I have been distracted by more important things. Too distracted to post something interesting. I can’t make blogging too regular because my imagination doesn’t run that deep and I’m tired.
From what I understand, sleep comes like a drug in God’s country. Well, in the Grant house sleep is precious commodity. It can be leveraged for backroom deals. Now before your minds start wandering, I mean deals such as more sleep, avoiding cleaning, or several minutes of alone time. Yes, sleep can be used to buy more sleep. It’s a delicate game of negotiations and quid pro quos. But it’s necessary for survival. If I can sleep in to 8 am, I can be refreshed and alert enough to watch the boys so Fran can return to sleep for another 1-2 hours. She’ll then wake up somewhat refreshed, but less likely to punch me in the face due to sleepless irritability. When she doesn’t get sleep she doesn’t laugh. For example, while watching Anchorman, she yawned and asked, “Is it over yet?” I said, “No.” And she punched me in the face. That’s just a hypothetical example, it never really happened. But you know what I mean.
This week we started to let the babies cry it out at night. It’s hard sleeping knowing they’re crying. So I turn off the baby monitor and put a pillow over my head. Prior to this experiment our nights were often interrupted with someone needing to eat, usually around 330am. I would turn over to my wife and say, so eloquently, “You got legs, go get something to eat.” And she would punch me in the face. Not really. It’s all hypothetical, but you know what I mean.
Anyhow, sleep is important. I’ve noticed all other biological processes are thrown off and all I’ll want to do is what Phineas and Ferb or eat everything in sight to compensate for the imbalance. My breathing is arrhythmic, so when I run I’m out of step, leading to disruptive exercise, leading Chris to become Captain Crankypants. At work, I want to sleep when talking with patients about how their lives are falling apart. (Empathy is hard to show when eyes are squinting and heads are nodding; it’s called fotlobbing.)
Sleep in our house can be leveraged for goods, but I’m not sure if this transfers to non-Grants. If it does, let me know and we can work out a deal. Until then, look for the tall, dark, and overtly attractive zombie who is sliding by on several hours of interrupted sleep. It’s not a complaint. It’s an acknowledgement. I know what I bought when I signed on the line.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Inflated self-esteem or grandiosity OR less is more
“Oh, so you have three boys,” she commented, “You’re going to have your hands full.”
“Well, it is what it is,” I replied. The usual, scripted retort, often laden subtle sarcasm.
“Are you guys done having kids. I mean, you want a girl, don’t you.”
Of late, this has been the ire of my existence. People ask about my wife and me wanting a girl in the future. Call me crazy, but that’s none of their business. However, as they prod their little noses in our reproductive agenda, they often appear insistent and hell-bent on changing my mind, offering myriad arguments to convince me to lay with my wife, in the biblical sense, to have a girl. I often ask myself, why does this matter to them that they suggest and are insistent on how a girl would be life changing. They say, “Oh, you’ll get to balance the boy stuff with girl stuff. I mean your poor wife, surrounded by all those boys.” To which I coyly reply, “I have enough boys. One can like girl stuff.”
I had one casual observer point out that I am still young and I can have more babies. True. Having twins speaks to our fecundity and prowess as reproductive agents, but we also take care of ourselves. No tight pants; we avoid chairs made of ice; and we stopped punching each other in the crotch. I am actually surprised that I have been blessed with children after playing games like Nut Tennis Ball, Nut Frisbee, and Nut Water Bottle while in college. Being 28 with three kids, in my opinion, speaks to having a rich and fulfilling life before 30. I see no need to push it further. I don’t have to think about what could have been.
Don’t get me wrong, or do, I don’t care, but I’m not opposed to children. I love mine and would fight mortal combat style to protect them. I don’t like anyone else’s kids as much as mine. And I don’t like the idea of having more than necessary. Especially since children are the most expensive investment anyone can make. However, the frustrating part is that people, both with and without children, approach child-rearing with the same attitude of how they care for silk plants.
When did children become commodities? I blame Hollywood and the collect-em-all mentality where children are merely accessories put on for the right occasion. You can go to Africa or South America to buy one, attach it to your hip when shopping for high-end couture, and sell baby photos to TMZ.com. Or, if you’re lucky, people will think it’s cool to watch you guide your small battalion of children on TLC as you talk about how modest your life is on national TV.
All children, at some point, serve as adjuncts to their parents. It’s natural because the parents see attributes of themselves in their children. Children will serve narcissistic needs for parents varying points during their relationship. Or at least they should. BUT there is a fine line between having healthy and unhealthy needs. Having children just to have a boy or a girl, when you already have, and love, children is dangerous. A Child is a gift, which means he or she is graciously provided without provocation or groveling by the recipient (or persons “acting” on behalf of the recipient). I enjoy what I have. I love my gifts.
I feel complete in my three piece suit; I don’t need to buy a top hat, cane, or lacy socks to accessorize what I already have. It would seem overboard, possibly ostentatious, to add anything else. Besides three beautiful boys and a trophy wife make me look snazzy enough. I can manage. We can manage as a family because we are a family.
“Well, it is what it is,” I replied. The usual, scripted retort, often laden subtle sarcasm.
“Are you guys done having kids. I mean, you want a girl, don’t you.”
Of late, this has been the ire of my existence. People ask about my wife and me wanting a girl in the future. Call me crazy, but that’s none of their business. However, as they prod their little noses in our reproductive agenda, they often appear insistent and hell-bent on changing my mind, offering myriad arguments to convince me to lay with my wife, in the biblical sense, to have a girl. I often ask myself, why does this matter to them that they suggest and are insistent on how a girl would be life changing. They say, “Oh, you’ll get to balance the boy stuff with girl stuff. I mean your poor wife, surrounded by all those boys.” To which I coyly reply, “I have enough boys. One can like girl stuff.”
I had one casual observer point out that I am still young and I can have more babies. True. Having twins speaks to our fecundity and prowess as reproductive agents, but we also take care of ourselves. No tight pants; we avoid chairs made of ice; and we stopped punching each other in the crotch. I am actually surprised that I have been blessed with children after playing games like Nut Tennis Ball, Nut Frisbee, and Nut Water Bottle while in college. Being 28 with three kids, in my opinion, speaks to having a rich and fulfilling life before 30. I see no need to push it further. I don’t have to think about what could have been.
Don’t get me wrong, or do, I don’t care, but I’m not opposed to children. I love mine and would fight mortal combat style to protect them. I don’t like anyone else’s kids as much as mine. And I don’t like the idea of having more than necessary. Especially since children are the most expensive investment anyone can make. However, the frustrating part is that people, both with and without children, approach child-rearing with the same attitude of how they care for silk plants.
When did children become commodities? I blame Hollywood and the collect-em-all mentality where children are merely accessories put on for the right occasion. You can go to Africa or South America to buy one, attach it to your hip when shopping for high-end couture, and sell baby photos to TMZ.com. Or, if you’re lucky, people will think it’s cool to watch you guide your small battalion of children on TLC as you talk about how modest your life is on national TV.
All children, at some point, serve as adjuncts to their parents. It’s natural because the parents see attributes of themselves in their children. Children will serve narcissistic needs for parents varying points during their relationship. Or at least they should. BUT there is a fine line between having healthy and unhealthy needs. Having children just to have a boy or a girl, when you already have, and love, children is dangerous. A Child is a gift, which means he or she is graciously provided without provocation or groveling by the recipient (or persons “acting” on behalf of the recipient). I enjoy what I have. I love my gifts.
I feel complete in my three piece suit; I don’t need to buy a top hat, cane, or lacy socks to accessorize what I already have. It would seem overboard, possibly ostentatious, to add anything else. Besides three beautiful boys and a trophy wife make me look snazzy enough. I can manage. We can manage as a family because we are a family.
Friday, July 16, 2010
In the recovery room
Eight years ago I had a Live Journal account. I used it maybe 3 times, mostly to jaunt into my mind to pull out the most random, immature ideas I held at the time. Seeing how that was college and my early 20s, who knows how important or appropriate those thoughts were. It served to get out what I was thinking because I was dealing with a lot of crap. I find it impossible to keep my mind still; sometimes it’s slowed, but never “racing”. I’m always thinking of something. An interest fleeting or concrete. Something I would like to pursue or pass up.
I’m attempting again to maintain a blog. It’s my connection to the world outside Christopher. Transcendent almost, but necessary. It will help scrape the plate from which I frequently eat. It will allow reality to be friend and foe. Between my obligations of family, school, and work, I have little time to decompress. There are moments when I hide, usually in the bathroom, just to have “without” time. That is time without everything else. I need it. More than anyone else, I need it to counteract those period when I want to bang my head off a wall.
Yeah, as if I need another thing to do. This is nothing 5 to 10 minutes to jaunt out-of-my-head into the Land of Wherever and Whatever, the place of mystical real obligations. I need to go there, but I don’t have time. I need to make time. It is my recovery room. This will be my recovery room.
I’m attempting again to maintain a blog. It’s my connection to the world outside Christopher. Transcendent almost, but necessary. It will help scrape the plate from which I frequently eat. It will allow reality to be friend and foe. Between my obligations of family, school, and work, I have little time to decompress. There are moments when I hide, usually in the bathroom, just to have “without” time. That is time without everything else. I need it. More than anyone else, I need it to counteract those period when I want to bang my head off a wall.
Yeah, as if I need another thing to do. This is nothing 5 to 10 minutes to jaunt out-of-my-head into the Land of Wherever and Whatever, the place of mystical real obligations. I need to go there, but I don’t have time. I need to make time. It is my recovery room. This will be my recovery room.
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