Naptime and gays in the military

I just put her down for a nap

and I'm listening to her fuss and cry, amid other random sounds she makes with her mouth. She's learning to talk, so a lot of it is misprounounced stuff that I can't understand. She's probably trying to say something, like strings of sentences. I want to understand her, but she's not there yet. You should hear her try and pronounce "orange." 'owij'

She can't speak English yet, but we have our ways of communicating. Like, I say something, and she responds with an emphatic, "Seh!" or nothing.
go to sleep toddler grahhhh

We went to Target today. I bought her boots and slippers and a Sesame Street dvd. hoo fucking ray. yay. And I bought Metallica's "...and Justice for All" cd on the cheap. Nostalgia. hoo ray.

She's still too scared to get out of her bed and open the door. I guess she has to be in there for a long time to get to that point. I dunno. I'm tired. Why am I making a blog post when I have nothing to say. I dunno. Don't read this. I've got nothing.

Ok, here's something. Look at this if you care about gays in the military and the national debate raging on the subject. It's a pdf, file hosted by NPR, of the a recently published Department of Defense review about this issue.
L!NK

For a summary of the report's findings by NPR, who might I say are AWESOME, click here. If I may take a crack at my own summary: NO ONE WILL CARE EXCEPT JERK MEN (if "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is repealed). A majority of women see no problem with it. Why are men so afraid of other men being gay? Is it because we've all had gay thoughts at one time or another, and we're insecure about it?

Prejudice against gays is an ancient, misinformed, hateful mindset. It should be laughable by now. And yet, half of our country's elected officials use it as a platform to run off of. Ridiculous.

When will the old generation of politicians die to make room for a new one? Please let it happen soon? Why is this country so fucked up still?

I lay in bed 3

I lay in bed
when I need to sleep
by all accounts
of all there
I make no peep
I see the stuff
it looks to me
like a purse of coin
filled with thing gravy
Do I talk about myself too much?
close
close
drift
drift
off peacefully
away

Toddler wakes dada this time

It's morning time not time to play

She is watching Fraggle Rock, the dvd she chose, and now she's whining about it. Wait, I'll start over.

This morning she woke me up by coming into my room! This is a mild milestone because, up until today, she would not get out of bed by herself. She has the power to now, as of the last three weeks or so when she graduated from the crib to a mattress on the floor.

I was very groggy when she did it. She almost immediately proceeded to bring me books in bed, to read to her. There was just no way.

Last night I worked till 12:40 or so and didn't get to sleep till almost 2. So I guess I was out of it. (Read this sentence in a Sheldon from Big Bang Theory voice:) It was about 8:10 when she opened my bedroom doors, which, combined with coos and whines, is what, I hypothesize, woke me up. We've got french doors that creak and crack when you open them.

The first thing I remember this morning is seeing her, peering thru the crack, looking timid. Probably cause she was embarking on new territory. I was not, of course, but it did clearly irk her that I took so long to get up and moving.

Megan later told me that, at 6:45 this morning, on her way out the door to go to work, Lucy got up and walked out into the kitchen, looking loopy. So Megan walked her back into bed and left with Lucy still looking at her, lying there.

She is such a funny sleeper.

So yeah, I have two rules for Toddler Tv Time.
1. No dvds before nap.
2. Whatever dvd she chooses to watch, she has to watch a whole episode before I switch dvds.

See, we don't have cable. And good riddance to it. It boggles my mind how stupid it is every time I'm at someone else's house and it's on. So Lucy watches dvds or Sesame Street on my computer. And I let her pick which one.

Could this blog entry get more exciting?

Today I broke rule 1, but stuck with rule 2, both because it suited me at the time. They're not carved in stone, after all.

Post 1-nite vacation ramblings

Toddler gets out of bed by herself for 1st x

I'm listening to this Withered cd. It's pretty awesome. Check their Wikipedia page here if you want. I took the cd up to Bellingham for my brother to rip. It reminds me of a black metal version of Mastodon. Lo and behold, when I look up the band's wiki, I see that the two frontmen play in another band with Mastodon's bassist. SCORE! I can identify the hell out of musical similarities.

Lucy always wants to be in the same room with me, but never wants to do what I want to do, namely, get her diaper changed. She'd rather sit in her toy box, and I don't really feel like/have the energy/drive to pull her out, so I just play in her room with her, and sit there and stuff, and after a while I'm like, well, baby, I'm gonna go in this other room till you're done sitting in your toy box. As soon as I walk out, she's right behind me, carrying two balls to bounce on the kitchen floor with a huge smile on her face and making sounds like, "Aaahh!" that she makes when happy.

I took a video of her throwing an oversized ball over the back of the couch, naked, and fresh out of the bath she had with me, with hair all curly and half wet. Her little butt is the cutest little butt. So little. I want to pinch it.

Yep, it's just me and my girl today. Hanging out and listening to Withered.

Now the Withered is off and Low is on. A nice change. Heavy metal is cool for a while, but play about seven or eight songs in a row and it's like, "STOP THE POUNDING!"

Lucy has graduated from the crib. She now has her crib mattress on the floor, with three blankets. It's tucked in a corner of the room, and we put three big pillows on the floor next to her while she sleeps. At first I would constantly find her, any time in the night after she had gone to bed, on the floor, huddled up in fetal position face down, sleeping. No blankets. She'd rolled out of bed, over the pillows, and stayed asleep. Must have been weird for her. She probably expected the crib walls to stop her from rolling too far.

Now she mostly stays in bed, but I find her out of the blankets a lot, and in funny positions. She really moves around when she sleeps. I can tell when it's a deep sleep if she hasn't changed position when it's time to get up. I'll find her with her feet on the floor, or her head by where her feet should be, or something. It's been about two weeks since she graduated.

Today was a milestone of sorts. Well, it began last night, really. After Megan put her down for bed at eight, she got up out of bed, walked over to her door, opened it, and came back out! It was funny to me, sitting there playing Fallout 3 GAME OF THE YEAR EDITION KICKASS, on my second cocktail, seeing this little girl pop out of her room in her jammies, and go right for the bookshelf like it's time to play.

Momma had a different take on it. She took Lucy back in her room, put her in bed, and walked out. Then Lucy walked out a couple minutes later. So Momma took her and held her to herself, face on bosom, while she sat on the couch.

"If you're gonna be up, this is what you're gonna do." *squirm "Nope! No, Lucy, it's not time to play. You get to do this if you're up." And there it went for about 10 or so minutes before Momma took her back into her room, and laid down with her. About a half hour goes by. Momma walks out looking like she just woke up!

Continuing the milestone, this morning was the first time Lucy got up out of bed by herself, without me having to open the door, see her sitting up in bed, afraid to get out or something, and say, "C'mon, girl! It's okay. Get up."

Ok, she's done with me typing in a big way. Bye.

The snow from my apartment

 Out the window

Lucy's doing a little breakdancing.

I think I'll name my next child Asplundh....

I'm getting sleepy.

Waitaminute....

This snow is POISON SNOW!!

In the past decade, the heaviest snowfall Seattle has seen came in Februaray, 1916. There were 21.5" measured. After that, the next heaviest was in January of 1950, when 20" were measured. See the data for yourself.

But this year will not be quite so bad. In fact, starting tomorrow, the forecast is mostly sunny! But that 26 degree high will be a bitch. After that, guess what-- Rain!

I'm glad I got pics of the snow before the melt, cause it's starting now. The ground isn't frozen or anything. It's not like the Michigan winters I miss, where the snow would fall for days and trap us in our homes and make driving treacherous.

How much you wanna bet the city will get itself up in a tizzy about snow and ice removal this winter?

Complaining about raising kids

Who deserves the privilege?

I don't wanna be a dick about it or anything, but new parents who grew up in lives of privilege, & who also complain on Facebook about needing a vacation, can really irk me. Aww, is poor wittw Snookums, who had his or her way thru college paid by mommy and daddy, now realizing how difficult it is to raise kids?

Taking it an irritating step further, I argue they're not actually having a hard time. If you're a parent who's confused about whether or not you deserve to complain, here's a handy list of queries to help you decide whether it's acceptable to complain about how hard your life is:

1. Do you own a nice house, especially one with extra rooms, that isn't in danger of foreclosure?
2. Do you or your partner have a job that makes you at least upper-middle-class money?
3. Do you hire a nanny or house cleaner?
4. Do you employ a private Sushi or Barbecue Chef?

If you answered yes to any of those questions, folks, don't complain on Facebook about having it rough.

When I read, "I so/really/desperately need a vacation," my blood begins to boil a little bit. I have no plans for a vacation (except for one night at a relative's house for Xgiving, which I'm looking forward to), no dates with friends arranged, another child on the way, and no end in sight to the childcare responsibilities.

However, I do have a partner that makes adequate money, I have time to type with Lucy running around in the morning, and I live pretty comfortably. I even enjoy my part-time cooking job, cause the place I work is so awesome. So I try not to complain either. I do, though. Sometimes. Not that you've ever read here.

Okay, I'll throw you Richie Riches a bone: kids always find ways to make their parents pull their hair out. But all it takes is peace of mind, and a work ethic, to deal with it adequately--not money.

To those who can't always pay their bills, and don't have partners to help raise the kids, my heart goes out to you. That's gotta be tough.

I RULE

aaaaaaaand THAT'S WHY DADA WINS

Tantrums and discipline

Parents ready to throw down

Okay, Lucy's 20 months old. That means she can really throw tantrums. Stronger and longer lasting than ever before. I'm talking everything she does includes a cry, whether she wants to do said thing or not, and whether she wants to cry or not. The slightest thing will cause her to explode, especially saying something like, "Come on Lucy, it's time to brush teeth."

It's almost like a skip on a record when she's insane like that. She gets caught in a loop. She starts crying and it escalates and she wants to see how much further she can push it. It's sort of like an endurance race, I hypothesize. She's getting older and wants to push boundaries as far as her newfound strength, awareness and other results of growth will let her.

But then when the tantrum gets to be as big as it can be, she doesn't see that she should stop. Maybe it's that it's more difficult to stop than to keep going. Maybe it's like when you embarrass yourself, and part of you just wants to keep going rather than look stop and look at what you're doing, thus letting that embarrassing shame affect you.

As a kid, I threw nightly tantrums for a time, somewhere between the ages of six and eight. My whole family was probably like, "Jesus, shut up already." The thing is, they wouldn't punish me or force me stop. I think that was maybe because I was amping up the pity factor for myself. I was learning how to manipulate them somehow with crying about how hard everything was. School, life, whatever. But life wasn't hard for me back then.

I'm more likely than my parents were to put Lucy's face onto the floor and keep it there until she stops crying. I've done it once, and I almost did it last night. I'm not having anyone screaming in my place for that long without me doing whatever I can to put a stop to it.

I'm bigger, and I'm the boss. She throws fits, I make her stop. I win; I'm the dada. I am God. And holding her onto the floor, not pushing her into it, but holding her down, facedown, usually works within seconds.

Then I make sure to give her some love after it. Hugs and nice words and kisses.

I don't care if she is growing another molar. It can't be that bad. I mean, mouth pain doesn't cause you to totally lose your shit, does it? Neither does diaper rash. Maybe all that, combined with frustration of both wanting to talk, and not wanting to at the same time (which seems to be her clashing, frustrating problem), is the cause of the tantrums. Tantrums are never called for, and they will be stopped in their tracks in my house.

Just now, as I'm typing this right now, she's hollering about a diaper change. She's got a rash, and it's nap time for sure. It really really really gets under my skin when she does this. Makes me shake. Makes me worried, then angry, then angry that I was worried at all, and angry that aside from all that I'm still worried. Anger and worry. A potent emotional cocktail.

And this morning at Beth's, she was close to throwing one before we left. I eventually let her run down the aisle and up to other tables just to keep her from losing her shit, goddam baby

A hero in sheeps clothing

A certain type of person

One simple question someone asks you can totally change your mindset and blow you out of the water, to smithereens. At least, it made me question what I had just said.

"How you gonna do that?" It totally shook me. It rocked me. I didn't answer for a second or two. I realized I had no idea. There was no road paved before me. There was no path to riches I had planned out. I'm supposed to have everything together and see a complete future visionment. I'm supposed to set goals. That's what men, especially fathers, are expected to do.

I had said, "I want to make money. Real money," sort of both honestly, and as a way of falling in line with that notion of a successful male.

The man who asked me that question--he's one for looking into people's souls. Really getting to know you. Personally. Deeply. Weirdly. Sometimes it gets so bad that it seems fake. Like the guy's got a screw loose; a warped vision of reality; totally lost inside his own head with no window to the outer world he interacts with.

But then I think, maybe he's like heroes portrayed in so many stories. You know, like the guy who can't get along with people, who won't play by the rules, who has his many many many quirks, and who makes it out on top at the end with some wacky, whimsical device.

Trouble is, that's definitely not this guy, but he did recently come into a promotion at work. He's older than me by over 10 years, and those older people always see right through me. I felt like a little kid talking to him. There's probably a reason middle aged people don't really have younger friends--it would be like me befriending a 17-year-old and hanging out and talking romance and cars and drinking soda.

I told him he got my gears moving. Showed him my face as it was confused and startled. I let him see how he was affecting me by simply calling me out. I gave that to him. I let him talk to me. Oh, and another thing about this guy--such a talker!

Our conversation quickly turned to how raising a child is such a sacrifice, lecture-style. Ugh. Like I don't already goddamn know. In addition to his promotion, he was offered a transfer to somewhere sunny and nice, and secluded, which he accepted.

"I did it! I finally did it!" he said with a big smile and raised arms with fists on the ends. Then, pointing, "And you know why I did it? Just to spite all those motherfuckers who said I couldn't." For a minute I felt like he thought he was onstage at the Oscars, thanking the academy.

Oh, and he was pretty pissed, too. Sloshed. Terminated. Really drunk. Not falling over drunk, not even word-slurring drunk. But he does like his alcohol, and I think he has other vices too.

One time he comes in to the bar and can barely talk. He looked hopped up on something strong. All I remember him saying was, "I did a bad thing," very slowly, and he wouldn't look me in the eye, instead favoring that thing where people move their head as if to create eye contact, but keep their eyes closed. Then they open them and look away.  I don't know what the fuck he could have been doing.

This guy...... a hero. A weirdo. An annoying bastard. A blabber-mouthed drunk. A hero.

And in the end, I felt better about myself. One last thing he told me: "Relax. You're going to do fine." Simple wisdom, boy I tell ya.

A camper that is happy

Coffee learns dada how to be wakies wakies

I use a Moka to make my coffee every morning.

Let's start over. I'm addicted to coffee. I love my coffee. I've got my way that I drink it, and my day cannot begin correctly if I don't have it that way.

The grinder scares Lucy something fierce. Well, it used to. Today, she saw it, pointed at it. Now this is not unusual. But then she ran out to go watch Sesame Street, which was playing on my computer and she had lost interest in even though she wanted it first thing after she woke up, and when I ground the coffee beans, making that awful noise, that loud, loud, grinding scary noise, Lucy didn't cry. That was new.

It was not always this loud. I set it on the fridge one day, and it fell off when I turned my back. It had a large fall and now it's a loud, noisy engine of grinding doom.

I use a Moka to make my coffee every morning. Here are a few links:
A description of how it works.
Pictures of a Moka.

The one I use is made by Bialetti. It is the second one down, I think. It may not make cafe-grade espresso, but it makes much more drinkable coffee than the fucking french press or a drip cup. I mean, the french press is a cool thing--the coffee comes fast, and it comes strong. But it makes my stomach boil and gets me all jittery with the strength of the coffee. I'd rather use a drip cup, but that tastes sub-par to the espresso I get from the Moka. It takes more time,  but the taste is worth it. And three cups out of one batch! It may not be strong enough for some, but it is for me.

Apparently they call espresso 'caffe' in Italy. So there ya go. Don't you feel better now, knowing this. Hooray.

Lucy is caught in the string for the blinds and needs my help. Now she's hollering. It's pretty funny.

It's now ten minutes later. She basically helped herself out of it when I came over and said, "Now walk over this way." She's eating stuffing out of a plastic container. Megan said she was going to make a Carb Bomb yesterday. I guess she did.

I used to drink half the espresso in our Moka in one go, and then the other half later. That was getting me too hpyed up, too caffeinated. I mean, caffeine is the reason I drink coffee, but I like it kinda medium-weak. Lots of water, a bit of milk. Now I split it into three cups--it lasts longer, and I feel better.

It's now twenty minutes later. Lucy walked in with her big girl cup of orange juice and proceeded to spill it all over the carpet. Then when I go into the kitchen to get a towel I see a bunch of it on the kitchen floor too. I can tell she felt bad about it, cause I wasn't overly loud or forceful when I said, "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.... you're spilling orange juice. No spills!" and it made her cry a lot. She's now drinking it herself, and being very careful not to spill. Lesson learned.

She even whimpers when she wants to grab it, cause she's afraid she'll spill. What a little beans. I love my daughter.

Gosh, I could talk about Lucy all day. I love documenting what happens in this household. Apartmenthold.

She's looking at a garbage truck right now, out the window. She brought me a book to read, and we were reading it, and she was even interested and engaged, but when that old familiar garbage truck sound came from the direction of the window, I knew there was magic a-brewing. She ran to the window to see the action, and I got a break in reading to her.

She's dressed, diaper changed, and fed. I don't put her into the high chair as much anymore, cause she's good about keeping her food either in the container, or in her mouth. She's learning to pick up what she drops, and showing that she wants us to be proud of her and happy with her. It's my dream come true. Only problem is, she's got A LOT of learning to do before she's good at any of if.

I guess it's not really a problem. I did sign on for it by putting the Lucy bun in the oven. Now there's gonna be an Alice/Boy bun. I'm still sticking to Julian for a boy name, I think Jules would be a great nickname.

She had some apple, most of a pickle, some stuffing, and orange juice. I'd say that's a good morning food amount. Lunch is supposed to be the biggest meal, right?

She smells like shit. Time for another diaper change.