Push My Button

I'm wondering when BB is actually going to get down off this step stool she got herself up on.

Got herself up on.

Got herself up on.

When I wake up in the morning, I take a little time to wake up. I don't move super fast.

My kids do. They are ready to rocket off to the moon the second they wake up.

The past month or so has been an easy routine, however--BB (17mo) wakes up in her crib and starts vocalizing. Oh, and by the way, my room shares a door with the kids' room, so it's no problem to hear her loud and clear. Megan and I keep the door open at night for safety reasons.

So I'm usually sleeping, and the BB voice wakes me up. Today it was at 7:45. Sweet, sweet sleep. Thank you, kids. They've been sleeping till almost 8 a.m. lately. That means dada can stay up later at night in front of my warm, blessed, bright friend, my bigass widescreen plasma television.

Lucy (43mo) has been staying in bed while BB makes her noises. BB's so excited to be able to talk and express feelings and communicate, and I think Lucy understands, so she's fine just laying there and listening. It's probably part of her wakeup process, just another day with the alarm-clock-little-sister.

Back in the day, when we still lived upstairs, Lucy used to get up and get in bed with me and cuddle in the morning. I always liked that. She doesn't do it anymore, she just lays in bed listening to her sister, up high in the crib next to her bed.

So when I get my sorry carcass out of bed and get in there to change BB's inevitably full-beyond-full, all-nighter diaper extravaganza, sometimes with poo that's creating a lovely rash, the first thing Lucy says to me is, "Dad, I want (X)."

Today it was graham crackers and milk, the usual. When that kid was 24mo old, she was just starting that trend. Yep, still going. And the demanding tone she takes is something mama and I have to get her to work on eliminating.

She'll also tell me, in the morning when I'm half-naked, cold, changing a shitty old diaper, with a 17-mo-old laying on the bed in front of me, kicking her legs, smiling and babbling, that she wants to watch Dora the Explorer, and that she wants vitamins.

See, her vitamins are these sugary candies, so it's a high point in her day to get them.

Sometimes I ignore her. It's not the College Rule way to address one's kids' demandings, but I'm tired of saying that she has to ask me politely for things, and motherfucker, she knows.

She just doesn't care. Or she still doesn't get it. Or a combination of the two.

For those times I've given in, not wanting to argue, when she runs into the kitchen, interrupting whatever I'm doing, to say, "Dada, I need X," and I give her X, she takes those experiences to mean that I'm bendable, malleable, that I don't always mean what I say, that I'm inconsistent.

Criminy. You give kids an inch and they take a mile. And you know what she fucking does when we tell her to ask politely for something? She says, "May I have me some X."

And we go, "No, it's not, 'May I have me,' it's, 'May I have some vitamins please?'"

"Dad, may I have me some vitamins?"

This usually continues for about way too long. She's just fucking with us, and we have to try not to get mad. It's impossible to keep everybody happy when your kid's fucking with you--she's asking for a fight, for trouble, for drama, for anger and sadness.

Fucking kids. Motherfuckers. Nothing can ever be jolly and happy unless they have every fucking thing they could ever fucking want. And they're too short to grab anything, and they have almost no motor control, and they also don't realize what pestering is, what it entails, or why people don't like it, so they turn to it.

What do you do? Take time out of your day, that's what. You stay calm, you say the same fucking thing for the eleven thousandth fucking time, knowing that your kid already knows what you're going to say, and, though she's sick of your voice, she wants to see you suffer this annoyance. She just wants to see you lose a little part of yourself. Just that little explosion that leaves a tiny hole where your character used to be.

Kids do things that adults would get punched for, but you can't punch kids. You've got to be calm and explain to them how not to get punched. You've got to use words. Oh, and those words also have to be delivered in a mindset that is not what you're feeling at the time; you have to push down your true nature and act in a way you don't feel.

I suppose that's called self-medication. In short, the more I self-medicate, the more they self-medicate.

Thusly, we bring about an evolution to the species: children who aren't raised to yell at people when confronted with obstacles, and who seek out other solutions to enduring the day-to-day madness of everyone's life.

«ææœæœæœæœ»

So it's one and a half episodes of Dora, and BB still hasn't gotten off the chair-stepstool combo she's set up. I tried to help her get down. I've told her to just step on the step stool, put one foot down, and then walk away. I'm not doing it for her. It's driving me nuts, but I'm staying strong.

See, that's the whole thing about being a parent, one who doesn't hire nannies and shit--one who's a real dad or mom--your life is a constant struggle to not let things that drive you nuts, drive you nuts; a constant struggle to stay calm in the midst of stimuli you never would have known existed if your primitive-minded (and justly so) kids had not put it in front of your face; a constant struggle to convert anger into teaching moments, red-hot anger into the calm, blue, rippling water of mutual understanding and friendship; a constant struggle to be that good guy I want to be, the guy who can  constantly get mentally punched by his kids and yet react rationally and come out stronger in the end.

I mean, I love my kids and everything, but ... shit, why do I have to feel like I have to say that? Fuck these kids. It's obvious I love them--I've changed my life around just to make sure they're healthy and happy.

When it's good enough, it's good enough, but when it's not, it's really not.

This all makes me want to apologize to my parents for being a kid, but the thing is--we all choose to have kids. We bring it onto ourselves. In this day and age, there's birth control options. The only thing stopping breeders from breeding is a love of fucking to completion. And the amazing feeling of condom-less penetration. Mmm. Delicious. My male testosterone hormones rage like a saber cat.

But then you get a baby out of it. Fuck. 18 years of your life are no longer fully yours.

Almost two episodes of Dora gone by, and BB's still in the chair. I want to just nudge her off, but she'd invariably fall on her fucking face, even though she's got two hands to stop that from happening. Then I'd be the Dick Dad and she'd have her drama moment.

I need her to stop relying on me to get her out of the sticky situations she gets herself in. I know she's only one and a half years old, but it's not like this is an advanced problem. If she was legitimately hurt, you can bet I'd come running. But being too scared to climb down off a chair, something she's done many times, is a less-than-elementary problem. It's a 1.5-year-old non-problem. It's a drama-creation engine.

I'm not fucking helping her. She can stay up there all spelunking day.

"Dad, I'm hungry for vitamins," Lucy just said. Then she walked away. See! She knows she's asking in a way that I always tell her not to. What is she, testing the waters? It's like she's running up to a door, ringing the doorbell, and running away. An innocent prank, but gets old fast. You can poke someone softly into complete fury, you know that, right? All it takes is a little patience and a lot of repetition.

Two episodes of Dora down and BB's still in the chair. I'm not getting mad, I'm not getting mad, I'm not getting mad... these kids really know how to push my buttons.

*3 hours later

You know what happened? I grabbed her by the arm up by the shoulder, I pulled her off the chair, and then when her feet touched the floor, her legs went limp. She wouldn't stand on her own. I had to stand there holding her up. She wanted to fall. She wanted the chance to cry. She wanted to fight with me. She was just sitting there, waiting.

Like a coiled snake.

In other news, for the past two days she's been napping in the big-girl bed. Check it out. Awww, kyoooooooooot.

Oct. 21

Oct. 22

A Family Moment

Recorded today.

On to studying.

School starts today!

But I take evening classes, so I've gotta wait until 4:30. Lemme see what my schedule is, I'll write it down for you (it'll help me remember) ...

Autumn Quarter Class Schedule:
COM    343 EFFECTS OF MASS CMU MW 700- 920P
COM    444 PUB RELTN & SOCIETY TTh 430- 650P
POL S  405 AM POLITICS ADV SEM MW 430- 650P

Two communication classes, one political science.

And full-time, too! Last school year, Fall-Winter-Spring, I took two classes at a time, just cause I didn't want to totally be ultra-super-busy.

That was fine. But it's time I live in the present. Being ultra-super-busy (USB) is what it's going to take to get my life in order, so being USB it is and I'm going to have to like it.

My money's being held up in the wracket jackets of the financial aid offices, though, and that's been stressing me out. They say it's going to take "approximately 60 days" to sort out. Gross.

Also there were a few other things going on this week that really stressed me out, on top of the money thing, things I'm not going to go into. I tried it--going into it. I laid my thoughts down on paper, but that process took so long, and caused me to detailededly think about my problems so focusedly that I ...

I was just kinda wallowing around in angry mush while I should have been concentrating on my family, and I turned into a mega bitch and ended up kind of exploding at my kids and wife.

So that sucked. It was pretty bad. Sometimes I fly off the handle, that was a 8 out of 10 on the Rychkter scale.

But Megan and I talked it out, and it gave me perspective. Talking it out helped, and I recommend all dads try that with their significant others.

If you feel like you're losing it, just talk about it, and be honest.

I've changed my behavior. I'm being nice now, I promise. I know there will be other times when I'm tested with life's outside pressures, combined with the pressure from the inside of the delerium doldrums of raising kids.

I mean, yeah kids are great, but shit man, this shit is hard.

Some days.

Time-consuming, I should say. The hardest part, as Louis C.K. said, is the boredom. The waiting. The sitting on the floor with them and letting them be kids. The pretending that everything they do is awesome, so that they build up self-confidence, and having to mean it every time you say it.

You sort of start saying these routine things without saying them, thinking about other things you're doing, completely compartmentalizing your kids' needs in your mind, along with household chores and whatever else is going on. So basically you take on this tone of voice that's completely instinctual, it just comes out of you. It must be the most boring shit to hear.

I've ended up reminding myself of my parents so much now that I just take it as a given. I sound like my mom and my dad when I talk, and it's unavoidable, and I just don't care anymore. Why should I let that bother me. There's too much else to do. Genetics and learning and the brain are what they are.

Lastly, one thing Megan said to me was particularly effecting. I said to her, after expressing regret at having yelled way too loud at Lucy, that I am not cut out for this parenting thing.

Then Megan reminded me of how much my girls love and trust me, and how I take good care of them every day. That made me feel a lot better.

The vast majority of the time, things are fine, and I do alright.

I'm ready to start school today.

Don't sit on lions

We've sort of adopted this neighborhood cat. Well, really, we just added to her roster of houses she can go to for food and shelter.

Smokey is her name. She exists within the neighborhood. One of my neighbors says she belongs to someone around here, but no one has actually stepped forward to claim ownership.

Meanwhile, Smokey continues to show up at our house, sitting right outside the front door, her little grey head poking up thru the low windows.

She's a nice cat. She handles my children very well.

My children do not handle her well.

My baby grows

Beatrix is 15 months old, and rocketing up like a giant. Also, she’s smarter.

Lucy is three and a half, and she’s growing and learning too, but right now I want to talk about Beatrix. She did something last night that made mama and I crack up. Mama was brought to tears out of pride for her baby. It was a really beautiful moment.

Helping myself not relax

Lucy was playing Mario Kart Wii while I was reading from my laptop w/headphones on. BB was sitting directly in front of the tv.

I glanced over see Lucy erasing my player license. "GlennDoom's license will be erased. Are you sure you want to do this?"

(little finger moves to "Yes" with confidence)

"GlennDoom's license has been erased."

I looked over at her. I must have sighed pretty heavily, cause they both looked at me, expecting to have to brace themselves for my discipline.

Deciding to try to put my feelings into words, I said, "Don't do that on mario kart again. You just erased my player license. I'm not sure what that does, but it can't be good."

Lucy looks up at me while turning her face down in a frown, shaking her head and whimpering, like I'm a total asshole.

BB stares at me in wonderment.

Uuuuhhhhggghh. I'm slowly fucking up my kids. Ignoring them by putting them in front of the tv. Only speaking to them when I have something negative to say.

"Don't do (x)" dominates much of my speaking patterns lately. Lucy is really acting out a lot, exploring life, getting into stuff she shouldn't. BB is doing this too, and though it's to a lesser degree, it only adds to what I have to watch out for.

This I interpret in my brain as giving me more stress. I could just say, "My kids stress me out," but that's not true. I choose to do it. It's how I learned to self-medicate, possibly. Thusly, I turn into Dick Dad a lot, and it's not cool and I need to relax. Though the surrounding world doesn't exactly help me to relax, often I'm not helping myself to relax either.

Megan and I took our two girlz to the doctor a few days ago for BB's 15mo checkup. Our doctor is really cool, a woman about our age. She likes how we parent, she always says. She's even said we're her favorite parents that she sees.

Since it's in my nature to second-guess myself, I always reflect on it with a grain of salt. Of course, hearing it always feels good. Often I feel that I yell at my kids too much, but when it comes down to it, I'm nice to them way more than I'm mean.

But sometimes little things tip me over the edge, and I react in ways I regret later.

Here's my latest: I was taking a shower, and Lucy comes in and goes to the bathroom on her little toilet, which must be emptied directly after she goes. Also, she needed me to wipe her.

I had just spent 15 minutes brushing my long, tangly hair and going to the bathroom myself before heading into the shower, which would have been a great time for Lu to come in and go herself.

And I had been really looking forward to the shower, I was dirty and stinky, I had just gotten BB down for a nap, and it was all lined up.

But like it always is with kids, plans parents make don't EVER turn out the way they're ... planned. There's always a wrench thrown in the gears, slowing you down, making you stop, slow down and help your kids.

So my reaction? I get mad. I didn't yell, but I raised my voice at her, about how bad her timing was. How I was all wet and cold and I didn't like it.

But then through my anger fog, I begin to hear my brain telling me that it's not fair to get mad at her for that, she's only three years old, she's impressionable, and I'm scaring her.

I mumbled, "I'm sorry, I know you can't control when you have to go to the bathroom," but she was gone. Too late.

Sometimes I act like a dick and it's hard to take it back, cause you know the effects are lasting. I had to get back in the shower too, without talking to her about it.

It was a hard day for me overall. Last day of mama's workweek, and I was really tired of taking care of kids. It doesn't always hit me on our fridays, but last friday was one of them.

I think I'm allowed to have one a month. 

Setting-up-apt. progress today:

Me: Pine Sol'd the sink and wiped the wall trim all the way around the bathroom. And most of the floors. One sponge.

Megan: unpacked two sizable boxes, clearing space in dining room, set up the record shelves, moved two bookshelves on either side of it as big heavy bookends, placed records, kids books, and some cds on said shelves.

We rule. It was hard to pay a lot of attention to the kids today. Mama and I both were home all day, but our weekends are for getting things done. Lucy acted out a lot today, and it's no surprise, really.

I'll just have to make sure to give both of them lots of attention tomorrow.

Cause even though parents live to serve, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Right now I'm trying to type this real quick, drink my beer, text my friends, and get ready to play New Vegas, which is on right now, tempting me with its scary ambient tunes. My character looks on forlornly, waiting for me to jump at the controls... I'm coming, Abeladro... just a few.. more.. texts!

Oh, let me throw this out there: yesterday, I had a jam with two people. One is a good friend, the other is someone I met for the first time, a friend of said good friend's. Me on bass, good friend on drums, new guy on guitar. But get this--new guy has all sorts of sweet recording equipment, uses Pro Tools, has a bass rig with a Fender Jazz Bass that I can use (though I like mine better--I'm more used to it), and ... well, he sounds like my main man Jason Noble, RIP and bless his heart, Steve Albini, and David Pajo, but with his own style too.

My good bud on drums sounds like Todd Trainer, and Sebastian Thomson.

And my good gosh, they need a bassist with a good mid-tone, not a full low tone. That's me all the way, baby. We sounded pretty good together for our first jam, and though I was "trying out," I'm so totally in. They've already asked me to come back next week, same time same place, no big deal, but yeah dude, yawn, I'm totally a rock star now, see ya next week, when I'm big and famous dude.

Serve by Example

Lately on this blog I feel that I have been focusing on myself more than my kids. They're a permanent fixture in my life, and I take it for granted that people aren't as familiar with them as I.

Additionally, our move and my musical production career pursuance going on has been distracting me from blogging about them. So here's a little bit about my kids.

Moved

This week has been crazy!

We've switched apartments within the same house, and boy are my arms tired. However, the increased space in every room is immensely relieving. There are windows everywhere, the sun's coming in, I've got the front door open and a baby gate in it, and the air is fresh and clean.

Horse Pushing Cart

We're moving on Thursday. Right downstairs in the same house. Pretty weird.

We're going with Seattle Movers, a division of Mountain Movers. There is this other company called Awesome Movers, ("we're three men and a truck"), but the owner has a knee condition he's in physical therapy for. Sorry, ladies.