Breakdown: 59 days.

Well friends, it finally came…

Been building for two days…

The breakdown…

7:35 am in the kitchen in the middle of the getting out the door for school chaos…

I lost it.

Tears.

The kids

Were in shock

Sort of

Honestly, I think they’d seen it coming too.

Catharsis.

The thing is, life is hard.

And yes it’s harder when your partner has been gone for 60 days

And you have ten more days before you get to see her again.

But life would be hard if she was here too…

It’s just hard.

Life-ing.

It’s messy.

The mess in the basement

The mess in the yard

The mess all over the living room and family room…

The mess at work.

Lets not even talk about the kitchen or the dining room or the bathrooms or the White House.

Life’s filled with stuff to do.

And damn, I know that’s a blessing, and there’s so much to be grateful for.

And I can even tell myself to be grateful for this time apart – absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.  And I certainly am grateful for the opportunities Jen has been able to pursue during her sabbatical, and all the ways these opportunities have nourished her.

But still, the Weight. Of. Life.

The weight of waking up each morning to do it all again.

So today I broke.

And it was good, and cathartic.

And my kids came to me and held me.

And I was open and honest to them.

I said I missed their mom, and I didn’t want to do it anymore.

And they were amazing.

They laughed at me, and cried with me and told me it would be okay.

And it will.

People have been doing this for thousands of years.

Waking up each day, to deal with all the weight in their hearts.

The weight of all the messes.

And now that kitten is racing through the house a black furry streak.

And I am drinking delicious coffee from a comfortable, comforting mug.

Getting my head right

For another day.

what's the opposite of fundamentalism? or what i learned from the shitty rake...

Back in October,

Maybe late September…

The presidential race was at an apex.

And I was thinking about fundamentalism

And stuff,

While raking leaves.

I was thinking how the work of fundamentalists

is to fight against reason.

To take

It away.

How they force those of us who aim toward reason

And moderation.

Into a corner.

We, if we don’t share their views,

Become fundamentalists

In their eyes.

And how,

 if we dig in against them.

They win…

They take

Our reason away from us.

And how does a reasonable, moderate

Who only wants to make space in the world for all of us

For all the people…

Who wants to celebrate our differences…

As well as what we have in common…

How does that person come to terms with

Someone who says

All we are is hate

Who says all we are is fear

Who says we will never be able to understand each other

Because we are too different?

There is no antonym for fundamentalism… that I can think of.

But I think found, for me a good counter...

a synonym, actually of fundamentalism – 

Essentialism...

My thought, at the time, 

Was that something about the word essentialism brings to mind commonness…
Our underlying essence...

What we share, to me, seems like a good place to start.

Li’l Chaos offered to help me rake…

I was glad for the help,

And proud of her choice.

She asked if she could use the good rake…

The rake I was using.

She asked so nicely, I was compelled to say yes.

Then I started thinking about taking and giving,

The difference between takers and givers.

And that there needs to be space for both in the world.

And how we shift roles...

Sometimes we’re givers,

Sometimes we’re takers.

Really what I was thinking was…

Sometimes you give up the good rake,

And you take the shitty rake,

Because that’s the best way to get the job done…

And because that’s what it takes to work together…

And because we all learn some things from that…

Li’l Chaos is reminded that asking nicely sometimes actually works.

I am reminded that making sacrifices can be a source of joy and grace.

And there are some jobs the shitty rake is perfectly suited for.

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.