RMers with kids

[washing machine]

I’m not gonna let the bastards drive me away.

I do recall however; in the hospital when the twins were born, one of the first people we saw was a buddy who is head of hospital security. He had just recently completed some active shooter training with his team. I commented about “what kind of world are we bringing these kids in to?” and “was this a mistake?” etc.

His response back was to raise them right because the country/world needs good people. That really stuck with me.

Run off to France or Canada or wherever. I’ll be here doing my small part to keep shit together.

I can appreciate trag and mickey's input as well as this.

On a practical level, at least for our family, this makes more sense. Getting involved in a healthy community, spending time at home to cultivate things like a family garden or mealtime routine, and spending time outside alongside good neighbors is what I want for my son.

For us that involves getting out of this immediate neighborhood and probably the city in general. School shootings are hard not to focus on, but statically I'm more worried about an errant bullet or mistaken house situation in a drive by. I made the mistake of looking at police reports in my neighborhood over the last ten years and that's what I saw on several occasions.

It was enough to push me to contact our realtor and look right away.

I think there are still good communities in America, I guess. I get what verb is saying about the futility of feeling 100% safe. You won't. Wish he'd read the room and say it differently, but I genuinely believe he means well on this one.

[Mickey]

School shootings are hard not to focus on, but statically I'm more worried about an errant bullet or mistaken house situation in a drive by. I made the mistake of looking at police reports in my neighborhood over the last ten years and that's what I saw on several occasions.

It was enough to push me to contact our realtor and look right away.

I think there are still good communities in America, I guess. I get what verb is saying about the futility of feeling 100% safe. You won't. Wish he'd read the room and say it differently, but I genuinely believe he means well on this one.

This is what sticks in my mind. If the WaPo article Verb posted was the end of the story, okay, fine--you can't totally control for statistically rare and random attacks like the one in Uvalde. But there's a gun violence problem in US urban areas that's a lot broader than these headline news cases. We feel safe enough in our neighborhood for now (and are not eager to move while pregnant), but Philly has gotten a lot worse since the pandemic started and we will definitely not be living here by the time our child is ready to start playing outside unattended. Whether that means a different neighborhood, city, or country, not sure, but there's a difference between trying to make 100% safe choices and not making foolish ones.

[verb_to_trust]

Well I definitely would advise against living in shithole cities

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[macphisto]

Imagine wanting to flee America. I believe Mick will move to Canada. I don't believe trag will move to Europe.

[macphisto]

Flea America

[Mickey]

Thank you for believing in me

[bart]

I can totally understand longing for the freedom from violent political conflict and looming threat of populist right wing power that one can only find in France.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[washing machine]

I had a terrible parenting moment at Target yesterday that I'm not proud of. After he ran off for the third time, I sternly scolded him by telling him to "act like a grown up." As the words were coming out of my mouth I regretted them, but in the heat of the moment I was just so over chasing him. We practice gentle parenting, but this moment veered towards authoritarian and short-tempered and way away from authoritative and empathetic. So unreasonable of me to expect or even want that sweet little tornado of terror to grow up before he even turns three. Sharing this confession because toddler parenting is a fucking battle for humility and patience and I know a lot of you are in the same boat right now. Post-pandemic toddler parenting is probably another can of worms entirely. We're the parents who spent that crucial first year in isolation, not knowing exactly how to help them socialize when they started walking.

After just wrapping up one of the most challenging weeks as a toddler parent, but also one of the most purely joy-filled and rewarding, I can say that it's going to be a week I'll remember for the rest of my life, even if he's too young to remember too much of it tomorrow. Long story short, we kept him home from school all week and now we're running thin on fun, get-out-of-the-house ideas while also trying to stay out of summer heat. Over the last week we've been to the beach, splash pads, grocery stores, record stores, cafes, museums, backyard x1000, couch crashing with A Bug's Life x1000, and finally yesterday's fateful Target trip. We've had meltdowns galore but also some of the purest, most blissed out moments of discovery and playtime. It's been great, like a mini summer vacation for him. And like sleep deprivation for us!

Anyone else going through it right now?

[doug rr]

maybe take him to a white sox game next week..

[daft twat]

Make him do shit w/o you. Learning to entertain yourself is an important life skill.

[washing machine]

He does a lot by himself, with me in the general area alongside him. Example: time outside in the backyard, he's getting into picking up sticks to use in acorn digging expeditions and general friction experiments while I camp out opposite side of the yard, watching for ants and wasps. Minimal helicoptering here.

He's still only two though, and he has a very finite limit to his attention span. When he's over it, he's OVER IT. Not a winning scenario when we're on errands or even just in the backyard when running up to the back door opening/closing over and over again makes a huge difference in the ambient temperature of this hot, old house. He doesn't have full grasp of language yet so he expresses himself in outburts when he's ready for something else.

[Bammer]

Try h-

[spike]

all my kid wants to do is wear purple and eat green grapes

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[spike]

[Monkey_Driven]

My 13 month old is in that stage where he throws everything (his food, cup, ball, toys, etc.) and just screams when he needs something. Once you finally figure out what he wants you are rewarded with a giant smile.

[Leatherhead]

My oldest turns 10 in a couple months. Hoping to do something kinda big because we haven't been able to do much for the last two birthdays.