I’ve been learning from my daughter not to be so shallow.

For years–my whole life?–I’ve been consumed with the desire to be special. I was fairly convinced that I was not special, and really wanted to be so. I could ask myself “Why should you think YOU are special?” and any answer could be easily rebutted and discarded.

i had to have a REASON. I had to KNOW.

Veronica will be 16 months old this weekend. SHe’s been in my life for a long time. I love her, and I think she’s special. But the question remained “what makes HER so special?” She is a beautiful amazing child.

But every mother thinks this of her baby. She’s no different.

And the pain I went through–that I still go through–brining her into this world and up through life was monumental, life-changing and DIFFICULT. Just like all the other mothers and their babies. No different.

So I was being pulled, trying to find a path to special in this land of ‘no different’ that I walked through.

I don’t know how, but watching Veronica as she got ready for bed the other day…I saw the special. She is special. She plays with her toes just like every baby, but she DOES do it different. She is wonderful, beautiful and amazing just like every other baby, but she does it HER way.

I finally got it. That special means unique. It means snowflake. Nobody else like you.

Nobody else in the history of the world ate Cheerios just exactly the way Veronica does. Millions of babies have eaten Cheerios–the category is no different. But no one does it exactly the way she does.

And I appreciate that. Appreciation should be the outcome of special. EVERYONE is special. But not every person will be appreciated for their special unique qualities by every single other person.

It’s the appreciation that allows special to be so special.

So, instead of feeling that I shouldn’t be silly in talking of all the small things about my daughter, I am now free to notice and appreciate every single little thing. How she breathes–she has these adorable little sighs of satisfaction or thoughtfulness–and how she loves the dog and the cat and every little thing.

I’m wondering if I can do that for myself, too.


Sitting at home after a very exhausting day at work, and then an exhausting day at home while the husband recovers from sick.

I want to be doing something productive. But I’m too tired to move.

Can sleep be productive? Maybe…

the internet is killing computers

So I was thinking…I have my computer open all the time and I go check it a million times a day.

But what am I really checking? What work am I doing?

It seems that all I do is throw away spam mail, re read the stuff my friends sent me, and follow intriguing links on the margins of my email homepage.

I pride myself on not spending time on reality tv, but I’m just as much a consumer of mental cotton fluff as any national enquirer reader.

I am a consumer of content father than a creator of content. I think it’s time to step away from the internet. I shoudl not be wired.

Having a computer in front of me, and NOT having it connected is almost as antiquated as a fountain pen.

But what is this coming to?

Computers, and the people who love them, should not need the internet. Have we forgotten how powerful this device is all on it’s very own?

I have. I think I need to shut it off. Unplug and go play with some SOFTWARE for a while.

I hate making mistakes

I was sick last week, and it was jampacked with projects I had to do. And then there was this last minute emergency…

And the perfect storm of screwing up my monday began.

This not only screwed up MY monday but the vortex dragged down anyone who was nearby. It probably wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been sick.

But I was. And when I woke up this morning at 3 to feed my baby, I went back to bed thinking how the day was going to be long and arduous. Then I realized I had pulled down at least 3 other people into the vortex with me.

That made me feel VERY guilty and stupid. WHich of course meant I wasn’t going back to sleep.

Now a day that was GOING to last from 5 to 9 instead will be lasting from THREE to Nine. I hope I can avoid swimming in a sea of self-loathing all day.

My last thought before abandoning the bed was “Maybe I need to really get a calendar that I use EVERY day.”

I am going to have to slog through today. I hope I can find some positivity in it.

where does it fit

Well, I tell you…

I talk about work very seldom on this site. Mostly because this site is supposed to be my creative outlet, which is quite separate from work.

But work this week is super busy. And I am feeling sick. I am popping cough drops and have a scarf wrapped around my throat. Nothing this week, and probably next, can wait. I have to get this stuff done.

I hate being irreplaceable. I try very hard to have a backup for myself, but it doesn’t always work that way.

But that’s not what I came here to write. I am writing because I am losing my voice.

Get it? Can I flash the neon lights on that metaphor any brighter?

Yes, my voice is receding back into my throat. My throat aches with the burden. So, I can’t speak well, and i am writing on this blog.

I was looking at other, better and more popular blogs. I’ve had this blog for forEVAH. I like my blog, but It is not at all organized around a theme. It just acts as a scratch pad for the most part.

I kinda feel like I need to grow up and make something of myself. SIGH.

But you know what? I somehow doubt that even the best writer in the world ever grows out of the need for a scratch pad.

Just because this scratchpad did not produce the works of shakespeare doesn’t mean it is not a good thing to use.

can you tell I’m sick, feeling a bit of self-pity?

i bought O magazine, and Elizabeth Gilbert had a piece in it about how we ladies need to GIVE OURSELVES A BREAK ALREADY! She listed some amazing friends who had impressive achievements. And she said that each of them spent time agonizing over whether they should have gotten that French literature PhD (for example) or should be working on losing those 10 pounds.

So, this country, this state of mind–dissatisfaction and not-enough-itude–is a highly populated one.

I just pictured a bunch of people in the “Thinker” pose, feeling TOTALLY alone, but frustrated at the other people pushing against them. ‘I’d be able to concentrate on how deficient and lonely I am if only all these other people would leave me alone.’

well, that makes me smile anyway. Maybe I’ll drink some tea and that will help.

Strange twists

So…I was listening to another podcast of “Stuff you Missed in History Class” and this one was on the history of Vaudeville. Just something to keep my mind entertained as I follow my daughter around to keep her out of danger.

One thing really jumped out at me. Vaudeville, as they explained, was meant to be a clean, family-oriented entertainment. Storng language, such as “son of a gun,” was forbidden. Double entendre and low-brow bodily noise jokes, also a no-go.

Let me say, these rules were not completely followed. But the management of the theaters that held vaudeville acts did try to keep the bar high.

So, they could sneak things in, but the main point of an act had to be clean by the standards of the day. Comedic acts were very common, which is sort of amazing from my perspective today, because if you have no sexual double entendre, and no fart jokes, what have you got?

I will tell you what you’ve got: humor based on stereotypes. Remembery, vaudeville invented minstrelsy–otherwise known as black-face. They had to have a racial stereotype off which to bounce jokes. True, they did not only joke about black people (African-americans). Will Rogers was a “cowboy comedian” in vaudeville, and I’m sure he played up all the stereotypes of the western cowboy. And there were all kinds of ethnic types.

I’m sure that the audience was in many ways educated in what stereotypes they were supposed to hold about various ethnic types.

It seems to me that racial stereotypes were very very fostered by the censors who were trying to create ‘family’ entertainment. I doubt they had any intention of doing so, but I think racial stereotypes took root in our culture in a way they would not have without these restrictions.