perfect way

 i can not get the song perfect way out of my head

you know the one

by Scritti Politti

also

i keep having freakishly realistic

vivd, lucid,

cogent dreams in the morning

as i am waking up.

they feel like hypnogogic visitations.

and i can't shake the feeling that it is 

"the other side"

communicating with me

sending me some message

that there is a force there

an entity

in that reality

or in my mind

or on that plane of existence

trying to connect with me

to tell me something.

i wake up thinking about how 

and why

and is it astral projection?

yesterday i woke up and instantly googled astral projection and started reading about soul connections 

and entities reaching out to each other. 

and it all seems a little...

goofy...

but it doesn't feel goofy.

and it feels like 

the message is 

just be yourself,

just let it all out, 

keep going,

you're on the right path,

but you don't need to try so hard,

and you don't need to be anything other than what you are.

and its strange that 

i feel i need to hear that message so badly

at nearly fifty years old.

because

i feel like i have been trying to be me 

so hard

my whole life.

and it's not easy

and most of the time i feel like i am fucking things up 

like i am not good enough

like i should be doing something 

different 

to be better.

Now as a father

I see my kids

falling into this same 

pattern

is it a trap...

this habit

of making lists

of ways to improve

just living?

ways to be better 

at life?

and i realize the messages

we get all around us

from TV and Media

and mass marketing

and school 

and everywhere...

the message,

the habit forming doctrine...

the tweets and posts, and youtube videos are all sharing the message

one way or another 

to "be better"

at being you

improve yourself

smell better

look better

feel better

they all contribute to this inadequacy brainwave. 

even the messages 

telling you you're enough 

seem to have a tone of 

hey, let it go...

stop worrying, 

be better at not worrying.

i don't want my kids to have this habit

but i wonder if it is inescapable

and i wonder if its in our hearts

in our minds

built in human nature

or if its a cultural predilection

does everyone feel this way?

I have often gotten the compliment

"you're so comfortable in your own skin"

"you're good at just being yourself"

"you seem to be at ease with yourself"

and it's always felt strange

because i appreciate the compliment 

and i understand it. 

I do tend to put it all out there

and let the pieces fall.

but i don't feel at ease

very often.

and it seems like have always felt like 

who i am in my own skin

is in dire need of improvements

and that just being myself,

in one way or another, seems to be a failing proposition 

a lot of the time...

just being myself means 

balls will be dropped.

but i guess

those morning messages 

are telling me... 

well... 

they are telling me to write it all down!

they are telling me to keep trying

i guess they want me to laugh

and find gratitude.

the morning voices

want me to understand

maybe... 

that striving to improve 

is part of who i am 

and doesn't mean 

that i am not good enough...

and that wanting to be better

does not have to be tied to 

feelings of inadequacy

or disappointment...

that hope may not be 

the antidote 

to disillusion

but it is the perfect way

to keep

trying 

to 

fully 

be me.

2/14/2016

Well…

This year

For Valentines day

Her gift was

Getting the kids to clean the play room

Without anyone yelling

Crying

Or breaking anything.

And letting her get away for a solid 5 hours to work on pre-tenure review documents

Romance.

We ate waffles at 7pm.

That Scooter cooked-

Dinner was mostly civil.

Zuzu was on the verge of meltdown… but managed to hold it together.

We all growled a little

At each other…

The arctic weather

Is a factor no doubt

Being house bound…

…we’ve never been huge on Valentines day…

Its strange how romance…

Becomes…

Something we have to make time for…

Where once it was reflex.

But it is not surprising that

Where I once spent the afternoon

Learning to play her a song

Or filling a shoebox

With cutout hearts

I now…

Take a pass…

There are times

Where it feels like a loss

Or a failure…

But,

Sort of like the scratches and dents in my wedding ring…

It kind of…

Now…

Just fits…

Another sex talk with Scooter and, grudgingly along for the ride, Squirt…

It's no coincidence these things happen when their mother is working, or shopping, or in whatever sense "away"

She rail roads them early on

That might be fear.

It might be foresight.

At any rate, much as I am challenged by them

I am always glad they happen,

And mostly feel like I give good… er… decent answers.

Earlier this month I got a vasectomy.

I am candid about it.

In fact I probably talk about it more than I should.

Tough shit.

It's good to talk about this stuff…

It's been a topic of conversation between my wife and I for several years…

And after buying the morning after pill twice in the past 18 months…

And an enlightening conversation about

Inaction on my part

Being another patriarchal act..

I scheduled the appointment.

Anyway that's all background.

The point is I had the surgery - I'll tell you about that another time.

And came home with a couple specimen bags to fill and return.

They have been sitting on the back of my toilet since - and have been the subject, not surprisingly…

Of much inquiry.

Well it's all been somewhat danced around until tonight.

But the Squirt straight up asked me tonight, "Dad, what are the specimen bags for?"

"Semen," I said, "Do you know what that is?"

"I do." said Scooter.

Squirt did not, so I told her.

She was fascinated and a little queasy…

Scooter chose this moment to draw the comparison to floral reproduction.

Then, as per her usual mode on any topic, but this one in particular,

Scooter began her inquisition;

"Have you guys had sex since your surgery?"

(this is where Jen would have stopped, no halted the conversation.)

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Once."

"How many times do you have it in… like… a month?"

"Mmm, hard to say, depends on the month, and what else is going on in our lives."

-pregnant pause while she tried to figure out how to phrase the next question-

"So… which do you prefer, standing up or laying down?"

"Laying down."

"Have you ever had it standing up?"

(And here is where I just was totally too candid… where I knew I should have stopped but… well I'm an idiot.)

"Not with your mother."

"WHAAAT, you've had sex with other people?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

And apparently that is my line.

That is where I said I was uncomfortable sharing any more personal information about me…

Scooter said at this point she thought about it a lot and was eager to experience it.

Without thinking I said

"Don't be…"

And then I knew I was going to have to drop some poetry to make my point…

"Why?"

"Well," I said, "I take that back, you be eager, you feel all the feelings you need to feel about it, you look forward to it, and explore your ideas and thoughts about it… but… you need to be very very careful before you do anything with anybody else about it…"

"Why?"

"Because it's complicated… because your sexuality and your mind and your heart all work together in sex, and because of that it can be really wonderful and magical, or, if it's bad, it can be really hard to recover from… it can break you in to a million pieces."

"How can it be bad?"

"Well… if it didn't feel like you thought it was going to feel… you might regret it… or if it's sex you don't want to have…"

"Isn't sex you don't want to have rape?"

"Yes you're right - and that really isn't the same as sex at all. You are absolutely right."

"There are a lot of wonderful feelings that can be part of sex, things that you can express to a person that there are no words for - and that is why it is important, and can be dangerous to our hearts and souls… because that kind of expression is powerful, and also vulnerable."

"What is 'vulnerable?'"

"It is a kind of fragile feeling, showing your secretest parts of yourself, and I don’t mean your vagina, I mean your spirit… it means letting yourself be weak with someone…"

"You'd have to be brave, and trust someone to do that."

"Yes. Yes, exactly."

Then, Squirt... from the depths of blankets on the other bed, with her mothers voice;

"Can we please just go to sleep?"

bumpy

oh you know...

it's like this...

here is the path i took to sitting down to write this blog

i put the toddler in her bed

moved the kindergartener from our bed to hers

checked on the suffering of the insufferable 8 year old

and flopped down next to my wife...

who was more exhausted than me

having spent the weekend casting

Much Ado About Nothing...

in addition to the usual stuff...

i started to talk to her,

to explain..

and justify my bedtime actions:

sticking to my guns,

being hardline,

so that i dont get pushed

to the point of

losing my temper.

letting the child

get emotional

and remaining

in control of my own...

because

when

my temper gets the better of me

like it did yesterday...

i feel like

a pretty crummy parent

and

a pretty crummy human being.

i looked up..

knowing that she knew all this,

but wanting affirmation,

of my actions...

sympathy,

acknowledgement...

or even a reprove.

she was snoring...

I gathered up my stuff...

notes from the week

playlists etc

writing supplies...(the computer)

came downstairs to the living room

went to the cupboard to find

the tylenol pm...

sometimes i go for the stress relief tea...

but sometimes i need a guarantee...

And my head hurt...

and there was a lot of stuff knocking around in there,

likely to keep me awake.

So as I reached up into the basket that holds the various remedies and medicines

my hand hit something sticky... something gooey and grapey.

I pulled down the basket to confirm that indeed...

childrens tylenol had leaked, spilled, upended...
slathering the entire basket with a viscous purplish, graying syrup.

so... there I was - ready to settle in to the evening

and write for an hour until the painkillers kicked in and took me to dozy, drowsy land

and instead what did i have before me but a goddamn

project.

this is the way my week has been...

mishaps and misfires.

misunderstandings and crossed wires.

every time I come up with an on-the-fly solution...

a last minute wrench just fucks the whole situation even further.

i'm not sure what is happening - if it's the cosmos...

or just a function of being too busy

hurried, harried, hassled...

i could make you a list.

but

the best example, other than the medicine basket,

is the leotard fiasco...

Wednesdays 'Zilla has ballet at 6:10.

and Lil' Chaos has piano at 6:15.

Somedays Jen is not busy,

and we split this up.

Otherdays i attempt to defeat the laws of physics

to be in both places on time.

I don't know how we thought this schedule was possible...

i think we didn't realize how often Jen was going to need to be somewhere or doing something.

Some Wednesdays we manage to feed the rugrats prior to all their cultural inculculation,

but more often than not, they get some apple sauce and/or a granola bar on the way,

and a sandwich or a bowl of soup before bed when we get home.

Wednesdays are hard.

This Wednesday had an added layer of complexity which involved Jennifer and I misunderstanding each other about dinner plans with a friend/colleague visiting from out of town, and not communicating very well about it.

As a result,

I waited until the last minute to pick Zuzu up from daycare... and neglected to feed the children - though there was - as per our meal plan - roasted chicken and sweet potatoes available to them...

 

The latest possible pick up for Zuzu is 5:30pm...

The day care is only a few blocks away...

Much of the year - if we wait until 5:19 to leave the house - no sweat.

If we wait 'till 5:19 this time of year - we are pushing our luck.

Boots, hats gloves, coats...

these things take time to locate and apply...

but are necessary even for a car ride when windchill is pushing the temp to 20 below.

So the Elder two and I slammed out of the house in breakneck speed.

But in a stroke of inspriation I had everyone grab lesson supplies

'Zilla had checked her dance bag for appropriate contents and it was slung over her shoulder

Li'l Chaos had her piano books...

I grabbed granola bars...

we'd be fine.

We'd arrive at the dance studio

early enough to change 'Zilla there...

We'd have some time to relax - a few minutes at least.

And then we'd load up, leaving 'Zilla in class,

to take Li'l Chaos to piano...

We even had time to accommodate Zuzu's toddler rebellion..

Allowing her a good 5-8 minute protest about sitting in the car seat.

It was a masterful rejiggering of a sticky situation.

You'd think.

But the plan went to shit

when, at the dance studio changing room, 'Zilla looked in her ballet bag and discovered it was lacking a leotard or tights...

"What!?-Didn't you look? I Thought you looked!"

(waitaminute dad, she's five... she "checked her bag")

oh well, nothing to be done. had to head home get the leotard - maybe we'd make it.

of course Zuzu was compelled to stage another protest...

my metaphorical tanks mowed her down
the car seat was Tiananmen Square,

I was riot police... with tear gas.

no time... sorry Zuzu.

So... still not having a clear understanding of what our evening plans were, and in need of re-enforcements with the terrorist uprising in the toddler seat behind me, i frantically attempted to call my wife...

who had just wrapped what sounded to be a slogging but significant needs assessment meeting for her department. Needless to say, my frantic pleas were not what she was most in the mood to hear and thus was not as receptive as I had hoped she'd be to my preternatural howling through the phone...

she dug deep however...

I heard her take a breath and say, "I will find a leotard and tights for you."

We had to cut the conversation off - the light changed - it was probly for the best.

But I needed  more...

more

i needed her to understand - the riot - the leotard - the ruined plan - i needed to know what was happening - i needed her to jump in and help...

if only i had been as articulate in the moment as i was in that paragraph.

so it was like the leotard

and the purplegraysticky mess

all week

maybe all year...

maybe my whole life...

I have been thinking a lot

of this little bump

in the sidewalk...

it's about halfway

to Zuzu's daycare

I have been trying to figure out the

right context

to write about it

and thinking about it a lot.

The thing about it is this...

Back in July or August when we first started walking to the Daycare with Zuzu

She was pretty new at walking...

Relatively...

And that bump was a big deal

It caught her off guard

more than once.

Jumped out

and pulled her to the hard pavement

like a troll under a bridge.

But here is the key point.

On the days she did see it...

She would walk to it

check to see if it was still there

and stand on the fucker.

and celebrate.

Conquer it.

And pretty soon

she saw it more often than she tripped over it.

And so

most days,

had a reason to celebrate,

a little reason,

on the three block walk to school.

Ha! you didnt get me, bump.

And then...

Pretty soon after that

she didn't even notice it anymore.

And as much as I was sad to say goodbye to those little celebrations...

I guess forgetting about it

is another form of conquering it

altogether.

And so,

I guess the lesson to learn

from my toddler

is that, as trite as it may sound,

life really is full of bumps in the road

both literal and figurative.

And you will conquer them...'

and then forget they were ever there.

They won't even bother you anymore.

You may take your accomplishments for granted as you move on to new challenges

but be sure to take a little time to celebrate the things you do right as you go.

Thanks Zuzu.

Once again.