Coffee, Cookies, Beer and Bourbon

November 30, 2009 / chollaball / 2 Comments

Other than grotesque amounts of tday food each night, these 4 food groups were all I ate most of the weekend.

Short rides every day added up

began Thursday will hill repeats before a trip to the Superlay for liquor and pie filling

this rock does not look like much…

…but its perfectly shaped for lounging

impressive bird action below me

dunno why this had me so sketched, other than the part about alone\wrong bike\wrong shoes\mexican health care

nice houses

be sure to sign the Waiver

quiet times over the estuary

I WILL RIDE THIS! might have to be 6am on a Sunday morning, the new Tesoro resort is busy and beautiful

are you together?

another vacant complex opened its lot, and luckily put all the goods in the back. Up the staircase, across the lot…

…up the ramp and 25 yards down the hallway…

…down the stairs…

…across the conch…

…down another hallway and exit the small staircase

Ghosts appear and fade away

November 25, 2009 / chollaball / Leave a comment

I went looking for a book that has disappeared, searching high and low through the entire house and strollers and bike carriers and backpacks and string bags. No luck, but I did find a dog leash and my lost pair of splinter tweezers. This is somewhat rewarding, especially since now I no longer have to dig cactus spines out of my hands and toes with a dirty swiss army knife.

I went looking for one of G’s flip-flops, and found my lost bike bell. Searching for her fleece hat, I found it, only to realize that we had lost the pieces to one of Alana’s puzzles. I quested after G’s sunglasses, and returned with 2 pair, but wondered what happened to her blinky superball . And I found another dog leash.

G and Alana have no clue whatsoever where they put things. Even when things don’t technically “get lost,” they are dropped with such random who-gives-a-shittedness that they are, for all intents and purposes, functionally missing long before a formal Search & Rescue mission is undertaken. This means that I am now responsible for the varied possessions of 3 people.

I rarely lose things. A point of training early in my Ultimate career was: never get separated from your stuff. Along with always carry extra toilet paper, this is doctrine for me. But resources are finite, and the added burden of 2 tinyHumans is causing cracks in my foundation. Last week I left a water bottle at an Intro to Avy seminar at REI. Today I left my favorite hat at the gym.

This trend bothers me, because I am cheap, sentimental, and horrified by its further reflection of my loss of control. No matter how much you try to stay on top of kids’ stuff, you are always hunting for it, and all the explanations in the world can not keep me from feeling addled and too-late, like a dumb stoner, except I always know where my dugout is, proving that parenthood is actually worse for your short-term memory than pot.

Losses and misplacings only get more complex with sets. Socks – so many cute ones living as widows and orphans, where even if their mates are alive, they may be mixed in with the other age group. Every once in a while G puts on a sock that barely passes her toes, or Alana gets an enormous leg-warmer. Socks are lucky to at all be found amidst the bottomless pile of pastel-colored laundry, that I can fold and sort for hours and never make a dent in the total number or volume of items.

Toy groupings are by far the worst, as G has a genuine emotional attachment to some of her toys, and apparently the toys have emotional attachments to each other. Stuffed Kila, Mommy Dog, and Granny Dog were grief-stricken when Baby Dog could not be found, their sorrow so devastating it nearly prevented our trip to the park. Baby Dinosaur was missing for almost a week, and even after both G and Mommy Dinosaur had turned the page, I alone held out hope, eventually finding it in her cubby at daycare. She brought Baby Dinosaur into school again today with her, it really needs a buddy-system. Apparently I am its buddy.

The Dad Stance

November 25, 2009 / chollaball / Leave a comment

Once of the teachers at G’s school called me out on doing The Dad Stance when G ran over to give me a hug goodbye.

One knee forward, center back, hands in a defensive posture. Protect the balls at all times.

Red Rock Redux

November 24, 2009 / chollaball / 3 Comments

Bob, Doug and I left Phx early to meet Helimech and a big group in Sedona at 8:45. The stated goal was Sedona’s new 3 crown jewels: Hangover, High on the Hog, and H***. This day would be my 5th time in Sedona in the past year, after riding it only 2x in 9 years. The right trails and the right guides make all the difference.

Within the first 20 minutes in the parking lot, with our group of about 15 slowly assembling, it hinted that we would not hit all 3 trails. Before the ride was over, most everyone had some issue or another, and along with lunch and shuttling 2 times, the best thing I did was lose track of the clock on the seemingly-endless 30 minute climb up Munds. No rain made lots of sand, which made this much harder than I remembered. Doug also put his hand into the exact same cactus I did last year. Along with Bob and Kenny, the 4 of us were our own little group of pretty good climbers, but we all struggled up the hill. The beautiful day and incredible scenery kept us motivated for the first reward – the ledgey traverse over to the Cow Pies saddle.

Bob

John (Traildoc) – I followed him whenever I could, he knows every line in Sedona

Grunting up over the saddle with my bike on my shoulder, I forgot how quickly the gnarly drop-in to the Hangover trail arrives – just shy of an hour. Last year, the newness of this type of terrain had me already sketched when we reached the saddle. This year it felt good and I was calm and determined to try the bowl. I watched Aaron (Lostboyz) plunge down the blue line, ending in a little double drop — there was no fucking way I was trying it. Then Traildoc smoothly went down the pink line, which still looked hairy but doable. I walked it, and watched Bob get almost all of it before skidding the finish, then hopped on my bike and went over the lip.

For about the first 2 seconds, I felt good and in control, then the back wheel started skidding sideways downhill, and suddenly I was prone facing into the hill and the bike was sliding down the face below me. A couple of guys were on the ledge under the drop, and stopped my bike from going completely down the face, and then pandemonium ensued as everyone was sure I was dead. Amazingly, I was unscathed, and felt really calm and never like I was in much danger. Maybe cause it all happened so fast, but I think its more due to snowboarding, where you embrace the ground and its relationships to you, never losing focus on the triangle between it, balance and momentum. Its clearly made me better at bailouts on the bike, cause I’m always moving and planning right upto the moment when I smack into the rocks. This time I consciously twisted around and fell into the hill with my toes digging in to give me purchase. The bike would have been at the bottom of the butte were it not for my friends’ help, but it too suffered only a small tear on the seat and a lost endcap off one of the grips. I couldn’t figure how the damage was on the right side, as I thought the bike fell on the left as the back slipped downhill, but maybe i spun it around and pointed downhill before flopping – who knows with all the drama?

Some guys later told me that the trick on that terrain is to use your front brake. Bob had the same issue, thwarted by all our practice on Somo dragging only the rear brake down the chunky slots. It was a good lesson for slickrock, and payed off before the trail was done. Part of me thinks I should make more of this than I am, that I should really be freaked out — its a scary pattern if you line it up with my falls over the past 3 months on Wasabi, at NRA, plunking my forearm on Pass Mtn, eating pavement after the Halloween ride, avoiding cars on my commute. But I’m no more hurt than when I fell on TRW 10 yrs ago, and didn’t ever get further beyond my ability than I did back then. I think dwelling on it some is good. Fear is good. Pads are good. But it was just one slip, and not a reckless one. I am at a point in my riding where this is a regular conversation, and I need to remember to always stay focused, stay within myself, and respect danger.

I dusted myself off, and rode all the traverse and the exit off the high butte with no fear. I went slowly and methodically, the deep sand making balance and acceleration a constant challenge, the narrow trail on the cliff totally unforgiving of sloppy leans. I got off many times to push sections that were too sandy or tight to roll, and stopped to preview all the hard moves at the end, but Hangover was simply not the same boogeyman that had been in my head since this time last year when I was nearly-paralyzed with fear. When I came to the first tough switchback leading from the traverse out onto the exposed face, I easily cleaned it while recalling how last year it felt like a punch in the throat. The seat was 4 inches down, runs down Holbert and Goat Camp and 24th St and Wasabi were in my mental well, the crash on the bowl blocked out of it, and my confidence a stronger foundation than concrete and rebar. It was just another thrilling double-black trail, and getting all of the switchbacks probably was the highlight of my riding year.

Josh coming down The Nose

A rip-roaring descent with more gnar and more challenges led us to the bottom, where we piled back in the trucks before stopping for lunch.

The consensus was to skip High on the Hog, and do the longer loop featuring H*** and several other superfun trails. That wound up being a good decision, as most of us were gassed by the end of our ride. It was only 20 miles and 4 hrs riding time, but with over 4k in vertical and practically none of it smooth rolling. Some riders joined our group, others left, the slow technical climb up to the face of another butte consumed my focus. More ledges, more exposure, but somehow with a different feel from both Hangover where you dangle next to the void and HOTH where you hug and flow along the steep insides of a butte. H*** was longer and more epic than both, giving you a feeling of *mountain* biking that you don’t always get in Sedona, with its many short trails and rapid ups and downs. The pics, the laughter, and the contagious grinning carried us over a saddle and into a 1000 foot descent down to Buddha Beach. It was the longest continuous descent I’ve done in Sedona; a technical candy store full of slickrock, steep slots, switchbacks, whoopdies, and rock gardens.

I’m Helimech, your host, welcome to Fantasy Island

I learned not to follow stud riders like Kenny and Mitch through slickrock gardens if self-preservation is a goal, but riding near them was like being in a video game – I would lean and jump a little, and they would fly across the sky. I flowed right behind Aaron through the whoopdies, the big air he caught at every opportunity serving like signal flares for each moment I too should throw my bike skyward.

Doug flatted at the top of this rock garden, but it was such a fun stretch I didn’t mind walking back up to the top to help him, since I could roll it again.

Bob and Aaron waited with us. My new fancy-shmancy pump got put to good use. Other things from my camelback that were gainfully employed on the day: spare derailleur hanger, multitool, and zip ties for Aaron, who yanked off his fubarring a landing through the whoopdies. I was psyched to help him with the ties, especially after his help made swapping the derailleur hanger a no-brainer task. Karma is good like that. I shared with the assembled pilgrims the Riddle of the Roll of Duct Tape, then we climbed 800 feet in 3 miles to the top of Slim Shady before plunging the last few miles to the Bike and Bean parking lot, where Helimech and the shop guys supplied the beer. The broken derailleur hanger again served us well as no one had a bottle opener.

Bath Toys

November 23, 2009 / chollaball / Leave a comment

G has a lot of bath toys. One might even say too many bath toys.

Fortunately, G is a prodigious organizer, or there would nary be room for a littleGirl to bathe.

There are toys from at least 6 different sets, along with various frogs, dolphins, ducks and Hei Hei the whale, so named cause we couldn’t leave Rage without it when we picked up the bike in early Spring.

Toys in the bath are a given, like soap and bubbles. Lately she has taken to bringing toys into the hot tub. And not just a random rubber duckie or fish, but in G’s own words: We’ll get old toys. We’ll get new toys. We’ve got all kinds of toys.

This is just fine by me, as more toys means more time she’ll spend with me in the hot tub, and the more I can keep her busy and be a good dad while getting to do what I want to do. Sometimes more toys means there are more toys to throw out of the hot tub, more toys to scoop from the bottom of the hot tub, or more toys to extract from the filter of the hot tub.

Mostly it just means more stories in the hot tub, elaborate fantastic stories about the trials and tribulations of modern marine life. This led to the question of how the hot tub stays hot, which I explained was due to a nice fish that lived in the hot tub and swam around at great speeds, heating the water as it went. The explanation unfolded over several evenings, leading G to name her (its a her, btw) FastWater and forcing me to provide a picture.

Luckily, there is free clipart on the internet and Paint.Net

fastwater

Burnout

November 16, 2009 / chollaball / 3 Comments

I woke up the other day, and hated my kids. Then I had a meltdown. It was the best one I’ve had since Beckie told me about Alana. For 18 months I have wrestled with the conundrum of my children, fighting to find balance between my love and enjoyment of them and the sheer hell of parenthood.

What to do, what to do?

Give up, leave, or throw money at the problem.

#1 is not going to happen, I can’t ever become that rotund suburban dipshit who does nothing but shlep his ass to his kids’ activities and his cube. I would rather kill myself. And then my kids would grow up without a father, who out of his selfishness acted wholly irresponsibly, and disappeared. Can’t do it. #2, i could never do, maybe to Alana cause she’s still something of a foreign species, but never to G — see above for mostly the same reasoning.

So that leaves #3.

Earlier, keeping Alana home was to save money, but i’ll eat ramen and shoplift for a month in this economy rather than be miserable any longer. Its more that I don’t think someone else should raise my kids. Ironic, given that #1 and #2 were on the board. But I can’t help think that the parents should be the ones paying the price, wiping the asses, dealing with the screaming, enjoying those magic moments. I have a latent guilt over my latent talent for slipping out at the first available moment. Capitulating to the school of Throw-Money-At-It validates all that is wrong about me, having a kid, when i didn’t really want another. This parenting thing should be hard, and someone else suffering through all the grotty details that kill the romance but weld the bond will steal my salvation.

Some days I think salvation is all there is. Most days I want someone to blame, someone to step up and apologize for ruining my life. I can’t blame Alana cause she had no hand in this. I try to blame Beckie, but she is such a happy loving mom, blame doesn’t stick. I can’t blame Beckie’s work, cause they are the drug but she is the user. So I’ve been blaming all those women who buy magazine and watch shows and patronize films with Jennifer Aniston, the sheep who feed that machine of You-CAN- Have-It-All. Its run by liars and panderers and confidence women, filling the women of the world’s heads with bullshit, selling them on the fantasy of infinite availability and infinite capacity. An economist should know better. But when reality shows its fangs and snaps at the fuzzy dreamy bubble, the women go to their children, and the men suffer alone.

I roll round with guilt, and frugality, and empathy, and vengeance. i have so much crimson anger smoldering over this. I want an acknowledgment, all those bitches in magazines to say “i got dreary and fat, estranged my husband, and my kids spent 11 hrs a day being raised by a stranger, I COULDNT HAVE IT ALL!!!” I want all the empowered housewives of the world to say you guys were right 2 is SO MUCH harder than 1, now come here and fuck me doggie style and tell me i was a bad girl. I want my marriage to crash and burn to prove me right.

Today I did 4 loads of laundry, hit 3 grocery stores, changed 3 diapers, fed 2 children at least 3x each which seems like at least 9 meals, especially after I cooked, cleaned the fridge, mopped the floor, and kept 1 human alive, took the dog out and did my day job. I caught my breath about 11pm and passed out mostly drunk in the hot tub.

Its hard on me. Its hard on Kila, she has recently attacked another dog and cat around the house, her schedule and role such a source of stress she has become more territorial, and crazy. Its hard on G, who chafes under new instructions and jealousies and patterns of attention. Sometimes I get upset with G for continuing to be a needy little girl when she is tired or sleepy or scared, I need her strength and lack enough of my own to let her stay a baby a little longer.

The only solution is to give in to my situation and let my predictions about my own disinterests come true. At least I’ll be happy. Friends tell me less is more, I’m just not sure I believe it – it seems too easy. So easy it won’t seem real. Fact is I can’t wait to not have Alana at home 1-2 days a week, be able to get in the car and not have my monsters around for hours and hours. And hire babysitters! Yesterday Beckie and I went to the Cardinals and partied like a beer commercial! Today with Alana was amazingly easy, maybe it was me and maybe it was her and maybe it was being tired and numb enough to just let it all roll off me, all those magic moments. Maybe its not real.

The time before the time before the time before

November 13, 2009 / chollaball / 2 Comments

Last week G watched another girl at the park in the space of 1.5 hours learn to ride without training wheels. She was older and probably smarter, but terrified of riding down the grassy hill at Kila’s Park, while G jumped off the edge in front of her. There is no explanation – mental blocks can’t be outwitted, they can only be taken head on with the brain turned off on a side.

Several times during the next week G mentioned how children on TV did not have training wheels, how she wanted to goto the basketball court and practice without training wheels, how she was a little nervous but ready. Believing that this day would come — based on the intimate viewings I’ve had of my own progressions, Beckie’s, James’, and even Alex adding to his formidable skills riding harder and harder trials — still can not prepare you for the euphoria upon seeing one of your crew break down a barrier, smash the living shit out of it, or more realistically give it that heroic little crack that will bring on the inevitable. Beatrice busting out of her coffin in Kill Bill, the Orcs breaching the main gate of Helm’s Deep, Chuck Norris 4wheeling out of certain death in Lone Wolf McQuade — music swells, bass rumbles, lighting casts a mood…G is going to ride a bike!

The push G needed was not a bootstrapping of her confidence in herself, but jealousy that a girl who’s ass she dropped on a descent could ride without training wheels in 1.5 hours.

Sometimes all the right things come together at the right time in the right way, sometimes you are just ready and our desire to place patterns onto things makes us overthink. The watershed moment was only the next moment. You can’t stop Hurricane Genevieve, who gets better every ride, in some way or another. Recently it was complaining on the climb up the hill from the Pink Park that she had to potty, and me telling her: “you’re either gonna potty in your pants or we’re gonna ride home, cause you’re not pissing in the middle of the neighborhood sweetheart.” Recently it was apologizing to me for falling, and me explaining to her that there is no need to apologize to me cause the punishment for falling is all on her. Recently it was learning to pick up her bike when she needs to turn it around or get over something. Recently it was understanding that holding Kila’s leash means she needs to be clear in her decisions and plan ahead.

We’ve tried 3 times, most recently in Sedona, and this last time it went with great enthusiasm at the start, as it has the last 3 times. Then a spark, Beckie stepping in after I had suggested G needed a different voice. The nurturing from mommy, instead of the coaching from daddy. Though before we started I told her with total commitment, commitment I am capable enough to ensure even if — as it has in the past — involved me taking a hit, “sweetheart, I will not let you fall“. And she believed it too, but Beckie taught her how to put a foot down when she is falling. The first, and ultimately most important, thing you learn snowboarding is the backside brake. And I was so focused on teaching G to go, I did not teach her to stop. Coaching from Mommy, nurturing from Daddy. Then reps where she was alone but for me running next to her, yelling “I’m doing it!”

Another session yesterday, where she opted to go practice on the basketball court before playing in the park. I showed her how to use the ratchet to take off the wheels, and she told me we’d try 3 times. We did just a few more, but not much; now that I know it will happen, it does not need to happen all at once. Soon we will go 3 times, and it will only be once. The she imploded again going up the hill.

Seize Her!

November 10, 2009 / chollaball / Leave a comment

And just like that, Alana is racing across the house like an impassioned daschund. Her racing is glacial compared to G, who has never once gone anywhere at a walking pace, but G at least can now mostly be counted on to not endo, drown, electrocute or eviscerate herself. Childproofing labels out to say “6-18 months” or some similar age-appropriate verbage. Just as crap that is now on CraigsList was only a month ago THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD, mandates that have been filling me with paranoia for, roughly, the last 8 months could have been much less concern up til now if only for a simple age-appropriate warning.

I remember so little of this about G. My memories of G are of a happy, upbeat, energyball. Lacking blog reference, and having only pictures that almost-categorically are of sweet happy shiny things, my documentation is biased. Historiographers from all schools agree. I’ve blocked it all out, 1 was so much easier than 2 it seemed not so bad, without the internet I have no record.

The need for vigilance is suddenly at a premium. Kila’s need to finish her dogfood is suddenly at a premium. Yesterday, Alana pitched off the bed, fortunately it was in the guest room where there is carpet. Now in fairness to me, I spent the previous 45 minutes dozing, hungover, keeping her from going over the edge while she repeatedly crawled to the nightstand to grab the most interesting piece of plastic in the entire history of humanity. She’d slither, I’d grab her ankle and yank her back. She’d scale, I’d grab her collar and yank her back. She’d portage, I ‘d grab her by the britches and yank her back. She fell over in the 3 seconds it took me to get up, get to the side of the bed, and reach to pick her up. Just like that.

I bought her a better high chair off CL for $25, and its probably going to be the best baby prop for the next 6 months. Suddenly Alan is level, comfortable, and with a tray for toys and stuffing her own food into her own mouth. It nutritional, and its a safe play environment. Both in the chair, and now on the bed in the morings or in her play zone (the corner where all the bouncy shiny silly singing toys are shoved), she seems happier and absolutely is enjoying entertaining herself. This is wonderful, I can listen to the Sex Pistols instead of the Baby Einstein Orchestra. I get it, who wouldn’t rather be an almost-parapalegic instead of a quadrapalegic? And she has just the other day put her feet and legs under her, sometimes, when I hold her up by the shoulder. Times with Alana are excellent!

This will last a week.

Super Double Double Gnar Gnar

November 9, 2009 / chollaball / Leave a comment

My new favorite Somo route!

Park off Central Ave at the BF Parking Lot. Up Kiwanis, up the road, down Holbert. woof woof woof. Blast up the road 30 min to come down Kiwanis. Pads for the downhills, spandex for the uphills, roadies and hikers swarming like flies, hauling a brick uphill against gravity at least has its payoff, my Heckler with the seat lowered extra low has been gobbling big drop after big drop, to a place where I have never until now felt so calm gobbling big drop after big drop.

Confidence is a powerful opiate. DurtGurl split open her chin riding hard on her 6inch and not her DH bike. I kept it small, worked it all and noted the scary parts for the next time. The next time — the fourth time ever — will go very well. I have a lot of confidence that it will go well. i should explain my history with Holbert — one of the toughest double-blacks in the Valley. i rode it once 5 years ago on the Blur and went OTB in the first tenth of a mile and walked the rest, kicking tiny turds out of my chamois the whole way down. It was as if my ass was handed to me by a front-loader. here ya go buddy, a half ton of ass for ya! I can put it in the driveway, or the back of yer pickup — all 1000lbs of your ass! Then 6 months ago i rode it with Bob and got all but one spot in an adrenaline rush of first(nee, second)-time fear.

This time was more about evaluating, scoping the hard spots for the next time when I think I can ride them clean, more caution than fear. Except for how seeing a friend’s chin split open gives you fear, except I never really saw Kathleen anyway as I still brought up the rear. I think next run I can get the entire trail. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t, but its definitely within the realm of my capability.

Doug and I turned and hammered 4 miles up to the top of Kiwanis, and stepped it down. Wow. nothing that steppy in the Valley that I’ve ridden yet, what a cool new skill to pick up. It also scared me when I rode it for the first time a year or 2 ago. Doug rode with a lot of confidence, I rode like a guy who was tired from chasing Doug and did not want to end an otherwise good day with bloodshed. Off to the 2nd Annual Cactus Joe’s Swap Meet. I picked up a new old fullface helmet from C&L, a scooter for G, some presents, and some new old grips for the Heckler. LostBoyz is a closer, the man knows how to push someone off a fence. I sold a tire. I drank some beer. I left $5 up, better than Casino Arizona. Except the Eagles lost a division game on Sunday night, again. CURSE YOU SWAP MEET!!!

G and I rode down to the park, where she got busy chatting and lost sight of the curb and tumbled into the street. Confidence is a powerful opiate. Then G listened to me carefully as we crossed a big intersection – she acknowledged the danger, the requirements of listening to my instructions, more caution than fear. I wanted to practice without the training wheels, but having the presence to cross streets safely after spilling hard seemed enough of an accomplishment for one day. She had some blood on her knee. I had some blood on my ankle, scuffed open while carrying my bike up a steep part of Kiwanis. I showed her my owie when she was crying about hers. I offered to take her the rest of the way to the park in the trailer, but she insisted on riding. And riding home too, at least for the first 50 yards of the climb. She’s not into self-shuttling just yet.

The Baby’s Guide to the Galaxy

November 7, 2009 / chollaball / Leave a comment

DON’T PANIC

if only Alana could read.

She panics a lot for no reason. Wake up – panic! See you leave the room – panic! Get put on the floor – panic! Have the spoon full of food briefly removed from her gaping maw – panic! Everything in the world is cause for panic.

How is a panic different from a shriek? A shriek is a reaction to pain, a deeper appreciation for the pain one is undergoing having learned that pain is not pleasant, which causes further pain. It not actual owie owie pain…more anything that is antiPod pain.

A panic is pissing your pants over the potential for pain before it even happens. And obviously, I mean that literally, as i can’t believe i forgot how many times you have to change a diaper.

On one level, I get it. She is not-dull enough to recognize needs and almost-complete inability to satisfy them. This is very disconcerting to anyone. Grown men will cry when in the back of a squad car for only a few minutes.

On the other hand, if she is dull enough to forget that her needs have thus far been addressed in a reasonably-efficient and humane manner…she was just 8, after all, 240 days she’s made it so far without lifting a finger on her own behalf…she is dull enough to forget that i ignored her while she was needlessly panicking.

i know she is only panicking, and there are no genuine issues, and I’m sick of her panicking, so i let her panic a little more. I think she is not as happy to see me as sometimes she was. I don’t know. I kinda don’t care. I only have her about 1.5 days a week now, but with Beckie on business trips and , they are extremely fucking intense 1.5 days a week. I’ve been trying to do right by her when she needs me too, but its functional, not maternal.

The strategy has worked on Genevieve, the independence forced on her by me makes her so obviously different when she is around Beckie who is much more nurturing. Perhaps I am still assuming a lot more reason exists currently with Alana than actually does, the first shreds of cognition such a salve for my weariness I wish them to be more than they are. Though in fairness to me, I’ve seen her crawl almost 9 feet before having a panic attack when I went from the office into the kitchen. She started to moan, I called to her, she slithered from the office doorway to the kithen. She would never have found those 9 feet were it not for my respect for her potential, which is a fancy way of saying lazy parenting.

A recent teaching moment while feeding her went like this: give me the spoon, give me the dish, give me the tray. fuck it…i’m grabbing all of them, the shit could come down any second now! I tried to show her there is no cause for alarm, there were more spoons and an entire tupperware full of food, but as though chugging a pan galactic gargle blaster, she is addled about the head. No explanations or higher learning will help. Only simple guidelines: DON’T PANIC.

Parenting for Gnarness

Month: November 2009