Theledge.net

Only those closest to you.

You are adorable in your current flux state; you bounce between four and sixteen years old at surprising speed.

Recently other people’s feelings have become important, especially since the social groups at school change so quickly and the smallest actions can be construed as hurtful or mean.

Today, shortly after stepping on your mom’s foot and struggling with an apology, you mentioned that a friend from school had hurt your feelings.

Your mother told you she was sorry to hear that, and, being fully aware that you give as good as you get, asked you “Do you ever hurt anyone’s feelings?”

With every ounce of truth you could summon you responded “No, just my family.”

Family project: Laundry center

From the title you might assume that we have remodeled the house to streamline our laundry workflow, and, while you could be forgiven, you would be wrong. Instead we took the amount of time it would normally take to do laundry and assembled a toy which Bettie received for Christmas. It is called “My Very Own Laundry Center”, made by American Plastic Toys and it requires some very specific skills and tools to assemble, specifically the skills and tools of an assembly line style toy maker.

Here is what it should look like when it is completed:

And, remarkably, it does look like that once we managed to get it assembled, except that nothing in our house is as unnaturally white as that background. I can’t blame the toy company for either the lighting in our house or for the “pile gnome” who feels that clear and open space is an abomination and piles large quantities of anything handy on top of every inch of free space imaginable. I own that, since all my traps have so far failed.

I can say that the toy maker, in this case, ships the product completely unassembled, in that the “assembly” required of the owners of this product (or owners parents, hopefully) starts at the step immediately after the injection molded plastic parts are cool enough to place in a box and ship to a store. Specifically, the non-professional assembler of this product will need to de-gate, trim, and then screw together all of the pieces, before applying the enclosed sticker kit. This added work is only a problem if you have a small child (say age “2+”) who knows nothing of the manufacturing process and has visions, based on the picture on the box, of entire vistas of laundry landscapes in which they can play.

This misinterpretation of “assembly” resulted in Angie and I cutting and assembling a small purple and pink plastic nightmare at the same time we were trying to cook dinner, all the time trying to fend off requests to play with various jagged, untrimmed plastic pieces. Fortunately, the instructions are well written and labeled well enough that Alphie was able to follow along with which steps we were on and provide helpful advice, like “Is part ‘Z’ part of an iron? Does this come with an iron!?!? That is crazy!!”

Both girls love it, though, and immediately began washing doll cloths. And the advanced understanding of assembly which they soaked up in the process isn’t bad, either, even if it has led to the occasional interruption in play punctuated by calls of “Mom! Part ‘R’ came off!”

Bunny is gone

Bunny failed to make it home from an outing several weeks ago. His loss went unnoticed until bedtime, by which point it was impossible to effectively identify where he went missing.

To make matters worse, he went missing on a Friday which meant the usual places to search were closed for the weekend. Despite our best attempts, we were unable to locate him the following Monday (and putting up flyers in the most likely places has yielded nothing) and we have had to concede that he has been lost.

Alphie has taken it incredibly well, with only momentary bouts of sadness and longing. She pines for him quietly, though, and his absence sits close to her heart. She recently colored this page in a coloring book, which is the first drawing of Bunny she has ever felt compelled to draw:

Bubbles should make everyone smile

Mystery Matt

Sometimes I do whimsey... but rarely on demand.

I heart math

Even though I do heart math and that looks like my handwriting, I didn’t write it.

Alphie has recently taken to requesting that we either give her math problems to do or that we talk about math. I can’t really complain about it, since I could pretty much talk about mathematics endlessly.

Continue reading "I heart math"

You've apparently learned plurality...

Bettie, for a while now you have notified your mother and I (and perhaps anyone else within “announcement” distance) that you have “poopy diapers” any time your require that your diaper be changed.

We have acquiesced to this improper use of language in day to day communication since correcting a two year old on grammar seems a little cruel and a lot pointless. It isn’t that we don’t want you to have the best start in life… it is more that we are exhausted, you are imbued with a supply of boundless energy and we are pretty sure you are a genius and will figure it out anyway.

So, upon catching a small whiff of a smell that I have become too familiar with over the last six years, I casually asked you “Bettie, do you have poopy diapers?” And this time, rather than responding with your usual “yes!” you spun around, looked me straight in the eyes, raised one little finger and said:

No! I only have one poopy diaper!

And then you smiled at me.

Sibling Rivalry

I had no idea sibling rivalry would extend so far... I guess I should have known, but for some reason it never occurred to me.

You two dear, sweet, and adorable girls struggled through three rounds of a matching game this morning and were, by and large, very good. Sure, we had some whining, some cheating, some yelling and some cards thrown around, but I seem to remember that family is like that, even when you are too young to drink.

Eventually, however, we petered out to a point where it was no longer possible to have any kind of organized game and, Bettie, you devolved into a tearful mess stretched out faced down on the floor. And you, Alphie, (while trying to either be supportive or steal her super important role as “sad-sack McPouty”) laid down next to her.

And it was at this point that you, Bettie, started yelling, because up until this moment you were quite comfortable that your tantrum was the only tantrum that mattered. And what were you yelling? You were yelling “No sissy, I have tantrum! I have tantrum!”

Your song!

I am sorry, little bear, but you have a favorite song.

And I am sorry that I am sorry you have a favorite song, but I don’t think we should stumble in that direction right now, since that way lies monsters.

So anyway, you have a favorite song. And you love this song so much that anytime I play this song you shout “My song!” after hearing just the first few bars.

Unfortunately, the song is Border Reiver from Mark Knopfler's Get Lucky album. And I say “unfortunately” with only the greatest respect to Mr. Knopfler since I love both the song and his work in general. Your mother actually walked down the aisle to one of his songs when we were married.

(For the record, I stood like a dork at the front of the room doing what I do best: Looking tall, gangley and unworthy of your mother’s interests. Meanwhile, your mother just looked beautiful.)

So why am I sorry that you have a favorite song? Well, mostly because it is a song about a truck... Or perhaps a truck driver. But mostly it is about a truck. A really beloved truck, but a truck just the same.

And I am sorry because it is my fault, since it is rarely played on the radio but is often found emanating from whatever device I am using to play music.

I just want to tell you now that, while I will fully support you if (based on this early indication of music preference) you decide to drive a truck, I think the world has more in store for you than sitting in a cramped cab watching lines fly by.

Though with your sense of humor I think you would do wonders on a CB.

Manly pink

I haven’t found a manly shade of pink yet.

But then again, I haven’t found anything manlier than being a father.

Together

This post is for posterity. Hopefully sometime in the future it will show you both that even at a young age your were able to play together and have fun.

Facing away

The (only) two things I know about being a grown up.

Since you seem to be trying to rocket into maturity as quickly as possible, I don’t feel I am too out of line in trying to record the only two pieces of wisdom about adulthood that I have discovered so far... even though you haven’t even had your first birthday yet. I hope that this attempt is a little more specific than my last attempt to impart some wisdom, but less prohibitive than some other attempts (which I haven’t changed my mind on).

1) Acne is an adult affliction. I am pretty sure someone mentioned this to me when I was a teenager, but I seemed to have missed the point. I believed, wrongly, that acne was something one suffered from as a teenager, with it magically disappearing when one reached some nebulous point after the age of eighteen. I was mistaken. You will have acne, in some form, for your entire adult life. Trust me when I say that this is one good reason not to rush out of your childhood. (Note, if you have inherited your mother’s skin you may ignore this advice. She has had maybe six zits in her whole life. I truly hope she passed it on to you.)

2) Adults are no better at social interaction than children. From preschool on up to the “real world”, the only thing that changes is the faces. And it does not matter who is in charge, the results are always similar.

Human beings are social animals (and you will hear that phrase so much by the time you are in college that you will be sick of it). We, as a race, strive to exist in some form of community. And that community has no basis in the real world, ever. The popular people aren’t the smartest, or the nicest, or the friendliest; they will simply be the people who manage to do three things.

First, they will be available. They will not appear to hide any portion of their life, they will not appear to have thoughts that other people don’t understand, and they will not appear to be much different than what is expected. This is often referred to as being shallow, but it does not have to be vapid or stupid, nor even unsophisticated. It is merely the ability to make it appear that one is perfectly normal, or possibly that everything one does is defined as normal.

Secondly, they must be predictable. They must be consistent in their approach to life, consistent in their dealings with other people, and they must be consistent in their disposition towards social standards. Social groups are built to be conservative, and reject surprises or system shocks.

Lastly, they must fit a cultural standard for “normal”. If you strive to accomplish the first two things but sit outside of the standard deviation it probably isn’t going to work for you.

Interestingly, this list doesn’t exclude the possibility that you can create your own culture where you will fit the standard. Given the right social climate (think Hitler), limiting conditions (think Internet), or careful recruiting (think Jonestown) it is quite possible for someone to create a social network where one does in fact fit the “norm”. In fact, counter-cultures often become as intolerant as the majority culture they are rejecting, and people are drawn to them as a way to “fit in” without adapting to a culture they have had negative experiences with. And the result of a counter-culture that has forgotten about the larger culture around them can be tragic (either individually, or as a form of social tragedy).

Speaking as your father, I am unsure of what I want for you when it comes to social groups. I know that I want you to have friends. I am also aware that it is possible to have good friends and still not feel connected to a culture. And I want you to have good friends, who are willing to take care of you and want to know who you are and what you are thinking, even when it does not especially fit with cultural norms, because good friends are one of the real secrets of what makes like worth living. And I especially want you to be your own person, and to feel that you can have thoughts and beliefs outside of cultural norms, because often times those differences with your culture define character far more than the worn, comfortable ideas we inherit.

But being your own person is not often held in high regard, and certainly doesn’t endear you to a group of people who have already defined their own culture. They will expect you to make some concessions to try to fit in. And most of the people who you will call “friend” will have little interest in knowing much about you, since they will have their own lives they are attempting to live.

But without a social network you will feel isolated. Without more than a couple of good friends you see once a month or so you will start to feel like a stranger in the world. I would like to spare you from that loneliness, if I can.

Ultimately, I cannot help you with this, as much as I would like to. I have not figured out if I am unable to help you with this because of my own shortcomings regarding dealing with people, or if this is just one aspect of life a parent has little influence over. I sincerely hope that I will not hold you back from anything you wish to attempt, and I can promise you I will do my best to model appropriate “adult” behavior, regardless of anyone else’s actions.

Happy Birthday, Bettie

Happy Birthday, Bettie.

I know I don’t write much here for you, but please don’t take that as neglect. I don’t get to post here much because you are one of the funniest, most energetic one-year olds I have ever seen, and you keep your mom, your sister and I extremely busy.

And we love you with all our hearts.

Boulder Fire

The fire in Boulder seems pretty serious, having destroyed a number of structures and rapidly outpaced local efforts to control it. My thoughts are with anyone who lives in the affected area.

Continue reading "Boulder Fire"

Are you sure it is a new part?

This was sent to me at work as a replacement part from a vendor. Still sealed in the bag...

Mom is way cool

You are adored, Angie. Bettie adores you, Alphie adores you, and I adore you.

(Buddy adores you too, but the way he shows it is to come and lie on the floor next to you when he doesn’t feel well. This is why some days you feel like he is chasing you around just to fart next to you.)

There is a saying that tells us you can learn a lot about a person from the enemies they have. When applied to you, I think it shows that you are the kind of person who has never left anyone a reason to hate you. You are fair, and honest, you are kind and compassionate.

You are extremely special to those who know you.

And to me, you are one of the reasons I get up every morning.

I love you.

Let sleeping rhinos lie?

Rain storm

Alphie is sometimes pretty dramatic. For instance, there was significant drama about having to stand in the rain (under the umbrella). Which is pretty funny, considering...

Continue reading "Rain storm"

Kicking it old school

I promise she is making that face because of something I said, not because of the toy... That movie player has Cinderella, which cannot disappoint her in any form of media.

(She even loves the weird Cinderella storybook we have in which her father is still alive. Apparently he is “just” enthralled by her step-mother and forgets she is his daughter or something. He kinda seems like a moron.)

Bunny is found!

Bunny spent the night in Alphie’s cubby at school, safe and warm from the storm (though perhaps lonely).

Sadness

Bunny is missing.

Bunny is missing on a dark and stormy might.

Alphie’s last memory of bunny is that she put him under her coat to keep him dry as we walked to the car after school today.

Bunny is not in the house, and is not in the car.

Bunny was not identified as missing until bedtime, when Alphie realized she was alone in a big, scary, dark and stormy world.

Dad has been beseeched to find bunny, but despite Dad’s best effort, bunny cannot be found.

Although it has stopped raining, the evening is darker and stormier than it was earlier.

Sometimes all you need is a new perspective.

Lifting Up a Dreamer...

Or, disparaging a dog.

Angie and I are not twitter users. It isn’t that we don’t like twitter... It’s that we don’t understand twitter.

Ok, not really. It is more that we have the belief that saying something meaningful takes time, if only to develop the idea, and that neither of us has the time to type out meaningless messages, nor the time to dedicate to carefully crafting meaningful messages.

Having said that, we do use the internet, and are therefore exposed to a variety of internet themes, including some of the various ideas that percolate out of the twitter community.

Alphie, without a twitter account and with very little internet access, shouldn’t be particularly familiar with the memes that float from that region of the internet.

Somehow, she is aware of this, though:

That is a piece of art titled “Lifting Up a Dreamer” by Yiying Lu. Ever since Twitter used it as an icon to indicate problems with their site, it has been known as as the “Fail Whale”.

And today Alphie referenced it to express some problems she was having with Buddy. While she and Bettie sat on the bathroom floor within a few feet of Angie, Buddy wandered over, lured by the fact that clustered distributions of people increase the probability of food or attention.

Unfortunately, his tail is now at the level where it is a big problem for Alphie when she is sitting on the floor. And Buddy’s enthusiasm for the family meant his tail was swinging pretty hard.

And thus spoketh Alphie, summoning the strategies of the internet:
“Buddy, you are a Fail Whale, with a Fail Whale tail!”

Only you are this excited for a picture.

Hi Bettie,

I just wanted to let you know that, these days, you are the only one in the family who gets this excited when I point the camera at them. And I appreciate that a lot.

By the way...

My posse still rolls with me...

They are thick as thieves, though sometimes they don’t understand one another...

Bettie, you are you.

Hi, Bettie. I know I haven’t written much, and I’m sorry about that. Unfortunately, this post isn’t going to change (or explain) that.

I did want to tell you that you are remarkably different from your sister. I know that I’m not really going to do a great job of expressing this idea, but I wanted to try.

The main thing I see at this stage is that you have a slightly different sense of humor from your sister. While your sister sought humor like a big game hunter looking to find the biggest animal she could find, you have a quiet way of expressing humor that you see in the world. For example, you’ve previously seemed to put things on your head just to see how people reacted to you.

And just the other day, shortly after figuring out your exersaucer had a mirror, you did this:

I am sure you were experimenting with how the mirror changed your perspective, but it also seemed like you were interested in how we reacted to you looking at us in the mirror.

And you sure were smiling as you did it...

Earnest exploration of complex concepts...

Recently you have started to try to express concepts of time and space, even though you don’t always quite have the words... It is quite fun to see how you mind works during these little moments.

For instance, the other evening you had a little trouble with lining up the buttons on your pajamas, so you asked me for some help. As I re-buttoned your shirt I suggested that you start with the bottom button, because I find that it makes it easier. I also mentioned that I used to get my buttons wrong when I was a child.

After that admission you looked me in the face very carefully, as if seeing me for the first time, and said “I bet you had a lot of problems as a child.”

I did, kiddo, I did. And I still do, on most days. But you and your sister sure make most of those problems fun.