I love my kids, I just hate parenting
This morning, Mom and Buried left for a ten-day business trip. For the next two weeks, it’s just me and my son.
Things are going to be a little different while she’s gone. For one thing, I’ll finally be able to catch up on “Mr. Robot”.
For another, NO COASTERS!
If your kid is anything like mine, I bet s/he is into Band-Aids.
It’s a strange thing to be obsessed with, especially when your kid loves Band-Aids while simultaneously being terrified of the things that actually require Band-Aids.
You may have heard that I’m having another kid.
I have no idea what this child will be like, but if it’s a boy, I’m pretty sure there are two things I can bank on:
1) He’ll like trucks.
2) He’ll like dinosaurs.
Recently, Target announced that they’d be doing away with gender-categorizations in their children’s sections. This made a lot of people happy and a lot of people angry.
I am torn between being baffled by the anger and totally understanding it. Not because I agree with it (most of the angry people seem to think Target has a nefarious agenda, which: CUCKOO!) but because I get where those people are coming from, at least on one level: human beings love labels.
Labels are comforting. Nothing scares us like stuff we don’t understand, and labels help us understand things.
My son is white. He is male. He is an American. He may be straight or gay, he may be religious or not, he may be liberal or conservative. But if I have my way, he’ll be none of those things.
He’ll just be a human being, like everyone else.
Having children gives you the opportunity to appreciate anew all the wonderful stuff you take for granted when you become an adult, the classic children’s books and films and cartoons you grew up with are part of that.
Lately I’ve been discovering that sometimes the reverse happens, and your children actually make you hate the things you once loved.
Repetition breeds contempt.