Hypocrisy Shypocrisy

The first few days of a week of shenanigans with Marcus

Three years ago, if you’d have asked me about children – standard questions like when they typically start talking, how long they wear diapers, what games are fun at certain ages – I’d have stared blankly at you and mouthed something smartass about why I didn’t want to be the type of person who knew answers to questions like that. I wasn’t interested in kids. Concluded I didn’t want them. See, I’m the youngest of three, so the babysitting didn’t fall to me. And instead of picking up babysitting jobs throughout high school, I decided to wait tables at a local Bavarian Buffet, putting my contact with kids at almost zero and my Czech word knowledge at about six.

Fast forward to today, in which my almost three-year old nephew has flown from Ohio to spend the week with me in Arizona. My knowledge and compassion for him as a child (and at this point, it’s Marcus-specific) has ballooned; my Czech word knowledge, on the other hand, has plateaued.

It shouldn’t be a huge shocker really, that we sometimes do a 180 on our affirmations and views on life from our teen years. But it’s been a pretty dramatic U-turn for my life, most notably in how it’s turned me into somewhat of a hypocrite. This week, it's been not at all uncommon to find me doing the senseless things I always found puzzling about adult behavior when around their children. Like making everything a song and dance. Already today we’ve turned simple statements like “We need some fennel” into the hokey pokey. Or, when adults do things in public places that are just plain disrupting to others – like, chanting and clapping and stomping across the grocery store after normal, every-day achievements are met like not screaming. We did that. Or, and I’ve been horrified to come to terms with this one, when you see yourself asking questions directly to the child that are clearly indicated for somebody else within earshot. We all know this passive aggressive move. You know, the comments like, “Marcus, maybe if you ask the nice lady, she will scoot over and let us by.” I did that too. Today. Several times. 

Or just saying the word “potty.” I’m fighting this one.

Guilty of hypocrisy, and having far too much fun with it.  The dynamic duo strike again. It's going to be a great week. 

Early Days of 2013

Considering coming out of blog hiding. Mostly, just looking at pictures from my weekend adventure. And pondering the journey which stretches expansively in front of me. And trying not to feel overwhelmed.

And trying to keep the important things in perspective.

That, and good wine. #WineThinkingCap

A tale of my month of mayhem (if left to the discretion of a word cloud)

Not sure if I feel good, or bad about some of the larger items on the list...

At the minimum, I've amused myself for the past 15 minutes. #BackToWork

31 Kids Who Are Too Clever For Their Own Good

One of my closest friends is a teacher, so when she passes along forwards, I can't say I always enjoy the children's moments to the level she does (sorry, Focker). That said, she hit it out of the park today with one of her forwards. Dare I say -- one of the funniest all year? Perhaps I'm just in a laughing mood...

http://www.buzzfeed.com/expresident/kids-who-are-too-clever-for-their-own-good

Most notable: Doughnut Conspiracy Kid, and the Emo Poet. Or, mafia kid. Brilliant!

A Moment of Magnificence

I was a little out of touch with reality as I sat in traffic tonight. I was mostly focused on the burning sensation coming from my abs and legs (thank you half marathon training), and relishing in the onset of a wine buzz compliments of the grocery store tasting kiosk. I made the decision to indulge in a few samples alongside a 90-year-old woman with a near 90-degree posture, and a hispanic woman who looked like she'd had as tough of a week as myself. The three of us gave an air toast with our plastic sample cups, and I departed from my local Safeway with two bottles of expensive wine I otherwise wouldn't have purchased.

Windows cracked and red wine now occupying my passenger seat, the traffic eased a bit, and I arrived at the traffic light nearest my house. And there was something about this particular moment that felt really good. Almost like a crescendo of sorts -- the sun was setting, signifying the end of a week that did a number on me. And I was sore. But it felt good, like I took on the world. Like I endured it, and emerged victorious. Like... oh my god... is that Toto on the radio? My arm was not my own, and in a matter of seconds, the dial cranked further to the right until I was belting out the words with about as much gusto as you might expect from an SNL skit.

It wasn't until I hit my high, "I've got some brains down in AfffRICA!! (I've got some brains.) Gonna take some time to do the things I never haaaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa aaadddd! Wooo ooooooo" that I noticed a group of African American foot commuters staring at me with what can only be described as terror and bewilderment that I realized how lost I had gotten into my moment. The light flickered to green, and I sped off into the sunset with my single headlight, amused by the permanent damage I'd just caused to those innocent gentleman and anxious to see where the weekend might take me.

As the photo technician at CVS pharmacy might say, it's the little things in life. Yes, yes it is.