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childhood
Posts

  • The All Feeling Tyranny of the Wounded Inner Child

    Have you ever heard of the concept that, “you are the average of the 5 people you spend the most time with?” This idea suggests that we are highly influenced by the energy of the humans we surround ourselves with. By simply spending ample time with people, we cannot escape their impact on our psychology, decisions, and sense of self-worth. So choose those creatures wisely because if you find yourself hanging around a bunch of dick weeds, chances are you’ll be overgrown by testicular crab grass in no time.

    Now here is my problem. I am emotionally dead inside. Wait, no… that was my auto correct. What I meant to say is that I suppress my emotions deep in my colon, brewing up cancer by the minute. Shit. I didn’t mean that either. Okay here we go. I have been working hard over the years to learn to internalize my emotional reactions to life rather than externalize them out in the world. Yeah that’s it!

    One of my main goals in life is to avoid taking my emotions out on others. I try hard to figure out what is actually going on with me, and maintain caution about how and when I share negative emotions. If I feel the need to bitch, I try to remember to predicate that conversation with, “hey, do you mind if I vent for the next 20 minutes in monologue format about some shit bag email I just got?” I have come to learn how to identify that very specific rage that swells inside of me when PMS-ing, and do my best to surrender to the merciless reality that Quentin Tarentino is about to film his next movie in my underpants.

    Yet the irony of my quest to be in control of my emotions is that I tend to attract hyper emotional people in my life. I always have. The five people I surround myself are super interesting, insightful, creative, intuitive, mystical, and EMOTIONAL AS FUCK! I wonder if that is because their feelings helps keep me connected to my own humanity? By being an observer of more emotional humans, I in turn connect to the collective emotional spectrum of the world. My love for others forces me to face the power of emotions.

    My emotions are pretty damn boring and are almost exclusively about work. I have feelings about how many likes a video gets, if anyone cares about my blog, a rejection from something I applied to, or you know, the existential angst I wake up with every morning if anything I do has any meaning at all. THE USUAL. I am obsessed with work, so my exposure to people that think and care about other things is important. When I sit with someone I care about crying over a break up it reminds me, “Hey Toni, you had a heart once too. Connect to it!”

    I have a friend who’s going through addiction issues right now and in order for me to be there for her, I have to tap into the part of myself that was once that desperate. The Toni that also has felt the need to escape into anything that would distract me from who I was. The part of me that was self-destructive and full of confused emotions. Even if I’ve never been an “addict” as society defines it, I still know the power of addiction. I’ve hid behind obsessive love for a person, drugs, sex, TV, iPhones, social media etc… to dull the crushing pain I was not ready to face. There is a piece of our psyches we all have that brings us to do things we know are bad for us, yet we do anyway to feel a momentary sense of relief. What I’ve come to understand is that this impetus often is rooted in the unresolved traumas of our childhood.

    I think the true battle of the human condition is that your wounded inner child is a broken adult.

    Most shitty things that you do, or that other people do to you, are a consequence that dates back to some pain initiated in childhood. Being a kid is such a deeply vulnerable experience. You are 100% dependent on adults for your safety, livelihood, and knowledge base. Yet because most grown ups are also battling the traumas of their childhoods, they don’t always make the best decisions. So this cycle is created of grown ups that haven’t fully healed their inner wounded child, unconsciously emotionally wounding a child. That wounded child then grows up and lives inside an adult who then will wound another child – long into eternity. Or just the next 4 years because we’re all going to die before Trump is out of office.

    So let’s talk about our wounded inner child, because they are fucking real.

    Here is what I think. We have to both unconditionally love our inner child, and discipline them.

    The love part is the part I think is talked about most. Your inner child was an innocent creature that was tormented by the harsh realities of life. It did not know how to process the pain that was put before them, and therefor is still in a state of trauma from that experience. These deep primal wounds take many forms. You may have felt abandoned because of a divorce, or a parent dying. Or you may have felt invisible if your parent was depressed or always working. You could have been beaten, raped, emotionally abused… a ton of horrible shit happens to kids, and that suffering will impact their adult lives. Whatever happened to you that caused the deepest pain in your soul will usually resurfaces every time you are emotionally out of control. Most of the things you regret doing are in direct correlation to your inner child still trying to process what they’ve gone through. Yet once you’ve calmed down from these outbursts and ask yourself, “hmmmmm why did I break all the windows of my lovers car again??” it’s probably because your inner child was hurting from pain not only from the present moment, but also the past.

    Your inner child needs healing, attention, compassion, and empathy. BUT… just like an actual child, they also need discipline, boundaries, and rules. You should never ignore your inner child, but you also can’t let them take over. Your inner child needs to be reasonable, and it’s you who has to teach them that.

    I’ve been a parent for 7 years, and the one thing that I can say for sure is that kids respond to clear boundaries. The Munch’s friend had a birthday party last year where the parents had organized some guy and do archery with the kids. Now this may come as a surprise to you, but a dude that gives 6-year olds REAL BOW AND ARROWS TO SHOOT is going to be pretty fucking strict and rule oriented. As we parents were watching our children prepare for the Hunger Games, we noticed that the archery man was stern as fuck. He was running that party as if it was a totalitarian regime – but it was for THEIR safety. From the grown up perspective the guy kind of seemed like an uptight asshole, but all the kids responded to him really positively. They had NO PROBLEM with him. The Munch didn’t think he was Maoist, and said he was really nice. His clear boundaries weren’t offensive to her, and actually made her feel safe.

    We have to be like this archery man to our inner child! Discipline will help our adult selves not be taken over by the all feeling tyranny of the wounded child. Allowing space for our inner child to heal does not mean enabling them to tantrum and ruin your life. How you parent your inner wounded child will determine your adult life. Your inner child can be a real brat if you don’t’ give them boundaries. Your inner child can make horrible decisions, because your inner child is still a child! You wouldn’t let your kid go on a coke fueled bender fucking strangers without condoms and catching HPV, so why let your inner kid? Your inner child can and should be heard, but you also can say “no” to them. So every time your inner child is out of control tell them, “You are no longer a child alone in the world. Your grown up self is taking care of you now, so chill, or I’m giving you a time out.”

    I gots to keep inner child Toni in check! And what is she doing drinking coffee??

  • Ruining Childhood With The Truth

    Childhood is a blissful time of naïve innocence. That is unless you are living in abject poverty, or a war torn country, or a town where racism is the social norm, or a place where they sell girls off as child brides – so basically for everyone except those billion kids.

    But for my Aryan looking privileged child, things could be pretty idealistic for her – that is of course if she didn’t have me as a mom.

    See how there’s balance in this cold dark universe after all?

    I try to keep it real with The Munch because I think she’s emotionally capable of understanding complex ideas, and also because I have no interest in raising an entitled asshole. Yet I can see how my parenting can infringe on The Munch’s potential to believe the world is a benign, benevolent place. “Yes Munch, bumble bees are fuzzy, and they’re being systematically destroyed by Monsanto’s pesticides, threatening a global pandemic of potential mass extinction.” Trust me. She get’s it. “That is a police siren sweetie, and yes they are here to protect us.. but we also can’t forget that the legal system is inherently corrupt, the prison industrial complex exploits millions of Americans as slave labor for private companies, and inherent bias has resulted in the murders of thousands of innocent black men.

    Although I want The Munch to maintain her youthful idealism, I also think it’s important she knows that Santa Clause is a physical manifestation of excessive materialism. It’s a delicate balance right?

    The Munch is a sensitive creature, and some of the information I tell her does impact her ability to enjoy things. For example, when in our small town they explode the fake missiles that mock the horror of the other countries we routinely bomb… wait, I’m sorry. That was my auto correct. I mean fireworks. When they light the fireworks, they set up a raft on the lake to light them from. Yet as a result, all the trash from the fireworks ends up falling into the lake, polluting it. I just happened to mention that to Munch, and then the whole time she was watching the fireworks, on her birthday mind you, every time she saw the debris dwindling into the lake, she would cover her eyes in dismay. “I can’t watch Mama. It’s so terrible for the environment. Those poor fishies. All that trash and chemicals poisoning them.”

    You may be asking yourself, “Are you a monster Toni? Ruining fireworks for your 7-year old… on her birthday?” Well… it’s not my fault. My mom raised me! This is a woman who gave me an NWA tape when I was 7-years old so I could “learn about politics.” The same woman that insisted we listen to the assassination of the Romanian dictator Ceausescu on Christmas… AS A FAMILY… WHEN I WAS 9 YEARS OLD!

    I’m not the only one doing this to her! When my mom plays dolls with The Munch they have a character who’s a Syrian refugee named Toni who lost her eye in the war, and now wears an eye patch. Another doll, Violet, is confined to a wheel chair because she stepped on a landmine… and she’s also an orphan that must be taken care of by the other children who’s parent’s died as casualties of war. I can hear my mom “playing” with The Munch and going through the narrative about their ships being turned around by the evil right wing, leaving these dolls to drown in the ocean.

    So yeah… maybe the Munch isn’t exactly having a “normal” childhood, but at least she’s being informed of geo-politics!

    The refugee baby dolls Toni and Violet (PS that top picture is perhaps my favorite picture of all time of The Munch when she was 2… learning about police brutality)

  • Scratching That Itch Doesn’t Make it Go Away – it Just Moves it

    We’ve all had those moments where you ask someone to scratch your back, and some willing, but slightly irritated victim obeys. No one wants to scratch someone else’s back because as a rational person you know what you’re in for – a journey into the impossibility of satiating an itch. Seconds after the skin scraping ritual begins, the itch moves. “A little to the left,” you say. Once again, it moves. “Now back to the right,” you instruct as their nails skid across your human casing. “Now up… down… over… to the left… no to the right I said… back down again… up… more up… up some more… and…”

    An itch isn’t meant to be relieved; it is designed to torture you with craving. We fool ourselves into thinking that digging your claws into the right spot will make it go away. We forget the unavoidable truth that the very nature of yearning is rooted in the harsh reality that even when you get what you want, it isn’t what you want any more. Our collective story is fraught with examples of this. I want that man, but now that I have him, he bores me. I think that those drugs would feel divine, yet now I am puking into my shirt. I need that job – huh, boy this job is stressful. I need a vacation, and now I need a vacation from my vacation. I’ll go on this dating app to have meaningless sexual encounters, yet at the same time look for a relationship. Even though we can often see the hamster wheel of another person’s life, we put ourselves through the same cycle over and over and over again, running into the oblivion of our ravenousness.

    I think it’s that exactly feeling that our smarty pants phones tap into. This need for an instant hit of something outside of ourselves to distract our minds from the pain of our thoughts. For most of us, our brains have a mind of their own, and we are thinking about things we don’t want to think about, yet can’t stop thinking about. So we want, and want, and want some more. We want more love, more sex, more drugs, more success, more entertainment, more food, more sugar, more adoration, more acknowledgement, more appreciation, more money, more security, more freedom, more stuff… and then we want it all over again, just a better version.

    This constant striving may be the catalyst of the vast majority of our emotional suffering, yet it’s also the drive that pushes towards progress – and maybe even our own survival. The curiosity of humans, this ceaseless thirst that we cannot quench, is unique to our kind. Back in pre-history when Neanderthals reached the shores of an ocean do you know they did? They turned the fuck around because there was a goddamn giant scary body of water in front of them, and they couldn’t see the other side. Do you know what Homo sapiens did? They built a raft to float out into the unknown and see what was beyond the horizon. When the Neanderthals reached a mountain range they would camp at the bottom, but Homo sapiens, even the straight ones, would climb to the other side. Neanderthals lacked the seemingly crucial social construction of craving for more, where we Homo sapiens succumbed to it. And who the are the ones that are extinct now!?

    Even though our wanting is part of our demise, it’s also part of our successes as a species. So how do we as individuals have a more reasonable relationship to the seduction of desire? Is there a way to find balance amidst the chaos of greed?

    If there is anything that being a parent has taught me it’s that looking for someone else’s socks can make you suicidal. The other thing I learned is that children have a much greater capacity than adults to deal with disappointment. It may not seem that way at first. If I tell my kid “No you can’t watch Monster High while eating your leftover chemically ridden Valentine’s candy before bed,” she might scream for a moment in protest. This is where depending on my emotional capacity; I may give in just so she shuts the fuck up. But if I stay strong and deal with her momentary rebellion, she will forget about it, and move on. She doesn’t hold it against me. It’s not like The Munch will even bring it up again like, “remember that time you didn’t let me have that 3rd cookie?” No. She never says that shit. She just keeps living her life, not holding onto the past of her unfulfilled desires.

    Wanting shit is not the problem. It’s how we deal with not getting what we want is.

    The reason why kids move through their feelings with greater ease and grace is because they fundamentally think differently than adults. There is more space between their thoughts, because their egos aren’t as developed. The adult mind is dealing with CONSTANT chatter from the ego. Even right now as you read this very post your ego is still talking to you, judging what I say. Yet with kids, their egos aren’t as loquacious, leaving more room in their minds for observation and imagination.

    The more the mind is engaged with observing the world around us, the less energy is spent judging it. The more the brain is bouncing around creative concepts, the less it’s criticizing. So the solution to our all our problems is right in front of us. Think less by training your mind to observe, and through that you will find the wisdom of contentment in where you are in the moment – knowing it’s all a process and you’ll never truly be satisfied anyway.

    I think The Munch has tapped into this angst of mankind, and as such told me this glorious nighttime story.

    Munch: “Once upon a time there was a toilet, and this toilet was very sad. It was a sad toilet because no one was peeing in it, so it couldn’t drink pee, and no one was pooping in it, so it couldn’t eat poop. And that is the story of the sad toilet.”

    Am I raising a genius or what?

  • My Life is Turning Out EXACTLY as Planned! How About YOU?

    I’ve always envied the type of person who knows exactly what they want out of life, and takes every logical step to achieve their goals. Say someone who wants to be a doctor. They’d study science in high school, make a conscious choice to go to a college that is acclaimed for pre med, and then spend 7+ years at medical school / a residency. After all that focused effort would then earn them a position as a doctor, and they’d maintain that career with satisfaction for the next 40+ years. You never see a doctor switching their attention mid way, and saying “I’m sick of proctology, I’m gonna do heart surgery now instead.” NO! Once a doctor commits to finger-blasting assholes for their life, that’s what they do – and they don’t question it.

    But if I’d wanted to be a doctor, this would’ve been the path I’d have taken. Study drawing in high school, go to a college that specializes in poetry, drop out of said college then attend another college that’s famous for it’s French literature program – but graduate with a degree in Confucius. I would then move to an ashram in India to write my dissertation on crowd psychology, but instead make a movie about what dirt tastes like. That would be where I would meet a contortionist who I fall madly in love with, but leave him to become a trapeze artist. After this great heartbreak of my own induction I’d get my pilot’s license, but end up driving a school bus – all the while insisting that I probably could do your brain surgery because I have been training to be a doctor after all.

    I feel like I’m one of those people that life just happens to. An opportunity arises, and I see where it takes me. If I look back at the last 20 years of my life, there have been many incarnations of the different people I have been. The model, the failed model, the sports fanatic, the philosopher, the magazine owner, the bartender, the political activist, the event planner, the businesswoman, the restaurateur, the professional skate boarder, the reality TV producer… non of which obviously took off for me.

    Why can’t I be like, “I wanna be lawyer!” and then become a lawyer? That plan is so reasonable, yet so beyond me. Or like those gymnasts in Romania who know when they are sperm that they’re going to the Olympics. When I was a kid I wanted to be a psychiatrist and I didn’t even become that. I don’t know what that says about me, but maybe it says I needed a psychiatrist!

    The best things in my life are things that I didn’t plan at all. I never wanted to be a parent, and was even told by the doctors that I could never have children because of the pituitary tumor in my brain – looks like those “doctors” should have studied Voltaire and had more affairs with circus folk am I right?! WHAT DO THEY KNOW!

    In truth I feel super corny saying Munch is the best thing in my life because I don’t mean it like you think I do. It’s not like the love I feel for her is unparalleled to anything else or she has given my life a meaning it never previously had. Of course you love your kid and they are meaningful, but I’m not hanging my relationship to my identity on her back – because she’s still pretty weak. Like she can’t even give me a shoulder ride. It’s more that every once in a while I witness her innate kindness, which is by far the most inspiring aspect of my life because her authenticity gives me hope for civilization.

    For instance the other day we were leaving my friend’s house, and I was carrying a bunch of stuff while trying to slip my socked foot into my Birkenstock. Munch observed my effort, and instead of saying “Mom, this fashion statement of socks and sandals is such a clothing crime that you might as well tattoo “I give up” on your forehead,” she instead bent down, and helped me with my shoe. I didn’t ask her to do that, but she instinctively wanted to help my struggle – not aesthetically but practically.

    I have these moments with The Munch where I am so emotionally moved by her sense of humanity. This isn’t something she was necessarily taught, but rather a natural disposition that drives her. When I am faced with these instances, I’m over come with the belief that maybe we are all going to be okay. That perhaps mankind does have a chance to evolve into beings of higher consciousness? But then I see Ted Cruz try to hold his wife’s hand, and the nihilism takes over yet again.

    The other part of my life that gives me immense joy is my dance studio. Now again, I never planned for that, it just fell into my lap and I happened to plié into it. DANCE JOKE! Amazing work their Toni. It’s not like I’m the best dancer on planet earth. Far from it! But choreographing and creating feeds my spirit body in the most profound way and I am eternally grateful for the community we have created. Without my studio there would be no reason for me to change from pajama sweatpants into my daytime dancing sweatpants – it’s my reason for getting up in the morning.

    Then there is my career – my writing / movie making ambitions. This actually is something I’m trying to plan out, but let me tell you, it’s an eternal effort with zero potential for satisfaction. Even if something good does happen, it’s only good for that brief moment until it’s not good enough anymore and I have a new goal. No matter what success I have, it is clouded by the reality that it’s such small step towards a totally insane goal. My ambitions are outlandish, and the probability is basically impossible. Yet I keep moving towards them because I can’t stop myself. Yet the insanity of this path is looming over me, and the only way to deal is by fatalistically not caring while at the same time passionately wanting.

    It’s not that my life is bad, but it also doesn’t feel within my control. Everything I desperately want I never really get, and things that I didn’t know I wanted – I do? All I know is that when I watch NOVA and see archeologists digging in dirt for 70 hours a week looking for traces of the Vikings in North America, they seem more content. Like they understood from an early age where they were heading, and went there. Or quantum physicists who talk about string theory. They just seem like there life went exactly as planned!

    Maybe I would have been better off if I’d lived my childhood dream of becoming a psychiatrist!

    What about you? Is your life turning out like you’d planned!?

    toni head back

    May 5, 2016 • Musings • Views: 1272

  • Just Another Childhood Trauma

    Sometimes I like to sit around and think about how my parents totally fucked me up. I just find it relaxing.

    You know, on those cold fall days where I’m questioning my existence and wondering if my life is simply a series of failures – I quickly shift my focus to how my mom and dad made me the nut case that I am today. See… it’s all their fault.

    My dad has a thing with death. It makes him REALLY uncomfortable. Probably from being raised Catholic. He just can’t deal with the thought of death because it is too painful. Perhaps it makes him think of the existential quandary of heaven and hell, and that we’re all going down because we’ve masturbated? I don’t know! I’m not in my dad’s head okay! (At least not any more… I only shot through there super fast on my way out of his balls). I digress!

    So when I was about 8, my Dad and I went to our country house and came across 15 baby mice corpses. Now you can’t just leave carrion in your house – because the bodies will rot and begin to smell. My mom would NOT approve of decaying flesh polluting her home. We HAD to dispose of them. At least one of us did.

    Sure my dad was the adult, and I was the child. One would assume he would swallow his fear, and deal with the DEAD BABY MICE rather than making his 8-year-old daughter do it. But you see – he didn’t want to pick up the small pink carcasses. Instead, my dad told me he would pay $20 for everyone I got rid of.

    Now I am not saying I sold my innocence that day, but I am saying I bought a lot of She-Ra dolls after that weekend.

    Because my dad was so traumatized by the idea of death, he never wanted me to have animals. Not because he didn’t like them, but he liked them too much! When I wanted to get a dog I had to leave a puddle of tears in my Dad’s office to convince him. He just stared at the wetness on his floor and finally acquiesced.

    Once I had my dog Fiona, I wanted to get another pet. I loved pets! They were my friends!! So I got a hamster! Yayyyy! More furry things to love!!!!

    But one night while I was sleeping in my bed, I heard all this commotion underneath me. I turned on the light and realized my hamster had somehow gotten out of the cage. I then looked under my bed where all the turmoil was coming from, and realized that Fiona was in fact killing my hamster.

    I ran into my parents’ room.

    Toni: Mom! Dad! Fiona is under the bed killing my hamster.
    My Dad: Well, it’s all your fault. Deal with it.

    Now, it was 4 in the morning… and no one likes to be woken up at 4 in the morning and then deal with a half eaten hamster.

    I am not sure who ended up disposing of the body. I’m pretty sure it was my mom, because she is stronger than all of us. All I remember is sitting in my living room as the sun came up, holding my dog, and thinking I was to blame for the murder of my hamster.

    But I love you dad!! It’s your birthday today, and your sensitive heart is as pure as gold. You also let me get a bird… and cried at her grave when she died!! It is the way of the Nagy’s to weep mercilessly and lament at all animal death and suffering.

    (Me and Fiona)

    toni and fiona

    October 21, 2015 • Old School Stories • Views: 1445

  • I See How I Suck

    When someone does something shitty to you, the deed is done. They can never take away their past actions. The only thing they can do is change the way you feel about their shitty behavior.

    When someone refuses to acknowledge how they’ve been crappy, their crappiness is infinitely more intense in your mind. Yet if they some how recognize that they may have been crapalicious, then it is much easier to get past it.

    So basically, if you see how you suck, then I don’t have to think you suck anymore. But if you refuse to admit your suckage, all I can think about is seriously how hard you suck.

    I probably get into a fight every day with my kid about something. There are instances when these disagreements are because of my behavior, but 99.9999% of the time she’s just being an unreasonable twat. So inevitably The Munch and I will argue, and when she doesn’t get her way, she storms out of the room and slams the door.

    Now there is really no better treatment then the silent treatment. If you are mad at me, and want to ignore me, then that is fine with me. Go right ahead. But usually Munch’s silent treatment is preceded by her yelling in my face, which is just as annoying as it sounds.

    When The Munch returns back from her dramatic exit stage left, we have a moment where we make up. You can’t just act like that shit never happened! You told me you would poop in my shoe if I didn’t let you watch My Little Pony Munch! If I don’t make sure you know how I feel about your suckiness, then I can’t get over this! YOU MUST KNOW! We have to discuss the impetus of the conflict to truly process it, and that impetus is YOU!

    But… where Munch used to be a more passive receiver of my analysis of her shitty behavior, now she is turning the tables onto me!?

    Munch: Here Mom, I brought you this leaf.
    Toni: That is really sweet, thank you. I am sorry we fought, but can you understand that I don’t want you to watch TV in the middle of a beautiful day? It’s not good for your body or mind. You can play outside and use your imagination. I’m not saying “no” to hurt you, I’m just looking out! You really don’t have to yell at me for that.
    Munch: Okay, but you also don’t always have to tell me what to do.

    suck-blog

  • The Life Of an Artist is Just an Extended Childhood

    As an anti-conventional free-spirited hippy parent that wants my child to take down the system and plan a revolution, sometimes the idea of orthodox schooling disturbs me. Part of me thinks it’s important to learn how to function within the framework society has pre-established as necessary. Yet if my kid never conforms to that regimented approach, and instead commits her energy fully to a more creative life, then she would hopefully develop the skills to carve a different path. One where she is not contributing to the capitalist system that is currently sodomizing all of humanity – without even the decency of lube.

    The Munch has one more year at her idyllic Waldorf preschool where they frolic through the forest floor while a pan like creature plays a lute, and innocence is as abundant as leaves on trees. Yet soon she will have to go to school, sit at a desk, and be scolded for staring out he window. At least that would be the “normal” trajectory.

    If I were to project any dreams onto my child it is that she would live outside the confines of culture, and question it rather than submissively participate in it. I want to encourage her to define her own reality- not bow down to a soul sucking structure. What if she spent the rest of her life creating one giant art project!?

    Every kid on planet earth likes art when they are young. They all do artistic things naturally as part of the everyday shit that kids do. They gravitate towards art on their own. Not that many children are like “I want to learn about macro-economics today mommy,” but they all will sing the fuck out of the ABC’s.

    How kids play and enjoy life is the nascent stage of becoming an artist. All artists are just grown ups that were able to hold onto their childhood interests! Picasso was once a little brat who liked drawing noses where the ears should be. He just got really really good at it. So basically if you practicing playing really hard – eventually you could become an artist.

    When I think about what The Munch actually LIKES to do right now, and if she just were to concentrate on her playing, she’s got some pretty good life options a head of her!

    This is her average day, and the potential if she just keeps at it.

    1) Makes up Songs about “My Little Ponies” killing each other with magic powers: She could be a singer/song writer.
    2) Shakes her body around: She could be a dancer.
    3) Plays pretend with her dolls/My Little Pony’s: She could be an actor, director, or screenwriter. (PS these games are complicated as fuck and involve a variety of characters that talk in distinct voices and have very complicated backstories. I can’t just jump in and insist that “Pinkie Pie” can fly to Nightmare garden because according the to The Munch “Pinkie Pie” does not have wings!!!!!)
    5) Wraps herself in material: Totally high fashion designer
    4) Tells poop and fart jokes: She could be a comedian.

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    August 24, 2015 • 5 years old, Education, Musings, Parenting • Views: 1114

  • Legos Are My OCD

    The other day The Munch got a set of Legos for her birthday. She decided she wanted to open it with her babysitter, and I said sure, because I am a casual parent. I am not some corny helicopter mom who micromanages everything.

    But you know what? I fucked up.

    I don’t know what I was thinking. Who am I kidding? Fine, I’ll let my kid do whatever she wants. Sure, jump off this, walk across that, but Legos. LEGOS!? Those things need to be taken care of.

    Legos are my OCD manifestation. The thought of a lost Lego piece gives me hives. The simple notion of building a Frozen castle, and not securing every last fragment in its perfect place, just induced an anxiety attack.

    The Munch and her babysitter however, only built HALF the Lego castle! I pretty much lost all relationship to my sanity. Munch even had the audacity to have brought some of the Lego characters upstairs to play with in her CINDERALLA CASTLE! You can’t do that Munch!! You can’t move the Lego pieces.

    So I OF COURSE let Munch stay up until 10 pm last night because we HAD to work on her Frozen castle! This was an emergency after all She first had to take apart her “art Lego,” – these are the sculptures Munch had put together all willy-nilly because she thought they “looked pretty.” NO MUNCH! That is NOT they way they go! I also had to scavenger hunt for all the pieces Munch thought she would attach onto other castles – LIKE THAT DOESN’T MATTER! What do you think these are Munch? TOYS?!

    I don’t play Legos with The Munch. I take over Legos. After I got really into it, she kept asking if she could help, or “put the orange piece on, or something” – but I no. I can’t let her “play” with her Legos. I have to do it ALL MYSELF because I’m the only one that can do it right!

    The late night Legos

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    July 13, 2015 • Birth • Views: 1327

  • The Munch Birthday Blog

    Today is The Munch’s 5th birthday!

    Of course this marking of time makes me look back at these past few years and reflect. Hold on. I have to go stare in the mirror real quick. Okay I’m back. Still cute.

    Oh right… I was supposed to be reflecting about my child! Duh!!!

    Being a parent has taught me many things – like what it’s like to wipe someone else’s butt first thing in the morning, or what another human’s puke feels like dripping through my fingers. My child is the one person on planet earth whose imperfections, leaking body parts, or explosive emotions don’t freak me out. Yeah sure, I don’t always want to deal with them, but the fact that she is a part of me makes me infinitely more patient, loving, and tolerant. I’m like “awwwwww, I love you because you remind me so much of me, sweetie.”

    Even though I have to give The Munch A LOT of my time, energy, and food (she always want to eat what I’m eating), I’m also fully aware of how much she has given me. Like pink eye. Just kidding… I washed my hands so I didn’t catch it. Actually in truth, I don’t wash my hands at all. I only pretend to in public bathrooms because I don’t trust anti bacterial soap, but I also don’t want you to judge me. It’s not like I’m peeing on my hands though, so what’s the big deal you critical twat?

    Anyway…

    What I’m trying to say is that parenting is an endless journey of satisfying someone else’s needs. Wait. No. That was my auto correct. Sorry. What I meant to say is parenting is the best thing that ever happened to me!

    The Munch has been a source of endless inspiration. I mean look how much I write about her! Sure, I take breaks every once in a while to talk about politics or vaginas, but the rest of this blog is my observations on this special creature. Even though The Munch has no idea I have been exploiting her childhood for my personal gain, she has been such a good sport about it!

    I have learned more about human nature from this human than I ever thought possible. She has been my greatest and wisest teacher, and has instilled me with lessons like “don’t sing Mama while I’m singing because I cannot hear myself if all I hear is your voice.” I mean, come on. That is some Buddha shit right there.

    My Munchee is a true miracle and I’m grateful for her beyond words.

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    July 1, 2015 • 5 years old, Mommyhood, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1284