Unintended rant...
You know...
When Mose was born, I got a lot of advice about parenting....
But nobody said this...
It's really just a lot of fun.
It is. It so totally is.
Work too, of course, but so much fun. So many laughs every day. I don't mean to be a cheeseball, but it's nice to hang out all afternoon in your diaper, making fart noises and giggling, and eating avocado and dancing in the kitchen, and chewing on the dog.
**
In other news, I have been thinking about how little scenester-life helps your art. About how most of the people I know who spend lots of energy (and/or money)on appearance are too absorbed with their highlights and their shoes to write or paint or anything.
(this does not mean all cool people are lame. Some people are just cool... and I'm a little jealous of them, but that's not a reflection on them. Some folks just look good. And some people really LOVE to get dressed, have fun with it, don't judge others ot take it too seriously. I'm not talking about them. Or about people who make clothing as art. It's the stress-heads who only like other fashionistas... ugh.)
I have also been thinking about how little passive agression helps your sanity. About how the most miserable people I know are "controlled" but also controlling. People who think they can manipulate the world around them through means besides direct communication. Careful plotting/plodding.
Sometimes, they're right, and often they're successful... but they're almost always unhappy.
Yep. Some people are totally lame. If you are passive agressive, and it takes you a really long time to get dressed to go to the grocery store, we probably shouldn't be friends.
**
There is a relationship, now that I consider it, between these two posts, which I thought unconnected at first.
This (frustration with "the scene") has always been true for me, but now the intensity of my feelings has ballooned. As a mom, I REALLY have no time for hipsters, and I really have no patience for people who don't say what they mean.
However dumb I thought passive agressive hipsters were before, now they just seem WAY worse. Dangerous, petty, bullshit.
If you think your drippy vintage earrings are an important issue for the world, and your laughs are guarded, nervous... if you can't tell me what you really feel... I wish you well.
BUT...
You might just want to stay away from me (and my baby).
4 Comments:
Mmmm, tasty post, lady. We never tell you how much fun it is because we don't want you to get pissed at us when it's hard and you didn't expect it.
I had a fucken awesome time, especially when my first was a baby, and I don't really remember it being too hard. It was mostly just awesome. But most other parents don't want to hear that because then they think if they aren't having an awesome time, they must be doing something wrong.
You must be doing something right, Missy Britches! And what a delightful young man you have, too.
Awesomeness is coming back to visit more and more these days, in between the grind of it all. It's nice. Hipsters see me on the street and run the other way, so no worries about those charming folk. I must be just exuding maternal "I actually give a shit about other peoples lives" funk that repels them.
I know exactly what you mean. Since my daughter was born, I've found that I have infinite, bottomless patience for her--and almost none for anyone or anything else. This includes the insincere, the intentionally intangible, the inappropriate, and the other impatient people in the world. And yes, it's fun, fun, fun. Each and every day.
It doesn't stop (necessarily) ever- my daughter (18) and I had the most fun at the pool today while she chased me around to get me in a huge bearhug - and my son (22) is sitting here right now sharing his ideas for a play he's writing.
and it's all so damn much fun I'm giddy!
Yep, agree with shann, it gets even better. I had a book review published yesterday, but it will always be the sight of my youngest son's dreads hanging over the table while he stood reading it (the whole thing), the lilies my oldest daughter bought me shadowing the page, the laundry and the totally shambolic family noticeboards in the background, that I will remember as the photo I wish I had taken to mark the event. Two nights before that I was rereading all our Beatrix Potterr books and cacking myself laughing over Pigling Bland. A price above rubies, indeed.
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