Let Me Make This Abundantly Clear
I made a commitment to the One A Day Project because I wanted to put my personal thoughts, feelings, and experiences down on some form of paper so that I could look back on them in the future, and my kid and future kids could if they wanted to at some point. I thought it might be cool to have a document of a year of my life, plus it was a way to start writing for myself again.
I tweet links to these posts because that's just what is done with the One A Day Project. I know that my wife reads them everyday, and my friend usually reads everything I write, but otherwise I don't really mind if no one at all reads them.
Yesterday I wrote one that I thought was particularly uninspired because I was awake for far too long and had no real ideas for anything to write about, so when tweeting it I warned that it wasn't good at all and probably should be skipped. I was honest in that, not fishing for compliments or trying to get attention, but someone seemed to think I was.
With the first response I joked back with what I hoped was a joke, but clearly he was out to be an ass. Even though he responded to my employment at Bitmob with a backhanded compliment, I never want to be the one to hurt someone else with my words, so I ignored it.
It's clear he is jealous of the fact that I got a gig at Bitmob because he feels like he is a better writer than me...and he is completely right to feel that way. He is a better writer than me. But sometimes life is about the attitude, buddy. I am one hundred percent a better person than you, and I don't need anyone to tell me that. I know I'm a good person because I have a wife and a child that tell me so, and my friends on Twitter like me enough to do amazing things like chip in and buy me a PS3 (Which I'm still paying back, slowly.)
So you know what, I'm not "still crying." I'm in a great mood. If I ignore the entire situation I run the risk of letting you think that you somehow weren't a piece of shit. You have a fundamental flaw in your attitude and it is destroying your life. I improved my life by trying my best to be a good person, and I'd like to clue you in on that little trick. Live your life like Cody Winn, because no one hires somebody that treats others like shit, even if they are better at the job than other prospective candidates.
Zombie Sundays
My sleep schedule is eternally screwy because of my job. On Mondays through Fridays The Grand Rapids Press is an afternoon paper, meaning I don't have to deliver until around Noon. Not bad at all, but once it comes to the weekend things get messy. On Saturdays I have to wake up at about 3:30 AM, and on Sundays I start at midnight. There is pretty much no sleep routine that fits well into that schedule.
So every Saturday I get only three or four hours of sleep, then power through the day until five or so when I go to sleep again. After waking up at 11PM and doing papers all night long, I have the choice of going to sleep at some point on Sunday and remaining on a screwed up system, or staying awake for 24 hours to get back on my schedule for the week. I usually try the latter, and it means reaching a zombified state of existence at some point in the day.
I'm productive enough in the morning, but somewhere I hit a wall and tasks that require more than a handful of thought are all but impossible for me to complete. I've been writing this for several hours already. I mostly just stare at the same sentence for about 25 minutes and then stumble my way onto the next. It's not exactly the best way to write, but you're probably going to have to come to expect it from me on Sundays what with this whole one a day thing.
I made apple streusel muffins earlier for no real reason. They got a little too done on the bottom, but they're alright. I actually made them because I found the box in the middle of the living room floor after we took the Christmas tree outside. Emmy likes to take her toy shopping cart into the kitchen and empty out the cupboards of all of our baking-type products. You'll always find boxes in any and every nook and cranny of the living room.
Later I watched some late '90s action flick called Fled with Stephen Baldwin and Laurence Fishburne. I didn't really pay attention, but I think they were fleeing from someone. Now Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist just ended. It seemed alright, but seemed to meander and get a little boring. Could just be the commercials that dragged it out though.
I just got an email with a review code for the Costume Quest DLC. It's not exactly Christmas anymore, but I think I'm gonna go play through that. Maybe. I forget when I ate last. Hmm.
Oh, I'll try to write next Sunday's one a day as early as possible so I can avoid another completely pointless article like this one. If you made it to the end of this, I'll give you an apple streusel muffin. Just don't eat the bottom of it.
All About Pee
We potty trained Emerson a month after she turned two years old. My wife had a sure-fire plan to make the entire process as painless as possible. We bought at least 30 pairs of underwear at once, lost the diapers, and stuck her on the toilet at the slightest sign of an accident.
That first day she peed in 13 pairs of underwear, but with each subsequent day the number dwindled. Before the end of the first week she was only having an occasional accident. We were out of the woods it seemed; finally free of the annoyance of changing diapers.
Now, as Emmy approaches her third birthday, it seems that old annoyance has reared it's ugly head again. For some reason we keep dealing with incidents where she doesn't quite make it to the potty in time -- at least once or twice a day. It's gotten pretty stressful, mostly because I have no idea what is causing it or how to make it stop.
I can't really get a straight answer out of her about why she's doing it. If I ask her if she is holding it in because she doesn't want to stop playing she says yes. If I ask if she's peeing in her underwear because her cousin doesn't use the potty she says yes. She pretty much just agrees with anything I come up with.
Sometimes it's hard to know what the best solution is when it comes to parenting, and this is certainly one of those times. You just have to barge forward, try your best, and hope that the kid doesn't come out of it scarred for life.
Emerson, if you're 30 years old and you cry every time you have to go to the bathroom, holding yourself in the fetal position on the floor as you soil your pants, well, then, I'm sorry. At least you can look back on this blog post and know that I tried my best.
Things Emmy Says
Kids say the darndest things, right? Bill Cosby wasn't wrong about that. Who knows where they pulled them from, or if they just made them up by themselves. Either way, if you're also a parent you probably find their crazy sayings charming and adorable. If you're not a parent they're probably so charming and adorable that it makes you want to vomit. Or maybe everyone except the actual parents of the kid who is saying the adorable things feels that way; I'm not sure.
Whatever the case may be, I thought I'd try to catalog some of the crazy things Emerson says so that I could look back at them and laugh. Here's the first, containing one from last night and a bunch that I posted on Tumblr and I want to transfer somewhere else before I forget that Tumblr exists like I pretty much already have.
Last night as we laid watching Thomas in bed, Em turned to me and gave me a hug, then turned back to the show. This isn't uncommon when we're snuggling, but this time I heard: "Best hug ever."
Me: "What?"
Emmy: "Best hug ever."
Me: "Oh. Good."
Emmy: *turns and gives me a kiss* "Best kiss ever."
Me: "That was the best kiss ever?"
Emmy: "Yeah." *gives me another hug* "Best hug ever."
Me: "You're crazy."
Emmy: "You're also crazy." *turns and looks up at me* "You're a good man."
Doesn't it just melt your heart? It certainly melts mine.
Me: “Em, no blankets on the potty. Take it off.”
Emmy: “But I’m cooooold.”
Me: “But you’ll get pee on it. Take it off.”
Emmy: “Ooooooooh. Maybe poop even?”
When Emmy isn’t crying or sleeping in her carseat on a trip, she’s rambling about anything and everything. At some point last night she was imagining some sort of scenario with a cat and a trashcan that worries me a bit. “The sun is in my eyes.” is also something I frequently hear from the back seat, but last night we got this gem:
“The dark is in my eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyes!”
Guess she wanted to complain about something but realized the sun wasn’t out, so she revised a little.
From the bathroom, I heard her messing around with something in the kitchen and called for her. She opened the door just enough to stick her face in the crack and I asked her what she’d been doing.
Emmy: ”You’re on the potty?”
Me: ”Yes. What were you doing in the kitchen?”
Emmy: “This is my face… right here.”
Apparently my daughter has the humor of a 12 year old boy. Here is our conversation from last night in bed:
Emmy: I want to nurse.
Me: Well, you have to wait for Mommy, she’s got the boobs.
Emmy: Mommy has boobs?
Me: Yes.
Emmy: And nipples?
Me: Yes. Well, everyone has nipples.
Emmy: Everyone? Grandma has nipples?
Me: Ugh, yes, grandma has nipples.
Emmy: I have nipples?
Me: Yep.
Emmy: You have nipples?
Me: Yep.
Emmy: *pause* *hysterical laughter* Nipples *More hysterical laughter*
At which point I obviously started laughing, and for probably 2 straight minutes she periodically said “Nipples” and we’d laugh.
I was telling her to go to sleep last night, and she said she wanted to be held. So I picked her up and rocked her back and forth a little, and told her to close her eyes and go to sleep. After about a minute, she whispered softly:
“I’m still a little awake.”
Me: “Alright, then stop talking and go to sleep.”
A minute or so later…
“I’m still a little bit awake. I’m closing my eyes.”
Last night we climbed into bed with two books to read: Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? and Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear?
Emmy: I want you to read this one. *holds up the Polar Bear one* No, I want to read it to you.
Me: Oh, you’re going to read me the Polar Bear book? Alright.
Emmy: *Opens to the title page* There are words in this book!
Me: Oh shoot, I forgot to have Emmy enter The King of the Children Contest.
Zoe: What?
*I describe the contest*
Me: Emmy, you wanna be The King of the Children, right?
Emmy: No, I’m going to be corn!
(That’s what she was for Halloween.)
Reverting to a Childlike State
Even before I had a child, I planned ahead; purchasing several old cartoons that I liked as a kid on DVD so that my future children could enjoy what I had enjoyed. I didn't want my kids to be stuck watching all the crap on TV nowadays; all those copy and paste kids shows.
I should probably explain that last part. You know those kids stories that go something like, "Turtle is looking for his Mommy. He found a lion. "Are you my Mommy?" "No, I'm a lion." *Turn page* Turtle is looking for his Mommy. He found a zebra. "Are you my Mommy?" "No, I'm a zebra." *Turn page* Turtle is... -- you get the idea. I HATE those types of kids stories. Not to mention the boring stuff like Dora or Super Why that sticks to a set structure and then leaves huge gaps for the kid to interact.
"Do you see something?"
....
...
..
......
..
.
.....
..
"Where?"
..
....
...
..
.
....
.
....
..
.....
...
"Behind me?"
....
..
...
..
.
....
...
..
...
..
....
KILL ME NOW AND PUT ME OUT OF THIS MISERY!!
Suffice it to say, when Emerson was born I began hatching plans to gently coerce her into having better tastes than that. But somewhere in the haze of Chip & Dale Rescue Rangers, Darkwing Duck, and Ninja Turtles DVDs, Thomas the Tank Engine snuck in as stealthily as a train engine possibly could.
Strangely enough it was from a tube of toothpaste we bought for her, but when she started talking about Thomas I figured I might as well encourage it. I never watched it when I was a kid, but I knew it was old so it probably didn't suck as much as the stuff made in the last decade. So I bought her a set of Thomas DVDs, and the downward spiral began.
We watch Thomas every single night before bed now. We have Thomas books galore, and for Christmas we bought her a train table, a bunch of train tracks, and some Thomas toys. But in all of this hub-bub surrounding her love for all things Thomas, this is the dirty-little secret I've yet to share publicly: I kind of like the show as well.
Look, all parents have to act like a kid sometimes; it's just the natural way of things. I have to know the names of every single train on that show so that when my daughter asks me about one I can tell her who it is and when I'm in the store looking to buy her a new toy I know which ones she likes. The thing is, last night we were watching an episode in which Sir Topham Hatt (The head conductor for the island of Sodor (where all of the trains live (duh))) had a statue made of all of the main train engines, and I noticed that one of them was missing. I actually paused the show and took it frame-by-frame to make sure that he really wasn't in there. I debated whether or not a generic mass at the end of the statue was actually the missing engine with my nearly three-year old daughter.
Yes, I found a flaw in a children's television show and I analyzed the situation to make sure I was right. That's probably taking it a step to far, but here's the thing: I love snuggling up with my daughter every night and watching our show. Besides, what fun would have a child be if you didn't revert back to your own childlike state? None at all.
Why? Because. Why? Because.
"What said hee-haw?"
"Huh? Donkeys say that. Where'd you hear a donkey?"
"On the TV. Why do they say hee-haw?"
"Just because that's the noise they make."
"Whyyyyyyy?"
"That's just the noise that they make. Like pigs say oink oink."
"Why?"
"They just do."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Whyyyyy?"
You know, sometimes those jokes you hear all the time are completely true. My daughter has definitely reached the "Why? Phase", and it's driving me crazy. This is the battle line. The choices I make now will help decide whether or not I was a good parent. Will I try my best to give accurate answers, or just tell her to stop talking and turn the volume up on the TV?
Actually, it's kind of somewhere in the middle. Look, I'm not a genius. I have my limits, and she really likes to test them. Sometimes I find myself trying to explain things that I'm really not sure I entirely understand myself. One of my favorite podcasts, Stop Podcasting Yourself, has an overheard segment where people call in with whatever ridiculous/hilarious/stupefying things they've heard. I'm reminded of one that went something like this:
"Dad, how do fireworks work?"
"Well, son. They take a lot of.... I don't know, son."
My approach is along those lines. I explain what I can until I reach the limits of my knowledge, and when the next "Why?" comes I tell her I just explained that to her. Usually this is met with another "Why?", at which point I distract.
"Hey, you wanna watch Thomas?"
At least I tried my best, right? I just hope she doesn't figure out that if she asks "Why?" enough she's going to get a cookie or be able to watch a show.
Lane Cutters Can Eat Shit and Die
There is a bridge that I have to cross daily while working. It is the only bridge into and out of town, barring the one completely out of your way to the south, and the one completely out of your way to the north. It was in rough shape, so it is being completely replaced, which means each direction has been cut down to one lane and the two-lane road leading up to it merges into one lane just after the stoplight before the bridge.
This is, of course, clearly labeled. A good mile before the light is a giant light-up sign informing drivers of the impending merge just beyond the light. If I'm running a little bit late, the big factory in town changes shifts and traffic across the bridge becomes a slow crawl stretching through the light, but never that I've seen past that gigantic warning sign.
Yet, when there is a long line of traffic in the one lane, waiting to get across the bridge, there is inevitably an asshole every other minute that flies past everyone in the soon-to-close lane until they reach the construction barrels where they rudely shove their way into the line of traffic. You assume they must be in that lane to turn at the light until you see them fly right through it and the rage ensues. Allow me to provide an even better example of what complete pieces of shit these people are.
Have you ever been at a grocery store with only one lane open and a long line ahead of you? When you were in that line, did anyone walk straight past everyone in the line toward the closed checkout lane ahead, only to shove their way into the line of people waiting at the open one at the last possible second? NO! Of course they didn't, because if they did someone would probably punch them in the face!
A lot of people talk about trolls on the Internet being empowered by their anonymity, and I think it's the same exact thing when people are in their cars. They know that they are being raging assholes when they do stuff like that, but they're confident that no one is going to merge their car into the side of their SUV like they might with do with their fist into their face at the grocery store.
Do me a favor: don't be an asshole. I don't mean only when you're face-to-face with another human being, I mean all the time.
Proper New Year's Resolutions
I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions, probably because they were always doomed to fail. One Kevin Smith discussed the notion of people having a "present bias" -- their future selves are perfect beings with which they can place all of their dreams and aspirations, confident in the fact that they will achieve them, just...later. There's a really good TV show on right now.
A New Year's resolution is the epitome of that. Everyone makes them, but probably something like 0.001% of them are ever achieved. So, I usually spare myself the disappointment of realizing I've failed to complete the tasks I've given myself for the year. But then I was reading through Pete Davison's first One A Day post and was kind of struck by the idea of making attainable and broad resolutions that I can easily achieve if I put my mind to it. I'll check back with you in a year and find out what my percentage was.
1. Take back my pant size: I keep telling myself I'm gonna drop a good 60 pounds and lose the beer gut that has never even had any beer in it. In all likelihood I never will, so I'm going to start taking baby steps toward that goal. This year? I would love to be able to put on the 38 waist Dickies pants I have without sucking in and stretching. I can still wear other pants in size 38, but Dickies are much tighter.
2. Improve (or take steps toward improving) our life: A new job; signing up for some sort of classes that might help me in working toward a new job; finding a house that we can afford. I'll take anything, really.
3. Keep somewhat up to date on the video games of 2011: At the end of every year I get a harsh realization of how little current gaming I did in the last 365 days. I'd like to at least play enough 2011 releases to be able to make a top 10 list.
4. Make a sizable dent in my gaming backlog: I always feel guilty when I buy a new game because of all the games I have sitting around that I haven't even touched. I'd like to start crossing games off of that pile of shame I've got going.
5. Read more: I don't have a ton of books lying around, but the percentage of the ones that I've actually read is embarrassingly high. By the end of the year I will have read these books that have been on my shelf for far too long:
We Never Learn: The Gunk Punk Undergut, 1988-2001 by Eric Davidson
White Noise by Don DeLillo
Kiss Me, Judas by Will Christopher Baer
Please Kill Me: An Uncensored Oral History of Punk by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain
god is not Great by Christopher Hitchens
Igniting a Revolution by Various Authors
Rant by Chuck Palahniuk
Dermaphoria by Craig Clevenger
Syrup by Maxx Barry
On Writing by Stephen King
My Boring-Ass Life by Kevin Smith
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
Of course, if I find any of them particularly boring I can stop reading and still cross them off my list. Some of them have been lent to me with the insistence of quality, others gifted to me at Christmas or such, and a few were purged from the belongings of an acquaintance with whom I haven't had contact in several years -- so who knows if I'll like them. I've gotta leave myself an out if they completely blow.
And those are my modest resolutions. Wish my future self luck in completing them. I certainly could use it.
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