I was reading Brain, Child! the other day, and there are a pair of essays on Safety and kids. How much is enough, and how much is too much.
I come down firmly on the side of there is too much…so much that it endangers our kids and our society. I am 39 (or real frickin’ close to it..) and have never broken a bone (‘cept for knuckles, but that’s a whole ‘nother can o’ beans..) The injuries I sustained as a kid could not have been prevented by any kind of protective gear. Yes, I know that “every year, children die from accidents in play…” and just as many die from being alive. Yes, I don’t want it to happen to my girls. But I also don’t want them to grow up afraid and over protected with weakened immune systems.
Let them live! Eat some dirt, crash your bike, hold a snake, and look at that bug up really close! We’ve been doing it for millions of years… evolution works. BTW, don’t bother me with any of that so called intelligent design garbage. Humans, like butterflies, should not work – at least from an engineering standpoint.
So I walk into work today, and the first goddamn thing I’m told is “no more radio”. WTF?! I can’t fucking beleive it. One of the few simple pleasures left to me, and they take it away. Most of my music is not appropriate for small children, so I have to limit what I listen to at home. With their wonderful talent for parroting, it would be ungood to have Rose start singing “i want to fuck you like an animal” in say, Target. Although the last time I was in Target, it was no bastion of hope for American society. 95% of the people shopping there were grossly obese, tackily (at best) attired, and ill mannered. But I can’t do anything about that, and I can keep my kids from appearing like that.
Now the big problem with not having music in my workspace is that I have nothing to occupy my mind while I perform the menial tasks that make up most of my night. So I think – and that’s not always a good thing.
The only good part of it, is that I’ll be writing more posts…..
Time to talk about the girls again. Lilah is so different from Rose, it ain’t even funny. She gets into everything! Lately she’s been playing buried treasure in the cat box, rearranging Psycho-Momia’s office and sewing table, and plunging the kiddie potty. Several times a day. Hell several times an hour! She also helps out by feeding the cats their crunchies. Several times an hour. If only I could be that productive…
Rose, on the other hand, excels at making my mind blanche in a sheer horror that only another dad could truly understand.
One night last week, we were all getting ready for bed. Rose sits down on our bed, and starts to get her jammies on. Pretty basic, right? Well, all of the sudden, she’s laying on the bed, with her legs up in the air, and says, “Dada, pat my yoni!”
I turned to look at Psycho-Momia with a look of abject horror. She just laughed…..
Rose also made a quip last week while we were getting ready for a snooze. I’m not even sure what the circumstance was, but out of nowhere she spouts “I can’t find my fuckin’ socks!” I’m all like WTF? “Rose, that’s not a nice word for a little girl to say…” “Okay, pokyloca” (that’s a word in Roseish…her made up lingo)
The funny part of that was that she nailed Psycho-Momia’s tone exactly!