Happy Halloween!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Kids
You're less concerned about existential questions when you have kids, well maybe you're more, wait . . . what I'm saying is this . . .
They ask "why" a lot, like why should I shampoo my hair? Or why should I always listen to police officers, why should I go to bed when Mom says . . . or why it's bad to hit people. It's harder than any philosophy class I've ever taken (fuck Global Ethics in comparison to bath time). They ask the questions we're still asking ourselves. And then, just when us single folks are questioning the meaning of life, they wake us up at 6:30 in the morning, telling us about the dream they had about elephants and unicorns, then demanding breakfast. They snuggle up next to us in bed and figure out a way to get us up, ready to face the day.
I spent several hours of my life today trying to outsmart a 3-year-old. I'm not ashamed. They're smarter than we think.
Have you hung out with a kid lately? Fuck your "hits" on youtube or statcounter. You're still not as cool as cupcakes.
They ask "why" a lot, like why should I shampoo my hair? Or why should I always listen to police officers, why should I go to bed when Mom says . . . or why it's bad to hit people. It's harder than any philosophy class I've ever taken (fuck Global Ethics in comparison to bath time). They ask the questions we're still asking ourselves. And then, just when us single folks are questioning the meaning of life, they wake us up at 6:30 in the morning, telling us about the dream they had about elephants and unicorns, then demanding breakfast. They snuggle up next to us in bed and figure out a way to get us up, ready to face the day.
I spent several hours of my life today trying to outsmart a 3-year-old. I'm not ashamed. They're smarter than we think.
Have you hung out with a kid lately? Fuck your "hits" on youtube or statcounter. You're still not as cool as cupcakes.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Somebody told me . . .
I don't know how to explain "home." Home's not a place, rather a state of being, an existence beyond goodness.
It's the toy Tonka trunk in the tub you stub your toe on every morning in the shower and the noodle stuck on the wall behind the chair. It's okay, no one ever really sits in that chair, there's hardly ever three for Wednesday's spaghetti and meatballs. It's the shiny, silver remote you can never seem to find, the cozy bed that never seems to get made. It's the dirty laundry crawling up the wall and the mysterious odor coming from the back of the fridge. It's the hand prints (mid-thigh level) on the glass back doors where little fingers itched to get at the red three-wheeler in the shed while rain poured down. It's the second or third or fourth-hand couch with the gaudy floral pattern you sink into each night after you emerge victorious from the two-hour battle for bedtime. It's home, and you know it.
Wish the rest of the world luck on their search for fame and fortune.
<br>.
When you look in the mirror, unrecognizable, a hollow shell of the man you thought you'd be, may St. Anthony hear your prayers. And when you strike-out across the horizon in search of all the pieces of your soul you've lost, may St. Christopher keep you safe.
It's the toy Tonka trunk in the tub you stub your toe on every morning in the shower and the noodle stuck on the wall behind the chair. It's okay, no one ever really sits in that chair, there's hardly ever three for Wednesday's spaghetti and meatballs. It's the shiny, silver remote you can never seem to find, the cozy bed that never seems to get made. It's the dirty laundry crawling up the wall and the mysterious odor coming from the back of the fridge. It's the hand prints (mid-thigh level) on the glass back doors where little fingers itched to get at the red three-wheeler in the shed while rain poured down. It's the second or third or fourth-hand couch with the gaudy floral pattern you sink into each night after you emerge victorious from the two-hour battle for bedtime. It's home, and you know it.
Wish the rest of the world luck on their search for fame and fortune.
<br>.
When you look in the mirror, unrecognizable, a hollow shell of the man you thought you'd be, may St. Anthony hear your prayers. And when you strike-out across the horizon in search of all the pieces of your soul you've lost, may St. Christopher keep you safe.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I thought I enjoyed TV
But yesterday while Jordan fought his Mom and I tooth and nail not to go to bed during the first AND second showing of Sons of Anarchy . . . I realized I enjoyed people (even a whining three year old) much more. I wouldn't have changed anything for the world.
Yes telling Jordan a made up story about an elephant named Super Suit Case and a mouse named Suit Case (Jordan's idea for their names, pretty great) was better than learning the fate of the "club."
And I'm happy to report that one of the few shows Jordan enjoys is Scooby-Doo. It's one of my top ten favorite cartoons too. :)
I'm already loving Illinois.
Yes telling Jordan a made up story about an elephant named Super Suit Case and a mouse named Suit Case (Jordan's idea for their names, pretty great) was better than learning the fate of the "club."
And I'm happy to report that one of the few shows Jordan enjoys is Scooby-Doo. It's one of my top ten favorite cartoons too. :)
I'm already loving Illinois.
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