I’ve had a great week. But I didn’t sleep very well. On Wednesday we went to the Carsie Blanton concert in San Francisco. It was great. We had a lot of fun.

This week feels like a week that just didn’t quite get off the ground. I took naps most of the days. I canceled social engagements. I canceled outings.

Part of it is: when the kids just outright refuse to do their share of chores… I have low impetus to hold up my share of going out to play. So we had a restful week. It’s not a terrible thing any way.

We’ve gotten along well. I’ve been in a good mood. When I realize that I am at my limit and I just abruptly stop doing what is making me feel over-my-limits… everything goes better.

But I feel like a mean mom.

Today will be restful too. Apparently the Godmamas found a way to squeeze in a visit. I did not expect it. I thought that May was the last month on offer. So I’m pretty excited. And the girls are so excited they have been dancing for days. I wanted my kids to feel attached to people. They do.

It is interesting watching Shanna go from resisting-liking-people (because she sometimes gets into trouble and she hates learning new rule systems in new houses) to being totally in love and thinking that having to follow a new set of rules is no big deal. It’s like watching me. I giggle at my own lifetime of folly as I watch her.

In general, despite the fact that they are being resistant to helping lately, they are a joy to be around. Shanna is getting really good at being polite and sweet and wonderful while she is resisting and being obnoxious. I’m always much happier about being told “No” when someone at least does it with a smile.

Learning to manipulate me is probably fairly good practice for the outside world.

Yesterday the kids had a tussle. After the injury-inducing-whacks were over Calli apologized but Shanna didn’t. It was really interesting watching how Calli believes that because she said “sorry” it is ok that she did what she did and Shanna says, “Saying sorry won’t get me out of trouble and I’m not sorry so why say it?”

Development is so rad to watch up close.

A long-term friend has popped up this week to ask my opinion about child development stuff. “Here is what is going on with my kid. Here is what our pediatrician says. What do you say?”

Whoa. Really? You give a shit about my opinion? Uhm… why? Because I’ve read lots of books? I COULD TOTALLY BE LYING ABOUT THAT. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Ahem.

I gave her my standard advice to people who have little kids regardless of whether people fear the kid is behind or ahead. Talk to them more. No, I don’t really give a shit that you think you talk to them a lot. More. More. More.

Explain what you are doing and how you are doing it. “Well, if we want a sandwich for lunch we will need to get out all the pieces. Do you know what pieces we need for this process? We need bread, a knife, peanut butter and jelly, and of course a cutting board. Ok, what should I do first? Do you think I should lay the bread on the cutting board first or should I put the knife on the cutting board first? Hmmmm. I get confused.”

I do this with everything. My kids know so many words because everything that moves past our field of vision I name and talk about how it is made and how it is used.

So if you are a little worried about your childs development my first advice will always be, “We live in a very complicated world. Understanding it and interacting with it is hard unless little apes have a translator. They need someone to explain all the bits. Then they can duplicate it later.”

Kids can learn things without grown ups trying very hard. They usually learn more slowly and more painfully with many more issues.

Yes, there are learning disabilities I am Not Qualified to give advice on. For like 75% or more of kids…. talk to them more. Explain more. Treat them like wonderful people who are going to need to know all this stuff and it isn’t a burden to explain.

I’ve spent a lot of time and energy researching teaching. Not everyone is a verbal learner, but EVERYONE benefits from early repetition and language acquisition help. I don’t think you need to explain things like that to a ten year old. I’m talking doing that with under two year olds.

Although ten year olds benefit from such explanations too. Just.. probably not about sandwiches. When I’m around older kids I talk about politics more. I talk about why grocery stores organize things the way they do. I talk about why different houses have different kinds of yards. What kinds of care do different plants need? Why is that important? What factors should people take into account when figuring out what is right *for them*?

I question kids all the time. I’m less obnoxious with adults because I figure they don’t want to hear it from me. But I’m a teacher by inclination and training and I don’t really give kids a break.

I don’t know everything. I’m happy to say so. I can’t do everything. I’m happy to talk about my own inadequacy and ignorance. It makes kids feel a lot more brave about trying things to know that grown ups are making shit up as they go along.

I like being around kids. Which is funny. I hated kids when I was one. Enh, I’m still not all that fond of my peers. I do better than I used to! But I do best with people who are older or younger. I have same-age-friends. Which still feels weird.

This weekend is Pride. I’m not sure I’m going to be interested in going up to San Francisco. I may… rest. More. Because I’m boring like that. I have a recommended reading list to write. And complaint letters about doctors. And a door to paint. (It’s been off the hinges for almost a week. Get it done already.) (In my defense–I’m trying to paint one side like the back of a puppet theatre. It’s a bit of work.)

I’m thinking about getting one of the over-the-door racks for towels and making a puppet theatre out of a sheet. I’m in love with my own cleverness.

I like my house. I like being here. In the past week and some I’ve had a whole bunch of tiny little guests. It was lovely. Apparently one kid even cried for my house on the way home.

I don’t suck at everything. This comes as more of a shock to me than anyone else. I do ok at hosting kids. I remember that going so badly for me, mostly because adults didn’t understand that I was ignorant as a pig and they punished me for any minor fuck up.

I explain. I explain and explain and explain. “Ohhhh… you didn’t know that this thing would break. Bummer. Yeah. These things break. Ok, Let’s look at it closely so you can learn why it broke so you will know how to be careful next time.”

I broke my tea pot this week. (Oops.) My kids said, “Ahh bummer. But at least we are able to buy a new one. Phew.”

They’ve heard that a lot. “I’m so grateful that we are able to fix this mistake.”

Most of our little friends are in similar-ish tax brackets to us but not all. We know people who have much less money and much more. Ok, not many who have much more. But more.

The difference in the kids is striking. You can tell which kids are from houses with financial insecurity. They are more careful and timid. They are more afraid of being punished for doing something wrong.

Which isn’t to say that I think that poor parents are worse parents. Nothing of the kind. The more-privileged-kids have less innate ability to care about their behavior. They expect their mistakes to just be fixed.

After a while I couldn’t handle touching things at peoples houses. I must have been done trying by six or so. Shanna… not close to done. She’s a toucher. And she breaks stuff a lot. And she can’t be arsed to care. Which bothers me.

“It’s replaceable” is a frequent line. These days her allowance gets to cover it when I told her not to touch and she did anyway and then she breaks stuff.

I don’t tell you to “not touch” everything. I’m specific. I have reasons. If you ignore me and screw up, these are the consequences. No I’m not punishing you. You get to replace what you broke. That’s not about me punishing you. That’s justice.

You are a little rich kid. Get used to what will be fucking expected of you this life time. If you break shit–you have to fix it. No one else has the extra resources to cover a spoiled little rich kid.

Oh man is that a level of entitlement I couldn’t live with.

With great privilege comes great responsibility.

I feel like Shanna is getting better at manipulation. When she doesn’t like something that I have said to her she says that I was too scary when I said it so she can’t do it. Even if I’m talking in a normal, completely flat voice.

She knows I don’t want them to be afraid of me. Smart little shit.

A couple of times recently I have said, “I don’t believe you. If you were scared you wouldn’t be so defiant.”

I also say, “So what is it that you are scared that I might do?”

“Something awful.”

No specifics.

I ask if they think I would hit them. They both emphatically go off on how I would never physically hurt them.

Ok then. I’m not too worried about your fear.

But I worry. Like I do.

I feel good about the fact that my kids really believe what I say. The other day we were leaving Aqua Adventure. I don’t remember what we were negotiating for, but Shanna was trying to get me to go back on how I said things would go. I stopped walking and knelt down to look at her.

“In my opinion the most important part of our relationship is that you can trust what I say. When I say something I’m going to follow up on it. Do you really want me to go back on what I told you? Do you want to stop trusting me?”

“No. I like that you mean what you say. I just kinda wish you would change your mind this time.”

“But then you wouldn’t trust me next time, would you?”

“No. Ok.” Then she held my hand and leaned her head against me.

I don’t bluff. I think bluffing destroys your credibility.

I spend a lot of time with my kids. So I spend a lot of time looking at them. Of course this means I’m aware of the bits that drive me nuts. Mostly what I think when I look at my kids is, Wow. How did so much wonderful come out of me?

Trippy stuff, yo. I like my kids. I like them as individual people. I like them as forces to be reckoned with out in the world. I like that they are so sure of themselves.

Ever since meeting Little Djinn (my niece–her mom is more worried about internet safety than me) Calli keeps playing “I’m shy” games when she meets new people. It’s hilarious because she wants people to come to her and draw her out. She has no concept of the idea that shy people actually want the new people to stay the hell away. She thinks it is just a playing-hard-to-get game.

This has been a really good week. Almost entirely interacting with kids is different in terms of social energy. I get really tired but I don’t have anything like the anxiety.

I uhm, think I understand on a basic level that I will be rejected more easily by adults than by children. The kids go where their parents send them. They don’t get a lot of choice. And kids just don’t perceive some of my slip-ups. When I say a word I maybe shouldn’t say, I can cover and move on and it just goes over their heads. Adults notice and judge.

I don’t slip in big ways. Maybe I start singing along slightly too loud with one of the songs playing in my head. Lots of them are uhm, not kids songs.

I figure if children can hear this shit on the radio I’m not going to hell if I slip up and let a line out here and there.

It is harder for me to maintain boundaries with adults. I always slip into, “Don’t you want to understand me just a little…”

No, not really. Most people are much happier if I stay in my little box. Unless I can find something appropriate to say. Better nothing than too much.

The balancing act is hard. So kids are just easier. They kind of have no choice but to be more forgiving. Their brains are not capable of latching on to screw ups in the same way. I can ooh shiny them and move on.

I really enjoyed having multiple days of kids from different families coming over. A veritable parade of visitors. And having the kids without their parents is easier than having the parents too. Having a “supervising kids” track in my brain is low effort. I do that 24/7 and I have for years. Having a simultaneous “appropriate adult conversation” track running takes serious churn. I can do it. I like the adults I talk to and all. I’m not saying I wish I never had to talk to adults.

But I think it is funny how differently tiring the two kinds of visits are. Having a houseful of kids is not as hard as having two extra kids and an extra adult. I suppose it depends on the actual people involved. There could be much harder kids, of course.

The kids I know who are “hard” are hard in ways that make sense to me and, in my opinion, deserve respect. So I work to their level. I don’t act like they should be able to meet me where I am. And it helps that I model screwing up, apologizing, and moving on easily and frequently. It is always clear to kids that it is ok to be human in my house. I don’t think that is as clear to adults. Probably because I have more anxiety around screwing up with adults.

I uhm, worry a lot about rejection. Way more than is healthy. But I don’t worry about it from kids at this point. I worry about adults. That is not so good or useful. I reduce the Zen in my life this way.

I hope it will be a good day. I expect so. I’m going to take the kids south alone. Noah hasn’t been getting his time off lately. He wants to go earn more money. I don’t really feel I should tell him no. I benefit directly and all. “You want to fund my ridiculous travel urges? Sure.”

I may go to Kiva on the way home. Just because. I don’t think I will be very interested in going to San Francisco this weekend. Not with a drive to Santa Cruz.

Remember how we used to drive to party? Ha. Now I’m old. I care less about those communities seeing me out-and-about. I already have all the credibility and standing I can usefully maintain.

And I’m not hunting. So what do I care?

I’ll stay home and shoot fish in a barrel. Way easier. I think we are actually going to hit quota this month. I confess, oh internet, we have been averaging more like six or seven times a month for a while. My sex drive has been really low. Luckily the breeding years lowered Noah’s expectations so he is way better about handling dips in my sex drive.

He’s more secure that I’m still kinda obsessed with sex and he’s my only access point so… chill out. I’ll come back. I don’t think I trusted that before either. It’s a new stage for both of us.

I miss hunting but I don’t miss the vaginal pain that is involved with condoms and sex with inexperienced people. Ow. Ow. Motherfucking Ow.

Unprotected sex for the win. And with an uncircumcised penis. Yay for less pain. Every vagina is different. I have learned, through lots of trial and error, that I don’t do very well with the circumcised penii. They hurt. Not enough movement. Too much friction. Burn. Owie. Even without condoms.

I’m sorry dudes. Your parents screwed you over. I know this is a hot topic. That’s just my experience of sex.

Other people (male and female) handle cut penii without complaint. Don’t take my issues as being universal. Some people strongly prefer them. Not just for religious reasons.

See, these are tangents I just don’t follow with kids.

I went to a yoga class yesterday. That was a good thing. The class was a bit more aerobic than I prefer but pretty slow for a gym class. I was mostly happy that I know the poses at this point and I can hear verbal directions and follow rather than having to twist and contort to always see the instructor. My body needed the stretching. I think I will try again.

The mother I was supposed to meet at the gym didn’t show. I haven’t followed up. I’m not sure how much I care. Parents flake. I don’t take it personally any more. I still get a little pissy if someone without kids flakes. But less so than in the past. It’s a process.

Remember how I used to rant and rave and fume and scream about tardiness? Oh man. That’s all stuff related to my mom. I’m sorry so many people got trapped in that. I have a lot of issues. This is a known part of the deal.

My arms hurt so I should stop typing. I just like telling you when things are going well, internet. Sometimes it seems kind of sad that I only want to tell you the bad parts of being me. There is a balance–like for every one. Or I probably wouldn’t still be here.

When I talk about the bad, keep in mind that more so than for most people I require that the good outweigh the bad in my life. So if I mostly focus on the bad that doesn’t mean the good doesn’t exist. It means I’m not talking about it in this moment.

I do have good things. I do good things. I have fun. Or I wouldn’t be here. I don’t have the fortitude to sit at home through the dark and just drudge through the rest. I need bright to balance.

I really like where I am in life right now. I feel outrageously secure for me. I feel loved. I feel more loved than I have ever felt in my life. I feel appreciated. I feel liked. I feel needed. I feel useful. I feel like if I am an asshole sometimes, the roof isn’t going to come crashing down on me so ok. I get to experience my boundaries shifting and act on that. It’s ok. I am not just at the mercy of outside forces.

I feel lucky. Most of the successful people I know sneer at the concept of luck. They say that they have worked hard for what they have. I usually manage to contain the screaming I want to do.

If you are one of the most privileged people in this country and you think luck had nothing to do with it, I feel a lot of anger and violence in your direction. Because you think all the people who have not been as successful as you don’t work as hard? Fuck you.

Maybe it has more to do with the fact that your parents were very successful and taught you how to duplicate their success or improve upon it. Get the fuck over yourself.

Maybe you started out in better schools. Maybe you had more support all the way up. How dare you sneer at the idea of luck.

Yes, you worked hard. I don’t denigrate that. People from your starting point often do worse than you. That is very true. But luck decided that you were born when and where you were. Luck decided that you had parents who could help you with college, home ownership, etc.

How dare you act like you are just more deserving than other people. Fuck you very much.

I don’t deserve what I have more than someone else deserves what I have. I did not “work harder” so I deserve it. Even if I did work harder. I have still received so much luck it isn’t funny.

It is very hard to see the support structures that exist in your life unless you try to live without them. I have moved in and out of different levels of support so many times that I’m obsessed with what it means. How is privilege layered into the experience of being alive?

What does success mean anyway? Does it mean having $x in the bank? Does it mean owning your home? Does it mean having y people who love you? Does it mean completing a new big project every z years?

I know a lot of people who define their success by how much love they give and receive in life. I would describe them as professional partiers.

I don’t really feel I’m in a position to judge whether or not that is a worthy focus of love. If Catholic nuns are allowed to chuck it all for poverty and service, why the heck can’t the professional partiers move through the world bringing joy and love and lighter bank accounts to the people around them? Life is about trades. It’s ok to make trades that someone else wouldn’t make.

I was a couch surfer. I’ve lived in my car. As opposed to “out of my car” which is what people say when they technically have a home but they have a lot of shit in their car and they travel a lot.

Being poor isn’t that bad. I mean, it is shitty and people should have avenues out of poverty. But poor doesn’t mean you are automatically miserable and suffering and unhappy every minute of the day.

Your mental health state and the amount of money you possess have very little relationship to one another. Sort of. That’s not true. I want a basic income for all citizens. There is a threshold of poverty below which life is just too hard. There is a kind of poor that is so grinding that mental health really suffers. Above that there is a vast grey area.

I know people who stay there by choice. They don’t aspire to earning more money because that would involve restructuring their lives or learning a different trade or… something that wouldn’t make them happy.

Happiness and money are not the same thing. I understand that saying that as a now-rich-person makes me sound like a fucking asshole.

Having money can provide security and having security or not can be a barrier (or not) for happiness.

Layers and layers and layers.

It’s probably time to stop typing. 4,000 words is enough for one day.