So I got to the part where running becomes awesome. Naturally I'd heard about the phenomenon so I wasn't blindsided and moved to obnoxious evangelicalism or anything, but it's been neat to experience first hand. Now days without any running in them are worse days, and days with any amount of running in them at all are better on a pro rata basis.
I still don't like running with non-bare feet, but it's winter and the people at the gym won't let me run in the gym with bare feet because they are bastards. Even if I try to sneak in without covering my feet some purse-lipped whistle-blowing shit-sucking tit-rat who hates bareness will always tattle on me because they are bastards.
All of a sudden I can run for a very long time without stopping or slowing down. I forgot to notice that happening gradually. The body is a keen toy!
THE SEX SECRET
I didn't realize that sex just got better and better, but then again I had a taste for very jaded comics when I was young. I'd always thought after being married to people you got tired of having sex with them all the time, which explains high-definition pornography subscriptions and also many extramarital affairs and some murders.
Granted, I do understand that because I have one of those true love marriages certain conclusions from some of even the best magazine polls may not apply to our situation directly. Never the less I can honestly say I've never stood in line in the grocery store check-out and read a headline about the positive feedback loop of single-focus multi-session milfuckery. Which I guess is another reason I don't read a lot of magazines. They don't apply to me and also they sync poorly across non-proximal locations. But mostly because they don't apply to me.
And, yes, I know you're not supposed to talk about milfuckery. It's like one of those underground membership leagues for raw pugilism. (In that the first and second rules both concern the discretion inherent in underground membership leagues for raw pugilism, made explicit lest the slower among us miss the original reference. Because meta.)
I don't fully understand why milfuckery is such a taboo subject. It's not like admitting the mother of your children puts out somehow robs her of mystique; your offspring are sufficient evidence that she dares to indulge in the secret sport. You can't be a MILF with the F, at least in part because the M is predicated upon it.
Is it modesty? This I have a hard time believing when people will relay anecdotes to me about drunken vomit and being in Mexico without access to a toilet. People will tell me things I couldn't possibly want to know about, but they draw the curtain of quiet dignity when it comes to the one subject that obsesses them most, having sex with attractive women? How does that make a lick of sense?
A guy will tell you how much a bitch his wife is when she's pre-menstrual, but he respects her too much to ever allude to how fun it is to hit that? Bologna. Malarkey. Piff-paff.
At any rate whatever the damn explanation is I'm bad with taboos so let me just say for the record that dedicated milfuckery is a high return investment. I can be a sucker for some pretty sweet sensory experiences -- a nice sandwich, a bubbly ale -- but no part of the day is as splendid and getting splendider as the full body contact part with no clothes and no words.
Like a stroll in the forest it's never twice the same journey, subject to weather and season and light. You know the way but not the colour it has today. You can still be surprised by storms. And sometimes it just rains and rains, eroding the landscape into something new. Finally, metaphors are stretched out on racks and forced to recant their native faith, because nobody expects the
Vitamin F. Part of this complete meal.
There's no beating around the bush about it. You know that part in Lord of the Rings where Count Dooku is back to camera, conducting evil wizardry, gesticulating and speaking in tongues into the wind, catalyzing a massive heaving weather system that surges into the pass between the mountains? Sometimes I feel like that about licking Littlestar's vagina.
I'm sorry if that's supposed to be an assumed but not said thing, but I'm saying it anyway. And I'm not even drunk!
(Well, not very.)
THE SWITCHEROO CONCLUDES
I've just handled the mantle of primary caregiver back to Littlestar after a four-month run of Mr. Momming. It was a quiet ceremony. Few dignitaries were present. I did not have to shave off my beard and talk to myself in the mirror in recovery from losing my shit and coming to realize some deep truths about my wife, my relationship and myself -- like in the movie starring Batman -- but it was still a very insightful experience.
Below is a selection of the things I have learned and/or experimentally proven this winter. They may be obvious to you, because you are very clever and sensitive people, but I thought I'd share them anyway.
In multi-child situations simply getting to tea time can be a big deal; providing services through to supper time is heroic. When you, the professional spouse, come home for dinner, bear in mind the day has a history and the quota for patience may have been exceeded hours previously. Accept the hand off gracefully and complain about idiots at the office and/or idiots on the roads later on. I sort of understood this intellectually before, but I understand it viscerally now.
Many temporary deficits of attention and focus can be remedied with brisk physical exercise. It's like a free coupon that erases fidgeting and restlessness. If the buggers won't settle down, three miles on bikes. Takes less than half an hour, even if you account for some snivelling. They can be frog marched through deep snow, too, a mile or so. Takes the edge right off them. Hyperactivity, boredom and wandering minds can be tamed. Make them sweat, and you will have peace.
The easiest time to lose momentum is in the morning. Make the morning hop and the afternoon will fall into line.
It is unnecessary and ineffective to tell children that the correction or admonishment you are delivering has been delivered previously or even delivered ad nauseam. As parents we accept that repetition and follow-up quality assurance passes are our crosses to bear, and that reminding the children of these facts does not correlate with accelerated maturation. It's just an indirect form of complaining. Shut up.
Never trust kids. They are bastards. They don't even know what's real. Verify everything always.
Entertainment media via any and all platforms should be dose-controlled, like caffeine or acetaminophen. If your children overdose on stimulating media, immediately refer to the paragraph above that starts, 'Many temporary deficits of attention and focus can be remedied with brisk physical exercise.' Repeat as required.
So, you really think you have a method of brute-force simplicity that "cures" a picky eater? I will fucking buy you a child to do your experiments on, just to see the expression on your face when you fail, fail, fail. I don't care what anecdotes you have about your cousin. Fucking buy a child and put your money where your mouth is, you wrongful wronger. Wrong!
Pre-cook and freeze core foods. Identify and date with permanent marker. Have your AI of choice remind you of thawing times in appropriate advance of meals. Use timers to avoid neglecting items when multi-item preparation is required.
Plants really like to have their water regularly, it turns out.
The suspected smell of cat pee should never be ignored. Really I guess that goes for any sort of pee. There was a while there when the boy was peeing into the garbage can next to the toilet for some reason. WTF?
The best technical support people are those available first thing in the morning. Even at the lousy cable company where they are all bastards.
Hugging your children is seldom a wrong move. Casual touch is critical, too. If you forget to pet and bump and squeeze your children, what's the difference between you and pixels? I remain an emphatic proponent of all forms of non-molestational child-touching. Because mammals.
While it's nice to have some family snaps, when really cool stuff is going on cameras are crass. They are a barrier to experience. If you try to make me subordinate a genuine moment for the sake of somebody's recording device, I will cut you.
Children of any age will benefit from being read to, even if they are already literate. It is a kind of hypnosis. You can even read them really boring shit and they'll start to look forward to it. I had only previously been reading to them at bedtime, but I've revised my minimum requirements for parental reading aloud and now we're devoting much more time throughout the day to it. (Current rotation: Blubber by Judy Blume, Thoughts of Marcus Aurelius by Marcus Aurelius, and the King James Bible by God.)
Also, verse. Children require daily poetry readings in order to get through the thousand bullshit poems you hate until you hear the one poem that you want to hear a thousand times.
Laundry day is a myth. Every day is laundry day. Boober FTW.
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