39 Months and 5 days: Touching the Butt

I am finally getting around to reading my borrowed copy of Your Three Year Old: Friend or Enemy that I got about a month ago from Catherine.

From the prologue, I can tell you I'm already fearing three-and-a-half, but for now, Big is true to the description:

"Three now enjoys other children, but most of all he enjoys his [Baba]. He loves to do things with her--go for a walk, go to the store, 'help' with housework, and, above all, play. He is happiest when his [Baba] finds it possible to give up other activities and concentrate on him. Almost anything the two of you do together bring him joy. It is bliss to have [Baba] read to him, play games with him, talk to him, just be near him."

Can I freeze time?

Even as I read this, not focusing on him, but stealing time to blog, he is near me playing well enough alone, but asking for my help. In a few minutes he'll be by my side, a small foot digging into my leg, wanting to be touching. If the leg is not enough, he'll roll his whole body into mine and rub his face on my face.

It is like new love and spring and hot baked bread out of the oven all wrapped up together.

At night, when I'm walking out of his room after the bedtime routine, we have a little game that prolongs our time together:

Me: I love you!

He: I love you too!

Me: I love you more!

He: I love you most!

Me: I love you more than most!

And we giggle and have to practically start the process over.

The up-and-downside of our incredibly active and curious little Three is one of the most constant features of his personality: He touches the Butt.

If you aren't familiar with this line, check out this long but incredible clip from Finding Nemo (the relevant portion is in the last 5 seconds of this clip). Nemo swims out over the "drop off" to a boat with his father threatening him with all he can to come back and, finally, to not touch the boat. Nemo defies him by flicking a single finn on the boat.

His friend gasps: HE TOUCHED THE BUTT!!

Big invariably touches the butt.

We'll threaten. We'll time out. We'll ignore.

He still touches the butt.

Ignoring is the worst because he then has to bring it to our attention:

He: I'm touching the BUUUU-UHHH-TTT!

Also true to Your Three Year Old is his fascination with words. "Not only is he secure physically and happy socially and calm emotionally, but language now means a great deal to him. He LOVES new words--new words, big words, different words."

Today he asked what "naked" meant (his sister had on the television and there was a commercial for the Naked Brother's Band).

His response to the definition: But, they're wearing clothes???

Nine

I can't believe she's nine.

Oh, and the boy, above, is turning into a bit of a pain in the arse, at least from her perspective. I wish I had the above moment on video. He was sitting there with her, next to her, singing, allowing her her moment. And then... The last verse:

. . . . Happy BIIIIRTH day dear [Eigh...ght] .... Happy birth... day... To...

[he blows the candle out]

YOUUUUU!

Our Food Experiment: A Week of Home Detoxification

So I am finally getting back to following up with my original post on our household eating experiment.

This topic seems to hit a nerve with people. Most kids, for example, seem obsessed with sweets and, because we all only care about our kids and want the best of them, I think parents get obsessed about kids' obsessions.

And we don't realize that things change. Kids change. They won't be how they are today, tomorrow, so issues today get compounded.

Anyway, on to our experiment with letting go of control.

To recap: BioMom and I realized, with some gentle nudging from a loving and concerned neighbor, that perhaps, we were part of the problem with what we perceived was an excessive obsession with food on behalf of our esteemed eight (almost nine) year old.

The suggestion? Why not try saying "yes" to everything?

Our response? How long?

The answer? Long enough to make a real habit if it. Say six or seven weeks?

So off we set into the land of the counter-intuitive: to help out with a food obsession, let HER have the control. Let HER make the mistakes. Let HER make decisions about her own body.

In conjunction, BioMom began reading How to get your kids to eat (but not too much)*, recommended to me by a mom from our ECFE class and several people have pointed me toward a recent article about one family's response to their daughter's obsession with chocolate (which I have yet to track down -- if anyone can help me here, I'd really appreciate it).

So on to Day One.

I was the one home that day when Eight came home from school looking for snacks.

Can I have a snack?

Sure? Have whatever you want.

At this point, I had no idea how much cr*&%)p was in our house, but as you'll see, Eight was HIGHLY in tuned.

Can I have a strawberry soda?

Yes.

She comes out to the living room where I was working (Big was taking a nap) with a box of vanilla wafers and a strawberry soda.

My immediate reaction was, what kind of freakshow household with kids still has three Crush sodas leftover from New Year's Eve in their fridge? I mean what kind of control freaks are we that they aren't gone?

I was prepared to let her have all three at once, if asked.

Gulp.

I emailed BioMom with an update. We have been processing this constantly, trying to read ahead in the book where necessary for advice about rules (if any).

When Eight was done with a few cookies (she ended up finishing the box in three setting which we realized was a slight amount over the suggested serving size, but said nothing) she just moved on with her day. No big deal.

Day 2: Soda number two of three and more cookies. And after dinner:
Can we have some ice cream?

Sure, I think we have some mango sorbet in the freezer.

I don't like that. Can I have some ice cream?

I don't think we have any.

She rushes to the downstairs freezer and pulls out an old quart of ice cream left over from Big's December birthday which I didn't know even existed. We open it and it is completely crystallized, but consumed with glee with the requested mini chocolate chips sprinkled on top.

Day 3: Soda number three of three. That evening:
Can we have some ice cream?

I don't think we have any.

Yes -- what about the ice cream from last night?

There isn't any left?

Can I have the mango sorbet?

This became a pattern. She essentially moved down her utility curve on preferred sweets. As we ran out of what was initially preferred, she would request the stuff that was rejected initially.

By the fifth or sixth day, most of the real junk in our house was gone. We weren't replacing, but this was only somewhat purposefully. We had hoped that she would stabilize before we re-introduced sweets.

We worried about what would happen when the girl scout cookies came. Would we just give her the box, or dole out servings?

Once the bulk of the junk was gone, she moved on to ingredients.

What is 'malted milk'?

Oh, that is stuff that you put into shakes to make them malts (we hadn't used it in years but it was in the 'baking section' of our kitchen.

Can I try it?

Sure!

At this point she started realizing that something strange and fantastic was happening in our house.

To friend after school one day after asking for a snack she says:
She'll let us have ANYTHING in the house!!

Friend: ANYTHING???

Eight: YES!!

Little did they know that the house had been quickly scoured for the junkiest of junk.

Another day:

Can I have some sugar?

That's when we imposed the 'You need to eat actual food. Not ingredients' rule.

At one point she asked for the rest of the mini chocolate chips in the bag described above. At that point I did have a little talk about serving size. (It turns out that a serving of mini chocolate chips is a disappointing number of 24, to both Eight and my's true dismay.)


I'll close for now on my initial report with a promise to follow up on what happened post detox.


*This turns out to be a better book than even its title suggests. It addresses the parent's own issues with eating as well as the kids need for control and how to deal with that. I highly recommend it to all, particularly those concerned with kids that won't eat a thing.

The Waffle House Lesbian

So, my faux mother-in-law (there's no legal relationship going on around here) is hilarious.*

A couple of years ago we visited them during their month-long sojourn to the warm-land in January.

Having done my graduate studies on the east coast, I talked everyone into reliving some of my glory days by heading over to the Waffle House for breakfast.

Let's just say that the food was certainly not what I remembered or had my tastes simply grown with the slight increase in wealth (let's just say that I earn more than my graduate stipend which was then $8,500)?

But the service? That's where this story takes off.

We were being served by a waiter that BioMom and I immediately recognized as one of ours but whom the faux Father-in-law referred to as "Sir" as in "Sir, can I get a refill on this orange juice?"

She didn't flinch. But Eight (then Six or Seven) looked over at grandpa sharply as in "can't you tell that that's a woman? A woman like my Baba?? Are you an idiot?"

We so enjoyed ourselves that BioMom unknowingly left the restaurant with a souvenir mug in her quite accompanying purse.**

So today BioMom spent some time with her parents upon their return from the '09 visit to the land-of-warm only to return with a legitimate, paid-for substitute that I, and I told her so in my appreciative acknowledgment, value less.


*No, this is not a brown-nosing entry. She doesn't know this blog exists, although I do expect she'd pass an exam question such as the following: "What is a URL?" That is to say that it is not that she is computer-illiterate that she is unawares of the goings-on in this corner of the blogsphere.

**This blog author does not support or condone illegal behavior in any way. Do not try this at home.

Joining the Maddow Widowers' Support Group

So I recently joined LesbianDad's new support group for Widowers of partners lost to Rachel Maddow.

As I said in her comment section, on one recent Valentine's day, I found, upon retiring that evening, a little red card sitting underneath the remote control. Decorated with loving, flowery writing, it mentioned how our nights would, henceforth, be filled with humor and lightness.

Why? I queried my love.

Turn it on! She responded, barely able to hold back her delight.

I flicked on the television only to find a wolf in hot dyke's clothing (albeit unfortunately coiffed for prime-time).

I felt like a 1950's wife receiving a pink bowling ball for Valentine's day.

I Heart Crayola

Talk about gender-reversals... I've become way too crafty in my stay-at-homo role. See the below progression.

And Baby Makes Five

So in addition to all of the discussion of the insane woman who just had octuplets, a friend of ours just delivered her fifth.

No I recognize that I am neurotic and that my reaction here is not very rational, but I can't help but seeing that decision and reacting personally to it.

In my gut I think Who would ever want FIVE children?

My next immediate reaction is: Why don't I want FIVE children?

What does this mean about me and my love for kids if I don't want more?

This is that lesson -- why do people want different things? -- that I've been coming back to ever since that first time I got dumped in high school.

But really. . . Doesn't Christmas (or any holiday) sound great with five excited kids running around, thrilled with the joy of the season? Don't you miss the stages as they go by--first smile, first giggle, first step, first word, first. . . . ? This friend of mine has one before and, now, two after Big so she'll be enjoying a three-year-old at Christmas for some time.

Does sibling rivalry have diminishing marginal returns as one has more kids? In other words, do kids realize that with more of them they get less of an effect either with the parents or with the other kids and therefore fight less?

Do they fight more?

Is it easier if you just give in to it all and not expect to have your own life?

My bottom line is gloves and all other winter paraphernalia.

How the hell can one or two people keep track of five children's winter paraphernalia?

Maybe children's independence increases as the number of siblings increases.

Maybe if we just moved to Hawaii I'd want eight.

The (USM) Academy Awards

West Point Cadets pick gay Hero, Harvey Milk


With all the awards being thrown about in the month of January, West Point’s 2nd Annual Cadet Choice Award could easily have gone unnoticed, except for several of their nominations. The Award was set up last year to “celebrate the character’s display of leadership and the West Point values of Duty, Honor and Country.” Last year Will Smith won for his performance as the last man on earth in I Am Legend. But this year, the list seems both obvious and odd. Among the standard men of action are Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) in The Dark Knight, Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (Tom Cruise) in Valkyrie, and Dr. Henry Walton “Indiana” Jones, Jr. (Harrison Ford) in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. But the other two picks seem strange for different reasons. John Hancock (Will Smith) in Hancock is a superhero, but a messy alcoholic one at that. And Harvey Milk (Sean Penn) in Milk was certainly an American leader and a cultural hero, but he was also an openly gay leader pushing others to come out. As such the choice of Harvey Milk seems to collide head on with the Army’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, and certainly runs counter to the opinion of such military leaders as Marine Gen. Peter Pace, former chairman of the Joint Staffs, who proclaimed that, “I believe that homosexual acts between individuals are immoral, and that we should not condone immoral acts.” But the Cadets obviously feel differently, and that is change we can all believe in.

Three Year Old Soccer is like. . .

Herding apathetic, autistic cats.

The Experiment with Letting Go of Control

So, a couple of weeks ago we had a serendipitous experience with a neighbor who came over to offer us some redecorating advice and conversation.

At some point, the conversation devolved into on of our favorite (or if not favorite, then frequent) topics: Eight's obsession with food.

I could go on and on here with stories and examples, but the truth is, that I've built up so much shame around the topic that it is even difficult for me to write about it now.

But what was so amazing about that night and our neighbor being over was that BioMom and I were in just the right space to hear her message which was this:

What the hell is your problem?

Meaning OUR problem. Meaning how did WE create this OCD behavior in HER.

Whoa.

It still blows me away.

She basically was addressing our concern that Eight doesn't know when to stop eating the stuff that's bad for you. Like drinking enough cups of cocoa to make oneself sick. Like never stopping eating spaghetti. Like obsessing about the single known quantity of dessert in the house for days on end.

Our neighbor pointed out that turning of that 'want spigot' is a skill. And a skill that Eight clearly doesn't have.

We realized that we were controlling way too much in her life: school uniforms, homework, time, her room, etc. etc. And that we should consider letting go of some stuff, prioritizing others. And that maybe her stuff around food was the only thing that she really could control, regardless of what we did.

Whoa. Talk about enlightening.

Then she suggested this:

Why not try saying "yes" to her around food for a while?

How long?

Long enough to break the old habits and make new ones. . . Say, six or seven weeks?

SIX OR SEVEN WEEKS????

And so, we have.

What follows will be a series of posts about the initial days and weeks of our experiment: her choices, our reactions.

And, being the over-thinkers that we are, we are, naturally basing all of this in theory. Check out the book How to Get Your Kids to Eat, but Not Too Much.

A teaser for day one: Three soda pops one sitting????

How did the control freak (me) react????

Gay Marriage and Taxes

Lee Badgett has a great, carefully constructed, analysis of the income tax consequences of gay marriage that I highly recommend.

I say carefully constructed because she essentially looks at changes in government revenue from tax receipts based on several assumptions about how large the GLBT population is and what would happen if we legalized gay marriage.

As I am doing my taxes now, the first real year in which I worked part time (at least financially -- I worked full time at two different colleges/universities, but at only one was I paid a normal salary) I am considering the implications of not being married to BioMom.

The great irony, is that I might actually qualify for the earned income tax credit (EITC) depending on if they take pre or post-403b contributed income.

I want to compare the extra earnings that I would get from this negative tax to what we were to get if BioMom and I could file jointly -- a practice that mainly benefits couples with a great disparity in their earnings.*


*Note -- I love to unravel the government's goals behind policies. This one clearly encourages the single-breadwinner model in which one person works full-time while the other stays at home. The current income tax model has quite negative consequences for couples who earn similar amounts and file jointly.

Yin and Yang

Priorities or Neuroses?

So I'm back at work for the semester.

It's my first day back at Macalester College in St Paul where I feel like I've won the lottery with my career. I kept tenure at the Midwestern Public University where I now teach only in the fall semesters, and that leaves the spring semesters open to pursuing other adventures. This past semester was my first one back at my 'real' job and the one thing that I walked away with was the knowledge at how simply satisfied I was there and how much I generally enjoy the students there as well as my colleagues, even after my experience with this elite college and its incredibly smart and motivated students. Maybe it is just the ability to have both that is so amazing.

Anyway.

So this semester I am teaching one course, an applied statistics course that is cross-listed with Math and is more fun than hard for both me and the students. It is my first time teaching it, so a new prep but still.

In addition, I'm auditing a course on behavioral economics with an eye to teach it in the future and working on three separate lines of research.

So here I am, the time between classes, getting started on some of this work and another adjunct gal walked into our shared office and we spent some time catching up. She is a former Manhattan investment-banker type whose entrepreneur husband made it big so they decided to move back to the land of reasonable real estate and nice people to procreate. Two kids later (one now 3 and one now 1) and she's interested in balancing life a bit more by adjuncting at her alma mater.

We quickly deposed each other about our schedules, where our kids are, what kinds of preschools we're considering, etc. and here's what I walked away with:

She has care (either a nanny or preschool) for her kids 8 hours/day, 5 days/week and she is teaching one class with zero research requirements.

This will be, nearly literally, the fifth semester that I have juggled our now three year old (he goes to Mother-of-Four's two days per week this semester) as well as the demands of a sometimes full, but always heavy, load of teaching, research and service.

What is my problem? Or are her priorities off?

It gets back to my obsessive pre-grieving. I view this time with Big -- this January until next September as, really, the last time in his life and mine where his time is still, really all mine. And I don't want to miss a thing.

Obviously, even at the expense of my own sanity.

What are all of your thoughts on the work life balance in conjunction with both maintaining sanity and in being present as fully as possible in our children's childhoods?

Fearless

So I achieved an unbelievable, rarely achieved feat.

Be prepared, you may find yourself envious.

I got both of our kids, kids at very distinct and different levels of swimming competency, into lessons on the same evening, at the same time, at the same place.

Holy s&$t.

Last night was the first lesson that they were both able to attend and where I was prepared enough to have actually located swimming suits that fit in time for the class (yes, Eight missed a night due to this sad fact).

Big is by far the youngest in his first on-his-own class and, although he is a thousand percent more composed than I expected him to be, I can tell that the teacher is slightly stressed by his, his, let's call it enthusiasm.

Last night while attending to one of the three other children in the course (how dare she!) he started demanding her attention by showing her a new "trick" which was to hold on to the ledge with his right hand, face outward, and quickly spin around in the water with the goal of then grabbing the ledge with his left hand before sinking like a stone in the shallow-end water in which he is still at least two inches too short to be able to inhale oxygen if standing on the bottom.

He achieved his goal in this trick only about eighty percent of the time, at which point the teacher had to quickly pull him up, leaving her current charge in the lurch for a moment or two and ultimately leading the teacher to tactfully lift him out of the water so that he had to sit on the ledge and watch the other kids do the task at hand.

He is literally fearless in the water.

When the time of the lesson came to an end, he turned to me and wailed, never wanting to leave the pool even to eat or drink.

Meditations on Mindful Parenting: Day 2

A Quote, to start:

And just as in life itself, when faced with a range of family, social and cultural pressures to conform to frequently unstated and unconscious norms, and with all the inherent stresses of caring for children, as parents we often find ourselves in spite of all our best intentions and our deep love for our children, running more or less on automatic pilot. To the extent that we are chronically preoccupied and invariably pressed for time, we may be out of touch with the richness, what Thoreau called the "bloom," of the present moment. This moment may seem far too ordinary, routine, and fleeting to single out for attention. Living like this, it is easy to fall into a dreamy kind of automaticity as far as our parenting is concerned, believing that whatever we do will be okay as long as the basic love for our children and desire for their well-being is there. We can rationalize such a view by telling ourselves that children are resilient creatures and that the little things that happen to them are just that, little things that may have no effect on them at all. Children can take a lot, we tell ourselves.

Before Big, BioMom and I rarely stopped. Well, certainly once Eight had become Four or so and started having her 'own life'. Once preschool started. Big forces you to be in the moment. His energy requires ours. And I am grateful.

The authors go on to talk about the 'rising stress on virtually all fronts in the society, and an accelerating sense of time urgency and insufficiency.' This could have perfectly described our lives six months ago, and to many, it probably still does. We have a tendency, I suppose not unlike most American families, to overschedule. To not want to miss out on social and educational opportunities for us and our kids. We live in a city with thousands of options for children to be enriched. Where does one stop? And without mindful parenting, how can one know when enough is enough for your child?

Reading this book makes me remember to look forward to the smallest moments. I can't wait for Eight to come home from school today so that I can show her the article I read about Sasha and Malia and how they met the Jonas brothers and stayed up with their friends on the night of the inauguration watching High School Musical III. These are things that I would have not noticed without her. It is a reminder to jump in with her and her life. To learn the things she loves and hang on tight for her life's ride because that train will go with or without me.

Michelle Obama: Vigorously Stylish

If you haven't heard this discussion by Cathy Horyn of Michelle Obama's fashion during the Inaugural weekend, click here, NOW.

I could listen to her voice and watch Michelle over and over.

What I am most struck by, now that I've heard a few people put words to the feeling that they, the Obama's, give you is how aware they seem of who they are, what it means that they are the first family, and the significance of their moment in history.

Also, for your listening pleasure and leisurely perusal, a repeat of the poem "Praise Song for the Day" by Elizabeth Alexander.

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.

Copyright © 2009 by Elizabeth Alexander. All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota. A chapbook edition of Praise Song for the Day will be published on February 6, 2009.

Look Baba, it's Jonathan Livingston!

Reader Poll: Games

When we were on our annual trip Up North this year (post Christmas) we hosted a couple that BioMom knows through work (she works with the husband). They happened to be on the North Shore of Lake Superior over the same weekend.

Being an introvert, I did not look forward to this, preferring instead to hoard all the time up there with only those with whom I am extremely close. In retrospect, however, as usual, I very much appreciate her efforts to broaden our world.

This evening was no exception.

The couple, and their two daughters, were lovely.

At one point we were talking about playing board games with the kids. Eight loves Monopoly and Big is really getting into games of all kinds, regardless of his level of understanding.

BioMom and I approach gaming with the kids in the same way that we approach parenting, I suppose. I'm the honest, reality-based adult in the house whereas she's the soft-landing parent.

As an example, once after Eight, then Six or something, had had a piano recital that she effed up entirely, mainly because of nerves rather than not practicing asked "how'd I do?" I responded, "do you want me to be nice or honest?"

So follows the games.

That night with the couple over, we got into a debate about letting kids win at games.

The wife was vehement about not letting them win.

I fell somewhere in the middle, whereas BioMom is a pure softy. The kids will grow up wondering if she CAN win games. In college, the'll look back and wonder if she even comprehends the rules to games like UNO and discuss the probability of never getting doubles in Monopoly to get herself out of jail.

So what do you do? Do you let them win? Do you instill a level of competition? What's your take on gaming with kids?

Bringing Home the Bacon

A small dose of economics for us this lovely Sunday morning.

Check out this Freakonomics blog that Taggert over at A Random Walk pointed me toward.

In 2006 26 percent of wives earned more than their husbands.

They also link us to the retro 'I can bring home the bacon' commercial.

Thanks Brigindo!

Check out the blog Dirt and Rocks where the author left me Proximity award. Very nice.

Meditation on Mindful Parenting: day one

I know that I have discussed this book before on this blog, but it has been a while. Cousin's sister (also cousin) sent the book Everyday Blessings: The Inner work of Mindful Parenting by Myla and Jon Kabat-Zinn to me a few years back.

It is one of those lovely books that is really more of an experience than a read, and like a beautiful hike, an experience that can seem different to you once you've grown and changed.

I have a pocket of open energy in my life now and thought I'd return to this again, and maybe try to meditate with it a bit more purposefully, using this blog.

Tonight I am just on the prologues and found the following passage to resonate with me at this moment:

Maybe each one of us, in our own unique ways, might honor Rilke's insight that there are always infinite distances between even the closest human beings. If we truly understand and accept that, terrifying as it sometimes feels, perhaps we can choose to live in such a way that we can experience in its fullness the "wonderful living side by sid" that can grow up if we use and love the distance that lets us see the other whole against the sky.

I see this as our work as parents. To do it, we need to nurture, protect, and guide our children and bring them along until they are ready to walk their own paths. We also have to be whole ourselves, each his or her own person, with a life of our own, so that when they look at us, they will be able to see our wholeness against the sky.

This is not always so easy.

Lake Harriet Kite Festival

Playdate from Hell that Melted my Heart

I wish I had the emotional fortitude to be a social worker.

The community that is Eight's school is incredible. The academics? Well, she's probably not a genius, so we don't worry about that part too much. But the community? It simply can't be beat.

A family of a girl in Eight's class is in trouble.

The mom is in rehab and has been in and out of their two girls' (one younger) lives, and the dad is doing all he can to hold it together.

And by "it" I mean, I'm sure, not only the kids and their lives, but his own sanity.

Anyway, a group of moms at the school have joined together to help them out in any (and seemingly every) way possible from cleaning their house to a standing committee to organize play dates.

The best I could offer was to be on the play-date rotation, and today was my first time.

I had been warned about the youngest and put aside all aspirations of getting any work done once Big went down for a nap and prepared myself for the worst. And when the worst came, I wasn't surprised, and wasn't shocked. She is essentially a girl raised with few boundaries who is angry and disappointed with her current life situation.

And well, she acted just like Big, so I just maybe had been in better practice than other moms out there who just sent their youngests off to kindergarten.

During her only time-out, I hung out with her in our basement bathroom and listened to her angry growling and recognized myself, a few years later in my own life (nine years old, to be specific), after I woke up one October morning and my older brother informed me that my mom had died an hour or so earlier after only being sick a month, and that I was stuck with my less-than-responsive dad.

Forever.

Me to her: You know, I kinda like that growling noise you're making. It's a cool way to show that you're mad and it makes me recognize how strong you are.

She didn't stop growling and hid behind a towel so I just kept talking. I told her that I was a little like her. That my mom had died when I was little, and that I heard that her mom wasn't around much. That I was angry. That I can still get angry. That I can yell and that I sometimes want to throw things. That maybe I'd learn to growl.

I told her how unfair it was for someone so little to have to deal with such a big thing.

She growled a little softer.

I know this sounds corny and textbook, but it happened.

I told her my name and that everyone at her school knew me, including the principal and that she could call me if she wanted to talk. I told her that a whole lot of people at that school cared about her, and her sister and her mom and dad.

Eventually, after a lot more growling and hiding behind the towel, she crawled onto my lap.

And now, I look at our kids and am so grateful and so worried for those two because I know what it means to want your mom so bad and have your dad whose trying his best but just not quite cutting it.

The most negligent blogger ever

And not because there haven't been topics!

Let me just spew out a few thoughts here, get back to the business of prepping my ONE(!) class this semester and then, hopefully clear off a regular space on my plate for more consistent, fuller posts.

First, let me point you to a fantastic short animated video by Jeff Scher based on his son during the toddler stage. I love the topic of parenting generally, and particularly when people present it through their own talent-lense.

Second, a quick story that sums up our holiday season quite well. I took down our Christmas tree the other day. At first, Big was into it. Taking the ornaments off of the tree, throwing them into the box and enjoying the lights. Once he realized what was happening though, as the tree lay on its side in our living room, and I put on my gloves and coat, he wondered what was happening to our tree. Where was it going?

He began to cry inconsolably, heaving great and heavy tears into my shoulders.

I was sad too. Not for the tree though. But because Christmas with our three year old and eight year old was over. Next year they'll be four and nine and it'll be another ballgame. Not better or worse, but different.

I wondered, at some point last month if children are a little like Christmas trees. I find myself, often, pre-grieving that time when they'll head off to college. Parents with older kids never let you forget how fast the time goes with all their before-you-know-its and eighteen-short-years etc. And I am constantly in that space of wanting to hold on to that time when they're little. To expand it and take advantage of it to the fullest. I instantly regret it when they start saying words correctly as opposed to their pre-verbal utterances that charm you.

But I wonder if your eighteen-year-old children are like the January Christmas tree in your living room, no longer sucking up water by the pints, but instead depositing sharp needles onto your floor and now serving as a holding pattern for the second-tier presents. Will I simply be ready to strip them of their ornaments and drag them out to the front lawn? Or am I only okay with this in the context of the tree because I know that December is only 11 short months away?

The Whale

I just received this from a great colleague:


A female humpback whale had become entangled in a spider web of crab traps and lines.

She was weighted down by hundreds of pounds of traps that caused her to struggle to stay afloat.

She also had hundreds of yards of line rope wrapped around her body, her tail, her torso, a line tugging in her mouth.

A fisherman spotted her just east of the Faralon Islands (outside the Golden Gate )
and radioed for help.

Within a few hours, the rescue team arrived and determined that she was so bad off, the only way to save her was to dive in and untangle her -- a very dangerous proposition. One slap of the tail could kill a rescuer.


They worked for hours with curved knives and eventually freed her.

When she was free, the divers say she swam in what seemed like joyous circles.
She then came back to each and every diver, one at a time, nudged them and pushed gently, thanking them.


Some said it was the most incredibly beautiful experience of their lives.

The guy who cut the rope out of her mouth says her eye was following him the
whole time, and he will never be the same.


May you, and all those you love, be so fortunate...
To be surrounded by people who will help you get untangled from the things that are binding you.


And may you always know the joy of giving and receiving gratitude.

New Blog Format: Comment from the Author

As you may have noticed, I changed the format of the blog.

It was an accident, really.

They sucked me in by offering new "gagets" and I am enough of a boy to think:

Gadgets. . . . Yum.

So, I went in to format, and picked a few gagets (only one of which currently shows up and it is the rotating classical children's book pictures) and all of a sudden I had lost everything (i.e. all of my links etc.).

There's no record of it etc. and if you're like me with your cell phone, it's not like you have a backup of ACTUAL numbers. I don't have a backup of ACTUAL weblinks.

So pardon the abrupt, somewhat unintentional changes while I'm under construction.

Overheard in Minneapolis this Morning

Baba, here's a plum for you!

Thanks!

A few minutes goes by then munch munch crunch crunch.

Um, I thought that was MY plum.

I'm just eating all the frosting off of it.

Love Is. . .

So I gave Big Brother No. 1 an iPod shuffle for his latest birthday mainly for the purpose of sharing with him Obama's first book which I was listening to at the time.

He's ancient, so I figured I'd simplify for him: put buds in ears, hit play, etc. But he surprised me like Big does with his ability to adapt to the technology and then, of course, want more.

Within the week I received a package from him that said something to the effect of "Great book! Now, can you put all of the songs from my favorite cd's on it for me?" [they were in the box as well, all accompanied by little post-its telling me why and how the 'albums' were relevant to his life such as "this album helped me to get over XXXX" or 'FAVORITE!' on the Brokeback Mountain cd. He is, after all, a gay man.]

He didn't have the computer or the know-how to do it himself, but he sure knew of what the little 1x1 inch machine was capable!

So here's love for you: downloading and loading cds like "Willie Nelson: Healing Hands of Time", "Classical Loon II" (this is a bunch of classical songs with Loon's calling in the background!?!) and, my personal favorite: "Paralyzed Veterans of America Presents Fourth of July Favorites."

Happy Birthday Big!!

Present Day


2007

2006

2005

I Enjoy Being a Girl: Sexism Version Boy

So we're starting to experience the after-effects of society on the extremely-soon-to-be three year old (tomorrow!), one incident that I tried to address by ignoring, the other head-on.

The two kids, being siblings, get into quarrels, particularly in those evening hours just before dinner, at the height of exhaustion.

The other night I was attempting to put together some nourishment, when I felt it heating up in the living room between them.

At moments like these I really try hard to just ignore it. I've learned that often, when I get involved, I just make it worse. Besides, they need to learn how to deal with each other and forge out the relationship that is theirs.

But then I heard him say this: STUPID GIRL!

My immediate reaction was to go shake his shoulders and say that he should NEVER call ANY girls stupid. And, by the way, you're living with FIVE of them (if you count the cats). We could GANG up on you, you, you .... BOY!

That, I pushed deep inside. ...

Later, at dinner, I gently said, that we shouldn't call anyone stupid, particularly one's sister. Blah blah blah.

By then the event was so far in the distant past that he had no clue of which I spoke.

Then, yesterday, we went on a family sled adventure down the 'big' hill.

I was kind of building it up for Big because he and I had gone alone down the big hill a day or so earlier and Eight and I were helping to make him feel important, as though he was showing her the hill for the first time.

I must have said something to the effect of her possibly being scared of the hill and that he could show her how fun it would be.

Then, when we round the corner to the hill, he says, quietly confident: She's scared because she's a girl.

BioMom and I: What???

Big: Yeah. I'm a boy, so I'm not scared. She's a girl. She's scared.

You can imagine the Charlie-Brown-Adult voice lecture that ensued.

What is very different about this version of child-coming-of-age in terms of exposure to society than what I felt when Eight (then three) went through it, is that while the things he is saying are fairly offensive, and not very nice on a personal level, he's not saying them about himself, like she was. He is confident about himself. Wrongly, of course, because he attributes it to his sex, but confident none-the-less. When she was initially exhibiting signs of societal-exposure that were sexist, it was scary because she was saying, interpreting and seeming to take in all of these notions of what girls should be. For example, she would have said something like "I'm scared to sled down that big hill BECAUSE I'm a girl."

Of course, the two kids doing these things are like two sides of the same coin. Sexism girl version and sexism boy version. It just seems so much easier this time around. Like I can fix his perspective somehow, just by being me and living in a house with three strong women. Whereas with her, I was (and am still )not sure that I can completely shield her from being inculcated in this sexist culture and taking on all of the baggage that goes with it as a girl.

They Sure Look Ripe To Me

I never eat December snowflakes. I always wait until January.

Proposition 8 -- The Musical

This is a must see!

First Sleds

2008

2007

Hollidazzle Wants v. Hollidazzle Needs

Because we have literally scheduled ourselves into a corner until Christmas, we went to the Holidazzle Parade in downtown Minneapolis tonight (this youtube link is literally the EXACT thing we saw tonight, filmed in 2006).

It was a nice night weather-wise, and we didn't go last year, so we felt obligated to take the incredibly-enthusiastic soon-to-be three year old out for some good old fashioned Minnesota kitsch.

We were not disappointed.

Included in the regular festivities, to our great surprise, was an appearance by the Minnesota Freedom Band, the likes of which I was unaware existed in this universe.

What is this, you ask? Well, it's the all GLBTA marching band!!!

But the night started off on a bit of a wrong foot. BioMom and I consciously left the car sans money or any other scrip counterpart that could be used to purchase peddled goods or cocoa or the like. We wondered, at the time, what we'd need it for, and, anyway, we'd head straight home for some hot chocolate after the parade.

We were not there for two seconds before Big eyed those strange brightly colored flashlight-like items with what looked like filaments flinging out of the end. Someone else could certainly describe these better than myself, and there is surely a name for what would become our albatross.

It started out innocuous enough.

Big: Can I have one of those?

Me/BioMom: I'm sorry, Honey, we don't have any money.

A few moments goes by. Waiting for the parade to start, kids of all ages pour away from the sidewalks into the street. The curbs cannot contain the people on this not-yet-below-zero Minnesota night. The skyways are filled with onlookers watching from above.

Every single one of them had one of these glow-y goodness doo-jobs. They filled the streets like cell phones at a concert. Like green at a Packer's game.

It was pure torture. Check out his face in this picture. He is FURIOUS! He had actually brought his own flashlight but this was clearly analogous to carrying a boombox on a college campus in 2008.



Big: But I WAAAAAAAAAANT one.

Us: (ignoring).

Big: Where's the MONEY???? I WANT one. Can I have one? I want one of those. Please? I want one. Can I have one? Where's the money? Please? I really REALLY want one of those!! Check and see if you have money. Please? I want one. Can I have one?

Minutes go by in relative peace and calculating envy.

Eight: Can we get some cocoa?

Me, in my head [Is ANYONE rational here?]

The lady peddling the flashlight thingys goes up and down the street. Across the street three kids are playing Star Wars with their whatchamagigs. The peddler gal walks in front of us, her box aglow with her goods for sale.

Big is nearly drooling.

His tone starts over: Can I get one of those please?

We continue our no-cash mantra.

Big moves out into the street and I really have no idea where he'll go with this. Neither of our kids expect to get stuff at places. We just don't do that. I'll refuse a twenty-five-cent gumball with the explanation that we're saving for college so this behavior was unusual.

Of course, ALL behavior, as we approach this third birthday seems unusual, so I get up with him.

In retrospect, I should have noticed that he had surveyed his prey. Kids on right: too big. Kids on left: in a pack. Kid next to him: a baby. He moves toward a nearly-two year old in appearance (that is to say, slightly smaller), standing with his parents behind the parade barrier.

Thank god for the barrier, I thought.

Big crowded in. In my little embarrassed shuffle,I moved in a little closer to him saying, a little too loudly something about giving people space, reminding him that about that personal bubble he always wants [Eight] to respect? Nervous laugh. Glance up at the parents to see if they are in on the joke.

They are not. They look at me like can't you control that kid of yours? Look at our perfect little one, happily waiting for the parade to begin. Not begging. Happily holding his little filament light, a contented smile reflected in its colorful glean.

Big: I want that.

Me: I'm sorry, Honey, that's his.

Big turns, winds up and kicks me in the shin.

It feels a little like that Bugs Bunny episode where they run into the giant and try to attack him and trip him.

It is hard not to giggle just a little bit at his emotions over this light. I wish I could laugh off Eight's anxieties and lashings-out as easily. Her issues feel so much more intense and complicated at the time.

Big: I WANNNNTTTTTT it!

Another kick.

I thought to myself, what in the hell am I supposed to do now? The entire city here, gathered to watch this parade just saw my kid begging for a flashlight and then haul out and kick me... AGAIN!

I started channeling Alfie Kohn to ward of my own father brewing up through my blood. Respect the situation he's in, I reminded myself. You can't control him, I reminded myself. I don't want a robot kid that just follows my orders, I reminded myself. He needs to learn INtrinsic behavioral patterns, I reminded myself. Any EXtrinsic rewards or behaviors are short-lived. Blah blah blah.

Me: I know you're frustrated, [Big], and I know you would like to have that [what the hell is the name of that thing? I think to myself] but we just can't get one tonight [or EVER after this scene you little B$#T!]

He gets REAL close, face touching the barrier, tries to act interested in the barrier itself, somehow, and, suddenly grabs it from the kids and lets fly, running back toward Eight and BioMom.

I look back and BioMom is peeing her pants laughing.

I just smiled and pretended to be the nanny.

Maybe I should have pretended to be IN the parade and gone ahead and caught up with the Freedom Band.

Nearly Three and Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving!

I couldn't be more thankful and welcoming of down-time and time with family. We had a great morning watching the parade, setting up a tent inside, and hiking around Fort Snelling State Park which, with Big along, essentially turns into an episode of "where's the poop?" or "what kind of animal made THAT poop?"

Big turned nearly three on the ninth of November and we're starting to plan his birthday party.

He is really "getting it" this year, anticipating his birthday, and telling people that he'll be "three" while attempting, with great difficulty to manipulate his little fingers so that only three point upward.

One of the funniest things he does lately, and one of the things that, I suspect could become most annoying is how you 'one up' people with stories. Particularly your sister.

She'll come home from school, tripping over her words to tell us about something that had happened that day, or what she learned. Without letting her even finish the story, you will adopt the subject of her first sentence, and turn it into a story all your own, emphasizing your own personal narrative: When I was in kindergarten, and the teacher said that we had to use the red crayon. . . " Usually the stories devolve into nonsense, but they occur with absolute predictability: whenever anyone else is getting attention by trying to relate something of their own life.

The other day a colleague and I were lamenting another colleague's similar quality. You know this person in the office: the know-it-all who may or may not have their facts right, but always has an answer. I hope Big can contain this before he becomes an SNL skit, or an annoying cube-mate.

Here are a few ghosts from November's past and present:
November 2008 (Editor's note: the sign below says "Ban" above the H8)


November 2007


November 2007

November 2006

November 2006

November 2005

Ichiban

As Big has gotten older I've realized how poorly we parented Eight.

It's a steep learning curve and your first gets the worst of it.

In that sense, I can certainly see how having three or four becomes easier at the same time that it gets more complicated.

In a recent Slate article, Alan Kazdin discusses how parents expect way too much from their kids. If this is true generally, it is tripl-y true for our firsts.

He says:
A reliable body of research shows that we expect our children to do things they're not yet able to do and that we judge and punish them according to that expectation.

And:
Overly simple age-targeting is one main culprit. We all know that children develop differently, but it's natural to underestimate the astonishing variability among and within individuals. A child may be the first in her class to ride a two-wheeler but the last to learn to read; she may also grasp addition and subtraction well ahead of others but lag behind in achieving the self-control to short-circuit a tantrum. We also tend to parent subjectively, setting the behavior bar with a too-small sample group drawn from personal experience: our own first child, a neighbor's child, or our own unreliable childhood memories of how our parents raised us.

I think this is true, and in particular, with your first, I think you just have no idea what kids are all about. You expect too much, you haven't given in yet to parenthood (read: you still think you can maintain some semblance of your non-kid life) and you think that whatever situation you're in NOW will last forever, so you put too much weight on EVERYTHING. If she has some cocoa today, will she be sugar addicted for the rest of her life? If I let her watch a half-hour of television, will she be lazy and never finish the seven Harry Potter books?

For me, with Big I've learned to let some things go. Maybe its because he came with a whole new set of challenges that makes Eight, in retrospect, seem like a relatively easy three-year-old.

I always wonder how my aunt (Cousin's mom) raised seven and retained her sanity. I suspect that part of her trick was that she realized that Cousin (the seventh of seven) would grow up, inevitably, with or without cajoling or incessant hovering.

I wouldn't put down my aunt's oldest in any way, but maybe that's why Cousin turned out so great.

Bitch v. Ditz: Great article from New York Magazine

Check out this great article by Amanda Fortini in New York Magazine.

She says: In the grand Passion play that was this election, both Clinton and Palin came to represent—and, at times, reinforce—two of the most pernicious stereotypes that are applied to women: the bitch and the ditz.

And goes on to make this point:

"What's infuriating, and perhaps rage-inducing, about Palin, is that she has always embodied that perfectly pleasing female archetype," Jessica Grose wrote on Jezebel.com, in a post titled "Why Sarah Palin Incites Near-Violent Rage in Normally Reasonable Women." Palin had taken a match and set fire to our meritocratic notions that hard work and accumulated experience would be rewarded. "As has been known to happen in less exalted workplaces," Katha Pollitt wrote, "Palin got the promotion because the boss just liked her." Her blithe ignorance extended from foreign policy to the symbolic value of her candidacy. By stepping into the spotlight unprepared, Palin reinforced some of the most damaging and sexist ideas of all: that women are undisciplined in their thinking; that we are distracted by domestic concerns or frivolous pursuits like shopping; that we are not smart enough, or not serious enough, for the important jobs.

And concludes:

But among the darker revelations of this election is the fact that the vice-grip of female stereotypes remains suffocatingly tight. On the national political stage and in office buildings across the country, women regularly find themselves divided into dualities that are the modern equivalent of the Madonna-whore complex: the hard-ass or the lightweight, the battle-ax or the bubblehead, the serious, pursed-lipped shrew or the silly, ineffectual girl. It is exceedingly difficult to sidestep this trap. Michelle Obama began the campaign as a bold, outspoken woman with a career of her own, and she was called a hard-ass. Now, as she prepares to move into the White House, she appears poised to recede into a fifties-era role of "mom-in-chief." It will be heartbreaking if, in an effort to avoid the kind of criticism that followed Hillary Clinton, the First Lady is reduced to a lightweight.

Join FightH8 Tomorrow!

NATIONAL DAY OF ACTION FOR LGBT RIGHTS: We'll be there!!

Saturday, November 15
12:30pm
Outside Government Center
350 S. 5th Street, downtown Minneapolis

While celebrations erupted Tuesday night over the election of the first African American president, many also watched in sadness as California, Arizona, and Florida voted down marriage equality for LGBT people. Since then, tens of thousands have taken to the streets to oppose this discrimination and declare that the right to marry the person you love is a fundamental human right, regardless of sexual orientation!

Saturday, November 15th has been called as a National Day of Action in support of LGBT rights (see www.jointheimpact.com). Tens of thousands will protest all over the country, in every state, declaring our opposition to all forms of discrimination and demanding an end to homophobia – and to help launch a new civil rights movement, for full equality for gays, lesbians, and transgender people.

This is an issue of equal rights for all Americans! Stand up and make your voice heard! Join us in pressuring the California government to overturn Proposition 8 banning same-sex marriage.

See LesbianDad for more information nationwide.

Punishment and Rewards

If you were have been preparing for a lengthy post on Foucault, fear not, dear reader. It is just a link to a decent conversation held over at the New York Times with Alfie Kohn as a follow-up on a "Motherlode" column in which she discussed paying kids for good behavior.

While I always strive to be a Kohnistic Parent, I am also an economist, firmly rooted in the tradition of incentivization. This is all to say that punishments and rewards have not been absent in our parenting style.

Even just last night at 2:40 in the morning when Eight was arguing with me (or at least attempting to do so) about how she should be able to sleep with me since BioMom was out of town, I ultimately threatened to take away the pizza and ice cream that had been promised for the impending Friday Family Fun Night.

Let's face it. At 2:40 in the morning, I'll do just about anything to get almost anyone to stop talking.

As usual, Kohn promotes the notion of intrinsic motivation:

Rewards and punishments are not opposites; they are two sides of the same coin and that coin doesn’t buy very much. The one thing you can get by dangling a goody in front of children if they do what you want is the same thing you can get by threatening to make them suffer if they don't do what you want. What you get is temporary compliance, but it comes at a very steep cost.

To be honest, in the short run, as in getting Big to stop jumping on Eight, or throwing water all over the bathroom, or dumping his food onto the floor, short run compliance is all I'm hoping for.

Sometimes without short-run compliance, I fear I'll lose my long-run sanity.

In the long-run, he argues:

There is intrinsic motivation, which means doing something because it seems worthwhile in its own right, and extrinsic motivation, where you do something just to get a goody. Not only are these two different, they are inversely related. That’s why research shows that the more you reward people, the less interest they come to have in whatever they had to do to get the reward. The more you offer extrinsic motivators, the more intrinsic motivation tends to decline.

In general, I agree with him. But here are my few exceptions:
1. In the short run when either their safety or my sanity is on the line.
2. When my goal is to just expand their exposure or to improve their physical health: new foods, vegetables and exercise and lastly,
3. Until they get old enough to be slightly more rational about things.

Eight loves to read, hates veggies, loves carbohydrates, hates practicing piano, and would generally prefer to be indoors to outdoors, and would love to while away most of her day in front of the television. Her intrinsic motivation would lead her to be a not-very-well-rounded individual, and most likely, not particularly healthy. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing, and Kohn would probably argue that she'll end up being who she is as an adult regardless of what we do. In the mean time, in addition to being the best models that we can be for her, we also prod a little.

Eight Beuller's Day Off

So Big and I were in the IMAX theater at the zoo today watching the 3D movie on Whales and Dolphins when I get a phone call from Eight's school.

Um. Hello? I whisper.

Hi, [Blogauthor]? This is [school nurse volunteer #42]. [Eight] is saying that she doesn't feel very good.

Um. Yeah. Sorry, I can't talk very loudly, we're at the zoo right now.

She doesn't have a fever and hasn't thrown up or anything, but she says that she is not feeling well.

I'll be right over. Just tell her that it'll be 20 or 30 minutes.

We get there and the first clue I had to Eight's so-called illness was her insolent, "What took you so long?" question upon seeing me scramble through the front doors.

We picked up some chicken noodle soup (which she gobbled down) and I sent them both to bed.

Which lasted all of 25 minutes.

This has been the longest day of my entire life.

She is now dancing through the house, singing, laughing, and begging her brother for a sucker from his Halloween remnants.

It is LITERALLY 4:30.

Sometimes she doesn't even come HOME by then.

Wish me luck tonight.

Declare Your Family Equal Video

Check this out and a shout out to our friends Chris and Kai in the video with their girls, and Erin and Wendy with their girls!!

Sayonara, Sarah

Check out this great piece by Katha Pollitt in The Nation online.

If you voted for Prop 8, what's it to you???

Keith Olbermann asks those who voted for California's Proposition 8 how in the world it should affect them whether gay couples wish to legalize their relationship.
This commentary is, literally, one of the best, most beautiful on the subject that I have ever heard. It reminds me of this piece by George Saunders (which I always swipe from LesbianDad).
Thank you Keith.

The ACLU Ad

I am new to Facebook, being, well, being the age that I am. But I've loved being able to catch up, at least cyberly, with far-away friends. My friend, now at the ACLU pointed "everyone" to this ad, in the New York Times today.

Thanks Liz.

Purple Mountains Majesty

Taggert, over at A Random Walk provides a better, more nuanced version of the old red state/blue state saw:

". . . a better visualization would shade the areas based not upon who won the state, but by the degree to which they won the state. And the states themselves shouldn't be represented as a function of their geographic size, but rather the size of their population. Here we have just such a picture, and its clear, we are all purple now."

Yes He Can

Overheard in Minneapolis

I was enjoying a quiet cuppa coffee the other day while grading a few papers when I overheard a woman say something to the effect of the following:

"I've never given to a candidate outside of my district before now!"

If you're from around here, there's no doubt what she was talking about.

GO TINKLENBERG!

Here's a tidbit from his Wikipedia page regarding the Bachman debacle (highlight mine):

On the evening of October 17, 2008, Tinklenberg's opponent, Bachmann, appeared on Hardball with Chris Matthews. She said she was "very concerned that [Obama] may have anti-American views," and called for the news media to "do a penetrating expose" on "the views of the people in Congress and find out, are they pro-America or anti-America?" Her statements about liberalism and anti-American views were quickly spread around liberal blogs such as The Daily Kos, Democratic Underground and The Huffington Post and the mainstream media. Outrage at Bachmann's comments led to nearly $440,000 in donations to Tinklenberg's campaign in less than 24 hours and over $750,000 in 72 hours. In response, Tinklenberg wrote, "The last few hours have been nothing short of astounding. Since Congresswoman Michele Bachmann appeared on MSNBC’s Hardball earlier tonight, there’s been a deluge of support unlike anything we have seen." His total fundraising before the Bachmann appearance was approximately $1 million, under $720,000 of which was from individuals.

Vote No on Prop 8!

Check out Looky Daddy's nifty advertisements promoting gay marriage.

A Tale of Two Brothers

So I have two brothers. Twins.

They couldn't be more different.

One is gay, gregarious, effusive, and a democrat. The other is straight, somewhat stoic, undemonstrative and, republican.

I have genuine appreciation for both of them, but of course, being that I lean to the left, well, I suppose I have a bit more in common with the aforementioned gay one.

The other day I caught the other one on the phone and we, tentatively, began talking politics. Usually this is a mistake, but I came prepared and careful.

Let's face it, if you have a modicum of intelligence, you can't support a Palin Vice Presidency, regardless of the role you played in Vietnam (he is a Vietnam vet) or your long history in the U.S. Navy (he's a retired Lt. Commander) or your extraordinary success as a small businessman. As you can see, he has an excellent republican voter's resume. So much so that I'm not sure which came first, the resume or the political stance.

That is all to say that he does have a modicum of intelligence and I have a healthy respect for POW's as well as for libertarianism (in theory), so we have some overlapping ground on which to base a conversation.

So after a few Palin-digs, he says to me something to the effect of being okay with Obama until he mentioned "redistributing the wealth".

Ugh.

Of all the over-used, misunderstood notions in American history. . .

I responded that ALL politicians redistribute wealth. It's just a matter of whether you get Peter to pay Paul or vice versa. And, of course, whether you, yourself are Peter or Paul.

I wish I had read this week's New Yorker article by Steve Coll prior to this conversation.

It talks about Obama's interaction with Joe the Plumber in which he said:

I do believe that for folks like me who've worked hard but frankly also been lucky, I don't mind paying just a little bit more than the waitress who I just met over there....She can barely make the rent....And I think that when you spread the wealth around, it's good for everybody.

"The principle that Obama evinced, which most economists would regard as unexceptionable, can be traced to Adam Smith. In 'The Wealth of Nations' (1776), his seminal treatise on capitalism, Smith wrote: The necessaries of life occasion the great expense of the poor....The luxuries and vanities of life occasion the principal expense of the rich, and a magnificent house embellishes and sets off to the best advantage all the other luxuries and vanities which they possess....It is not very unreasonable that the rich should contribute to the public expense, not only in proportion to their revenue, but something more than in that proportion.'"

Dear brother, let's focus on the real issues at hand. The real issues that might actually IMPROVE the economy for EVERYONE (not just saving a few bucks for just a few of us to use to buy more iPods, G1's, or kitchen makeovers -- I say that as we both are doing so--the kitchen makeover--and I am dreaming of the new G1, just to point out that I am not immune to greed).

Instead, and again quoting from The New Yorker:

". . . . [S]uch as what sort of economic stimulus plan to enact, and in what stages; which policies might keep the most families in their houses at the least cost; how to restructure market regulation to bring credit-default swaps and other derivatives under government oversight; and how to coordinate global reform of financial and trade imbalances."