Tag: Parents

  • Painting Our Bedroom

    This past weekend was THE weekend for us to get our big Summer task accomplished; Painting our Bedroom.

    This has been a slow project of remodeling our bedroom, and making a space that we are both happy to be in. See, our bedroom has had to function as an office as well, and to accomplish this, we got ourselves a Murphy-bed a little over three years ago. And though I was against this type of bed, I have to admit that my hesitations were unfounded. We do live in a tiny New York City apartment, and every inch has to be functional and not wasted. But the rest of the room has been a hodge-podge of Ikea furniture that used to be in the livingroom, or in the kid’s room. Outside of the bed, everything else in our room is second hand news.

    Two years ago, we did a complete re-do on the kid’s bedroom. She was growing out of little kid stuff, and was knocking hard at being a tween, so we wanted to give her a room that felt more appropriate to who she is. When we finished up the kid’s space, the wife and I said that our room was next.

    Two years later, after much, and I mean MUCH, debate – we have landed on what we want, can afford, and most importantly, fit into our space.

    To start this whole process, we had to start with the walls. Well, I started with the walls by patching holes, sanding, and getting everything ready. When I patch the holes in our walls (these are the anchor holes for shelves, hooks, and pictures) it is a walk down the history of the wife and I in the apartment. All the different arrangements we have tried before the kid and after. I can also say that with over fifteen years of patching holes, I am getting pretty good at it.

    Then this weekend, we painted. The ceiling got a nice hue of primer white, while the walls got a good treatment of this aqua/blue color that has made the bedroom have this strange New England beach house feel. The furniture will be white with natural wood for the doors, drawers, and handles. I still need to finish painting the rest of the dark wood trim white, but it’s not a big room and I can knock that out in another weekend.

    When it was all completed, besides feeling exhausted and aching in weird parts of my body, there was a satisfaction in accomplishing a task that will help us relax. Sometimes, it feels like we are still coming out of Covid. What I mean by that is that we are still hanging on to some of our “bunker mentality” which is manifesting in the fact that we haven’t allowed us to have a room, a space, that is for us. Covid made us try to make the kid’s life as normal as possible, and be comfortable. She came first, and everything else, especially if it was for us, could be put off.

    It’s taken us awhile to say that the kid’s okay, we did our job very well, and that we shouldn’t feel guilty if we want to do something nice for ourselves. Like painting the walls in our bedroom.

  • Short Story Review: “Consolation” by Andre Alexis

    (The short story “Consolation” by Andre Alexis appeared in the May 20th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by André Derainne

    If you have read any of my reviews, then you know that I am a sucker for a story about death, especially if it’s a story dealing with the death of a parent. “Consolation” by Andre Alexis is such a story, as it deals with the death of both the narrator’s parents, but it is also about how parents’ shame can affect their children, can affect a marriage, and can affect the community they live in.

    The piece begins with the narrator telling how he got in an argument with his elderly mother over driving directions, and the narrator was so hurt but his mother’s anger, that he didn’t speak to her for two years. Only when they reconciled, did the narrator learn that his mother had dementia, and most likely the fight was a precursor of her disease. This leads the narrator to recount the death of his father, which happened a decade earlier, and though we feel that the son loves his father, we also learn that the father was a serial philanderer, thrice divorced, and despised by the narrator’s mother for the infidelity. Then the narrator tells us the story of his father, who was born in poverty in Trinidad, worked his way up and out by becoming a doctor, and then married the woman who would become the narrator’s mother. Together, they started a family, and moved to Canada, to a small all white town, where the father dealt with the indignity of the town’s prejudice, to become a respected member of the community. It is also the place where the father’s infidelities began to be noticed, and affect the family.

    This is a well thought out, and written, short story. The characters are compelling. The family dynamic is honest, complicated, and uncomfortable. It’s paced well, has a very unique climax, and I just didn’t like this story when everything is telling me that I should. I have been thinking about, and thinking about it, and I should like this, but something just feels off to me. And today, it came to me; it’s passion. Which is even more striking as there is a paragraph in this story that is about passion – between the father and another woman, and the son realizing that this moment of discovering this passion lead him to his career as a lawyer. That this is a story about passions, between lovers, between family members, how they can spark trust and betrayals. Yet, I found the narration less than passionate, which I can only say was done on purpose. This passionless narration juxtaposed with these lives driven by different forms of passion which elicit reactions of shame, desire, and anger. I go back to the start of the story and the narrator describing the argument he had with his mother. The way it is described is almost clinical, factual, without any hint of what the narrator was feeling. It is an event that is only described and not felt. I get the decision to write this story in this way, to make the point that is needed for it to have its conclusion. This artistic choice left me feeling divorced from the emotions of these characters, which explains why I couldn’t connect with the story.

    I will fully admit that I am the odd man out here. I can totally understand why people will love this story, and be dumbfounded by my inability to relate to this piece. Yes, it’s me, and it is not Andre Alexis. You should read this story, enjoy it greatly, and then shake your head at me for not getting this story.

  • Moving Stuff Around

    After Thanksgiving, like the day after, is when we put up our Christmas decorations. And to be honest, we never had a good place to put our tree. The curse of a small NYC apartment: There is a never a good place for anything.

    But this year, the wife came up with a good idea, which was to move our lounge-sofa away from our windows, and place the tree there. The tree looked nice in that location, and with all the other decoration we put up, it looked very festive, but cluttered – a Christmas explosion.

    Anyway, I mentioned before that we take everything down after New Year’s, but with the holiday on a Monday, and everyone back to life on Tuesday, we didn’t get around to cleaning up until this weekend. It took all day Saturday, but we got it done. Life had returned to normal, but we decided not to move the sofa back. We were tired, and ready to relax.

    And something amazing happened.

    The new placement of the sofa has changed the whole mood and flow of our apartment. You could logically assume that we were just reacting to something being “new” and in time it will wear off. But I have to admit, for the past two days our home has felt different, more home like, peaceful, calmer even.

    Is it possible that the placement of the sofa was holding us back? Does anyone remember Feng Shui? That was a pop-culture thing, right? Was that real or something made up to sell sofas?

    The funny thing is that I remember being a kid and my parents would do something like this very randomly, like every few years; that they would get a bug in their ear and just start rearranging the furniture in the home, and then talk about how much better everything felt.

    So, I have discovered another way that I am slowly becoming my parents. Not that I mind.

    No… Maybe the better way to think about this is that I am coming to a better understanding of who my parents were.

  • Lack of Sleep

    Oh, lord in heaven… we did not sleep last night in our home.

    The kid had sleeping issues, and it was difficult for her to fall asleep. Every half hour she was up, and it went on until 1am. This doesn’t happen very often, as the kid is a great sleeper. She always has been. Even as a baby, once you put her down, she was out. In fact, we stopped telling other parents about how well our daughter slept because we could just feel the red-hot hatred and contempt that would get shot at us from our sleep deprived friends.

    But this was hard. I think a little of it had to do with the Sunday Night Blues, and not wanting to go to school after a fun weekend. Also, I think she got a little too wound up after dinner with TV, and video games. Normally we turn screens off a half hour before bed, but we slipped up as parents. And once the kid starts having difficulty sleeping, it’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. She gets so worked up that she’s not falling asleep right away that she starts worrying that she’ll never fall asleep.

    What we were left with was a family all worn out in the morning, but we powered through it.

    For me and the wife, who seemed to have lived most of our life without enough sleep, it just felt par for the course.

    But, oh, the kid… poor kid. This was a special kind of awful that she wasn’t sure how to deal with. She was quiet, this morning, but she got up, ate breakfast, and got ready. We left on time, and made it to school early, in fact. But, it was her being quiet the whole time which was the tell that she was not having any of this.

    I wish I could tell her that life as a grown up isn’t normally like this, but this is what life as a grown up is like. You never get enough sleep.

    And when you do sleep, you wake up early for no reason at all.

  • The Scourge of Dads Who Rap

    This morning as I was walking my daughter to school, she started talking to me about what she considers her “look.” You know, the fashion and style the uniquely defines who she is. Right now, that would be carpenter pants, tee-shirts, and over-sized cardigan sweaters. (Let’s go 90’s!) Then I told her that I used to dress sort of the same way back in high school. And to a degree, my go to look is still jeans, tee-shirts and a sweater.

    I became curious, so I asked if I had a “look” that was apparent?

    I was told that I dress like a dad.

    Is that cool? I followed.

    No.

    Is it embarrassing?

    Not really.

    Is it as embarrassing as a dad rap?

    She grew puzzled. What’s a dad rap?

    You don’t know what a dad rap is?!?!? I was honestly shocked that this had not entered on the radar of my kids life.

    For those of you who don’t know, this is the best example of “Dad Rap” I know of:

    Yes, back in the late 80’s and early 90’s, us kids were subjected to the scourge of dads trying to rap. Just as in the clip, dads would turn the baseball caps around, do weird things with their hands, and always, and I mean ALWAYS, use the “I’m (dad’s name) and I’m here to say…” line.

    I guess it was always meant as a joke by dads. The cringe factor, and trying to embarrass your kids. But it happened so often. Like, at school, PTA meetings, at church, at friend’s houses, little league games; anywhere there was a dad and a group of kids, a dad rap was bound to show up.

    And the other thing that The Simpsons gets 100% Right, are the kids begging for Homer to stop and promise never to do that again. I think the only thing missing would have been a kid angrily reminding their dad that they’re not cool.

    I was lucky enough that my dad never did anything like this. (No, his song that he’d sing to embarrass us was “Doo Wah Diddy.”) But even though he didn’t rap, I do remember thinking as I watched Kevin’s dad rap about putting hotdogs on the grill, that I would never dad rap in front of my kid, let alone their friends.

    So, as we walked to school, I tried to explain to my kid what dads rapping was, why kids hated it, and how it was so awful and embarrassing. I wasn’t doing that great of a job, because, devilishly, she asked me to do a dad rap, so she could know for sure what it was like.

    So I did it. I did the “I’m Matt Groff, and I’m here to say…” line. Followed with, “I love my daughter in a major way.” I turned my ballcap around. I did weird had gestures.

    It did make the kid laugh.

    But she made me promise never to do that again.