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(no subject) [Jun. 25th, 2013|07:30 pm]
Ok, full disclosure - I was totally guilty of this before I became a parent. But you don't "know a lot about parenting" before you become a parent. You may know a lot about children, but being a parent is a fundamentally different skill set. It's like saying you know a lot about homelessness because you're an experienced camper. Some of the skills you have will translate. Some of them won't. And you won't know which are which until it's too late to do a damn thing about it.
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(no subject) [Apr. 16th, 2013|10:28 am]
Time to post. Life proceeds apace, and at a pace I sometimes have trouble keeping up with. Bombings of yesterday were quite nerve-wracking. Of course, I still can't help rolling over and over in my head how often Little Dude and I would be right there at the Marathon alongside everyone else, but I have stopped looking at alarmingly graphic twitter pics, so that's improved my sanity rating. Everyone I know was ok, and relentlessly obsessing over those that were not will not do me any good right now.

Work is boring, kid is alternately hysterical and infuriating, which is, as I understand it, how "four" rolls. I'm gearing up to cook a feast at the Peasant event this weekend, so I have a refrigerator full of turnips and beets and eggs. As a side note, after the shenanigans with 40th Anniversary, I now know that I can shove 200 people worth of food into the various refrigerators in the house. Merely socking away 100 people worth of food feels comparatively simple.

It's finally nice out again, so I am biking to work again, which is convenient given how fucked up the construction on the Anderson bridge into Harvard is. But it's nice to feel fresh air and move under my own power. If I get motivated and lucky in getting through real work today, I hope to stop by Bicycle Bill's and get a new child-seat for the kid.

So, how's by you?
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(no subject) [Sep. 5th, 2012|11:11 pm]
Is this entirely insensitive? Someone posts that crying kids on planes trigger their anxiety disorder. The response I didn't give is "I am sorry, and I try to manage my kid as best as I can on a plane, but it's not my job to manage your disorder." I mean, I get it and I sympathize, I do... but... how is "well, your kid might affect my mental health, so I don't think you should bring them on a plane" not entitled? My OCD is affected by having to use my co-worker's grody keyboards. So, I keep a keyboard-cleaning kit handy because I don't feel like I have the right to tell them I don't think they ought to type while eating a bear claw. (Even if in my head I think that they shouldn't.)
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Pennsic [Aug. 20th, 2012|04:33 pm]
People keep asking, so I'll just put it out there that I'm still not entirely sure whether it was fun or not.

There was a point on Tuesday where I very nearly burst into tears, put the kid in the car and drove to the airport to beg for a ticket change. I even asked him that day, and not in a mean or punitive way, "is this just too much? do you just want to give up and go home?" He said no, and I don't know what it was, but something just sort of settled after that. The rest of the week really wasn't too bad. (Until we had to leave on Saturday, and he threw the world's biggest tantrum, but that was not unanticipated; child does not do well with change.)

I kind of gave up on having adult conversations, dancing, classes, staying up past 8:30 p.m., or sitting through a full theatrical performance of anything. However, I also saw a side of Pennsic I haven't really seen in a while. We stopped and watched the jugglers on Urchin Row. We listened to the harpist. We spent an hour picking out lampworked beads. We spent every afternoon drinking frozen drinks and eating olives and pastries in the Vagabond. I sat in the playground and talked to the other people crazy enough or committed enough to bring toddlers to a mile-square danger minefield. I watched him play. I watched him negotiate. We went to the swimming hole. I walked miles and miles, pushing the stroller and praying the kid would finally nap. I watched fifteen minutes here or there of a dozen performers for whom I wouldn't ordinarily have stopped, and I didn't feel guilty for leaving. I learned to trust the kid to maintain his own safety when out of direct line of sight of a supervising adult for more than two minutes. We ran out in the rain, laughing like weirdos and got soaked through. He fell asleep on my lap. He helped wash dishes. We picked up ice together. He slept through the night in underwear and woke up dry for the first time. I watched him grow up a lot in a very short amount of time.

So, was it fun? I still don't know. There were the inevitable temper tantrums, the hauling him out of camp for naughty behavior, the hauling him back to camp for naughty behavior, sitting in the sweltering tent as the child served yet another time-out sentence in the stroller....

...and yet. When I got back, the first day at home Norah told me "you should take him to Pennsic more often. He's been good as gold." He's still sleeping in underwear. We set up the tent to dry at John and Jess' house and the kid asked if we were back at Pennsic, since that was his "Pennsic house" going up.

I know lots of folks send their kids to Camp Grandma for the war, and the why of it makes perfect sense to me. But as a working parent whose time with the kid is already compacted into "morning arguments", "evening witching hour," and "overbooked weekend," there is something valuable about a full week of just "time" instead of "quality time."

I don't know. I'll probably do it again next year. It's just my kind of crazy.
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elf on a shelf [Dec. 2nd, 2011|02:09 pm]
Elf on a shelf. It's this super-hot kid thing right now - just google it. Anyway, Ellen bought one for us and Rob is doing it with the kid. (Sounds like too much work to me.) Yesterday, I was informed our elf is named 48.

"48?"

I gave Norah a skeptical look. Apparently, they were trying to get the kid to go for "007" (because the elf is spying on him for Santa), which resulted in:

"His name NOT double-oh nennen [seven]. His name Fotty-Eight."
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no one will care... [Oct. 28th, 2011|10:10 am]
Ok, so I kind of got into Waldorf dolls when looking for a soft doll for Little Dude. At this point, I'm way more into it than he is, and I'm ok with that. Half the fun of having a kid is re-living your own childhood and having an excuse to do/see/collect kid things.

In the process of trying to find what I wanted, I got onto a bunch of waldorf enthusiast sites. I'm kind of addicited to internet drama and chat, so this is where I am getting my current fix.

Anyway, I just want to put it out there that it's kind of disingenuous to go on at length about how materialistic our society is if you have 30+ $200 dolls. Just sayin.
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(no subject) [Sep. 29th, 2011|03:41 pm]
Ugh. I have decided to do a short Facebook cleanse and stay the hell off it for a couple of hours. It's proving difficult. What does that say, I ask you?

I was off it for a whole week at Pennsic, and really wasn't tempted at all. I blame data hygeine work.
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(no subject) [Sep. 13th, 2011|11:14 am]
Well, I'm probably not going to the gym tonight as once again I spaced on calling child care 24 hours in advance. Trying to balance work, life and kid is a challenge on its own, and once you throw "gym" in there.... it just all goes to hell. Maybe I'll put Little Dude on the bike and go to the park - that counts as exercise, right?

I am so bad about getting him out of the house. We went to the library yesterday since the cloth diapering people cancelled their workshop 4 hours before it was supposed to happen. I figured I could bring a basket, and if anyone showed, talk to them about what we do. If not, the kid could look at books and play with the library's toys. Anyway, 20 minutes in and I remembered why I hate taking him to the library. He's only willing to read one or two books, then wants to spend the whole time playing with the library's puzzles. About half of the puzzles are missing at least one piece. This trips my OCD so hard.

If you're at the library and see a parent turning over every article of furniture in search of missing puzzle pieces... wave. It's me.
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(no subject) [Sep. 5th, 2011|10:51 pm]
I really need to get back ito the habit of LJ. Facebook is great and all, but I totally feel like a gerbil in a lab experiment, constantly hitting the bar in the hopes that this time something good will fall out.

Anyway, life is good, which admittedly makes for boring posts. Little Dude and I went to Water Country, which was ok. I have to admit, I haven't quite managed to scale back my expectations properly for it. Pennsic is still fun with the kid in tow because I go in with the mindset that I will do a little shopping and talk to my friends and anything else is gravy. It irks me that Water Country - ostensibly a family attraction - is basically inhospitable to the really little ones. Pretty much anything with more than 10 inches of water requires a life jacket, they were kind of pissy about how I couldn't use our own floaty, and they wouldn't let me and the Little Dude go down the slide at the pirate ship together. Fucking psycho, litigious, risk-averse society. Next time, I guess I will bring the life jacket we bought him for canoeing, which is Coast Guard approved and hasn't been mangled by every other guest.

Despite the above, we had a pretty good time. We were in the wave pool for a good hour before someone noticed our non-standard floaty and made a fuss. Little Dude found some other kids whose guardians didn't mind him hassling them. There was a little girl who coyly ran just slow enough that she never quite lost him and a pair of Hispanic boys who were much, much faster but happy to run loops around him and pretend to be scared by his monster impression. I think they might have been casting spells on him by the gestures, but since they were speaking Spanish at a rapid fire rate, we'll probably never know for sure. Unless he sprouts horns or something tomorrow. Which you would have to admit, would be pretty impressive.

Little dude's strongest memory of today is that as I was strapping him into the car seat to go home, a flock of seagulls descended on the hood of the car and ate the last of his basket of potato chips, which I had foolishly left there:

"Boird ate my pawowo cips. ::heavy sigh::"

Rats with wings, I tell you.
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I have a little fish! [Jul. 11th, 2011|12:23 pm]
Little Dude can totally swim without me now, given a floaty barbell to hang onto. It gives me palpitations to see him blithely heading out to the deep end, one hand grimly gripping his barbell and one hand outstretched for rubber-ducky collection. I feel like a goalie, or an orbiting moon as I follow him. If I get too close, though, he's all "No mommy do it. Baby do it by self."

He's taken a couple duckings for his pride, and of course, I never want to be so far off I can't just fish him back out. Still, it's a mixed set of emotions, watching him swim off alone. Pride, fear, admiration...

It's funny, because I have heard some people say they felt the same way when their kid learned to walk. I was pleased when the Little Dude took his first steps, but I think I just took it for granted more. Everyone learns to walk, sooner or later, unless one is subject to some physical disability.

Seeing him strike off on his own in the water, though - fearless, determined, joyful... It pulls at my heart.
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