information that was genuinely fresh and interesting, even to research-obsessed parents like myself, and the overall approach was decidedly get-on-your-knees-and-look-a-child-in-her-eyes rather than affectionately-pat-her-on-the-head.
Alas, as you have undoubtedly deduced by the past-tense verbs, Wondertime is no longer in publication. I have no idea why. I sang its praises to everyone I know, and I am really loud. There wasn’t even any warning or big going-away fanfare; I happened to notice one day that I hadn’t received any new issues in awhile and then put two and two together that the flimsy, sensory-assaulting “family” magazine that had been randomly showing up in my mailbox was in fact its obscenely sub-standard replacement. It was like trying to pass off polyester for cashmere, skim milk for cream, flat-leaf parsley for cilantro; it simply can’t be done. Sure enough, March 2009 was its final issue. I was, and continue to be, genuinely disappointed.
I am under no delusion that I can simply pick up where Wondertime left off. I have nowhere near the artistic skill or experience to even attempt it, and I’m pretty sure that even using the same name would be illegal somehow. Nevertheless, I believe in its purpose, and I think that someone, somewhere needs to carry its torch, even if it’s more like a pocket flashlight. I adore children—even the naughty ones. I love their chubby rolls and wobbly walking and toothy grins. I love their lisps and grammatically incorrect sentences and sticky hands. I love their crocodile tears and lovies and unconditional trust in their caregivers. And I love their ceaseless curiosity and shouts of delight as they discover and learn about the world around them. Children are absolutely essential to the well-being of a grown-up’s spirit. It is a humble privilege to parent a child, care for a child, or even befriend a child.
This, then, will be a space devoted to celebrating all things directly or remotely related to children and the “wonderlust” that fills their lives and rubs off on those of us blessed enough to be around them. I anticipate lots of personal anecdotes and observations, some soap-box editorials, and perhaps even a few pieces that will demand I crack a book or two. Most will be humorous and heart-warming, I hope, but I can already feel a few weightier, more sobering topics tumbling restlessly about in my heart demanding to be discussed. Childhood is not all snuggles, kisses, and blissful exploration for all children, and their stories need to be told, too; I am a child welfare social worker, after all, and I truly can’t help myself.
You should also know that, personally, this is a bit of an “out on a limb” moment for me. I dream of being a writer someday, but until someone else is willing to hire me, I’ve decided to hire myself (the pay is measly, but I get to make my own hours and choose my own topics). These posts will make excellent practice for me, but truthfully, if no one ever reads them besides my husband and my mom, it will all still feel worth it for the joy of writing itself. Nevertheless, if someone else does stumble upon these missives, I welcome any feedback. Really, I mean that.
Enough said. Thus, I embark…
What a great start to the new year Kim! I will eagerly await each installment on your new blog! Happy New Year!
ReplyDeleteBecky G.
Agreed! I've always enjoyed your emails, notes, book club blogs, etc and am happily adding you to my list of blogs to keep up on. Much luck to you on your writing adventure. But you won't need it. :-) Love you!
ReplyDeleteMerri
Love it! Keep up the great work, Kim! You have always been true sophistication as a friend and parent. Mau's sister works at Random House so if you need any hints on getting a book published, she would be a great one to talk to if you're interested. :) Happy New Year!
ReplyDelete