End of 2008

Let me start my "End of 2008" post by saying clear and straight: I have no fucking clue. None. I never have, and the older I get the more convinced I am I will never have one. Normally, I'm ok with this. Zen. Yoda. But not right now.

Right now, I would like a clue. A little insight. I'm having a tough time not getting bogged down in the moment. For the first time since high school, I feel like I'm in high school. And in case you didn't know me then, that isn't a good thing. I lack confidence, perspective, reality, and drive. I find it difficult to trust. I'm quick to anger and cynical. My heart pounds with fear. I'm getting fat again.

"Unclench," I tell myself. "Really, it works its way around, this world. You don't have to push it." I'm carrying the baggage of the past few years too heavily. My past mistakes, losses, responsibilities, and failures are heavy like dripping canvas laid over my head.

And that's not right. Why is it so easy to feel those burdens but so difficult to remember the blessings, wins, privileges, and successes? Why don't they dry those canvases, fill them with laughing gases and launch me into the air? Maybe they do for you. I hope so. For me, it's tougher.

There are some fundamental principles that I want to live by, and I will try to adhere to them better this year. Here are the ones of which I am aware:

1) My daughter first.
2) My happiness is my responsibility, and I can't ignore it.
3) Trust my gut on people. I'm really never wrong when I listen.
4) Get past the grudges.
5) Breathe deeply.

Goodbye 2008. You did a good job of proving to me that I still don't have a clue. But really, that hasn't stopped me yet.

Tune a fish

It has been a while since I blogged about my odd conversations with Miss Neverpoop. I know that these days are limited; the ones where she tells me what she is thinking and listens to what I say. Pretty soon, I will be an annoying voice to her. I will be that guy warning her about boys and reminding her to do her homework and making her help around the house. She has already begun questioning the wisdom of daily naps.

Her negotiating skills are incredible. She would have sold weaker fathers used cars and public bridges by now. She has her parents figured out. She knows that Dad doesn't negotiate with tiny terrorists. She knows that Mom would drop a glass of water when dying of thirst to play with her.

But I think my favorite has been her recent attempts to explore humor. She is very interested in puns and word play, using "toot" and "pants" in conjunction with absurdity. ("This story is about a fairy named Tootypantshead!") Obviously, I have influenced her for the worse.

Lately, she has been naming me after her favorite foods. It makes her laugh, and is often accurate.

Me: Time to put on your coat and head home, Monkey.
Miss Neverpoop: Sure thing, Sucker!

Or even better:

Me: You're pretty wound up today. You must be a giggle-squirrel.
Miss Neverpoop: And you're a cheesy cracker!

How's that for surprisingly accurate?!
Thankfully, her humor isn't limited to just me as the target. Our close friends are part of the fun.
Miss Neverpoop: "I like decorating gingerbread men. I like blue and red and sprinkles. My gingerbread man is going to be Matty, so he won't have any hair."