A Growth.

This is a picture of a stage in Cambridge, right by Harvard.
T got invited to perform at a Women In Comedy Festival.
She is a wonder to behold.
A sweaty wonder.

State of Affairs.

Today I was arguing with Burger.
I mean like, that's what we did for the day's activities.

When he is yelling at me to do something, making one of his many demands I look at him in the eyes and see myself reflected back at me.
So I have no one to blame but myself.
It's nothing personal.

He's a product of his environment.
Not society.

I often catch myself reacting to him like he is my little brother and not my son.
So I end up engaging him in his silly "provocations".
A typical morning starts thusly...

It is 7 am, I am pouring us each a bowl of cereal and he starts in with a question like "What's a goat?" and it pretty much devolves from there. The train tracks I assemble are not round enough, or the Lego tower is not tall enough.
I assume he sees potential in me or else he would have moved on by now.
But he sticks with me and every day has some new way of reminding me that I need to just try that much harder, I have to grow that much more to keep up with him.

The other day I went to get him out of bed, and it was still very dark and he couldn't tell who was in his room with him so he is going "who is that, who is that?" and I put my face down in front of his and he is touching my face and rubbing the stubble on my chin and then he goes " is that you dad?"
I like this because he is still not positive that it is me.
Even with the stubble he is still leaving the door open to the possibility that it's Mamma-T.

It's little things like that that bring me back down off the edge and give me some perspective.
I'm in the good shit here.

Act Casual.

What a Weird Pumpkin!
And that Jack o' Lantern looks funny also.
Ha!

As long as I've known T she has never conformed to "society's" preconceptions of what anything should look like. I think it's refreshing, especially given the fact that we got a little one to think about now.
Speaking of, I am compiling a photo log of the outfits that T dresses Burger in.
I am calling the log Exhibit A.

The Root.

God I love a good donut, or doughnut, or whatever you happen to call them.
In fact, since I am always on the look out for new information to expand my brain a bit, why don't you tell me some more about what you might call donuts while I eat the rest of the doughnuts that are sitting in front of us?
You know what you SHOULD call them?... GONE! HA! Because I ate them all, get it!?

I cut Mamma T's hair today, again, and I don't know why she even asks me to do this because basically I am just going to try and shave her head. I can't help it! I love her visible scalp! I love her ears the most though and it seems like she is always trying to hide them under some kind of hair-hat.

I don't blame her for asking me to do this, it's certainly cheaper than going to a salon and right now money is tight, all over... especially there. But I don't get why she even bothers explaining what she wants done because like I said, I just turn on those clippers and go to town! And I tell her ahead of time "I am just gonna shave it all off" and then we have a little back-and-forth about it and then next thing you know I'm ankle deep in hairs.

She had dyed it recently and then when she didn't like that, she dyed it again. The entire time I am just wondering what exactly she is trying to accomplish? I think she can identify problems but she is not always sure how to fix them? I'm not saying that her hair was a problem, SHE was saying that. And the solution she came up with was to make it blonder. But from where I was sitting on the couch, it wasn't the color that was the problem, it never is. So when she asked me to help her "fix" it, I knew what had to be done.

I look at hair as an occurrence, a happy occurrence. I consider myself lucky to have it, and I live with it until I don't like it and when I don't like it I usually just cut it off and start from scratch. But T looks at it, surprisingly, as yet another obstacle in life that was put on her head to torment her constantly and "look weird". THAT is why I always want to cut it off, because it is tormenting her and it can't do that if thar ain't harr thar...HA!

I look through our old photos, the ones that we used to get "printed" instead of "stored". So many different haircuts and colors. But my favorite ones are the short hairs, I like those the best. And I guess maybe I just associate the short hairstyle with a simpler time in our relationship when we would just make out, make food and make jokes and we didn't talk about our torments and obstacles because we just didn't give a shit.

Either way, the deed was done. I cut a whole bunch of it off, and it looks great. It'll take a little getting used to, and there is still a little more I would like to take off the top, like all of it maybe? But it is for the best really. Because we all need a fresh start sometimes, and we don't always know it when we do. And then sometimes we need someone to twist our arms a little to get us moving, just for the sake of movement. Maybe we need someone to tackle us once in a while with a clippers and give us a new head suit. It's for the good of the land.

I truly believe that it is for the good of the land.

Tiny Boxes.

Maybe you saw these little boxes before.
I made them back when we lived in Milwaukee.
I have a feeling that T is trying to throw them away.
Or at the very least, I am being forced to choose enough of my stuff to only fill this little box.
Based on the noises and grunting I hear downstairs, she is feverishly packing and tossing things away.
Why, I wonder, is she doing this?
Why must everyday that I get to be at home with my family be filed with so much chaos and cursing?
Since when did all my little treasures become fair game to the plundering mitts of my wife and son?

I understand the idea behind it all.
I myself enjoy a clean, sparsely filled room.
All things in their right places and dust free.
But you know, there is something to be said for keepsakes.
I know it is silly, but I can't help but feel like I kept certain things for certain reasons.
Sure I could stand to part with some of this stuff, why not? It's not like I remember all the reasons why I kept it all in the first place. But I hate the feeling of being forced to choose, and feeling pushed and rushed into it isn't helping the process.
Not one bit!

The order and routine that I have created is being bashed down around me.
This is simply no good.

Little Helper.

All of a sudden Mamma T starts talking to me, sure technically she is always talking to me, and maybe it is because of this that I am not always listening.
I am visiting my snowy garden in Japan, listening to the wind.
But today, as I was attempting to be one with a snowflake, a tiny voice came through and started to say some very interesting, positive, motivating things.
And if I told you that there was a temporary break in the clouds as these words rang loud and true in my ears, I would not be lying.
Even Burger was lulled into a deep, transcendental state as he listened to his Mom break an egg of knowledge over my head.

I am a lucky man.

So now it is time to rebuild.
I have to stop living with worry and fear and start living with faith and strength.
I have to grab life by the horn, like when you need to overcome a rhinoceros or unicorn.

The Rug From Under Your Feet.

Blink and you end up on the floor, on your ass.
Everyone laughing at you and walking right by.
And when you finally pull yourself up and make your way to the bathroom
You see the word "SUCKER" written on your face.