2009
Days of Wine and Roses
Today Simon and Wombat went to visit an octogenarian named Tito, whom they met by accident after taking a wrong turn onto his dead-end street in the Berkeley hills last Tuesday. Simon was exploring an unfamiliar area and ended up making a three-point turn in Tito’s driveway, and before you knew it the two got to talking–about Tito’s recently deceased wife, about his immigration from Spain, about the good a daily glass of red wine will do a person–and twenty minutes later he’d invited Simon to drop by any time for a chat and a drink. If Tito had extended that invitation out of mere politeness, this’ll sure teach him a lesson.
Simon’s solo outings with Wombat continue to impress me. Whereas I stay home with the baby–coaching his sitting and cheerleading his rolling–Simon takes him to the record store and the jewelry store and the cafe and Tito’s house. It’s all good–I’m teaching him “skills” while Simon’s teaching him “life”–but I can’t help look at their relationship now and see how it’s going to grow into something far more awesome than that which grows out of day after day of learning skills like Making Oatmeal*, Fretting Over Housework, and Staying Quiet in Your Crib While Mama Showers. All useful things to know, of course, but not exactly enriching in the way that composing a song is.**
I’m not sure where I wanted to go with this–lord knows I’m not going to shed my hermit shell anytime soon–but it seemed like a detail worth documenting, especially since Wombat won’t remember these early days. Also, I guess that putting this out there is a way of appreciating what we have. I feel like I’m always handwringing about finances, wishing at least one of us was earning a full-time salary, even though I know we’d be worse off even with extra money coming in. Yes, working part-time means we have to clip coupons and utilize defibrillator paddles whenever the electricity bill arrives, but it also means we don’t have to give our kid over to daycare (no judgment on those who do; I just know it’d call for daily defibrillation in my case). Basically, we’re working less (and earning less) but parenting more. How do you put a price on that?
These photos by Sean Slinsky
*Thank you, Heather, for your comment on this post. I totally forgot that oatmeal increases supply, which explains A LOT. Like, a dozen ounces out of one boob all at once A LOT. Yeesh.)
**Simon wrote me a pretty freakin’ brilliant song yesterday while I was at work and he was watching the kid. I think we all know which one of us wins the Mother of the Year Award…
2009
(How Do You Afford Your) Rock and Roll Lifestyle
Anyone have tips or tricks for protecting a baby’s eardrums during a loud concert in a small bar? Don’t say “Keep him away from loud concerts (and bars, OMG, bad mother!)” because, come on, my baby’s father is in a band, and that’s so cool, and jeez, it’s not like he’s two and able to toddle across the dance floor, scale a barstool, and order himself a pint. He can’t even drink out of a cup yet, let alone suck down a shot.
He was actually a dream at the concert, crying only when a stranger would get all up in his grill (note: he’s almost five months old; you don’t have to get two inches from his face for him to see you), and at one point he actually fell asleep in my arms while the boys rocked it out so hard that one of the cranky-ass patrons slurred in his best outdoor voice after one particularly rousing original, “Do you have to play so goddamn loud?! Turn the fuck down!” At which point the bar went completely silent save for the blinking of everyone’s eyelids in disbelief.
In contrast to that guy, though, Wombat was on his best behavior and was beloved by all, from the moms and future-moms and grandmas in the fan club to the random and therefore creepy old guy who slipped me his email address on a napkin with an offer to photograph my kid with his professional equipment at no charge. I always knew babies were chick magnets for guys, but this was a surprising turn of events.
Anyway, that was Wombat’s second concert (although the first was more of a “recital” for Simon’s work band), and he’s got another one coming up soon, which means I need to find an earplug solution that works better than cotton balls. The cotton always ends up falling out, and I have to spend the entire show with my fingers in his grimy little ears, which really hampers my ability to chair-dance like the professional that I am.
Do they make can-style headphones for babies? Are earmuffs hopelessly uncool? Is there a Parent Hack for this sort of thing? I’m too lazy to Google, and this is what Internet friends are for, right?
(This is also what Internet friends are for: holding your baby while he’s wearing a kickass onesie from two other kickass Internet friends.)
