Year of writing 181. Anniversary.

6/30/12

Tegan and I celebrated our 7th anniversary today with a niiiiiiiiice dinner and a little drive around Ojai, our new (and old) home.  I started to think about how strange it is to have grown up with this woman, and have our lives arrange themselves constantly around our growth and each other at the same time.  We were kids when we met, literally.  Now we have kids of our own and have built this life together that I wouldn't trade for all the burritos and video games in the world.  I am seriously a lucky, lucky dude to be in the situation I find myself right now.

Except for the fact that I have had pretty awful diarrhea for the last 5 or 6 days, and I have to take myself to the bathroom about 17 times a day.  HAPPY ANNIVERSARY BABY!

Year of writing 180. Recap week 7.

6/29/12

Today for my weekly rundown of stayathome daditude, I will simply say I was doing too much.  When I was teaching in East Oakland, kids constantly told me I was "doin too much," usually after I told them to stop doing something, or after I assigned an essay.  "Awwww, Mr. G you doin' too much."  At the time I was most certainly not doin' too much.  Now, however, I am.  Here's the breakdown.  I won't even go into the rest of the week, just my Friday.

6:45 AM  Wake up, make one strawberry waffle and one blueberry waffle for Isla, she decides she wants cereal.  While pouring cereal, she eats waffles and is no longer hungry,  Feed Miles his baby yogurt, drink a sip of coffee, and go to grab cereal meant for Isla, only to find cats, both of them, drinking the milk from around my honey smacks.  Don't eat.  Change Miles, who by now has a 14 pound diaper.  Forget to put diaper in diaper pail.  Dogs eat diaper all over hallway.

7:45 AM    Drive to DAD's house with the kids, to take him to get his truck smogged.  Isla is hungry.  Give her a sticky mint from the drink holder.  Stop to get coffee because the one sip from the morning isn't cutting it, headache looms.  Grab coffee cup too hard while opening car door, thumb puncturing the styrofoam cup, coffee all over self.

8:30 AM      Drop off Isla at farm.  Yell to whoever is listening that there is a child there, please watch her.

8:45   AM  attempt to install toilet in bathroom.  Mildly successful.  Attempt to give Miles a nap.  Unsuccessful.

9:45 AM  second attempt at nap for miles.  45 minutes of lullabyes, rocking, patting, back rubbing.  payoff of 15 minutes for the nap.

10:45 AM  Isla returns with Cousin Zia.  Barbie explosion.

11:30 AM Begin work on clogged drain in guest bathroom shower.  Realize it is clogged with 7 years of unknown people's bodily fluids trapped in Lime like some kind of archaeologists nightmare.  Chip away at it with an old coathanger. Jury rig a hose with a rag & plastic bag and blast that shit back to whatever unholy planet it came from.  Feel disgusting and triumphant simultaneously.

12:00 PM  Go get a burrito.  Order extra salsa plus one Habanero salsa.  Forget which was which and douse the first bite with entire cup of Habanero.  Drink whole  Horchata in 12 seconds, lick grass, google "get habanero off tongue" Find this:  http://www.wikihow.com/Cool-Burns-from-Chili-Peppers.  Drink milk, sugar water, a shot of vodka, a shot of vegetable oil, and lemon juice in that order.  Lament the next bowel movement.


1:30 PM  Attempt to remove faucet from kitchen.  Rusted in.  Attempt to break rust with hammer, screwdriver, blowtorch, atomic bomb.  All ineffectual.  Cry into sleeve. Call stepfather.
2:00   Stepfather arrives with saw.  Saws the shit out of the old faucet.  Feel inadequate and grateful.  Resolve to use saw to solve next problem.  Miles needs a nap.  Break resolution.

2:30  Play beauty shop with Cousins.  Isla insists on being called penelope while she is getting her makeup done.  I will be princess fairy ponytail man (the man being tagged on as she must have noticed the emasculation oozing from my glands).

3:00  Install new faucet in kitchen, by myself.  Feel amazing.  Realize that in the mean time Miles has had a diaper blowout and now is dragging bright orange feces across the carpet in a snail trail of horrendous proportions.  Snatch him up in time for him to grab a handful of the noxious substance leaking from his backside and smear it all over my shirt and neck.  Resist urge to retch all over him.  Clean up 1.5 miles of poop path on the living room carpet.  Pray Tegan does not have to work late.

4:30 Tegan calls and says she will be late.  Consider buying cage for children so I can nap. Decide on buddhist mindstate to let whatever happens next happen.  Everything is cool.

6:15.  Tegan arrives. Sigh.

Year of writing 179. Pride

6/28/12

My daughter jumped off the side of the pool and swam to the other side without any help. This might sound banal, but the swelling of pride I felt watching this little girl, my daughter, the once mewling little thing on the bedcovers as she furiously kicked and blew bubbles across that pool almost knocked me over.  I have a feeling I'm in for a few heartswells and torrents of tears before this journey is done.  In the mean time, I have some swimming to do with the most awesome girl in the world.

Year of Writing 178. Little kid speak.

6/27/12

I noticed today that the last vestiges of little kid speak are slowly eroding away from my daughter's vocabulary.  There have been many things Isla has said over the last few years, notably

"Banga Banga"  - this was said with a shaken fist, to indicate dissatisfaction with something. (age 2)

"Moka Loka"  - an expression loosely translated to mean "I'm being cheeky right now!" Usually delivered with an appropriate facial expression not unlike Gary Coleman whilst saying "Whatchoo talkin bout Willis?" (2)

Sw, Sp pronounced as "f"  as in "Daddy, I want to go Fwing on the Fwings."  or "Aaaaah!  A fider is climbing up the wall."  (3)

"Beout me"   Replaced "without"  as in:  "Please don't leave beout me" (retired earlier this year)

And the final (I'm sure there's more I have forgotten) little kid speak that still exists to this day. You can hear it often in the heat of Southern California:

"Daddy, blow down the windows, it's hot in here!" 

Year of writing 177.

6/26/12


Summertime is pretty awesome.  One thing I've noticed about having small children is that it jogs old old memories that have been hiding in the recesses of my brain.  I take Isla to the pool with her cousins and remember the community pool in Seattle where I did my own swimming lessons, I remember the sting of chlorine in my eyes when I tried to open them underwater, and floundering around in the shallow end, where just one tippy toe could touch the bottom.  We go to the beach, and I remember the shell that punctured my foot at 5 or 6, and having to wear 6 pairs of socks on one foot so I could walk without pain.  I see my daughter in the sprinklers and remember our big green backyard with the silly clown sprinkler that you had to try and replace his hat with water spraying everywhere, or homemade slip & slides with a trashbag during the three hot days that constitute summer in the great Northwest.  This is what we are doing during these days: generating memories.  I couldn't ask for more.

Year of writing 176. the 90's

6/25/12

I'm busy preparing for my first dj gig in Ojai with my friend Jon.  We're going by the name "Wild Stallions," and wearing light up LED shirts that react to the music.  It will be an all 90's extravaganza with new video mixing software that we copped.  I'm excited as hell.

Going through all these old videos makes me wonder a bit what happened to hip hop music since the end of the 90's.  It's super rare that I see anybody that seems to be having fun anymore. It's all so seriously gangster... where's all the Passing me by's or 93 til infinity?  It's no fun anymore.  Most of the time.

Year of writing 175.

6/24/12

Summertime

The window lets in a freeway roar,
the radio useless in this noise.
Sun slathered on my left elbow,
the oilrigs on my right working too hard in this heat.

Year of writing 174. Do it yourself furniture.

6/23/12

What the hell is it about do it yourself furniture that turns me into Mr. Hyde?  I start cussing and hitting things with my fists like my name was Chris Brown, and eventually just grab my head with both hands and roll around on the ground amidst the allen wrenches and bolts sobbing in silent agony. 

I put together a bunk bed today.  It looks nice now, but the process was an ugly, ugly thing.  Why expensive furniture comes in pieces, I don't know, but I swear if I ever get a divorce it will be because of unassembled furniture. 

On a lighter note, I found out that I can get a delicious plate of Chicken and Waffles, which is my favorite food of all time, in Ojai.  This makes the bed situation a wash. 

Year of writing 173. Week 6.

6/22/12

As a teacher, my life was often organized in 6 week segments.  Six weeks was the length of time between grading periods, so it was often for how long my units were designed.  It's also supposed to be the amount of time it takes for a kid to be introduced to a large concept, practice it, and be assessed.  That means that this must be my first report card as a stay at home dad. I give myself an A muthafreakin' plus.  Mostly because I want my mom to put it on the fridge.

Here are my learnings, positives and negatives for the 6th week of my awesome new job.

1.  One cannot be an able bodied/ able minded stay at home father missing sleep like one did in his 20's.  4 hours of sleep = Dad's an asshole.

2.  Want to never have a kid whine and scream about wanting something at a store?  Give them a quarter for chores, then have them bring their own money to the store with you and say they can buy anything they can afford.  My daughter is unwilling to part with any of her beloved quarters.  When she finally did find a doll she wanted (2.50 at a thrift store), she played the funeral march with her eyes as she handed out the ten quarters to the cashier.

3.  Playdates = Happy dad.  Not having to chase parents who look like people I would normally rather eat cactus spines than talk to just to have a playmate for my kid = Oh my god thank you.

4. I love summer activities.  Driving the swagger wagon to swimming lessons with the windows down, blasting Fight For Your Right to Party, singing at the top of my lungs with Isla?  Awesome.

year of writing 172.

6/21/12

When we lived in Richmond, there was a Target store a block and a half away.  I used to love going to Target.  Seriously.  Love it.  I used to love it so much sometimes I'd just wander in with no real intent of buying anything.  There's something comforting about being surrounded by so much processed pop culture and consumerism.  After today's visit with my son Miles, I no longer enjoy this activity. 

Miles screamed from the point we entered Target until we came howling back through the doors.  People looked at me with pity or disgust, as they could not have known that this was the only opportunity for me to do my generic box store shopping with ONLY one screaming child.  I ignored them the best I could, until Miles decided to throw up all over my chest and shoulder.  The diaper bag was in the car.  Dammit.  I cleaned up the best I could in the Target bathroom, then powered through the rest of my shopping, until I was at the register.  As the cashier rang up my Cat Litter, 5T purple dress, whole grain wheat bread, 12 pack of sponges, and spatula, I came to the horrifying realization that my wallet was back in the car.  I considered against using Miles for collateral, then ran out to the car as the line of people behind me began mumbling epithets at their Iphones  (full disclosure: I also mumble epithets at my Iphone in similar situations). When I came back, the cashier had canceled the transaction, and made me wait til the end of the line.  Miles was still angry and telling everybody about it. 

As soon as this fabulous young son of mine was in the carseat with his stuffed moose, the crying ceased, he fell asleep 12.4 seconds into our ride home. 


I hate you Target.  Why can't you be more like a moose?

Year of Writing 171. The AC DJ

6/20/12

Today I bit the bullet and hired somebody to come take some of the load of this ridiculous house off of my shoulders.  We have to get the AC/Heat working in the house, so I hired the company on Yelp with the most stars to come out and do whatever expensive things they do.  What they did was send a dude with a thick Israeli accent and a really nice 40+ year old Salvadorian guy to mess around for a couple hours, break a few things, charge me $960.00, then promise to be back tomorrow to finish it up.  This sounds like it sucked - but it didn't.  Here's why:  about 5 minutes into checking for whatever they check for, the Israeli dude started eyeballing my records in the garage.  "So, you dj or something?"  I replied in the affirmative, which unleashed a 45 minute discussion (one-way, mind you) about house music, and how this dude is a real life big deal House DJ in L.A. and Israel that does Air Conditioning work for "the fun and to meet people."

I was about to doubt dude, til he pulled up this website:

 

 That's him.  Lookin' fly with the stretched out v-neck and blazer with lasers.  I had a fucking blast listening to this guy talk about how he wants to remix old disco with a 2002 House feel to it.  I had less of a blast turning down his multiple offers to buy my mixer, amp, records, etc...  But all in all, I would pay 960 bucks to add his archetype to my character bank.  Thank god I got his card so I can kick with Malio the house DJ whenever I want.  

Year of writing 170.

6/19/12


I've found a new paradise. It's called Tuesday, lying in the grass and daisies at a huge park abandoned by everyone but me, my son and daughter.  She is picking the tiny white flowers and presenting them one by one to her doll Tiana.  Each flower is a poem, she says, every poem is an I love you.  My son is asleep on my chest, I feel our breaths syncopate.  His eyelids flutter, he sighs and grins in sleep.  There are three clouds in the sky.  One is a heart, one is a train leaving it's station, one too big to comprehend.  There are moments like this that happen all the time, that have happened, the difference is now I am experiencing it with them.

Year of writing 169. Recap

6/18/12

I needed that sleep so bad.  Holy crap. 

Here are my favorite things from the last four days.

1.  Walking around a redneck town near Sacramento for a few hours, finding a thrift store that has nothing but Jesus shirts and Proud to be an American shirts, buying a couple of each, then having people say:  "Walkin' with Jesus Today, huh?"  Point, and walk away.  

2.  Watching my kids from this year graduate the 8th grade, and watching two of my favorite kids of all time graduate from high school.  One of them got the Gates Millenium Scholarship for all ten years of schooling, books, room, and board through his doctorate degree. 

3.  Seeing friends that I hated to leave in Oakland.

4.  Being scared shitless by the instructions given by the guide on our 3 day rafting trip - then promptly forgetting everything that was said when we got in the boat.

5.  Hearing that the couple that was supposed to be accompanying us on our 10 dude bachelor party river rafting excursion had "second thoughts." 

6.  Realizing that class 5 rapids are HUGE.  and FUN.

7.  105 degrees is OK, if there is a river made of snowmelt underneath you.

8.  California is fucking beautiful.

9.  80 degrees at night SUCKS.  So do these insects called gatherer spiders (they're not really spiders, but look like daddy long legs).  These things come out in the middle of the night in the thousands and crawl all over everything gathering whatever the hell it is that they need to gather.  With me, it was apparently my chest hair, since I woke up to find about 50 of them crawling all over my body.  Not awesome.

10.  If you have a chance to make a camping sauna or sweat lodge ever, do it.

11.  The highlight of the first night camping was the late night improvised ironic christian rock E.P. debut by a friend named Richard.  Imagine Gavin Rossdale singing songs like "I fell in love with God, so what do I do with her?" 

12.  Getting home. 

Year of writing 165 - 168

6/15/12 - 6/18/12

I grant myself this single transgression in updating this blog and my year of writing.  I went on a river rafting trip for 3 days, and of course could not post.  I am way too tired to try and recapsulate it all right here, but I will... Oh yes.  I will.

Today I left at 4 AM to make it up to the Bay in time fo

Year of writing 164.

6/13/12

I am exhausted.  The kind of exhausted that only ten straight days of taking care of your own kids full time can create.  If it weren't for cousin play dates, Ruben's Burritos, Tiger Bars, and late night TV, I would not have made it this far.  Thank you those things. 

Tomorrow I head North to see the kids I left this year graduate.  I am excited to see how much they've changed in the last few months - and even more excited to see the kids I had as 8th graders 4 years ago graduating high school.  Tired be damned - I'm getting up at 4AM to make it there.

Year of writing 163. Swimming Lessons.

6/12/12

My baby girl has been taking swimming lessons since last week.  So far she's had three twenty minute lessons with a woman named Tammy at her home.  I highly suggest doing individual lessons, if you can, because when I had Isla doing swimming up in Richmond, she spent probably 35 minutes of the 40 minute lesson hanging on to the wall, waiting for other kids to take their turn with the instructor.  Most of the time there was taken by a super chunky kid named Ruben who was super sneaky and would inch his way to the deep end and then just let go, so that the instructor had to "save" him every five minutes.  Eventually Ruben had to sit on the side, where he proceeded to throw all the pool equipment as far as he could.  Ruben was cruisin for a bruisin.  Anyway, after a month of lessons there, Isla was still afraid to get her face wet in the bathtub.  I'm going for not effective as my adjective here. 

Fast forward.  After just three lessons, Isla is now jumping into the pool from the side, diving down to get rings from the bottom of the shallow end (with a little help), and swimming out a good five feet or so to my outstretched arms.  Best of all, she doesn't scream like

in the bath anymore when I wash her hair.  Nor does she grab my shirt and wipe her eyes every time water gets within 12 feet of her face.  Needless to say, I'm feelin' these swimming lessons.

Year of writing 162.

6/11/12

There's something about a playground unchanged from the 50's, all steel and peeling paint.  It's super industrial and pretty dangerous looking, but beats the crap out of all the bright rainbow plastic stuff that's everywhere now.  Isla fell in love with the Rocket Ship park, as it is called.  There was nobody there at all, just her and these huge metal dinosaurs with their awesome straight lines and creaking wheels.  If there was going to be a zombie apocalypse, it would have happened there, so I'm sure we're ok in that arena.

Year of writing 161. playmates.

6/10/12

My cousin moved to town yesterday, and she and her partner have 2 kids the same age as Isla and Miles.  This is amazing on so many levels.  Today, Tegan's 7th day working in a row, I was at the end of my rope with anything having to do with four year olds.  My cousin Summer called up and asked if I wanted to drop Isla off at their house to play with their daughter.  Um... HELL YEAH I DO! 

Immediately the day was sunnier, the birds were singing beautiful music, and Isla had a partner in crime to play all of her pretend Harry Potter games with.  She spent the entire day with her cousin - dressing up, running around, swimming, etc, etc...   I was in heaven.  Of course, there were bumps in the road, a few tiffs here and there, and Isla's instructions about how one shouldn't use the word "Dammit" or else they get timeout, and then promptly saying "This seatbelt is touching my butt, Dammit!"  But, you know what, I'll take that a million times over if I don't have to play imaginary Harry Potter games ever again.

Year of writing 160. Perspective and the moose.

6/9/12

This evening after I read Isla her story, I asked her what she would do if she woke up and was a princess.  Without skipping a beat, she replied with "what would you do if you woke up and you were a moose?" 

That really got me thinking.  I really am glad to be a human being.  If I woke up tomorrow and I was a moose, I'd have to seriously change my life around.  No more writing or video games, or anything else requiring opposable thumbs. And what would Tegan say when she woke up next to a moose?  We live right down the street from this guy (who happens to be my old boss at the Jolly Kone restaurant): 



That would make things pretty tough for me, since I'd be a moose in a previously mooseless town.  I'd probably be shot and mounted on somebody's wall by noon.  So, thanks Isla for making me gain some lost perspective on how lucky I am not to be a moose.

Year of writing 159. Week 4.

6/8/12

I can't believe it's Friday again - it has now been a month since I started the best job in the world, AKA taking care of my own kids, AKA swagged out daddy day care.  Here are my learnings, struggles, and rants from week four of this journey.


1.  You gotta hustle to get your kid some friends - don't just sit back and think it's going to happen. When your child starts to play with some other kid, go!   I don't care if the mom looks like Roseanne Barr or if the dad wears linen and smells like patchouli.  You get out there and talk, get a number, make a playdate.  If you don't, your four-year-old will start giving you murderous looks when she thinks you're not looking. 

2.  Anytime anybody invites you anywhere when you have kids, go.  It is rare, and will likely never happen again.

3.  You are not cool for not having a diaper bag, you are idiotic to the point of lunacy.  I will never carry a poopy baby, a bloody knee'd child, two burritos and a horchata back from the park again.  I will be prepared.  Dammit.

4. Switch arms with the baby, unless you want to look like one half of Popeye.

5.  Don't think: "I'll just feed the baby when we get back from the store."  It will be the absolute worst store visit you will ever have.  You will most likely never return to that store again, at least until your children are no longer recognizable.

6.  When your daughter wants to stop and chase a frog, you better stop.  I don't care if your cell is blowing up and you're 2 hours late for work.  If you don't stop, you're an asshole - and I will swoop in from behind on your frog and let my daughter catch the mofo.

7. Babies will eat ground up anything.  soggy cheerios, yogurt, a piece of steak, and a banana - delish.

8.  4 year olds will eat nothing but the same three dishes, apparently until they turn 50.

9.  Sidewalk chalk and a large tiled patio = HELLA FUN!

10.  She might be really cute, and love to play with Miles, but she's not a licensed caregiver, so don't try and leave her with him while you run out to the car. 

Year of Writing 158.

6/7/12

I have decided to do the 100 burpee challenge, again.  I'm on number 35 today, and I totally hate exercising.  For one thing, I continually hear "Eye of the Tiger" in my head while I do it, and for another, I am totally a wimp when it comes to pushing myself physically.  When it starts to hurt, I kind of figure my body is telling me something, like "stop making yourself hurt, bro."  So I usually stop.  This has never been a problem in my life until I developed the sympathy belly when my daughter was born, now if I don't make myself hurt a little bit, I kind of look like somebody tried to force an orange through a straw and quit halfway.  It's not cute.  So here I am, blustering and cussing my way through 35 military style up downs, separated by stints on an honest to goodness ab-roller.  It's not like I'm asking for sympathy or anything like that, but if I don't get a medal or at least some kind of trophy at the end of this, I'm gonna cry.  Mark my words.

Year of writing 157.

6/6/12

This is the week that many of my students are getting ready for promotion or graduation.  Usually when I'm in the classroom, this time is taken by last minute projects, my poetry unit, student expositions, speech coaching, writing letters to my students, etc... This year, I have had a long time to think about the kids that I have taught who are moving on, and I can't be more proud.  There are the twin girls, who in 8th grade were phenomenal writers and introduced me to some awesome punk bands, that are now both going to Yale on full scholarships.  There's the kid who has been on HBO for his spoken word, now going to UC Berkeley with the Gates Millennium scholarship which pays for his education, house, and board through a doctoral degree should he want one.  He told me he plans on being a *sniff English teacher in Oakland.  There's the chubby kid from 7th grade who was always in the back cracking jokes, who is now an accomplished boxer and headed to Berkeley as well. 

At the same time, I can't help thinking about the kids that slipped through the cracks.  The boy who was 13 going on 30, who wrote heart-wrenching poetry about his family, and now at 18 has three kids by three different girls.  The kid who could throw the football 70 yards in 8th grade, and dunk from the freethrow line, who has been incarcerated since he was 16, and looks to get out at 27.  And then there's the ones who didn't make it to their 18th birthday, who never got the chance to walk a stage or be on their own. 

My thoughts go out to all my kids at this time, whether they have "made it" or not, I hope that you have brightness in your life and love in your hearts. 

Year of Writing 156. Poem edit.

6/5/12

The kid with the sullen eyes always sits right up front
And stares at me like I’m responsible for everything
That’s ever gone wrong in his whole fucked up life

When I talk to him I soften the edges of my words
With impersonality but I can see him still flinch
With every syllable like a three-legged dog hearing
The sound of a car horn blaring

He slams his forehead into the desk and stays that way.


The smart girl, she’s bored again.
She’s already finished
What we were supposed to do tomorrow
I’m already finished what we were supposed to do tomorrow
She says.
Raise your hand
I say
So she raises her hand and flaps it for a while like a
Dying seagull
Then she holds it with her other hand
To emphasize how incredibly difficult it is
To do such a menial task as raising her hand.

Yes
I say
I’m bored.
You’re smart
I say
Invent a cure for boredom.
She sucks her teeth so hard the sullen eyed kid lifts up his head. 
She doesn’t think it was funny.

The kid with the slayer t-shirt sits next to the kid with gold fronts on his teeth
They look at eachother
And for a second I can see a smile play at the corner of each of their mouths. 
But then the slayer kid goes back to drawing dragons
Scowling at the talons
And the gold fronts kid shakes his dreds
Flashing me the remainder of that golden grin.
He raises his hand.

Yes
 I say
BALLS
He says.

Did you just say balls?

Yeah.  He says,
pulling his lips as far as he possibly can
from his teeth so I can appreciate
the full splendor of his 125.00 grill.

Balls

You know I have to call your mom now, right?
I ask, rhetorically

I call right then and there
You know your son just said balls as loud as he could in class?
I ask.

The entire room hears her five minute rant
As I have to hold the phone from my ear to
Make the words coming from it sound intelligible.

“And his brother’s in the hospital!” 
I catch, semi-screamed through the phone.
I’m terribly sorry
I say
But I’m not exactly sure why that makes it OK for him to scream “balls”
You’re lucky he didn’t bank you – she says
I expect the gold fronts kid to agree
But he just looks embarrassed,
Not even a glimmer from his lips

Yeah I guess so,
I say.

And hang up. 

The slayer kid hands me his dragon.
It’s eating what could be either a horse or a walrus.
It says To Mr. Gardner
In horribly rendered old English letters –
Only the e and the r are missing.
“I ran out of room” he says
it’s cool, I say -
It’s beautiful.

Year of writing 155. Miles(tones)

6/4/12

Miles(tones)

The second child syndrome is a strange phenomenon.  I don't know if it's just that so much energy is expended unnecessarily worrying about the first child, then when .0001% of all the horrible things you imagined could have happened actually do, you kinda let things slide with the second.  Or maybe it's that you are more mature as an adult and parent, more secure in your parenting style and what you think will be best for the kid.  Whatever the reasons, this boy is M E L L O W.  He likes nothing more than to sit outside on a blanket or carpet, and just chill.  Hard.  This works out really well for me, since I also love to chill, unfortunately, he still needs to be in very close proximity to me or Mommy to feel OK, but I can deal with that. 

Miles in his 8th month, as referenced before, has started scooting.  He has begun to tell physical jokes, bending his head in weird ways when he knows it makes people laugh, and trying to surprise us with shrill squeals.  His fashion sense is also maturing significantly, as can be seen in this photo: 



The bottom line is, if you want a really cool dude to chill with, maybe eat a little mashed up rice and beans, or sip on some milk,
Miles is your man.

Year of writing 154.

The night fell hard, taking her by surprise
she peeled her fingers from the keys
ironed the crooks from her knuckles
against the flesh of her thigh, arched
her back to a crackling chorus of vertebrae,
and sighed.  The exhalation took shape;
dark and looming, the face of her father,
a bull, the devil.  We heard the laugh from
outside on the lawn. It was bright.  It was clear.

Year of writing 153.

Sun

She lends her jewelry to the water,
leaves it sparkling on the surface
as a temptation, an invitation
as a relief.  She has an evil streak though,
I bear her abuse on my reddened shoulders,
the skin peeling from the tops of ears.

Year of Writing 152. Week 3

6/1/12

For the last few Fridays, I've been posting how my new job as stay at home dad is going. These are the learnings, the things I'd like to unlearn, and everything in between.

1.  Blueberry waffles with corn syrup for breakfast(we still haven't got it together to buy maple syrup yet), vanilla yogurt and a popsicle for lunch, ice cream with an auntie in the afternoon, pizza and gelato for dessert = child abuse.  Better said, = parent abuse. 

2.  I read that the average American child under 10 watches 5 hours of TV a day.  I need to stop freaking out that Isla wants to watch one Powerpuff Girls before dinner.

3.  When your daughter comes in holding a dried out worm and announces that it's her new pet, embrace that.  It means she's not too grossed out to pick up worms and other slithery things, which makes life way more fun.

4.  Beaches are awesome.  Living next to a beach is a must for hot days with kids.  However, when you have a baby - ALWAYS BRING A HAT AND BLANKET.  In my rush to get to the beach I forgot both.  So I plopped a handful of sunscreen on his head (which worked - no sunburn!), and let my 8 month old just go ahead and play in the sand.  Not such a good idea, especially when there is sunscreen smeared all over his head.  When I turned to help Isla with her sand castle, Miles ended up looking like what everybody who's never seen Star Wars thinks the sandpeople look like.  And sand sticks to dried sunscreen like glue, so I had to rush my little sandpaper baby home for a bath. 

5.  I am the king of smoothies.  Isla is the queen of spilling smoothies.

6. There are times when all Isla or Miles wants is their mommy.  It could be a skinned knee, a hungry baby, a sad movie - but whatever it is, during these times I am so, so glad I don't have to do this alone.