Men and women are fundamentally different. For a man, two weeks spending every motherloving minute with the wife, kid, in-laws, cousins, and fruit of the loins of the elders of the paterfamilias is something like hell, except worse, because in Hell they just get about punishing you, but with the family, the punishment comes clumped with interminable small talk and really wacky ideas. For a man, spending that kind of time with his own extended family is hell, too; the fruit & nuts mix of the in-laws only enhances the experience.
For the typical woman, spending that kind of time with the hubby and kids and extended family – appears to be the most wonderful kind of thing in the world, only there isn’t enough closeness and intimacy, so maybe we should try to do it for three straight weeks next year instead of the two weeks like we did it this year.
This would tend to confirm Coleridge’s observation, that women are insane.
It would also tend to confirm Coleridge’s observation that men are utterly stupid. After all, almost without fail, we look to marry women.
Nico Castel: performer, teacher, father, inspiration.
I love you so much, Dad. I miss you terribly and am sending you a big hug and kiss through the ether.
Brace yourselves, as I am sure this personal revelation will come as a shock: I lack patience. It’s true. I yell at the microwave to hurry up, and I’m one of those drivers who will cuss you six ways from Sunday if you haven’t actually anticpated when the traffic light will turn green and responded accordingly (I don’t honk, though, my momma did teach me SOME manners). I’m short-tempered, short-fused, and short on forebearance.
In my past moments of introspection, I have often wished to have more patience and the ability to calm down and appreciate the days as they come. Well, I am an idiot. I have been granted that wish, only to discover that I must have wished upon the Monkey’s Paw, because the fulfillment of this wish is going to kill me.
My toddler has apparently been divinely (or otherwise) appointed to teach me patience. How? With conversations like this one, occurring during our 30 minute commute:
To state the obvious, the feminist revolution was about enabling women to choose for themselves what role they wanted to play in society. To state the less obvious, it enabled men to do the same. When we look at the way we used to organise ourselves, it’s common to focus on the subjugation of women into domestic roles. It’s less common to acknowledge that men were subject to their own restrictions. If we’d been living in the 50s, my girlfriend would probably have had a few babies by now, and she’d have been stuck at home looking after them instead of pursuing her own music career. I, on the other hand, would be stuck in some 9 to 5 job in order to support not only the children but her as well, and I wouldn’t have had the option of either my financially underwhelming career as a jazz musician or my recent reinvention as a law student. (Unless I’d stayed single, that is, but I would have been subject to a lot of pressure to settle down).
I must admit that is a good post which struck a chord. Its not political, it is cultural. My dad was an old leftist that was stuck in the old fashioned Married with Children life, and he hated it.
I’m drifting around not really doing a lot with my life- I can’t find direction. But I don’t want direction forced upon me by the expectations of society; for me, a wife and kids would be eternal misery.
I really like being free to be myself, and I’m willing to acknowlege feminists deserve credit for this. Indeed, you could argue that men like me are the biggest winners of all out of the feminist revolution.
What do 3 year old kids fear most?
Is it Monsters under the bed?
Is it Lions around the corner?
Is it Dinosaurs behind the door?
It’s a Poo in the Bath.
I recall the events of a few nights ago…
Matt’s post below and Gary‘s comment following remind me of one of the few sensible things Al Gore ever said.
It was summer 1999, and I was assistant-producing the groundbreaking ceremony at Montefiore Children’s Hospital in the Bronx. Al Gore was to be a speaker along with every other elected official in New York City. As it turns out, Al had just become a grandfather the day before, and mentioned it first in his speech, which of course got heaps of applause.
“Now, if I understand this correctly,” he said, with a twinnkle in his eye I have not seen before or since,” I’m supposed to spoil them rotten, feed them sweets, and buy them presents, and THEN return them to their parents. Is that right?”
He got loud laughs and an extended ovation. Certainly the only time I have (intentionally) laughed at anytheing Algore has ever said.
Someday I’ll tell the whole story of that event… including the way I wrangled a 60 member children’s choir and closed a major throughfare (with a wee bit of help from the Secret Service.
Looking after kids can be a very trying time. This is especially true when it is someone else’s kids you are looking after. As the saying goes “Kids are like farts. Yours are bearable but being around someone else’s is a little too much to handle.”
Looking after your own kids however, allows you to be slightly less vigilant of their activities. A lot of the time these activities will involve them falling off something, running into something, their brother hitting them with something or just generally making some sort of loud “THUMP!” which is then followed by crying.
The “THUMP!” and the crying are very similar to thunder and lightning. With thunder and lightning, you can tell how far away it is by counting the seconds after you see the lightening bolt to when you hear the thunder.