I had the opportunity to babysit at length last week, affording me some time to ponder the following lessons:

- The twins' vocabulary and social skills are proceeding quite nicely.
- Two-year-olds should probably not have lightsabers.
- Toddlers turn corners a lot faster than adults do.

Labels: alec, kyle, lane, me, twins

Although the term "weekend" is at times vague, encompassing, on those rare, happy occasions, as many as three days (and not always those beginning with an "S"), I'm using it in a looser context here, referring to a time period stretching closer to five days. It seems an overabundance of accrued leave is a bad thing in the modern work world, and thus my house received (and will continue to receive in sporadic chunks throughout this month) extra attention beginning last Wednesday.

I'm continually amused at my vast underestimation of the time investments required for projects I've never undertaken before. I accomplished but a fraction of what I had expected, leading me to believe that either my expectations are unrealistic or I'm simply lazy. I did, however, sand, prime and repaint my garage door, put a layer of fibered aluminum roof coating on the garage roof (which has still not completely fixed the target leak, to my consternation), reorganize a few of my kitchen cupboards and paint the registers and socket covers on the main floor. I took some time out to fraternize to greater and lesser extents, meeting one new person, consoling another friend through a difficult time and going on safari with the twins. I also rented "1408," which was not nearly as scary as promised. I will at some undisclosed point in the future have "before and after" photos of the house, preferably when I've accomplished enough for the changes to be more noticeable.

For those who follow the adventurous exploits of the Wonder Twins, Kyle's new catchphrase is a very gravity-laden rendition of "it's very dark!", applied on a regular basis to everything from the space beneath her crib to holes in the backyard to the inside of the "cave" we made from blankets and furniture. The admonition is given more as a statement of fact rather than any hint of concern, and is at times accompanied with a smile. The twins have also developed a love affair with sidewalk chalk, going so far as to carry it around the backyard even when no concrete is in sight, and Alec in particular has a similar crush now on crayons, which she has secreted away all over the house to challenge the inevitable moments when Lisa relieves her of her current implements.

Lane's family interaction has been somewhat curtailed by her constant hyperventilation over the distant-yet-concrete release of Spore.

As a token of humor to reward those of you who slog through my writings, I also present a (very) rare glimpse of me with facial hair (of a sort; that's almost a week's worth of not shaving, which on most men would be something more than stubble . . .).

Labels: house, me, miscellany, twins

My hometown paper noted my introduction in the last edition's weekly foray into the archives.

Directly next to it on the same page was a really disturbing ad. I'm not sure "fleshing" was ever meant to be used as a verb outside Hellraiser movies . . .

Labels: amusement, me

Although hardly a revelation to certain people, I've been out of sorts lately. I don't think "combative" is the right term, but perhaps the shoe labelled "less understanding" would fit; I've been told what I call an "argument" is to most people a "squabble," but the fact remains that I've been in three of them lately, a bellwether of my recent petulance. To put it in better context, one of them was with Lisa. Lisa, the person with whom I have not seriously argued in 8 years. Over, of all things, a newspaper article of no importance to either of us. Said arguments have not been an active pursuit on my part, but rather an uncharacteristic unwillingness to be sympathetic when challenged (and all other abandoned traits aside, I certainly inherited the stubbornness that characterizes so many of my family). In any case, I've apologized in person and offered recognition of my childishness, and submit this as a public apology to anyone else with whom I've been short.

My mood didn't go unpredicted. I can't go so far as to lay claim to phrases like "I hate Christmas" or "holidays suck," but those of the inner circle are well-aware that this is not my favorite time of the year. Lisa expects the malaise like clockwork, although it has seemed in recent years to be cumulative rather than episodic, something I admit concerns me. Christmas lost any religious significance to me a decade ago, and quite honestly that aspect doesn't even register with me except when chastised for using "holidays" instead of "Christmas" (as has been done once this week), so I'll admit up front I don't have any serious attachment to these holidays. But on top of that, I think there is a handful of ingredients that bake up into the Fruitcake of Despondency(tm).

The first ingredient requires a mild disclaimer. If you feel the holiday spirit, I'm happy for you. :) This isn't meant to bring you down and don't take it as criticism. I hope to be there someday. For the time being, though, I find myself increasingly annoyed at the commercialization that seems to paradoxically bring out the worst in people in what is supposed to be the brightest season. Irritability and short tempers draped on shoppers looking for $600 gaming systems for 10-year-olds who equate Christmas with "I want it and if I don't get it I'm going to pout." For that matter, the whole idea that a 10-year-old needs a $600 gaming system more than he needs a $200 gaming system and $400 to give to a coat drive for underprivileged children. The perception that asking someone exactly what they want, going out and buying it and giving it to them somehow shows thoughtfulness, when in reality it's merely the fastest way to comply with a social expectation. The universal condemnation of anyone who points out that a great many people treat Christmas shopping as an unpleasant chore rather than a free act of love. (Cris and I had it out over this topic last week; I concede I may tilt toward "grinch" due to my mood, but really, I can't help but see the web of obligation and commercial pressure that underlies what should be a celebration of sharing and togetherness. In all seriousness, I'd be thrilled if my Christmas consisted of a peaceful dinner and an exchange of cards showing which charities we donated to in each other's names.)

The second major stressor for me is the fact that, though I dearly love my family, I am woefully unprepared to spend time with them en masse, a consequence of being out of sync with them (case in point, I'm used as the "it could be worse" example when someone is disapproving of someone else in the family; e.g., "Well, it could be worse. At least he's not an atheist/liberal/pavement head* like Jay."). There is a, shall we say, tendency toward displaying affection through criticism, amplified by the pack mentality, that is incompatible with me. I make an effort not to be overtly displeased about it, and in fact usually graciously decline to participate rather than take the bait, out of deference to family peace, but it's emotionally taxing nonetheless.

The final stressor, familiar to anyone single through the holidays, has its own shelf in the "self-help" section of the bookstore. I suppose (and in fact hope) that a few more attachments around this time of the year will eventually change my mood about it. Although I'm still not buying my kids a $600 gaming system.

------------------
*"Pavement head," for those curious, is my brother's term of faux affection, a not-so-subtle reference to the fact that I have defected from my agrarian heritage to the great land of street lights and parking lots. It's usually accompanied with something of a chortle.

Labels: family, friends, holiday, humanity, introspection, me, social commentary

My official temperature at the Red Cross today: 96.2 degrees. That's the lowest yet, and four straight visits under 97 degrees. Am I cool or what?

Labels: me