One problem with seafood.

Eating it and getting all that mercury messes  your brain up.  Then you don’t realize what a dicky thing it  is to microwave a  bushel of fish for lunch at work and stink up the whole office suite.  Ugh.

Took my daughter to vote yesterday.

The election judge gave her an I VOTED sticker also.  This is Maryland.  There aren’t many people to vote for who are not moderate Democrats, which is to say, full of shit.  For Governor, I didn’t vote for either of those smug bastards.  How different is Maryland, really, since the last governor?  Or the one before him?  We have higher taxes and a new license plate.  But.  Still.  I stood there and knew that it really didn’t make much of a damned difference which frowning/smiling smartass I voted for.

It didn’t make a goddam difference because voting is the most that the majority of us do.

The Big Boys have us so lulled that we think that voting matters, and then we demonize people who don’t vote.  I know; I’ve done it, probably on this very blog.  Voting for one crook over another isn’t going to change one damned thing when a person doesn’t do anything else. Do we think laws are doing to save young men from lives in crime and sloth?  Or the Boy Scouts and other youth groups?  Is a piddly fine for driving with your cell phone going to stop people from the general assholery to which they are accustomed?  (Shit, I don’t know what will.)  Nothing the current government can do (much less anything they will do) is going to save any of us.  I can almost see where those teaparty nutjobs are coming from.  But, then again, morons from Alaska and Glenn Dickhead aren’t the only alternative to Washington inertia.  And, well, we all know where a lot of the teaparty rage comes from.  You know.

And we don’t even have a radical left anymore to fight the teaparty nuts.  “Everyone calm down.  Let’s work together!”  or, as Obama might put it, “I want social change, but I don’t wanna piss anyone off to get it!” The Civil War is what happens when there’s huge social change.  Lynching in the South.  Riots in the 1960s.  The obnoxious riots from the teaparty nuts are not a reaction to anything real or even threatening.  Not enough people are burning shit or really going nuts.  Yelling and signs don’t count.  This could mean that we’re all asleep (like the bumper sticker says).  But I think it’s more indicative that nothing is changing.  And I feel  like a fool for thinking, two years ago, that a lot was going to  happen.  In my (and countless others’) defense, after eight years of Bush, we were right to hope.  But we were wrong to channel our hope into campaign buttons and a vote and to stop there.  Obama told us that back then.  We sat around and waited for the magic new President to save us from the demons of the Republican party who are, you know, so different from the crooks in our own party, right?

Moderation happens when competing extremes can only work together through compromise.  It happens when neither side can win and when there’s no alternative.  When moderates and right-wing nuts fight, where would that compromise go?  A little right?  Or, since few so-called “liberals” really give a shit anyway, it might go largely right, no?

Watching people speed past kids, talking on their cell phones; learning about businesses screwing over my friends who work for them; experiencing first-hand what happens in an insurance state where no one wants to pay for you getting run over by a car; — In all this, I want more government, or, at least, more regulation.  I always say that it’s because people are assholes that we need laws.

But  our government doesn’t work.  Can any?  I thought anarchists were naive because they seemed to believe in some inherent goodness in people that I just don’t see.  But maybe they see an inherent evil in governments and power that I ignored?  Or, perhaps, I was a fool to see the lack of goodness in ordinary people left to rule themselves and also the terrible lack of goodness in people elected to and paid to lead us.

My wife chided me for voting for the Green Party candidate for governor.  She said that I threw my vote away. But did I throw it away more — or less — than someone who stepped in line behind their party (whichever it is) and hit D or R whenever asked?

Water in the bathroom?

Walked into one of the two one-holer bathrooms in the “suite” in which I work this morning, to a huge puddle.  The sink wasn’t full.  The toilet wasn’t full.  The designers put the drain hole in the middle of the floor, despite the floor’s constant slant to the door.  There was a room-wide puddle, not deep enough to float the trashcan.  Ick.  At least the water looked clean.  I thought I’d do someone a solid and try to clean it up.  But, for one, there weren’t enough paper towels (I tried).  For another thing, well, something made it wet, and someone who knew what they were doing had to look at it.

Probably the ogre of a security guard who spends a half-hour in there sometimes and comes out in different cloths and with a shameful look on his face.  He’s creepy.  He’ll ride the elevator with you (and only you) up six floors and not say a word, even when you talk to him.  I’ve taken to not speaking to him, either, only nodding in his direction.  The other guards (save another creepy bathroom stalker) are nice, gregarious and, again, nice.  I still nod at this big bugger, though.

Because, damn, my parents raised me better than to ignore people.

Yes, I can use a damned drill.


So.  My friend was teaching carpentry to some youngins last night.  I helped carry his tools to his van afterward.  I was carrying the drill, among other things.  I got shit from two people, one of whom I actually like a lot and one of whom I more or less tolerate because he makes it obvious that he only tolerates me also.

(Guy I like) “Do you know how to use that thing?”

(Me) “What, this drill?  Yes, I can use a drill.”

(Guy I tolerate, to my friend’s lady) “You can probably use that better than him.”

(Guy I like) “You really know how to use that?”

(Me) “Yes!  I lived far away from everyone I know for five years.  I can use a damned drill.”

This manhood challenging thing is not exactly rare.  I’ve been guilty of throwing around how hairy I am, how well I can hold my liquor, how quickly I can grow a beard and at my willingness to sport one.  But this had less to do with that and more to do with my education.  I already got teased a few times this week, once last night.  I fully realize that this is probably from a little resentment, a good bit of insecurity.  Or, it could be that people really think less of me for having gotten a PhD.  To anyone like that, well, fuck them.  I don’t have to apologize for my education, and I won’t.  Or maybe it’s funny to tease someone about their accomplishments?  I don’t know.  I don’t think that’s funny.

So, yes, I might be “Doctor Jackass,” etc.  But, I’m still DOCTOR.  I did fucking earn it, after all.

I joked with my wife that I should develop more of a swagger last night.  While I don’t eat meat, and I do tend to wear sandals a lot, I refuse to admit defeat at even standard manliness.  The fact is that I know my way around tools, basic household repair, yardwork, outdoor skills, etc.  I’ve taught outdoor skills to some of these guys’ kids because, deep-down, they must know that I know what I’m doing.  Still, I let people give me shit for being less of a man because of my education on a regular basis; I let them.  Why?  I don’t know.  Maybe I know it’s coming from other people’s insecurity, and I don’t want to kick them while they’re down.  I’m better than that.  I am not small enough of a person to give anyone shit every time I see them, just to do it, whenever I had an audience in front of which to do it.

And, truly, what does that say about my possible manliness?

Let’s take a step back, though.  Maybe it has nothing to do with manliness but with some kind of competence.  Maybe some middle-aged men I know think less of me for their perception that I don’t have any skills?  But wait.  I can work with tools (fixing bikes isn’t easy if you can’t!), never wake up first at camp without making two pots of coffee, get called on to teach outdoor skills to young men regularly.  I can paint/draw a little.  I can garden.  I can cook.  I am king of dirty limericks.  I’m good with kids.  I play two instruments.  I can, at least academically, write clearly.  I can read any book on any subject and understand it (have ya read Hegel?).

So.  What should I do?  Respond with, “Yes, I can use a fucking drill.  Can you fix bikes?  Can you make fajitas that make people swoon?  Do a thousand people read what you’ve posted on the internet everyday (not this blog — the other one)?  Can you fucking read Hegel?  Write a dissertation?  Pass the exams I’ve passed?  I can do the things you can do; can you do the things I can do?!”

But then I would be the asshole. I’m not going to pretend that I think less of people for their skills, interests or accomplishments. If people think less of me, they are little people and, well, assholes. If it’s insecurity, well, I don’t know. I think that might still be a little jerky. And, well (again), isn’t a traditional mark of manhood being able to deal with our feelings ourselves? If people give me shit about my PhD because they’re insecure (thereby making their petty feelings my problem), while I don’t tease people because of my own insecurites — well, doesn’t that make me the manly one?

But I don’t want to brag.

Eat those feet.

Charlotte is eating her feet, looking at me, squealing and humming.  She also responds to her name all the time, at only 4 months.

Also, Amazon took my camera back, after the complete failure of Canon’s repair service to right my camera or their snarky customer service to right the situation.  Amazon even footed the bill for shipping.  I’m totally typing up the complete story for people who Google “Canon customer service” to find. To top if it, the last message I got from them wasn’t even polite, after I never verged from good manners myself.

I have refrained from telling the story in detail, in the hopes that they might fix the situation.  Fuck that.  Remind me to never buy a Canon ever again.

I wish the worst for this week’s friends.

This week, wherein I am only supposed to work half-time, has been a bitch.  Yes.  A bitch.  I wish it ill.  Plenty of ill-deserved criticism at work, including being talked down to, taken advantage of and other bullshit I don’t need and don’t get paid enough to take.  Oh, and I was still working tonight, when I wasn’t even supposed to be working today.  Fun!

And, well, this is kind of funny.  But I’m sleep-deprived enough to actually be hallucinating a little a few times a day.  I see things that aren’t there and hear things that aren’t happening.  This is getting a little scary.

“I know you don’t wanna hear it.”

“This jerkass thing I am going to say.  I know you don’t wanna hear it.  And I know I have no business saying it.  I think I’m vaguely aware that I’m very stupid also, or, at least, that you’ve got [quite fucking literally] 50 IQ points on me.  Well,  I know you don’t wanna hear it.  But I’m going to say it.”

Why are such people always the ones you are stuck tip-toeing around, ones you can’t just tell to fuck off?

How are you? Good, how are you?

I hate when you’re behind someone in  line at the cafe’ and the person behind the counter says, “Hi, how are you?” and then the person to whom he or she is speaking ignores the question and says, “Ah wunta lahtay wiff noh fohm.” (In perfect Baltimorese, of course.)  I could write a few long posts on people’s selfishness and condescension when there’s a counter between two people (both sides’ jerkery, that is).  What’s not as bad, but still annoying, is when someone asks how another person is doing, and he or she just answers the question and doesn’t return it. “How are you this morning?” “Fine. Where are those folders I asked for?”

In an attempt to make everyone think I’m nice (and perhaps to make myself nicer in the process), I always answer and always return.  Call and response style.  And yesterday, I’m pretty sure that someone with whom I work made fun of me for it. I fully realize that “well” is the correct response, not “good.”  But we don’t speak in proper English, do we? And they weren’t making fun of my responding with “Good,” but with the fact that my consistent response to, “Hi, John[ny]. How are you?” is, “Good. How are you?”  I mean, if I was being implicitly accused of being formulaic and insincere for responding to the same question in the same way, I could certainly charge the same person with asking the same question.  If my static response is insincere, what would that say about the static initial question?

And let’s not get started on the sheer stupidity involved in getting annoyed at a constant response to a constant stimulus. Let’s not get started. (I do that too much to get started getting mad at other people for it.  Heh heh heh.)

Paternity jokes.

In case anyone was wondering, joking with someone that his daughter looks like his brothers is not very funny, if you’re imply something else. Commenting that she looks like men in her father’s family is one thing. Of course she looks like my brothers and I and our father.  But for someone to joke that one of your brothers actually fucked your wife and made your daughter –  Well…

Things for today.


Things that are funny today:

My neighbor who was blaring Matchbox 20′s song out the window this morning, over and over and over again.  This is funny because I thought of, “I want to push you down — down the stairs!” and giggled.  Maybe it was a break-up song.  I don’t know.  But if that song reminds you of a person with whom you’ve been in a relationship, well, maybe you’re better off broken up.  There.

When people who think entirely too much of themselves have egg on face.  This is especially funny when the egg is on their face because they didn’t listen to you when you answered their question that they asked while you were on the phone (!) and obviously busy. (What’s less funny is when they seem to want to blame you for this bad information, like you did it on purpose.)

How my daughter laughed her little ass off last night when I was changing her and doing funny voices.

All the cussing I did this morning trying to get my office window propped open, and especially when our archivist turned out to be right behind me right then.

Things that are NOT funny today:

Getting “advice” from someone more clueless than you are.  It’s no fun when someone who never puts forth much effort jumps on you for a perceived and very temporary lack of effort.  Especially not when said person has their head further up their ass than you do yourself and has much less wisdom — which is to say very far and none at all.  Sheeeet, don’t we all know like five people like this?

The upcoming heatwave.

People who are bad listeners.  Bad listening isn’t a bad habit.  It’s a manifestation of a character flaw, i.e., being selfish and/or self-absorbed.  I mean, come one.  Learn to be self-absorbed and a good listener like those of us in the know.  (Geez!)  If you read this blog, you know that I hate bad listeners and refuse to get over it.

People who walk into rooms already running their mouths, assuming that nothing’s going on and that everyone wants to hear about their aches, their breakfast and their cat/dog/car.

Things which are happening today:

Me sitting at work, when I’d rather enjoy the spell of gorgeous weather taking my daughter for a walk or sitting outside with my pals enjoying coffee and running from spiders or having a beer with my parents on their deck or just watching a movie with my wife.

My boss is back, but I only have six weeks left on my contract and will be jobless by mid-August.

My least favorite month has started.

I will make a list and post it on the internet.

What’s more fun than lectures on vaccinations…

….from people who haven’t done a lick of research, who don’t even have any kids and who just feel a certain way about it?

Oh, I don’t know — maybe having to constantly hand-hold people on the same sinking boat you’re on?  I’m tired of being everyone’s flippin therapist.  I repeat: If you’re a good listener, be careful who you let find out.

I need to make people who like to vent to me stop talking down to me, especially when I’m smarter and more “with it” than they are.  The next person on whom I’ve got 30 IQ points who calls me “Sweetheart” is getting poop in their shoes.  Mine.

No, it’s not you.

Spill, Baby, Spill!


Riding the bus the other morning, I joked that Michael Moore is probably working on one of his signature documentaries about BP’s infuckingsane oil spill, our country’s dependence on oil and how certain political factions and certain oil companies (perhaps the industry itself) seem to be so close as to require lube and common-law legal sanction (what?).  I suggested that he must be calling it Spill, Baby, Spill! after the mindless and heartless chant among, well, morons two years ago.

I don’t recall what I’d consider sufficient fanfare when BP closed it’s alternative energy HQ last year, proving that anything “beyond petroleum” must mean either money or, how I’d like to refer to them, as BEYOND THE PIPELINE (and forgive me if greater minds have already made this pun).  By insufficient fanfare, I mean that even people I know without their heads completely up their collective butt[s] (which is to say only half, which is the best that most of us achieve) didn’t know about it.

Anyway, I’m hoping that Michael Moore checks WordPress tags because, if he’s not going to make a film with this title, he should.  Please do.  I’m interested in what choice of music we could look forward to and hearing certain political factions blubber when they have to answer questions they’re not prepared for, when they’re not chanting like Nazi’s or war protesters who don’t really believe what they’re saying.

I know I’m not the only one who’s disappointed in what appears to be a lack of action from President Obama.  What more can he do?  Well, I want to see a video going around YouTube featuring text that runs something like this.

Now I’m calling on all Americans to not only boycott BP [pause] but also to try and [pause] live a little differently [pause] because this oil spill is the fault of BP, yes [pause] we know that.  We know that this company is run by greedy white men who are backed by greedy white politicians.  [pause]  But do you know who really caused this oil spill, America?

[really big pause]

You did.

[big pause]

You brought this on us, you selfish, lazy motherfuckers.  [pause]  Your insistence on driving yourselves all over the place in your big fucking cars and trucks and SUVs.  [pause]  You short-sighted pieces of shit who complain that you “need” your fucking cars instead of using your imaginations and arranging your life, your location, your activities a little differently.  [pause]  Because when you say that you “need” your cars, you’re saying that you are unwilling to change anything about your life but instead insist that the oil industry, the auto industry, the basics of chemistry and physics through which you are killing our motherfucking planet –  [pause]  You’re insisting that these things all change so that you don’t have to.  [pause]  That, or you’re so fucking stupid and sheepish that you’re willing to believe that climate change is not real, that our fat fucking lazy stupid asses aren’t killing the planet on which we live.  [pause]  In which case, well, goddam.  What good are ya?  Reason won’t get at ya.

[pause]

Needing cheap oil is needing something we can’t always have.  Needing your car to live is not something you can always do.

[pause]

And the rest of you non-car-owning, self-righteous fucking elitists (yes, Johnny, I’m talking to you in Baltimore), think of all the plastic you use, all the gas it takes to get your hemp wallet to you in the UPS truck.  [pause]  You couldn’t live the way you live without cars, either, you goddam hippies.

[big pause]

So, my fellow Americans.  [pause]  Blame yourselves for this bullshit.  But still [pause], don’t fucking buy gas from BP with which to,  you know [pause], drive your fat asses around.

[big pause]

Thank you, and goodnight.

I want to hear nothing but family values types shouting for his impeachment for his angry and violent speech at people who might actually deserve pipes pumping oil into various of their orifices but who, in the land of the free, only get yelled at a lot by the President, himself a mighty speech-maker.  Then I will be happy.

Because I am living proof that, if you can’t actually do anything (or are unwilling to), you can just rant and cuss.  And you will feel better.

Somewhat shameful beginning of fatherhood.


It’s no secret that I write more when I’m sad, mad or stressed out. It follows that those are the times that I blog more, too. But it does seem that all of my blogging and journal writing over the last five weeks or so is negative, even angry. I have been blissed out over being a father, over watching my wife become a mother and over cuddling, playing and walking with my adorable daughter.

But I’ve also spent a lot of time being really, genuinely, deeply pissed off. A shortened list:

1) People who put their issues over what is best for our child, even over what’s best for us as parents and as individuals. This started mere hours after Charlotte was born when someone thought their own issues were more important than, you know, the birth of a child. And our parenting instincts reared themselves in a flash, showing us both to be not only intensely protective of our daughter, but also violently so — if words and feelings can be violent in their own way (which I think is so).

2) People who feel entitled to our daughter. This includes demanding that we let whoever wants to hold her do so whenever and for as long as people want, despite not contributing to her welfare in any way (that is, people who just want to hold babies and think that they are entitled to it, like babies are fashion accessories to get your picture taken with and uploaded to Facebook); expecting that we not only arrange our schedule around when they demand a visit but also that we should arrange the needs and comfort of a newborn to their availability; people who, for some reason, think they deserve our time and attention when we have a newborn who actually does deserve it and need it.

3) People judging our parenting, whether they’ve done it before or not. This has ranged from two people exchanging “knowing” looks when we said that Charlotte does not like her formula heated up, to people telling us what to do, to people assuming they know our kid better than we do — even after spending five minutes with her. All kids are different, and it’s insulting to assume that anyone knows our kid better than we do. She likes some weird stuff, and some things that would drive a lot of kids crazy don’t bother her one lick. She’s also moving very quickly, in some ways, developmentally.

4) People not thinking. This includes being more rough than we like, blowing cigarette smoke, being too loud, coming to our home and getting our week-old daughter sick, etc. I’m sure this is a universal symptom of parenthood. But so is watching your child get sick, falling down, moving out — and knowing that you’ll miss a good chunk of his or her life because you’ll be dead. I don’t like those, either. Who does?

The worst is the effect it has on me as a father and as an overly-reflective person in general. I see unwelcome and unfounded criticisms and questioning of our parenting as a personal attack on my intelligence and worldly wisdom. I want to smack people who want us to arrange our child’s life around their schedule and availability and then get mad and passive-aggressive when we don’t (because we can’t). I walk around in the grocery store with our sweet little baby strapped on, plotting with my wife how to avoid situations that just make us mad, when I should be enjoying Charlotte, or, at least, getting the shopping over with so we can go play. I get mad when people do things I don’t like and don’t think are good for my daughter, and then I get mad at them for the fact that I don’t have the stones to set people straight unless I’m closely related to them. I get mad when people don’t respect our (really mine – everyone respects mothers’ “authority” more than fathers’ in my experience) position as The Boss[es] because we’re new parents, but I don’t really do anything about it other than get mad – and then I get mad about that.

But I have to get over it. Some of this is just a case of jerks who have found new ways to be bungholes and a general state of people being lazy and selfish (not that I’m immune, certainly). Some is just new. I’m sure that people are not going to stop judging and criticizing our parenting anytime soon, and we’re upset about it because it’s so new. Sheesh, wait until she grows up an unbaptized vegetarian riding the bus! We need and I need to assert our authority when people do things we don’t like or demand things they have no right to. People are always going to offer her things we don’t think are good for her, teach her things we want to teach her ourselves or don’t want her taught, bring things (smoke, judgments, sickness) around her despite our best efforts. I suppose that, if I want people to remember that we are in charge, they need to reminded it when they over-step themselves.

One thing we try to judge things by is what effect this or that will have on Charlotte. Someone is demanding our time. What have they done/will they do to benefit Charlotte?

My parents do a lot for us and a lot for Charlotte (Hi, Grandma!), and she already looks at them differently than she does other people. They have an open invitation to visit whenever they want, and I’m glad that they take us up on it regularly. On the other hand, someone who never expressed interest in Mama being pregnant, who never called or emailed or anything – well, we’re not going to break ourselves arranging our lives around a visit with people who don’t care about Charlotte but are just curious or bored. No one is entitled to Charlotte in any way, not even her parents. Someone demands our time as individuals (as opposed to as parents). That takes away from time with Charlotte, and I don’t know anyone I like that much. My patience is reserved for my child who can only express herself by crying and screaming and flailing her limbs.

When we relate everything back to Charlotte, the right course of action or thought is clear. What makes us better parents and what benefits Charlotte wins. Period. Her parents having the final say without being subject to constant judgment, without thoughtless people making demands on their time, without having grudges held against them because we don’t schedule our child’s life and needs around their free time – these are good for Charlotte. They win. Everything else is poo, and I know a lot more about poo since becoming a father.

Then I marvel that love can be the source of anger and frustration – and even hate – when it’s protective love for a child. It seems that loving my child intensely precludes loving certain people and things that are bad for her or bad for her parents in a way that affects her.

In the end, the being who makes all of this mean anything comes to the front again, and I just sit and stare at my daughter and feel like a sillybutt for letting myself get upset over such diddlypoop.

And sometimes, she does this.


She cries.  Her tear ducts work now; so it’s terrible to see.  Especially if it’s because you’re administering nose drops and sucking out boogies with an aspirator because some jackass knowingly came to visit with a cold.  And if you’re at the ER when she’s less than two weeks old because she’s breathing funny because of said cold, tears are that much worse.

Three weeks old, and we have a revenge list! (kidding)

Less than infinite patience.

I have to say this.  Life has been little else but pure joy since last Friday, when Charlotte was born.  Life would be nothing but pure joy if dingdongs and poopyheads would do a few things for me/us:

1) Keep their issues to themselves.

2) Keep their issues to themselves.

3) Stop demanding things of either of us.  Unless you live under a rock, you know that new parents don’t sleep, don’t have any time and are more than a little consumed with taking care of and admiring their new child.

4) Respect our decisions.

I’ve found that a lot of the same people who make a show of sympathy, empathy and understanding also get pissed when there is no patience and no “consideration” left for them.  My immediate family is not, thankfully, pulling any of this crap.  The opposite, actually.  But my immediate family is pretty small, and the slew of other people that demand attention for themselves in favor of my newborn child is a larger list of people.  Passive-aggressiveness over perceived slights at the lack of returned phone calls, meet-ups, emails, etc.?  Seriously?

Fortunately, we have — or, at least, I have — resolved to just not care about other people’s feelings right now.  Easier said than done, I know.  But on nights like tonight, where the poop’s flying, and Charlotte’s not sleeping, and I find myself with less patience left for her because of some fartpooper who’s being passive-aggressive because our priority has been our child, well, that makes it easier.

I don’t think I’m going to make it to the end of the month without snapping at someone for being a jerk.

Softening up on angry parenting before Baby gets here.

Okay, so the whole, “You smoke; you can’t hold Baby,” thing might be over.  I think.  Not sure.  But it’s up to Mama.  It’s not up to anyone who feels entitled to hold someone else’s kid.  My brother, for instance, smokes outside only and not often.  Unless he just came in from smoking, he gets to hold Baby, according to Mama and I.  If you smoke in your house or car (especially both), Mama’s foot is still down.  Feel free to try to fight with her if you are crazy enough to try.  I’m not.

I’m still reserving some patience for people who suggest meat for an infant.  Because, well, if someone thinks a six-month old should eat a steak, well, that’s so stupid that I’m not going to lose my patience.  Same with suggesting that meat-based diets are miraculously healthier than non-meat-based diets.  Sure, I know some meat-eaters (many, in fact) who eat healthier than some vegetarians I’ve known.  But that had more to do with dumbass vegetarians than meat being inherently good for you.

I shouldn’t say it, but people have been quiet about the no car thing.  Good.  Now that I’ve said it, this silence is going to stop, and we’ll have to start citing statistics to show that putting a kid into a car is what’s dangerous, if you wanna, you know, get scientific and factual about it and all.

We also picked a bouncy chair in very pink pink pink.  But, in our defense, the others were ugly.  The rest of her room could pretty much work for any human being, regardless of gender.  It’s that awesome.

But, maybe we’re not softening up as much as I think.  I think resoluteness feels more natural now, and I don’t feel like we’re being stern unnecessarily.

Making room for Baby.


I’ve discovered, somewhat the hard way, that making room for a child requires much more than buying a crib and diapers.

You have to pull out your furniture and clean under there.   You have to pay attention to your air quality.  You have to put away choking hazards, plug up electric sockets, bolt things to walls and put away matches.  You have to get rid of as much as you can (if you’re a semi-nomadic apartment dweller), think hard about what you bring into your home and measure and have decent abstract thinking abilities regarding space, color and light.  You have to be able to use basic tools, a paintbrush, a vacuum cleaner and a caulk gun.  You have to be good at keeping up on dishes, laundry and shopping.

And you have to clear away ISSUES.  Your issues.  Your [immediate and extended] family’s issues.  Your friends’ and comrades’ issues.  “Society’s” issues.

I’ve probably already beaten this dead horse, but we (and especially I) are (am) cleaning out the belfries of our (my) own minds and hearts to make room for Baby there.  I’m always happy to listen to people’s problems and to help out by sharing a beer/coffee or just taking a walk.  I don’t mean to repeat my, “You have issues?  I have a kid.  I don’t have the time for you anymore.”  I think that’s been said enough to make me sound cold and also has been said more than I really actually mean it.

I’m referring now to the fact that we have to protect our child from screwed-up people.  Not violent people or something extreme like that.  Stubbornness, thoughtlessness, ressentiment, spite, etc.  I mean that we have to protect Baby from what other people’s issues cause.

It’s — relatively – easy to directly protect Baby from some of these issues, certainly.  Take a stubborn and spiteful family member or family friend.  It’s simple.  He or she doesn’t get to hang out with Baby.  It’s not Baby’s fault that an individual is an asshole.  It’s the asshole’s fault.  So, the asshole deserves to suffer for the asshole’s own issues (if someone has to suffer for them), if the alternative is that our Baby suffer.  Simple.  Or maybe I buy into existentialist notions of human freedom too deeply and blame people too much for issues that are the result of their societal milieu or their upbringing — or genuine mental illness.

But the problem is that these kinds of issues have an effect on us, as parents, as a married couple and as individuals.  It’s easy to keep Baby away from spiteful or selfish people, but this spite and selfishness gets brought into our home in the effects it has on Mommy and Daddy.  We might come home in a bad mood.  We might fight with each other.  We might teach Baby about rage or revenge without intending to.  If I am going to blame assholes for being assholes (and I do), I have to blame myself (and Mama) for how I (we) react to assholes.

And this is tricky.  Do I follow my revenge instinct?  Or do I attempt to emulate Jesus or the Buddha or another figure who would counsel peace and love?  Do I lie to Baby about assholes?  (“No, s/he is not a mean person.  S/he just had a bad family life and takes the misery it caused out on everyone in the world.  There are no mean or bad people.”)  I’d certainly like Baby to understand that there are, in fact, terrible people out there.  There are a couple of them on my own side of the family, for sure.  But I’d like her to have an optimism about people that I do not have and wish that I did.  Or is that realistic at all?

I feel like what we have to “make room” for is a balance between forgiveness and protection.  Just enough forgiveness to not hate someone, but protection enough to keep mean people and their issues away from Baby.  Or, since this is probably not possible all of the time, at least to minimize the effect other people’s assholery will have on us.  Or something.

Mama wrote her dissertation on love, and I on hate.  Maybe we’ll strike a balance by accident, almost naturally?