Impolitic politics

Family political fights. My Dad is a right-wing crank. I'd respect him more if he weren't so obviously parroting the rhetoric one can hear every day on ill-informed, biased, right-wing radio. I know, because I've borrowed his car and every time I get in and crank it up, some stupid radio show comes on, and I get a dose of lies, exaggerations, fabrications, etc. Adding to the confusion is my Dad's ability to mix up stories that he hears Rush blathering about and then to propagate even further and worse untruths.

And so last weekend my wife Mira and dad got to talking about Obama, and my Dad was trotting out some story about how some shady guy (Ayers?) supposedly loaned Barack a large amount of money to buy his house in Illinois, and how this guy was part of the Weather Underground and basically a terrorist, and so my Dad is going on about how if THAT is how Obama judges character, then no way will he vote for him. And so Mira, who is pretty savy and politically aware, and who knows these facts pretty well, challenges my Dad, who begins to impugn her veracity, basically was very insulting, doubting her command of the facts, insisting on her brainwashing by the "liberal media", leading to Mira becoming, frankly, hysterical, screaming at my dad, cursing even (very unlike her), and storming out of the apartment. Unbelievable. "Thanks alot Dad!" I shouted, as I chased after her. Many hours of conversation later, Mira began to appologize and to cite hormones, sleep depravation, stress, and so on, none of which I found necessary since my Dad was admittedly just being an idiot. What I can't understand is how she actually takes the bait in these discussions. When my Dad goes off on these strange digressions

I must stop this
I must stop this
I must stop comparing my son to other babies of his age, because, it means nothing, right? Children develop at their own rate, not proscribed by manuals. Teague and I went for a play date today with baby-J the son of some well-to-do couple that Mira (my wife) had met during her New-Mom phase, and Dad (Effa) cares for him a couple days a week, so we agreed to try to get together and have some play-dates. J, wonder-baby (1 month younger than Teague), was walking around like a local Mayor, and pronouncing important words such as "pig", while Teague just crawled around madly, ignoring toys, and ignoring J.

Can I complain now about dads being duds? I mean, Effa's a nice fellow but, despite our similar, computer, work history, I can't get him to even talk about his job or anything else in fact. We do the usual parental, encouraging, cooing, and babbling with the kids, trying to encourage play and cooperation, but then, I'd also love to have a friend with some interesting views, for instance, if the dad had strange or weird musical tastes, and we could just put on some fine tunes while the kids played. Let's talk about the Clash, or Beck, or Neutral Milk Hotel, or, or....But no....

The next day Teague and I went swimming with another "New-Mom" friend, "K"; only, this one is pregnant with her next baby, and very kindly, despite being 9 mon. pregnant, invited Teague and I to go swimming. And so we trucked the stroller over to their apartment building, and enjoyed the cool water, which was nicely chilled after a few nights of cool weather. A very attractive (and I think "augmented') woman approached K. and I in the pool and first blabbered over the babies , and then revealed the information that she is a nanny and baby sitter. With her I ruled her out as a baby sitter for Mira and I. I could only imagine the vituperation should I suggest such a sexpot babysitter for Teague, and the unimaginable temptation and explanations after the drive home.

Block Vacuum

It is questionable judgement, perhaps, purchasing toy sets with more than, say, 30 pieces, or even up to 50 pieces. Annoyingly, my wife's most recent toy purchase was a set of 250 small building blocks. Now truly, Teague loves the blocks (in a way) though certainly not for building anything. His primary goal has become to disperse these blocks over as wide and even an area as possible within our house. With methodical ambition, he throws the hundreds of blocks from the container in a circle all around him, out to a circumference of 7-8 feet. In workman-like fashion, he proceeds then to push these blocks into the far corners of the room, eventually covering the entire room in a more-or-less even dispersal pattern.

He proceeds to the bookshelves and removes all available books from the lower shelves, scattering them in a similar fashion, stopping occasionally to browse. His job is not yet done though, and so he moves on to those CDs that he can reach on the lower shelves near the stereo system, and scatters them about the floor, flinging them with abandon. He hasn't figured out yet how to open them, but when he does, I'm certain that I will have many scratched up and useless discs on hand.

Finally, just to wrap things up for the day, he proceeds to the kitchen for a session with the cupboards. Tupperware, pots, pans, and many plastic implements are then brought into the open for his inspection. And so I am kept busy all day pursuing this chaotic force, and so I ask myself whether it is worth cleaning up these disasters as they occur, since they simply RE-occur throughout the day. My answer to myself is that I know that if I let it all go to the end of the day, then there will simply not be enough time to get everything back into proper order, and anyway, I'd be too tired after a couple of evening cocktails and a hot dinner to even approach it. What I need is a massive block vacuum, or maybe an all-purpose toy vacuum that can, like in the Cat and the Hat, just suck everything up all at once.

The young master Teague is now able to climb stairs. We have very steep wooden stairs in our house. One set leads from the first to the second floor, and another steep set leads from the second floor hallway up to the master bedroom on the third floor. And now that he has discovered this ability, his primary goal in life has become to attempt an ascent of any stairway within his view. I have permanently mounted gates at the TOP of the stairs to thwart his plunging down them, but up until this week I have had nothing at the bottom of the stairs. Now that he can climb, I have pressure mounted gates for the bottom of the stairs, but at first I didn't always remember to put them up. Then a couple days ago, I turned my back for a moment and he was half way up this dangerous, wooden K2. I snatched him from the stairs, reprimanding myself. He so easily could have fallen backwards and tumbled down 6 or 7 unforgiving stairs. How stupid I am! I was really pissed-off at myself. I mean, Teague can ably entertain himself, and so I typically let him roam the downstairs at will, most of which is baby-proofed; in this case, his abilities suddenly exceeded my precautions. I guess it just shows the necessity for constant vigilance. Now, after improvements, the house has the look of an Iraqi military zone, with multiple barriers, gates, and protective fencing strung along the banisters. It must look to others like we are horribly paranoid parents, but I just can't help but do as much as possible to protect against the unforeseen. I know that I can't protect him from everything in life, a life that is messy, unpredictable, and full of dangerous surprise, but those things that are in my control I must not ignore.

Agnostic Baptism

I heard an interesting report on the radio the other day about a summer camp for kids that is decidedly and pointedly agnostic in regards to the religious belief of the campers, in direct opposition, supposedly, to "Bible Day-Camps" and other faith-oriented brainwashing ventures. The camping, swimming, goofy kids are encouraged to be rational thinkers, and to make decisions about belief that are not pressured by the constricts of so-called faith. I tried to imagine Teague growing up without any kind of network of religious belief and I have mixed feelings about it. How does one encourage basic human decency and a sense of right and wrong without the all-powerful word of god hovering up above and the threat of a searing hell beneath? I have this one friend raised to atheistic parents who felt her sense of good and evil came from The Lord of the Rings trilogy which she read as a child.

Furtherdad is the product of a Catholic upbringing. I'm not disappointed with the human that resulted from the somewhat orthodox Catholic teachings of my youth, and as a logical result, I have to think that perhaps my Catholic upbringing was not as damaging, limiting, or as upsetting as many others report of their own. Perhaps you've heard of the "Recovering Catholic"? I never refer to myself as such, though I haven't called myself Catholic for decades. I just want Teague to be kind to other people, to be altruistic, sensitive and tollerant, and to not to wind up in a tower with a shotgun, raving about religious beliefs and taking sniper-shots at the public. Not too much to ask, I think? But it is a delicate balance, isn't it? My parents were rule-following Catholics, with weekly mass, Lenten observance, CCD, anti-masturbatory teaching, parochial school, parish bridge-club, sacraments, etc, with the occasional exception of the so-called mysterious "dispensation from the Pope" obtained (supposedly) allowing us to miss Sunday mass for extraordinary vacation reasons.

It was reason, philosophy, and the study of world religions during college that soured me on the one-true-faith line of thinking. How many people are there in the world? How many of these humans are NOT Catholic and believe in another god or religious system altogether? And exactly WHY does the Catholic Church (or ANY Christian Church) believe they have the keys to salvation? Are all these others millions (billions, actually) going to some Anglo-conceived hell with a horned devil and a searing pitchfork rammed up the bottoms of those fearful non-believers? It is so self-centered and narrow-thinking to maintain such beliefs.

Anyway, Teague was baptised into the Catholic Church last year due to certain familial pressures and expectations, none of which we were prepared to defy, and which would have resulted in years of family conflict and ostracization had we not proceeded as such. Well, here is how I think of it and try to justify this metaphysical mumbo-jumbo in which I don't truly believe: Baptism is a long-standing, ancient ritual, and the ritual is a beautiful event where all the family gathers to be together and celebrate new life and bringing the child into our community. I am all for that, and so we had a great party with all the family coming in from nearby, and Teague cried out heartily when the water was poured on his head, and afterwards we all ate great food at our house and got loaded. Perhaps some of the more devout in attendance were relieved that Teague was rescued from damnation, or perhaps purgatory, or whatever; I just think of him as a happy baby who had a great party with a warm and loving family in attendance.

Puerto Rican Chicken-pox?

Tuesday,

Tonight, I'm sweating in my office (saving some small money with no AC on) listening to baseball, fuzzy AM radio attenuated even more by the thickness and heat, at the end of a very busy cooking, errand-filled, cleaning day. I felt engaged and happy all day, running around figuring out how to get everything done. Ran with the jog-stroller to a farmer's market for more fresh peaches, went to a nearby park for massive, high-swinging session with Teague, ran errands, went to vet to fetch Doggy-Prozac for Mumi the anxiety-prone cur, walked same cur around the barrio, cooked food for the little guy, and made a massive pot of spaghetti sauce from a HUGE bag of tomatoes donated to us by our neighbors. Teague was a little pain in the neck this afternoon- refusing to nap peacefully, screaming like a madman. He has this high, piercing witch-scream that culminates in pitiful coughing and choking. At first, I found this coughing to be so shocking and dramatic that I would run into his room and hold him close to me as if he were near death, but what I've learned is that he stops choking and coughing and moans himself to sleep, eventually. I guess I've been additionally worried since I still have the lingering memory of Mira and I waking up in the middle of the night when Teague was about 6 months old and hearing him hoarsely coughing and choking, which sounded, startlingly, like the barking of a rabid seal. As we ran downstairs to his crib I felt certain that he was choking on a fishhook or some other strange foreign object, but then, after the 1 AM call to the emergency room, it was determined that he probably had CROUP and so as instructed, we sat in a steamy bathroom for a time, and after a while Teague was laughing and looking a little bit like he had pulled one off in that he was somehow up in the middle of the night, just hanging out with the adults.

But anyway, he had his 1 year doctor's appointment last Friday and the good doctor had nothing at all to say about the choking-screaming-coughing phenomenon, which she just said that some kids do that, and left the room and sent in the torture-nurse who jabbed him with three poison needles. Of course he screamed mightily (as I would too), but he recovered quite quickly and was laughing soon after. No side effects, at least not yet from MMR, Chicken pox and Hep-A. Mira and I had the requisite discussion regarding autism and inoculation fears, but just couldn't find enough reason to get all primitive and refuse vaccinations. Everything else is normal with our little guy, though his head size is still off the charts and he could nearly be mistaken for an hydro-cephalic child.

I cooked "Puerto Rican Chicken" tonight, the primary component of which is Sofrito, a nice blended mix of peppers, onion, garlic, tomato, etc, all mixed up and cooked along with chicken (and beer!). Not bad. I told Mira after a month we'd vote on the dishes I'd concocted recently and decide if any needed to be voted off the island. She said that this one could stay!

Week 1 Wrap-up

Well, week 1 of Furtherdad special daycare is complete, and I am on the verge of a new week. It is Sunday night and Teague is sleeping after a busy day with Mom and Dad. We went out in the morning to watch local triathletes, pushing our jog-stroller in a brisk family trot, and I have to confess that when passing by reflective glass (I can't help but gaze at myself) I'm totally embarrassed by how my gut has returned over the last few months. Perhaps it is because, not only do I continue to eat 3 squares a day, but I also finish whatever Master Teague doesn't eat. That is, I eat whatever has not been cast overboard from the highchair down to Mumi the scavenger hound, which is quite a bit of his food. I think that both the dog and I are gaining weight.

Also, this afternoon we went to a local orthodox church festival, ate awesome fried food and ethnic deserts, and listened to tales of weeping Catholic icons, as we were surrounded by devout adherents bowing and kissing the images. I'm kind of agnostic myself, but I try never to engage in any conversation about metaphysical religious experiences, because, as an agnostic, I mean, you are basically saying, "We just don't know". So, anyway, it was fun and Teague enjoyed pointing at all the gold-inlaid decorations, and the glittering iconography. We left full of greasy ethnic food and fond feelings for their devotions and friendly attention.

So, what do I feel about my first week staying at home? I've been asked this question often this week by family and friends, and not sure what they are expecting me to say. That I found it stressful and difficult? Emotionally and physically draining? Mentally exhausting? No...actually I had fun and enjoyed it immensely. I left a job that required 10-12 hours a day of constant, intense, mental challenge. My computer consulting job required the juggling of multiple parallel tasks, constant communication across continents and cultures, and nearly non-stop tasks to get the work done. Taking care of Teague feels relaxing and stress-free so far.

You might have the following picture of the new stay at home dad: Never gets out of boxer shorts all day. He sits on the couch watching Judge Judy or Heraldo while feeding the baby Cheetos. Drinks beer at noon and fails to shave or shower. Partner arrives home at end of the day to discover baby playing with razor sharp Wusthoff knife set, stove on fire, sink overflowing, soiled diapers scattered about...

Before starting to take care of Teague last Monday morning, I talked seriously to Mira about the future. She has been reading a NYT magazine article about "equal parenting", with anecdotes about how some couples keep spreadsheets to ensure equal adherence to tasks, and stuff like that. But what we discussed is that in my opinion equality only applies to us when we are both home and not "working". I think of my day with Teague as 8 (or more) hours of my pure domestic responsibility, and I'm not at all happy to be lazy or unoccupied, as some might imagine a new dad at home might be. So, I plan out all the meals I'm going to cook for the week, think about tasks I can accomplish when Teague is sleeping, find ways to integrate the little guy into cleaning or organizing, all of this and at the same time trying to find some fun outings for us, do errands, go running, etc. I find myself VERY busy, but in a fun way.

Week 1, my wife Mira has arrived home from work each day, and she has seemed somewhat annoyed (amusingly annoyed, let's say) wondering aloud to me every day how I could have managed to keep the house clean, cook dinner, feed Teague, walk Mumi, organize the closet, water the plants, go running, go to the bank, vacuum the downstairs, etc. She keeps saying, "You're making me look bad! It just doen't seem that hard when you've got 8 or 10 hours in a day and if you treat all of those hours as potentially productive. I mean, after the rigors of consulting project work and the demands of a team lead position, this feels kind of easy. As a result, Mira wants to do more on the weekends because I am taking care of the house and Teague all day, but this is bogus in my mind. She and I need to be EQUAL parents ONLY when we are both not working. Mira overcompensates on the weekends, but I wish she wouldn't. Why should she? She's earning all of our money now!!!

So, here we go into week 2. I've got my grocery list for the week. Come along...