Why is it that my youngest daughter makes so much of a mess when she starts the several times daily ritual of brushing her teeth? She makes such a huge mess and leaves so much caked on tooth paste all over the sink that I really thought that I was going to have to rent some sort of industrial equipment to blast some of that stuff off. I have tried and tried to instruct her on the way to get this done in a more easy and neat manner.
I usually tell Jasmine to go in there and get the tooth brush ready so that she can brush, then potty, and then get into bed. I usually wander into her bathroom about two minutes later to finish her up and check to make sure she did a good job.
This is when I find that that spit has been dribbled all down the side of the sink, tooth paste all smashed into the carpet, and some spittle up and on the toilet since someone thought it would be “so cool” to spit into the toilet since the sink was a little crowded. I really don’t know what to do. Some company needs to come out with some sort of conveyor system that starts from the very beginning of getting the tooth brushes ready and then being the system that facilitates the entire process without making a mess. Knowing my daughter is one of them would go into the process standing on their head and that would throw the whole thing off. I think that she will eventually grow out of it though and maybe I should save for her college instead of tooth brushing machinery. Then again I could take some of that money and invest in a couple of tooth paste companies since most of ours is on the sink instead of her teeth.
Most of us live with the conviction that we are entitled to know ‘why’. It seems our curious minds refuse to settle simply for the ‘what’, and instead push ahead in search of motive and reason. This privilege, which usually starts as a plea but finds its crescendo in a demand, becomes accentuated in the midst of a break-up.
Rarely do romantic relationships end in consensus; one-half of the couple decides he or she needs greener pastures, which usually comes as a surprise to the other half. And the curb kicked recipient is sent careening off a cliff in search of clarification. “Why are you doing this?”
While a natural reaction from a creature with a need for things to make sense, our hunt for too many answers can unwittingly set us up for even more suffering.
All human insecurity stems from rejection. Think about that statement for a moment. A lifetime of scars left by the desertion and disappointment of family, friends, and former lovers all blend to create a cocktail of self-doubt leaving a perpetual hangover. The promises made to never let that happen again lead to a trigger-happy defense anytime we sense another threat of good-bye.
One only needs to look at his or her life for evidence of this fact. Lights explode and flags wave as our censors detect the missiles of incoming heartbreak and all of those memories of former hurts, repressed in the comfort of our current relationship, suddenly rush back with fresh mercilessness. The Band-Aids are torn off. Because the feelings of rejection never completely heal; having one’s heart ripped from the chest can’t be mended with merlot and casual sex.
At it’s basic level a break-up is one person telling another you’re no longer “worthy”, “ adequate”, and “lovable”. Anyone, when faced with those accusations, impulsively wants to defend themselves. The purpose of which becomes twofold; prove they’re wrong and we’re right.
“I don’t work all the time.”
"I’m always here for you.”
“We had sex last week.”
“You’ll never find someone else like me.”
In truth the need to know ‘why’ is important so I can convince myself the reasons you’re breaking up with me are petty, self-centered, and superficial which makes me the victim in all of it. This lets me to believe it’s all your fault, making it easier to feel that I’m better off without you and that I deserve someone who will appreciate me more. ‘I’m right, you’re wrong.’
Not long after my divorce I dated a woman for a little over a year. Her prior marriage ended from an affair with a man who methodically broke her heart after several years together. She was devastated, confused, and angry. Completely understandable, except by the time we met their relationship had been over for five years. She had yet to settle with the reasons he gave for wanting to end what they had and she continued to believe he owed her a ‘better explanation’. During our relationship she could never articulate why she randomly stalked him on the internet, would ask old friends about him, or bash any girlfriend he might be seeing; all she could say was how she hadn’t received closure.
To me, ‘closure’ is mere psychobabble serving as a label for why people can’t get over someone. I’ve always noticed how those who speak of needing closure are usually the ones broken-up with; and that it’s always expressed in the form of a debt that needs repaying, “he owes me a better explanation!”. The thing I find with people crying out for ‘closure’, much like that ex, isn’t a misunderstanding of the reasons for the break up – they just don’t agree with them. The ‘why’ isn’t justified to their liking.
Have you ever met someone who still isn’t over a relationship even though it’s been ample time? They just can’t seem to move on with their life and instead remain stuck in the past? I’ve found that when I look beyond the pity I may feel for them I find someone still wrestling with anger at how the relationship ended, bitterness that the other person has moved on, and resentment at the explanation given for the good bye. And while they usually play nice in public, each of these emotions are aimed at one target, because that person has yet to provide them with closure. The relationship tab is still open.
We are responsible for our own closure in a failed relationship; it isn’t an account that other person is required to settle on our behalf. They rationalized why the relationship should end for themselves, so why do we feel it’s their responsibility to do the same for us? I think pity and greed leads to an often ignored entitlement mentality which says that since the other person wanted the breakup they now bear the burden of providing me with the closure I need so I can get on with my life. In other words we want the break up to be on our terms letting us feel that we’re right. But when that doesn’t happen closure usually becomes the issue.
It’s been said that hello’s last five seconds and good-byes take a lifetime, but I believe that’s only if we make it that way.
Grumpy muses on a song that brings back memories of younger days.
Remember what it was like when you were a kid? I do.
Our house had a single TV and the remote was either my younger brother or myself. That lone television only got CBS, NBC, ABC, PBS and a couple local channels that played Twilight Zone, The Dick Van Dyke Show and Love American Style. Also Get Smart and Leave it to Beaver.
Back in the day we entertained ourselves with our imaginations and it was fun.
Stop laughing at me. I know that makes me sound like my dad but it’s the truth. Sticks as guns and towels as capes will always be cool.
About a month ago I was cruising down the beach on my bike listening to the radio when a new song came on. The driving beat got my attention and the message in the song immediately inspired this post. Cue the music.
The synthesizer hangs out alone for a few seconds then is quickly replaced by bass and drums. The guitar waits a few more seconds before coming in with a hypnotic sound.
As soon as I heard the guitar I was 99% sure it was Metric and the vocals confirmed it. The first verse was intriguing. When the second verse started this post was metaphorically conceived.
Hangman
We played Double Dutch with a hand grenade
Behind the church
Hiding place
Apathetic to the devil’s face
Wear the Sheriff’s badge
Put your toys away
They let us go
Saying “Let us Pray!”
“Youth without youth,” is right I said as I pedaled while bobbing my head in a manner I’m pretty sure was mock worthy.
As far as I know Double Dutch is played with two official playground issue jump ropes and has no other component other than the kids in the middle trying to keep pace with the kids swinging the ropes in hopefully perfect unison.
I haven’t consulted the rulebook or anything but I would assume that bringing live grenades into the octagon (or playground or whatever they call a jump rope arena) has to be worth at least a five-minute recess break. I say take lunch recess away for a week and make them sit at the table by the dumpster.
As dads and as parents, what are we going to do about our youth growing up and not being youth?
I say that it’s our job to make sure that happens. My daughter will be 21 in April and I’ve done my best to make sure she had a childhood.
We need to hang out with our kids and let them know they’re loved and that we’re interested in them. Maybe, just maybe, they will find out something interesting about us.
Spending time with your kids is great, but set boundaries. My personal boundary is called The Robin Thicke and Glee Boundary.
I’m never to hear their music and prefer that their names not be mentioned in my presence. I’ll make an exception for, “Christina Auuilera is a little______,” or any variations thereof.
Do stupid things with your kids but keep in mind that you’re not in high school shape anymore. That’s important to remember. Also, stupid does NOT equal ignorant.
Doing stupid things does more than just build character. It also provides amusement for the parent as they watch their child die of embarrassment or go through Wii withdrawals.
Try to remember what you liked to do before technology and then do that with them.
I remember being a little kid and thinking that Pong was awesome. Now our kids are online killing terrorists with their virtual friends. We didn’t have virtual friends; we had imaginary friends and they were cool because, well, they just were.
Technology isn’t the only thing changing. When I was in my impressionable years, Oui was porn and 70’s-80’s era smut meant some woman in Penthouse had her shirt off. Or so I was told.
We they would try and sneak a peek at the local Stop-N-Go before the old guy behind the counter chased my friends out.
I did some research on how technology has enhanced the world of adult entertainment and I can only tell you that it’s not like the old days. Suffice it to say that whatever your kink or pleasure there are multiple websites for you to choose from.
Porn in 2012 starts when kids text nude photos to each other. Then when Johnny breaks up with Cindy because Becky offers new opportunities he shows the whole high school her naked pictures.
Hangman
We played blind mans bluff with the ninth brigade
Throw the brick through the window pane
Double Dutch til they stop the game
Til the cops show up
Handcuff stunned
They let us go
But we lost one
The way modern kids treat adults amazes me. It’s like the world owes them or something. They have no problem flipping off The Man right to his face. It’s like there’s no fear.
I guarantee that I was afraid of my dad. He didn’t beat me or anything, I just knew that if I stepped too far out of line I would have a conversation with my dad’s belt. You know what I mean.
The song hit me as a parent because our youth are truly growing up with less youth than you and me. Maybe not you, but definitely me.
Kids today have this mistaken belief that life is like a TV show. There may be some ups and downs but at the end of the season everyone ends up happy. Or dead in the case of a Grumpy much more famous than myself.
Last night I watched an episode of one of my favorite shows, Flashpoint, and this one featured a 16-year-old boy who went online pretending to be a girl with an abusive father.
The kid was getting a 17-year-old named Jimmy D. to do a public execution of his wealthy stepdad who he not so lovingly referred to as “Asshat.”
Jimmy had no fear whatsoever.
With a smartphone hanging from a lanyard this kid streamed armed robberies live to his website and his 467,000 loyal fans. Jimmy targeted CEOs and people in high power when they were with their colleagues.
But Jimmy wasn’t completely bad. He took the money he stole and gave it to adults who had befriended him and been kind to him when his family wasn’t around.
Jimmy D was Toronto’s version of Robin Hood, only with Wi-Fi and a stencil to leave his mark behind. Jimmy D is the poster boy for youth without youth.
Hangman
We played blind mans bluff til they stopped the game
Youth without youth
Born without time
Youth without youth
Can you read my mind?
This was inspired by Youth After Youth by Metric. Check it out.
Photo—Teenage boy with troubled expression from Shutterstock.
My family and I have started attending The Holy Name of Jesus for two Sundays now. I wish we have gone earlier because I really enjoy spending our Sundays there. Finally, we have found a Catholic prayer community to call our own.
After the Holy Mass, a praise and worship session follows which really moves me. The songs touch me and get me teary-eyed. One of the songs that moved me yesterday is "The Voice of Truth" by Casting Crowns. The song talks about rising above life's challenges and it did not only remind me of my own hurdles but also the times that I've become an obstacle to someone else's dreams.
I'm now listening to it over and over again; trying to learn to play the song by heart. I'm also letting Jasmine learn the praise and worship songs that are being played at The Holy Name of Jesus. We hope that, through music, she can also serve the Lord just as how I and my brother did when we were younger. Who knows, she may even grow up to make her own praise and worship songs (hmmm... I think I better start saving for a presonus studiolive 24.4.2 this early).
The Holy Name of Jesus is, as Beana says, the happiest place on earth. It's starting to heal me spiritually and I love how through it, I am getting closer back to the arms of the Lord.
I’m sure it something my parents did a lot when I was a child – and probably a
few times since – spent a fair amount of time weeping at what someone else had
written about their son.
‘He doesn’t pay attention.’
‘He does the
absolute minimum that is asked of him.’
‘There will come a point he’ll
realise it is all too late.’
I can visualise them talking to me now,
I have absolutely no idea what they were saying – you’d need to have paid
attention or something – but I imagine it was along the lines of disappointment,
frustration and needing to pull socks up.
It’s probably only right that I
can expect to feel similar about my daughter’s progress at school.
But, as
yet, she’s made me emotional for quite the opposite reasons.
Well, not
quite opposite.
On Sunday afternoon, when I got round to emptying her
school bag, I found her school report.
We were sat playing inside, as it
was miserable outside, lounging on bean bags, flitting between playing tea party, laser-tag and playing on our Nintendo Wii.
Jasmine was actually
deep in thought playing Barbie Horse Adventures: Riding camp on the Wii, when, at her side, I tucked
into her school report.
A two-page document, three if you count the
results/level attainment record, so it took me a little while to
read.
Her teacher had clearly taken a good deal of time to write it, on
all his aptitudes she was spot on, and it was clear I was reading something
personal to my child rather than a
best-fit-cut-and-paste-from-a-library-of-educational-clichés style
document.
When I stopped reading, I was silent and sobbing a little.
I guess as a child, a parent acting this way upon reading your school
report, would be a little unnerving. Perhaps naturally leading you to think
that I was sad, and she was in trouble.
“You okay Daddy?” Jasmine nervously
asked.
I couldn’t even muster an answer.
“Is my report okay?” She
tried.
Still nothing from me.
Her teacher, whilst noting that she
still has academic work to do if she wants to achieve higher than expected
standards, wrote in real glowing terms.
On the effort and enthusiasm she
brings to school.
On her confidence and intelligent
questioning.
On her thoughtfulness and support of others.
About
her thirst for learning new things and understanding how things work.
On
how polite and reliable she is.
On how she is loved by not just his
classmates, but by the school’s staff too.
Not sure which particular bit
had me blubbering, but I think I may again owe a thank you note to my daughter’s teacher.
It took me a
while to regain command of my emotions and reassure my daughter the reason for my
tears was immense and overwhelming pride, rather than anything
negative.
I do find it hard when people compliment my daughter. Just this
morning, as she nearly ran down a neighbour and her dog on her scooter, as I
caught up, the neighbour rather than being annoyed, gushed at how polite she is,
complimenting her for saying ‘excuse me’.
I probably looked very rude by
just nodding, but sometimes it’s all I can do to keep my emotions in
check.
It’s like people think it’s got something to do with me. Which I
appreciate to a little extent, I’m here to guide her, keep her in line and to
help her understand things.
But her personality, who she is, what she does,
how she chooses to behave, these decisions are all down to her.
