When I'm getting angry/frustrated/exasperated by idiotic or mean things people at MPOW do, I have a trick for calming myself down.
I remind myself to adopt an Anthropological Perspective.
Imagine you're hanging with Jane Goodall and watching a bunch of chimps flinging poop at each other... and at you and Jane. (I should point out that in this exercise, you and Jane are tight and she's told you not to call her "Doctor Goodall.")
Rather than getting upset about getting poop on her safari outfit, Jane turns to you and says, "Isn't that fascinating? They flung poop at us! I wonder what made them do that...it certainly is curious behavior, this flinging of feces. That big one has quite an arm and looks pleased with himself for having hit us from this far away."
There's no need to get upset. There's no need to fling poop back- that'd just be childish. There's no need to have an emotional response to this poop-flinging. Just study the behavior and focus on what you can learn from it. You are among the chimps- but you're not one of them.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
"Girl Stuff"
When we visited Minnesota for Thanksgiving, my 5-year-old nephew, Ben, saw me bake cookies, change diapers, and feed Simon. Looking very contemplative as I shaped cookies onto the baking sheet, he asked me:
"Do you do a wot of giwl stuff, Unca' Dabid?"
"Ben, sweetheart, there's no such thing as 'girl stuff,' or 'boy stuff.' Men and women can be teachers, firefighters, doctors, rocket scientists, or hair stylists. Men and women can cook, clean, care for children, and bake delicious cookies. Except for a couple of biological things, there's almost nothing your Mom can do that your Dad can't...and there's almost nothing your daddy can do that your mommy can't."
[Long pause while Ben thinks this over]
"Wot awe th'biowogical things girls can do that boys can't?"
"Women can make babies in their tummies. Men can't do that."
[Long pause while Ben considers this]
"wot awe th'biowogical things boys can do that girls can't?"
"Boys can comfortably pee while standing up."
[Short pause]
"Why can boys do that and giwls can't?"
"Boys have penises that make it very easy to point what direction their urine goes in- just by pointing the penis."
"But...giwls have *vaginas*!"
"Yep. You're right. Girls have vaginas."
"But a vagina is just wike a penis!"
"No, Ben. A vagina is not just like a penis."
"Wot does a vagina wook wike?"
[Pause while David considers an answer which is both true and simple enough for a 5-year-old to grasp]
"Well, you know how your penis and testicles stick out of your body?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, for girls, the important parts are tucked away inside their bodies, so there isn't a lot to see from the outside. I think you know that, though- you've taken a bath with your sister."
"Oh yeah. Dat's wight!"
I later repeated this conversation to my brother, Andrew, Ben's Dad. First, Andrew was perfectly satisfied that I gave Ben truthful, simple, and appropriate answers. Second, he was impressed that I actually satisfied Ben enough that Ben elected to stop asking further questions. This, Andrew tells me, is the real accomplishment.
Me, I was just pleased to reinforce the idea that there's no such thing as "boy stuff" or "girl stuff."
"Do you do a wot of giwl stuff, Unca' Dabid?"
"Ben, sweetheart, there's no such thing as 'girl stuff,' or 'boy stuff.' Men and women can be teachers, firefighters, doctors, rocket scientists, or hair stylists. Men and women can cook, clean, care for children, and bake delicious cookies. Except for a couple of biological things, there's almost nothing your Mom can do that your Dad can't...and there's almost nothing your daddy can do that your mommy can't."
[Long pause while Ben thinks this over]
"Wot awe th'biowogical things girls can do that boys can't?"
"Women can make babies in their tummies. Men can't do that."
[Long pause while Ben considers this]
"wot awe th'biowogical things boys can do that girls can't?"
"Boys can comfortably pee while standing up."
[Short pause]
"Why can boys do that and giwls can't?"
"Boys have penises that make it very easy to point what direction their urine goes in- just by pointing the penis."
"But...giwls have *vaginas*!"
"Yep. You're right. Girls have vaginas."
"But a vagina is just wike a penis!"
"No, Ben. A vagina is not just like a penis."
"Wot does a vagina wook wike?"
[Pause while David considers an answer which is both true and simple enough for a 5-year-old to grasp]
"Well, you know how your penis and testicles stick out of your body?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, for girls, the important parts are tucked away inside their bodies, so there isn't a lot to see from the outside. I think you know that, though- you've taken a bath with your sister."
"Oh yeah. Dat's wight!"
I later repeated this conversation to my brother, Andrew, Ben's Dad. First, Andrew was perfectly satisfied that I gave Ben truthful, simple, and appropriate answers. Second, he was impressed that I actually satisfied Ben enough that Ben elected to stop asking further questions. This, Andrew tells me, is the real accomplishment.
Me, I was just pleased to reinforce the idea that there's no such thing as "boy stuff" or "girl stuff."
Friday, January 2, 2009
More New Year's Adventures with Angela and Maggie
So the oven thing wasn't the only problem Angela had on New Year's Eve.
As a holiday present, Liz had given 5-year-old Maggie several bottles of nail polish (pre-approved by Angela). Maggie loves when Liz gives her "grownup" things like costume jewelry or miniature purses or souvenirs from when we travel.
(We like to give her stuff, too. She calls us "Uncle" and "Aunt." When Liz got pregnant, Maggie bragged at school that she was getting a little brother. The point: we're close.)
A little after the oven thing, Liz noticed Maggie putting nail polish on a grown-up (which was fine) at our kitchen table (which was fine) on top of the tablecloth.
"Hey guys?" Liz said to Angela and Maggie, "I bought that tablecloth in Paris on our honeymoon and it is sort of important to me- could we maybe do the nail polish somewhere else?"
"Oh, she's very careful," said Angela. "Don't worry."
5 minutes later, someone bumped the table and a wine glass looked like it might fall. Angela, attempting to stop it, over-corrected and knocked a beer bottle and a wine glass to the floor. In this commotion, some nail polish got on the tablecloth.
I came in from the living room (having no idea what happened or that Liz had asked them not to do it on her tablecloth) and cheerfully declared that no party is complete until drinks are spilled and glass must be wept up. I carefully cleaned up the glass and the spilled drinks. When I looked up, Angela and Maggie had gone into the living room and Liz was looking at the table cloth and pointed out the nail polish. Then she went to get her laptop to look up what might get it out. She looked annoyed (though not scowling or anything) as she quietly explained to me what had happened. Neither of us were flipping out. Nobody raised a voice.
I went back into the living room and saw Angela sitting on one side of the room looking irritated. Maggie was on the other side of the room, applying nail polish to the same person as in the kitchen, this time on the wide arm of a mission-style chair. Right over the brand-new area rug Angela had commented on as new and cool when she first arrived. I went over to Angela.
"Are you okay?" I asked her.
"I'm staying out of the kitchen," she answered. "Liz looks pissed."
"It's just a party foul, Angela." I was smiling. "Liz will be fine- she knows that accidents happen- she just wants to clean it up. But since there's a crowded room full of people drinking, perhaps we could put the nail polish away for the night? We'd love to hang out tomorrow- Liz and Maggie could do each other's nails."
I thought *nothing* of this at the time. It seemed to me a reasonable and polite request. It didn't occur to me that I had said something that could upset anyone. I didn't put it together until the next morning that I had offended Angela.
It was shortly after this that Angela was grabbing her coat (and Maggie's) and pulling Maggie out of the house by her arm. Maggie was now crying because she wanted to stay. I followed her out to their car. I waited until after the crying Maggie was belted into her car seat.
"Angela, what's up? What's wrong?"
"This is just the last straw," she said. "Maggie was *invited.*"
"Of course she was," I said. We love Maggie and always like having her over. You know that. What's going on?"
"Will you go tell Patrick that we're leaving? I don't want to go back inside."
"I will," I said. "Please know that I love you, I don't know what's going on exactly, and I'm sorry you're upset?"
"David, *everyone* in there is embarrassed by what happened."
"What happened? What did I miss?"
Angela made a non-committal noise and I went in to get her husband, who was just figuring out that his wife had stormed out. Patrick and I exchanged confused looks and said goodbye (I like Patrick a lot. He has a phobia of hospitals but still came to visit me *twice* when I was hospitalized last year), but he didn't seem overly concerned.
I went back inside to find that a couple who we had met through Angela and Patrick had retrieved their coats. They looked a little guilty as they explained that Angela, as she was leaving, had asked them to come over to Angela's and Patrick's.
This couple (we'll call them John and Jane) are really nice people and they were clearly very uncomfortable with the awkward postition they'd found themselves in.
Earlier in the evening, Jane had been telling me that they were going to start trying to have a baby in February and I invited her to please come over and borrow some books and play with Simon. I really hope they still will. They seemed as confused as I was about what had happened, but felt they had to go. Everyone else shrugged and the party went on. People started departing around 2:00 AM and the last couple of guests left at about 3:30.
So, I got about 2 hours of sleep last night because I couldn't stop thinking about all of this.
Patrick was raised by unpleasant, rigid people and finds discipline distasteful. Angela works two full time jobs (yes, really) and I think she tries to make up for the lack of time with Maggie by not saying "no" very often. Angela also has a pretty hefty anxiety disorder (about which Liz and I, both medicated, do not lack compassion).
I really think neither Liz nor I did anything wrong, mean, or rude. So why am I still so bothered? I'm not even mad at Angela- I'm just upset that she was so upset and at the prospect of losing friends over this incident.
Liz, on the other hand, is ready to write Angela off.
As a holiday present, Liz had given 5-year-old Maggie several bottles of nail polish (pre-approved by Angela). Maggie loves when Liz gives her "grownup" things like costume jewelry or miniature purses or souvenirs from when we travel.
(We like to give her stuff, too. She calls us "Uncle" and "Aunt." When Liz got pregnant, Maggie bragged at school that she was getting a little brother. The point: we're close.)
A little after the oven thing, Liz noticed Maggie putting nail polish on a grown-up (which was fine) at our kitchen table (which was fine) on top of the tablecloth.
"Hey guys?" Liz said to Angela and Maggie, "I bought that tablecloth in Paris on our honeymoon and it is sort of important to me- could we maybe do the nail polish somewhere else?"
"Oh, she's very careful," said Angela. "Don't worry."
5 minutes later, someone bumped the table and a wine glass looked like it might fall. Angela, attempting to stop it, over-corrected and knocked a beer bottle and a wine glass to the floor. In this commotion, some nail polish got on the tablecloth.
I came in from the living room (having no idea what happened or that Liz had asked them not to do it on her tablecloth) and cheerfully declared that no party is complete until drinks are spilled and glass must be wept up. I carefully cleaned up the glass and the spilled drinks. When I looked up, Angela and Maggie had gone into the living room and Liz was looking at the table cloth and pointed out the nail polish. Then she went to get her laptop to look up what might get it out. She looked annoyed (though not scowling or anything) as she quietly explained to me what had happened. Neither of us were flipping out. Nobody raised a voice.
I went back into the living room and saw Angela sitting on one side of the room looking irritated. Maggie was on the other side of the room, applying nail polish to the same person as in the kitchen, this time on the wide arm of a mission-style chair. Right over the brand-new area rug Angela had commented on as new and cool when she first arrived. I went over to Angela.
"Are you okay?" I asked her.
"I'm staying out of the kitchen," she answered. "Liz looks pissed."
"It's just a party foul, Angela." I was smiling. "Liz will be fine- she knows that accidents happen- she just wants to clean it up. But since there's a crowded room full of people drinking, perhaps we could put the nail polish away for the night? We'd love to hang out tomorrow- Liz and Maggie could do each other's nails."
I thought *nothing* of this at the time. It seemed to me a reasonable and polite request. It didn't occur to me that I had said something that could upset anyone. I didn't put it together until the next morning that I had offended Angela.
It was shortly after this that Angela was grabbing her coat (and Maggie's) and pulling Maggie out of the house by her arm. Maggie was now crying because she wanted to stay. I followed her out to their car. I waited until after the crying Maggie was belted into her car seat.
"Angela, what's up? What's wrong?"
"This is just the last straw," she said. "Maggie was *invited.*"
"Of course she was," I said. We love Maggie and always like having her over. You know that. What's going on?"
"Will you go tell Patrick that we're leaving? I don't want to go back inside."
"I will," I said. "Please know that I love you, I don't know what's going on exactly, and I'm sorry you're upset?"
"David, *everyone* in there is embarrassed by what happened."
"What happened? What did I miss?"
Angela made a non-committal noise and I went in to get her husband, who was just figuring out that his wife had stormed out. Patrick and I exchanged confused looks and said goodbye (I like Patrick a lot. He has a phobia of hospitals but still came to visit me *twice* when I was hospitalized last year), but he didn't seem overly concerned.
I went back inside to find that a couple who we had met through Angela and Patrick had retrieved their coats. They looked a little guilty as they explained that Angela, as she was leaving, had asked them to come over to Angela's and Patrick's.
This couple (we'll call them John and Jane) are really nice people and they were clearly very uncomfortable with the awkward postition they'd found themselves in.
Earlier in the evening, Jane had been telling me that they were going to start trying to have a baby in February and I invited her to please come over and borrow some books and play with Simon. I really hope they still will. They seemed as confused as I was about what had happened, but felt they had to go. Everyone else shrugged and the party went on. People started departing around 2:00 AM and the last couple of guests left at about 3:30.
So, I got about 2 hours of sleep last night because I couldn't stop thinking about all of this.
Patrick was raised by unpleasant, rigid people and finds discipline distasteful. Angela works two full time jobs (yes, really) and I think she tries to make up for the lack of time with Maggie by not saying "no" very often. Angela also has a pretty hefty anxiety disorder (about which Liz and I, both medicated, do not lack compassion).
I really think neither Liz nor I did anything wrong, mean, or rude. So why am I still so bothered? I'm not even mad at Angela- I'm just upset that she was so upset and at the prospect of losing friends over this incident.
Liz, on the other hand, is ready to write Angela off.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
On the Safety of Other People's Kids
So we had some friends over for New Year's Eve. Among them, Angela and Patrick with their 5-year-old daughter, Maggie (not their real names).
We love Angela, Patrick, and Maggie. We were thrilled that they came.
Midway through the evening, Angela decided to storm out because several things (which I didn't and still don't understand) had upset her. It wasn't until today that I found out that *I* had done one of the things that had upset her.
Shortly after they arrived, I was pulling miniature pizzas from a 500-degree oven when Maggie came into the kitchen and came very close to the open oven to see what I was doing.
"Maggie, sweetheart- could you please step back? The oven is very hot and I don't want you to get hurt."
Maggie leaned in closer and I'd much rather risk hurting her feelings than risk her getting burned, so I made my voice more stern and louder.
"Maggie, step back please."
Maggie continued to lean in and I got a little more frightened of the prospect of a burned 5-year-old. I stopped what I was doing, leaned closer to Maggie and looked directly in her eyes to make sure I had her attention as I spoke to her in a calm, clear, loud voice.
"Maggie, take three steps backwards *right now*. It isn't safe to stand where you are."
Finally, another adult noticed what was happening and gently pulled her back away from the oven.
Satisfied that Maggie was safe, I finished what I was doing and didn't think about it again.
Liz tells me much later that this upset Angela because she doesn't like it when someone says "no" to Maggie or does something contrary to what Maggie wants.
Here's the thing: If someone needed to hurt my son's feelings in order to keep him physically safe, I'd be furious if they *failed* to hurt his feelings.
I'm confused and concerned about this...and not entirely sure why. Any thoughts?
We love Angela, Patrick, and Maggie. We were thrilled that they came.
Midway through the evening, Angela decided to storm out because several things (which I didn't and still don't understand) had upset her. It wasn't until today that I found out that *I* had done one of the things that had upset her.
Shortly after they arrived, I was pulling miniature pizzas from a 500-degree oven when Maggie came into the kitchen and came very close to the open oven to see what I was doing.
"Maggie, sweetheart- could you please step back? The oven is very hot and I don't want you to get hurt."
Maggie leaned in closer and I'd much rather risk hurting her feelings than risk her getting burned, so I made my voice more stern and louder.
"Maggie, step back please."
Maggie continued to lean in and I got a little more frightened of the prospect of a burned 5-year-old. I stopped what I was doing, leaned closer to Maggie and looked directly in her eyes to make sure I had her attention as I spoke to her in a calm, clear, loud voice.
"Maggie, take three steps backwards *right now*. It isn't safe to stand where you are."
Finally, another adult noticed what was happening and gently pulled her back away from the oven.
Satisfied that Maggie was safe, I finished what I was doing and didn't think about it again.
Liz tells me much later that this upset Angela because she doesn't like it when someone says "no" to Maggie or does something contrary to what Maggie wants.
Here's the thing: If someone needed to hurt my son's feelings in order to keep him physically safe, I'd be furious if they *failed* to hurt his feelings.
I'm confused and concerned about this...and not entirely sure why. Any thoughts?
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Decaf Coffee
I don't understand people who drink decaf coffee. I mean, coffee is the world's most beloved recreational drug- how does one enjoy it when you take out its active ingredient?
Do these same people order chocolate bars will all the chocolate removed? Do they order steak and lobster, but require that the waiter give them a big shot of novocaine on their tongues first?
That is all.
Do these same people order chocolate bars will all the chocolate removed? Do they order steak and lobster, but require that the waiter give them a big shot of novocaine on their tongues first?
That is all.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Kvetching
I feel like we deserve to catch a break. The last two years have been, to say the least, stressful.
Liz had two miscarriages. Both required surgical intervention/resolution. One of these had some lasting side-effects that made for multiple visits to the Emergency Room and additional inpatient stays. Miscarriages are hard enough (emotionally) without the additional medical problems. About a year ago, I had a sudden, spontaneous pneumothorax. My lung had collapsed. I spent about a week in the hospital with a chest tube abd eventually had a VATS procedure in which the top 5% of my lung was removed. The collapsed lung, the chest tube, the surgery and the recovery were all painful and frightening for both of us.
Not long after the surgery, we conceived Simon with the help of some painkillers to make the heavy breathing of the ...babydance... less painful (that's commitment to making a baby, friends).
The pregnancy was very difficult. Liz has awful nausea that losted through all three trimesters. It was so bad at one point that she was hospialized so they could get her dehydration and migarines under control. When she was discharged, we had a wek of HOME-BASED IV care. It is an unnerving thing to have an IV pole in one's home. It seems as out of place as would a fire hydrant or a coffin.
Despite her nausea, we went to Ohio for Christmas with Liz's family...where Liz's father had just been admitted to the psyche ward against his will. It was a tense Christmas.
Late in the preganancy, Liz's father (after being discharged from the psyche ward) tried unsuccessfully to kill himself. This was, of course, very hard on Liz.
So after the difficult pregnancy, Simon was born.
He was a little early and a little small, but got 9/10 on his first two APGARs.
Four days later, Liz's father successfully took his own life. He'd never even seen a photo of his grandson.
My beloved boss/mentor/friend left our place of work, leaving me reporting to the same lunatic incompetant who drove her away. I miss her terribly.
I had a panic attack for the first time in my life maybe two months ago. I'm now getting counseling and taking medication for an anxiety disorder that was diagnosed many years ago- it seems to help. I need to be a patient and gentle husband and father. They both need that. I need it, too.
Simon has been an easy baby- cheerful as long as he's not overtired, hungy, or in need of a fresh diaper. Except now Simon has this tremor, and doctors are unable to tell us why...or if it should be cause for concern.
I know that awful things happen to everyone and we're luckier than most...but I feel like whining anyway. Why does it feel like Liz and I can't catch a break?
Thanks for letting me vent.
Liz had two miscarriages. Both required surgical intervention/resolution. One of these had some lasting side-effects that made for multiple visits to the Emergency Room and additional inpatient stays. Miscarriages are hard enough (emotionally) without the additional medical problems. About a year ago, I had a sudden, spontaneous pneumothorax. My lung had collapsed. I spent about a week in the hospital with a chest tube abd eventually had a VATS procedure in which the top 5% of my lung was removed. The collapsed lung, the chest tube, the surgery and the recovery were all painful and frightening for both of us.
Not long after the surgery, we conceived Simon with the help of some painkillers to make the heavy breathing of the ...babydance... less painful (that's commitment to making a baby, friends).
The pregnancy was very difficult. Liz has awful nausea that losted through all three trimesters. It was so bad at one point that she was hospialized so they could get her dehydration and migarines under control. When she was discharged, we had a wek of HOME-BASED IV care. It is an unnerving thing to have an IV pole in one's home. It seems as out of place as would a fire hydrant or a coffin.
Despite her nausea, we went to Ohio for Christmas with Liz's family...where Liz's father had just been admitted to the psyche ward against his will. It was a tense Christmas.
Late in the preganancy, Liz's father (after being discharged from the psyche ward) tried unsuccessfully to kill himself. This was, of course, very hard on Liz.
So after the difficult pregnancy, Simon was born.
He was a little early and a little small, but got 9/10 on his first two APGARs.
Four days later, Liz's father successfully took his own life. He'd never even seen a photo of his grandson.
My beloved boss/mentor/friend left our place of work, leaving me reporting to the same lunatic incompetant who drove her away. I miss her terribly.
I had a panic attack for the first time in my life maybe two months ago. I'm now getting counseling and taking medication for an anxiety disorder that was diagnosed many years ago- it seems to help. I need to be a patient and gentle husband and father. They both need that. I need it, too.
Simon has been an easy baby- cheerful as long as he's not overtired, hungy, or in need of a fresh diaper. Except now Simon has this tremor, and doctors are unable to tell us why...or if it should be cause for concern.
I know that awful things happen to everyone and we're luckier than most...but I feel like whining anyway. Why does it feel like Liz and I can't catch a break?
Thanks for letting me vent.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
On Not Being Canadian
When Liz and I have travelled in Europe (France, Italy, Spain, Netherlands), we have frequently been mistaken for Canadians.
We did NOT sew the Canadian flag on our bags (which I'm told some American travellers have done) did not tell people we were Canadian. If anyone asked if we were Canadian, we admitted that we were not- but this happened so often that I suspect many more people assumed we were Canadian than mentioned it.
Why did they assume we were Canadian? I think it was because we strove to be very polite. We attempted at all times to communicate in the local language (failing frequently, but I believe the gesture of making the attempt is meaningfuul) and did not express frustration when others did not speak English. If someone asked my opinion of Dubya, I was ready to express my feelings in the local language (e.g. "j'déteste Bush!" in Paris).
Today, I'm a little less embarrassed to be an American. I'm a registered independent and not a huge fan of Obama's, but my fellow citizens did something right yesterday and elected the more reasonable, intelligent candidate.
Here's to President-Elect Obama: May he please give me reasons, when overseas, to be proud of my nationality. May he be successful in overcoming the massive challenges he faces. May he be successful in meeting the extraordinary expectations his adherents have for him.
Most of all, here's hoping that his team governs as well as they campaign.
We did NOT sew the Canadian flag on our bags (which I'm told some American travellers have done) did not tell people we were Canadian. If anyone asked if we were Canadian, we admitted that we were not- but this happened so often that I suspect many more people assumed we were Canadian than mentioned it.
Why did they assume we were Canadian? I think it was because we strove to be very polite. We attempted at all times to communicate in the local language (failing frequently, but I believe the gesture of making the attempt is meaningfuul) and did not express frustration when others did not speak English. If someone asked my opinion of Dubya, I was ready to express my feelings in the local language (e.g. "j'déteste Bush!" in Paris).
Today, I'm a little less embarrassed to be an American. I'm a registered independent and not a huge fan of Obama's, but my fellow citizens did something right yesterday and elected the more reasonable, intelligent candidate.
Here's to President-Elect Obama: May he please give me reasons, when overseas, to be proud of my nationality. May he be successful in overcoming the massive challenges he faces. May he be successful in meeting the extraordinary expectations his adherents have for him.
Most of all, here's hoping that his team governs as well as they campaign.
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