Before I officially became one, back when I only imagined being a parent, I had all kinds of ideas about how it would go and how my kids would respond to my wonderful parenting. Then reality hit. I constantly screwed up, said the wrong things, got upset at stupid bullshit and just generally disappointed myself regularly. I looked forward to other chances and opportunities. I measured the time left until my kids moved on as adults or, much sooner, stopped listening as teenagers. That time used to seem so far away! "I have 12 years to make up for saying/doing ______" has been replaying continuously in my head during my time as a parent.
I've had a feeling since we moved back from the Philippines that time was slipping away. I grasp at it, but it's like trying to catch smoke. The 12 years to make up for everything is down to a number that I can easily count on one hand. It kills me. I try to motivate myself to be a better person and parent, but Kronos just sits by laughing as I cry about lost time.
It isn't about my time slipping by. I'm way past the amount of time that I deserved or earned on this earth, and I'm pretty OK with that. The feeling of discomfort is always about my kids' childhoods slipping by me. I started being a parent with unrealistic expectations for myself and my kids; this feeling is inevitable when you start from the wrong place. All hope is not lost. The two I have are pretty great kids, and I think I have it in me to get better at the job.
Josh Homme captured the essence of my struggle with parenting in Fortress, which he wrote with Queens of the Stone Age. Instead of imagining how everything should turn out, I began to realize that all that I could do was to provide a fortress for whenever they needed it. But just because I simplified the concept, it didn't make the job, or the feeling of failing at it, any easier.
We're trying to remodel our fortress for the baby. I have one cobbled together with tape and found materials, but it feels like I should know a lot more about fortress building by now.
Here goes: I'm finally buckling down to document this wild ride I've signed up for. The idea of starting a blog hit me back when we were waiting for our daughter Raven to arrive in the winter of 2021/2022. I messed around with the idea, put it off, and honestly, didn't get much done. This has been a familiar story of mine for about 30 years. I've wanted to journal and write with a lot of starting and a whole lot of nothing to show for it. Wouldn't you know it, the universe has its own sense of humor, throwing another baby into the mix, due March 2024. Looks like I've got a second shot at this. A lot has changed since I first thought about what life would be with Raven in it. I was freaking out, unsure about everything, and questioning whether I could hack it. Just yesterday, a friend caught wind we were expecting again and had that same look of disbelief—like, why would I go for round two (actually 4)? I get it. I've asked myself the same questions. When t
Here's the deal: I'm done making a mess of things, especially my workouts. So, I'm trying a new tactic: I'm letting AI take over my exercise regimen. Crazy? Maybe. But when your push-ups look more like a belly flop, it's time for a change. I'm giving the power to the algorithms. It's like having a trainer who never messes up, never forgets your weak spots, and always knows just when to push you harder. And if this goes well, I might just let this digital genius make more of my life decisions. Why trust a robot? Well, if you saw me in the gym, struggling through another set of whatever-the-hell I'm trying to do, you'd understand. That's me, the poster child for "help needed." So, I'm taking a leap into the AI abyss, where my left hamstring is more than just a vague concept. Sure, there's a bit of a rebellion from the human touch enthusiasts. But when you've got a track record like mine, a little robotic precision might be j
Hey, Dude! Since this is my first post to you directly, I should explain what I'm hoping to accomplish. As I start this blog, I'm struggling with honesty. How much do I divulge? Am I brave enough to make myself look bad even when it isn't because of a funny situation? And no matter how much I hide it, you'll see that it would be easy to let my flaws define me, so there's plenty of unflattering material. We'll see. I'm realizing this particular kind of honesty hasn't been a strong point of mine up until now, but it's probably the most important kind of honesty to have. In this spirit of openness and honesty, I'll start small and admit that I worry about how long I'll be around to know you. My father only made it until my youngest sister was 16 before he died. He was 53; I'm already a bunch older than he was when he died and you aren't even born yet. I've got my work cut out for me. If I'm super fortunate, you'll be reading
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