OK, so I'm not the best Dad, I'm realizing.

OK, so I'm not the best Dad, I'm realizing.

As I envisioned it, I would probably have won big-time awards by now; Dad-Olympic medals, Dad-Pulitzer Prize, Dad-Nobel Prize. Teague and I would be walking down the street abreast, proud father and strutting son, he uttering childish observations hinting at early genius (Da Da, why E=mc squared?) and I would be instructing him gently in matters of English, manners, mathematics, physics, even perhaps throwing in some Spanish instruction...you get the picture. Of course things don't ever work out as you envision them in your best-dreamed scenarios. Teague is not exactly breaking any age-related barriers or stunning anyone with his precocity. As I've mentioned before in this blog, he is even behind in some physical and, perhaps, language categories, all except for the category of "cuteness", where he is pretty far ahead at this point. OK, so, maybe he will have to get by on his looks, is what I've been thinking recently. There are worse things, right?

It's just, at this point, a parent has many misgivings about one's own parenting skills. Have I been doing the right things? Should I have been putting Teague through baby Pilates (baby-Yoga, baby-Tai-chi, or whatever), or language acquisition boot-camp, or perhaps music appreciation class, or infant violin lessons? Instead, Mira and I have so far simply relaxed at home with our boy, played with him, gone for walks, gave him hugs, meals, etc. So far it has always been a simple mix of interactive play (as much as an infant can play) and then, just letting him play by himself. I mean, I find it very difficult to be 100% engaged with him all day, and often I turn to work on the family finances, or fix the drain, or clean up a million blocks scattered about the house, or fix dinner for the family, and so I let him rampage about the house throwing books, CDs, blocks, toys, dishes, etc all over. But then I think, well, maybe I should have been doing flashcards or drills or therapeutic art or some other thing with him that I understand other intense, goal-oriented, parents might do.

So, I'm not the greatest Dad I'm realizing. Sometimes I ignore Teague when he is grasping at my pant leg and moaning for attention. Sometimes I forget and leave the basement door open, and I find Teague rapt with amazement, leaning out over the precipice of the dark and foreboding descent, on the verge of tumbling down into the subterranean depths. I confess, many times I don't wash his hi-chair tray between meals, and worse yet, sometimes I just let Mumi (the killer Spaniel) lick it clean. Sometimes I get enraged with this 14-month-old (how stupid am I to get mad at a toddler!) and we have some dumb standoff over food because he is basically throwing it all over the place and refusing to eat and so I am angry and remove him from his hi-chair and he screams, face all twisted and ablaze in red streaks and tears, pathetically trying to climb back into his hi-chair, just to be presented with the same food once again, which he throws back on the floor, repeating the cycle. Yes, and sometimes I know his diaper is soaking wet, but I delay changing it because of some issue of timing in my mind, or just plain laziness, and despite his discomfort. And sometimes I'd really just rather read the paper than play "push the ball back and forth between us" for another several hours. There are times when I put Teague down for a nap, and I just want a strong drink because, well, because I want one, and anyway I drink too much anyway, so why not start early? I'm gaining weight, and I can hardly control my eating as I eat constantly when I feed Teague, and all the time when I'm fixing dinner for the family, all of this in addition to the actual meals that I eat with Mira. So, soon I will be a chubby, lame, unshaven stay-at-home-dad, just as one might predict. One time, I set Teague on the couch, just for a moment, while I turned away, and of course he threw himself backwards off the couch, and we were only saved from a brutal concussion by the fact that he actually landed ON TOP OF the killer Spaniel Mumi, who was just too startled to even be vicious about it and just ran off with a yelp, and Teague was only frightened and cried for like 2 minutes. Sadly, I let Teague crawl around the house totally filthy, in dirty clothes and with feet and hands practically black from household dirt, and then don't even really clean his face really well after his meal, and so he looks like a truly impoverished orphan with crusted food and filth and dog-hair all over him....

I simply should be a better Dad. I know it and I know I can be a better man. I feel I've accomplished much in life and Teague and Mira are the best things that I could possibly have found in life, and they deserve my best. Maybe I'm just in a bad state of mind. Maybe I'll do better tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow we'll get the finger paints out again, head to the park, laugh in the sun, even take a bath. Maybe.

Dawn of the Dead

Well, I haven't posted for a while, mainly because I've been busy running this bed and breakfast here, or at least it feels that way lately what with multiple visitors and dinner guests. We had weekend guests, my best friend and his new bride, and if they were having any misgivings about having children, I suspect this has been tipped towards the negative over a weekend where Teague arose screaming at 4:30 AM on consecutive mornings, and could not be convinced to return to sleep in order to wait out Aurora's arrival. I mean, what are you supposed to do about this? We've tried putting him to sleep earlier in the evening (which many books suggest) to no avail, and tried later in the evening too, tried to increase nap time, get him to eat more at dinner, or eat less maybe, or decrease nap time.... but no combination or ritual seems to dissuade him from this brutally early wakeup alarum.

And so I stagger along the creaky hallway in the chill of pre-dawn, and open his nursery door to find the toddler Teague standing up in his crib, his mouth a rictus of wailing sorrow, his rage caused by this terrible, nightly abandonment, but then now he's also half-laughing in relief at my appearance, though simultaneously choking and gasping for breath. So, I pick him up, and calm him by singing the alphabet, the letters of which are affixed to his nursery wall, each letter having an accompanying little picture (like "Apple" for A) and so we have to go through a few of those pictures, identifying the Pig, the Monkey, or the Owl, and then we move on down the creaky hallway where Teague likes to point at the various family pictures that line the wall and I inform him of the subject of each picture even though it is almost totally dark: Uncle Jim, Cousin Sarah, Grandma Stone, etc. Then slowly up the stairs (the stair are also creaky, which is part of living in a 100 year old house) to our third floor bedroom where Mira lies waiting groggily, still more asleep than awake, Teague growing ever more excited in anticipation of the exposed breast lying there warmly in the dark, commencing then frantic nursing for as long as Mira will put up with it, which could even be a couple of hours or more which I think is ridiculous, but if not that, then what? Head down to start drinking coffee and playing with the myriad blocks at 4:45 AM?

Well, what are ya' gonna do but love him anyway, right? Despite his appetite for household destruction, food hurling tendencies, and fecal disasters, we love him all the more, for he is all brilliant energy and brutal, unknowing optimism, and every day I am amazed all over again at how he grows, learns, and darts about with miniature energy. It makes me wish I could look at the world as new every day, and to feel as unsullied and pure as I once was before the oceans of poison in this world washed through my body, tarnishing it, staining the mind and body forever, as we are all tainted by bad habits, age and cynicism to some degree. Perhaps like my father I will fall into the role of curmudgeon or aging misanthrope, but if anyone can save me from such a fate, it will be Teague, who I believe is right now throwing bath toys into the toilet, so I must go...

Ever-crescive reactionary views

I discussed with my wife Mira today, the idea that I should have an intervention with my Father, regarding his ever-crescive reactionary views. I mean, it was kind of a joke to start with, but also I was half serious about conferencing my family into a call and talking this over. I have several really liberal brothers and sisters, and in addition to this crew, there is my Mother (divorced from Dad for like 15 years now) who is a LESBIAN who has been with the same partner for a decade and so I find it difficult to justify my father's behavior, or to understand his views. When we argue, he always says, "Can't I have my own opinion?", but then I just get exasperated because his opinion is typically some recycling of what he hears on AM, conservative, talk radio shows. It is obvious. He often trots out "facts", mostly incorrect, none of which he has checked, and most of which he conflates or confuses. Also, he seems to be building up a persona of sorts, an image of himself that is to his liking, that is, he is proud to be a "curmudgeon". A couple of weeks ago he said to me, "Jerome, one day when you're older, you'll come around to this same feeling I have, which is that, I'm just not willing to put up with other people's sh**t anymore, and I'm tired of wasting time on other people, and just want to be left alone." I'm not kidding, he said this to me. Like now he is some kind of self-satisfied misanthrope. I'm not some youngster, mind you, now at 42 years old, and somehow I have no problem rejecting his prognostication, and still feel a great thrill about the prospects for life and love in our lives.

So, time for an intervention!! But how? Would my siblings agree? I mean, in a way, it is tantamount to curtailing his free speech. Basically, I want to say to him, "Dad, cut out this right-wing political bullsh**t or I'm not going to let you see your grandson Teague." I know that is not fair, but the truth is, I don't want him, no matter his age or political affiliation (I think Teague is an Independent for now) to be exposed to cranky right-wing politics. I'd love to have a grandparent babysitting for us, but not if Teague is going to have to sit in front of Bill O'Reilly and a barrage of Fox News clips. I think it is true that everyone must be allowed an opinion, but what if the opinion is full of lies and misguided misunderstanding? Is THAT allowed?

I have VERY strong reasons to support a liberal ticket. I am a backpacker who has hiked thousands of miles in the wilderness, completing the Pacific Crest Trail and the Appalachian Trail. I believe in protecting our remaining wilderness from corporate despoiling. In addition to Teague, I have a beautiful child with a lesbian couple who are far better parents than most of the hetero-parents I know. I have a close relation who was raped and had to have an abortion as a result of this, and I want to protect her right to choose. I am a child of privilege and I KNOW THIS! I have been given the gift of privilege, and I believe we need to spread out the wealth of this country and draw back that gap between the super-rich and the ultra-impoverished.

Well, probably there will be no intervention- I'm too weak. Families just continue on as they do, in a rhythm of rage and calm. For now all is quiet.

Not-so-Grand a parent's day

Tomorrow is "Grandparent's Day". I'm not sure if that conotes anything important or not. What I mean, is that we have these concocted holidays, days of "respect", or whatever to call them, like Father's day and Mother's day. Of course we should love and respect Ma and Pa, but do they mean anything really, these holidays, coming as they do, out of a more recent, and can I say, entreprenuerial tradition? If I just ignore them, or don't send a card, am I an evil son to be abducted in a black hood by the Hallmark Dark-Ops Squad?

I was wondering because last weekend I was somewhat pissed off at my Dad, the right-wing crank who, in the absence of my supposed step-mom (on vacation), had voiced plans to come visit Mira, Teague and I at our humble home. He is only a couple hours drive away from us, and all summer we've been renting a car, loading it up with massive baby gear, driving the 90 miles to see HIM, and I figured at least he would come out on this ONE weekend when the evil step-mom was out of town. But no, he decided to golf instead ("It's a GREAT country club", he said, "and it's so sunny today!"). In reality, I figure, in the absence of his wife he wanted to stay home, drink vodka unmonitored, and look at extensive pornography, since he doesn't have much chance to do so otherwise. I mean, who could blame him?

But then, he also said they would come to see us THIS weekend, and then just today called at the last minute to cancel. Mira is worried that it is all because of the idiotic argument mentioned in a previous post. I don't think so, and I know that my Dad would LAUGH mockingly at this idea, since such things don't phase him. Dad claims, jokingly, but I think with a measure of truth- that he wants to stay home and be a curmudgeon. He increasingly acts the misanthrope- claiming to have little tolerance for ANYONE, except, of course, for those people such as his family who he is forced to put up with by reason of consanguinity.

So, no sweet Grandparent cards to be exchanged in this family. No doddering, goofy, happy reunion of old and young with both old and young drooling down their shirts. Well, I guess I should try to look on it positively. Mira, Teague and I will have a fine weekend together at home, just the three of us, with no pressure to cook meals, provide drinks or entertainment, etc. The weather should be fine. Teague is cruising and pulling up on everything. We have little reason to continue physical therapy, though at 14 months I wish he would say one other word besides "BAH" (or is it "MAH")? He points at EVERYTHING and says "MAH!". As he points incessantly left and right at every object, I can only imagine that he is cataloging these words and will spill them out in unending spools at a later date.