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family
Posts

  • How To Like Your Family Even When You Don’t

    The love you feel for your family is different than the love you feel for those you don’t share DNA with.  It is almost as if the love is choiceless.  Despite everything, you have to love them in this primal desperate way.  You know them on a cellular level, and even if their personalities are slightly repugnant, there is still a connection.  We are bonded to those we share blood with.

    The parent-child relationship is probably the most complex because there are so many strings attached.  The child needs the parent to keep them alive/safe, and the parent then feels some sense of ownership over their kid.  As the child ages into an adult, sometimes these dynamics are so deeply embedded into the relationship that it is difficult to respect each other.  It can be hard to find the friendship when there has been this distinct role of the superior and the subordinate.  The child who is always seeking approval from their parent, or the parent who is never satisfied with their child is one of many power struggles that can infect the love.

    That is why having things in common with your family can bring you together despite the complexity of past resentments or failed expectations.  No relationship is every perfect, but the more you share, the more time you will want to spend together.  If you have similar interests, then that are always activities you can together to reinforce the attachment.

    Since The Munch is only 2, I can’t exactly say that we like to do the same things.  I mean, playing in the sandbox and ordering people around is great, but when that person who is being ordered around is me – it kind of loses its charm.  We don’t always see eye to eye on what we want to do with our day, and I feel like I do a lot of the compromising.  I mean, reading Pippi Longstockings 19 times is not exactly what I call the best afternoon of my life, but I will do it for The Munch because I know its good for her brain… and I want her to be the smartest kid ever so I look good.

    One thing we do have in common is dance.  We go into my barn where I do my dances, and The Munch does hers.  Usually we do our own things, but  today  The Munch decided she would make up some moves for me to perform.

    Munch:  “Lift your left toe and put it over here on the window, then over the spider… twirl around 3 times – then fall on the floor. But don’t hurt yourself.  But hit your head and cry.  Then get up and jump like a frog like this.  Then go back and forth. Run to the mirror.  Shake your bum 20 times like this, then lift your right leg all the way to the ceiling.  Move your arms up and down, run over here, then fall down again. But this time, hurt yourself.”

    And I would do exactly as she articulated because that was some pretty imaginative choreography.

    “5,6,7,8 and walk 2,3,4…”

    things-in-common-blog-(i)

  • What Is Your First Memory?

    It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that The Munch probably isn’t going to remember these first 3 years of her life.  What the eff?!  I want credit for this shit!!!!!!!! Thank god I write down every embarrassing story about her, and every great thing I do- so I can remind her until the end of time.  You are welcome Munch.

    Even though we don’t specifically remember our babyhood and early childhood years, they still imprint our personalities, energy, and even cells.  It is kind of wild to think about all the life lessons we internalized, both good and bad, that as adults we will never be able to specifically recall.  Perhaps much of our humor, fears, happiness, or sadness all comes from this mysterious time that will forever be shrouded in a fog.

    This made me wonder what my first memory was.  It was not clear to me, so I sat and thought, and thought, and then it came to me.

    I was on the toilet.  I had just gone poop.  I was calling for my dad “Dad! Dad! Wipe me! I need you to wipe my bum!”  But he wasn’t coming.  I guess I wasn’t paying attention, and I slipped into the toilet.  My bum was submerged and my legs were pressed tightly against my chest.  I was stuck in the toilet with my ass in shit, and shit coming out of my ass.  “Dad! Dad! I am stuck!!!”

    Finally my dad did come, but I think this story explains a lot about who I am now.

    first-memory-blog-(i)

     

     

    May 30, 2013 • 2 years old • Views: 3940