Obviously I am horrible at blogging and this is something no one will ever check out of regularity. Every time I post from now on I will start with an apology for not posting sooner. To Miles and the three people who check this thing, I am sorry. It’s not you, it’s me.
I don’t know when I will get around to posting this, but currently I am typing at 5 AM because I can’t sleep. Miles is sick and to say he isn’t sleeping well would be an understatement. He never really slept well to begin with, but now a mere week ago seems like the halcyon days of yesteryear. Is parenthood this hard on everyone or is it just me? I look at my parents, who had and raised four kids, and can’t quite figure out how they retained any kind of sanity through all this. Maybe being in grad school at the same time doesn’t help.
So anyway, I look at Miles with his crusted nose and horrible cough and see nothing but needs right now. That isn’t to say I don’t love him and I would really like to hear him laugh again sometime soon, but he seems so miserable and I am worthless to help. Contrast that with my afternoon yesterday. I went to a coffee shop with a friend from school to try to dissect Roland Barthes (ain’t no party like a free play of signs and signifiers party), but we mostly ended up talking about other things. She is much younger than me, but wickedly smart. As we were talking about a concept from class, she remarked that the concept reminded her of her mother (we were discussing presence and lack of self-awareness). She then relayed to me a story about her mom meeting and trying to befriend her girlfriend and the issues that have come about from this relationship. When I say she relayed it, I should say she dissected her mother’s personality and foibles like a surgeon. This women, who speaks three languages fluently and took a class in French critical theory as a FRESHMAN at her previous college, spoke in a really insightful (and still caring) way about her mom. What I ended up thinking is that this someday, if all goes well, could be Miles. What I mean is how does someone go from being all needs to knowing their parents so well they can speak critically (and I don’t mean that word as a pejorative here) of them. I can’t convey how much this blows my mind. She was once all needs, now she is a critical thinking machine. It’s amazing and it’s weighing heavily on my mind.
My friend Aaron relayed this story about Salman Rushdie a while back to me (maybe Rushdie wrote it, I don’t know), but I find myself thinking of it now. Rushdie talked about hearing this dog barking outside all through the night, ceaselessly, without any loss of energy or urgency. He thought, “what could be so wrong with this dog? What does he want?” Rushdie imagined it was the dog not understanding his place in the world and so he was howling at the night sky asking God to open up the universe a bit more for him.
I imagine Miles is crying because he doesn’t know how else to convey all those needs. It seems succinct. My problem is I have a (kinda) fully formed vocabulary and I still can’t convey my needs. We both are howling at the universe to open up a bit more, his way is just more direct. Unfortunately for Shannon, she has to deal with both of us.
Over the break Miles and I decided to head to the Wexner Center. They wouldn’t let me shoot videos of him looking at the Joel Morrison pieces and Katy Moran’s paintings put him to sleep (I thought she had a few nice ones, alas), but I was able to get a quick video before leaving.
Also, Miles wanted us to show off his new favorite toy. Since we bought it from a second hand store, we try not to think of all the germs on it.
Until next time, dear reader.