Rubber boots, underpants, in the basement, wild mane...party time.
9 years ago
EGB News
Friday, December 16, 2011
Happy Friday!
It's Friday. At this time of year everyday feels like Friday is around the corner. No rules.
Rubber boots, underpants, in the basement, wild mane...party time.
Rubber boots, underpants, in the basement, wild mane...party time.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Wow. 2 Months Down.
One post in November. Two posts in October. That means it's December and I haven't shared squat. That also means that I got run over by a yellow bus full of diapers and wipes and cranky animals.
Truly, this is a little crazy. I mean somehow two months pass by and I really don't know what happened. I'm not sure if this is ok or not. What if something really sweet happened and I couldn't remember it. Or what if it was like that movie Memento where things happened in reverse. The nonlinear narrative in both this movie and my post Baby B arrival really messes with my head. Things were going forward in real time, but really working backwards. This never made sense to me. As if counting from one to ten somehow got you back to one. See what I mean? This is all crazy.
The guy in Memento's memory was all jacked up too. I think he burned his wife's name on his arm and got tattoos so he'd remember things. Contrary to the Dairy Queen's desire that I remember to do laundry, buy diapers, and not stack dishes, I haven't gone to such great lengths to get my memory on. I do have scrap paper and scribbles. Not really sure why, but I think it may have something to do with commoditizing memories. As if without the action of writing memories down, which forces reflection, they don't exist. Or if they do, they fall short of their potential value. It's a need to develop a currency of sorts that is ascribed to the abstractions of memories. It's like if someone told you to go to the table to get some cookies, but when you get there it's just a bag of flour, sugar, chocolate chips, butter, brown sugar, and eggs. What comes first?
That's the disconnect. Memories, which are the products of actions, occur in a logical forward moving timeline. Actions occur. Memories are made. But since actions must occur post-memory to give the previous actions real value, we are running nonlinear. We again go backwards to go forward.
I believe that I reflect in hopes that there is some order to all this. In hopes that I don't forget, but all the while knowing that I will. Therein lies the mystery, why we do things even if we know that we'll never truly succeed? No matter how much we note, jot, write, reflect, photograph--we'll never remember it all. It's too much. And really we'd have no time for action to make the memories to reflect if we spent all the time in reflection. But we'll keep trying. It's a balance. So far, having children is mostly action. A whole lot of action. Action on top of action. Action. So bare with me and have mercy on my weary reflective self. I'll keep noting as the notes are fading and some things will just get lost, but never forever. Just like we were all 3 at one time, but have long forgotten. They're all just ingredients along the way anyway.
Well...that was pretty light, huh? Let's talk about what's really going on.
The other day EGB said, "Daddy, I gotta wash my hand."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I put my hand in my butt."
Yup. That's some keeping it real up in our house. Got a 2 month old mountain baby, BB, doing what he does best--blowing out diapers, ripping monster farts and burps, and sleeping whenever he damn feels like it. Sounds like some man-luxury living going on. Generally speaking he's the most chill animal in our house these days. In the constant tornado siren of life with toddlers, uncertain expectations, work pressures, political chaos, BB seems to have it all figured out--stay close to those you love and it will all have a way of working out.
Babies are Buddhas. Albeit aggressive sucking Buddhas, but Buddhas nonetheless. It just takes us old people time to look that far back to figure out how to best move forward. Thanks babies. You deserve more credit.
My head is on fire. Get me a wig so I don't get burnt.
What?! Wait a second. He comes with cake? Day-ummmmmm! Oh, ok. Little Baby B is alright by me. Can you guys have another one?
If you bring cake I got nuthin but love for ya, little man. Love and family.
This is how we do it. Triple threat. EGB will marker you up and jam you with crayons. BB will camel squirt milk in your eyes. Calvin will slowly stunt you with his funky breath. We're super heros.
Oh no. Definitely NOT the left boob. I distinctly remember extracting from the left. It's time for the right. Raise me up please. I need some life force.
Staying close is the only way we'll survive our captors. They make us eat green stuff. Grow quickly so I can put you on my shoulders to snag those M&Ms on the top shelf.
Fly your curlz girlz. If they are matted then put some butter and wind in there. That'll free em up.
Look little punk. I know you think you're all hot and stuff, but there is only one princess in this castle. Don't get smart and go thinking something else.
Dang you're in the pen? I'll post your bail. I hope they take pebbles and dog poop.
Stay close.....it'll work out.
More to say. More to come. My note pad grows.....
Truly, this is a little crazy. I mean somehow two months pass by and I really don't know what happened. I'm not sure if this is ok or not. What if something really sweet happened and I couldn't remember it. Or what if it was like that movie Memento where things happened in reverse. The nonlinear narrative in both this movie and my post Baby B arrival really messes with my head. Things were going forward in real time, but really working backwards. This never made sense to me. As if counting from one to ten somehow got you back to one. See what I mean? This is all crazy.
The guy in Memento's memory was all jacked up too. I think he burned his wife's name on his arm and got tattoos so he'd remember things. Contrary to the Dairy Queen's desire that I remember to do laundry, buy diapers, and not stack dishes, I haven't gone to such great lengths to get my memory on. I do have scrap paper and scribbles. Not really sure why, but I think it may have something to do with commoditizing memories. As if without the action of writing memories down, which forces reflection, they don't exist. Or if they do, they fall short of their potential value. It's a need to develop a currency of sorts that is ascribed to the abstractions of memories. It's like if someone told you to go to the table to get some cookies, but when you get there it's just a bag of flour, sugar, chocolate chips, butter, brown sugar, and eggs. What comes first?
That's the disconnect. Memories, which are the products of actions, occur in a logical forward moving timeline. Actions occur. Memories are made. But since actions must occur post-memory to give the previous actions real value, we are running nonlinear. We again go backwards to go forward.
I believe that I reflect in hopes that there is some order to all this. In hopes that I don't forget, but all the while knowing that I will. Therein lies the mystery, why we do things even if we know that we'll never truly succeed? No matter how much we note, jot, write, reflect, photograph--we'll never remember it all. It's too much. And really we'd have no time for action to make the memories to reflect if we spent all the time in reflection. But we'll keep trying. It's a balance. So far, having children is mostly action. A whole lot of action. Action on top of action. Action. So bare with me and have mercy on my weary reflective self. I'll keep noting as the notes are fading and some things will just get lost, but never forever. Just like we were all 3 at one time, but have long forgotten. They're all just ingredients along the way anyway.
Well...that was pretty light, huh? Let's talk about what's really going on.
The other day EGB said, "Daddy, I gotta wash my hand."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I put my hand in my butt."
Yup. That's some keeping it real up in our house. Got a 2 month old mountain baby, BB, doing what he does best--blowing out diapers, ripping monster farts and burps, and sleeping whenever he damn feels like it. Sounds like some man-luxury living going on. Generally speaking he's the most chill animal in our house these days. In the constant tornado siren of life with toddlers, uncertain expectations, work pressures, political chaos, BB seems to have it all figured out--stay close to those you love and it will all have a way of working out.
Babies are Buddhas. Albeit aggressive sucking Buddhas, but Buddhas nonetheless. It just takes us old people time to look that far back to figure out how to best move forward. Thanks babies. You deserve more credit.
My head is on fire. Get me a wig so I don't get burnt.
Ummm. What is this? I'm not really sure I'm down with this whole additional life form up in my mix. We had a pretty good thing going didn't we? Why you gotta mess it up?
