Category: Parenting

  • Mask Free NYC

    Today is the first day that New York City has sort of done away with their mask mandate. Well… You still have to put on a mask if you use mass transit, but I think I will be doing that from here on out. The most important mask free part of the City are in the schools; no more required masks in the classrooms.

    Last night, the principal for my daughter’s school sent out an email, reminding parents that masks would be optional starting on Monday morning. Then she went on to request that parents talk to their children about respecting each student’s and family’s decision on whether to wear a mask or not. No teasing will be allowed, and we must respect each other’s choices.

    And we did talk to the kid about all of this. We asked her if she wanted to wear a mask or not; her choice was not to wear a mask. Then we talked to her about respecting her fellow student’s choice to have a mask on or not. That each family has to make that decision for themselves, and what might be right for them, could be different from us, and that’s okay. She said she got it, and would treat everyone the same. As we headed out for school today, the wife and I put a mask in her coat pocket, and another one in her backpack. We reminded her that it was okay to change her mind. That if she wanted to put her mask back on, she could.

    At the schoolyard, where all the kids line up before going in, I have to say that it was a 50/50 split of all the people there. The kid’s teacher had a mask on, and so did the vice-principal, and I understand that decision. They are the ones on the front line, but also, that mask will also help cut down on catching colds and the flu. So, I respect that decision.

    But what jumped out to me was that here we all were, (parents, students, teachers and staff,) doing what we think is best for our kids and ourselves, and everything was fine. Tomorrow might be a totally different situation, but at this moment, everyone is cool with everyone else’s choice.

    Walking home, it really didn’t feel like that much of a change. It still felt like it did the day before, with people in and out of masks. Everyone going about their business; Coming and going, still looking kind’a annoyed. You know, the New Yorker face.

    For me, it feels like a small step forward. I know we aren’t back to normal, and there is a good chance that we will never return to what normal was. But a step, even a very small one is progress.

  • Good Old Kurt Vonnegut

    It was a slightly strange weekend. First of all, I was a horrible father, and showed my child a movie, which I thought she would find entertaining, but actually just gave her nightmares. I speak of 1999’s The Mummy, which I thought she’d find fun, and not scary. I mean, this is the same kid that had no issues with any of the Indiana Jones movies’ and their face melting, heart removing, and weird aging/dusting thing. Nope, total miscalculation – Mummies are very scary to seven-year olds.

    So, I’m a shitty dad, or at least that’s how I felt Friday/Saturday night.

    The kid couldn’t sleep in her room alone, so I stayed up with her on the pullout sofa. I was looking for something to watch that would put the kid asleep, but still keep me engaged, and I found a documentary about Kurt Vonnegut on HULU (This is not a movie review) that fit the bill. Though Vonnegut is one of my favorite writers, I really didn’t know anything about his life other that he sold cars at one point, and got divorced.

    After watching the documentary, I had two questions I wished were answered; first, why did Vonnegut choose to move to Barnstable, MA from Schenectady, NY? I get that living on Cape Cod is cool, but did he know someone there, did he vacation in the Cape first, did he read an article about the place? I mean, what was it? Second, how did Vonnegut, who by his own admission was just getting by selling short stories at this time, afford a home on Cape Cod? I am assuming that Cape Cod has always been Cape Cod, which means it has always been in demand, but back in the 50’s, were homes really that big AND inexpensive that an infrequently published, and modestly monetarily successful writer could afford a home? Was his wife supporting him?

    I really feel these questions need to be answered, as I think this is the failure of most biographies; they never explain how an artist paid their bills when they had no money, and still found a way to create.

  • Selfish with My Time

    This past Friday, I mentioned that I had seen a listing for a theatre job that I was interested in, but wasn’t sure if I should apply for. I was going to take the weekend and think about it, but most likely, I was going to submit a resume no matter what, because what do I have to lose.

    Well… I totally forgot about the job. I mean, we did have a busy weekend with Friday movie night, and a birthday party on Saturday afternoon, and then there was the Super Bowl, and by the time Monday came around, we were back in the swing of the week.

    Then this morning, as the wife and I were walking back from the gym (you read that right) she asked me if I sent in my resume for that job. Thus, why I can say I forgot about the job as that was the first time I had thought about it in three days. First, I might not be real “into” the job if I forgot about it. Second, and I told my wife this, I really don’t want to give up my time with our daughter. I don’t like being in debt and feeling stuck, but I’m only going to get one chance have this time with her, and I don’t want to give it away to people who don’t deserve it.

  • Feeling Off Today (Unedited)

    The day feels off. In fact, it felt a little off right before I went to bed.  Then in the middle of the night, the kid woke me up, which was right after midnight, so it was like the day did in fact start with an issue. I think the kid needed to blow her nose. That was the problem I was tasked with solving. Which I did, and then put her back to sleep.

    And since then, it’s really been off.

    I got back to sleep but never really fell into a deep sleep; I was always aware that I was just barely asleep.

    So, this morning has felt off. And I have felt frustrated.

    I rewrote my cover letter for submitting, but I haven’t been able to shake the nagging voice which keeps telling me that this is a big waste of time, and nothing will come of it.

    And as I was researching literary, again the thought of failure keep coming at me. That, again this is a futile exercise. That I don’t know enough. That I don’t belong. That That That…

    It’s exhausting constantly fighting with myself.

    I know being tired doesn’t help, but I think I need to admit that I am a little afraid too. I’m afraid to fail. I’m also afraid to be laughed at. I’m afraid too because I have nowhere to hide. In theatre, I had a character or a puppet to hide behind. With my stories, it’s all me, and that’s putting the fear in me. I feel exposed.

    But, I don’t like feeling worthless either. Not having a goal, something to work towards, is a pretty awful feeling as well.

    Gotta push through it.

  • Nothing Particular

    The domesticity of my life has taken precedence today. Meaning that I had to make a meal plan for the family, and then go grocery shopping. The chores that need to be accomplished for the stay at home parent. I’m not complaining about these tasks, but I was bad at planning them this week. Normally I make the plan and shopping list the night before, so that I can go take care of it as soon as I get done dropping the kid off at school. Thus, freeing up the rest of the day for things I want to do.

    So, I got a late start today, and as such, I am writing later than I was planning. Some days are like that. Some days are just go go go, and I don’t get what I want. It has to be delayed, because I’m a grown up, and that’s what life is sometimes like for a grown up.

    And as I ran my errands, walking through the Upper West Side to get to the Trader Joe’s, the pang of missing my mother hit me. Not crushing, but just that a pang because out of nowhere, I thought about her stuffed peppers that she used to make, and home the smell of those peppers cooking would permeate the entire house, and how I hated that smell as it informed me of a meal that I wouldn’t enjoy, but there was no sense in complaining. The rest of the family loved it, and I was the odd man out that would have to put up with it. And even if my mother magically came back and made stuffed peppers for me, I still would not eat it. That meal sucked.