hunger

Daughter: "I'm just not hungry."

Me: "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you not hungry?"

"I...just aren't?"

"Is it drugs?"

"Huh?"

"Is it because you've been doing drugs?""

"No?"

"Is it because you've been worshipped Satan?"

"Huh?"

"Are you worshipping Satan while doing drugs?"

"Dad, I just know this is going to affect fishing season somehow."

With that, she returned to her room, having out-wierded her father.

growing kids and Disney adults

My daughter is back in school. When she was younger, I would receive a flood of information after the first day. Alas, my kid is now 13 and deep into the throes of "teenager-itis." We're lucky if there are three uninterrupted minutes of the day where she's not in her bedroom behind a locked door. So although she started Friday, information about her schooling (like most information about many non-Pokemon areas of her life) has not been forthcoming.

I try very hard to become stoic about this. She is in fact a teen, so her acting like a teen is pretty natural. Withdrawing from one's parents is in fact a normal part of becoming an adult. And it's not like I am without personal experience with the whole teenager thing (although my own personal teen years were one hundred and sixty seven years ago).

Still, it's trying. Every time I look at her, I see the person she is, yes, but then I also see the adult she's becoming and the kid she's ceasing to be. All are wonderful...but it's hard not to feel nostalgic for the version of her who would seek out ways to spend time with her father. I'm not too adult to admit that I'm needy, and her needing me less is difficult, to say the least.

Today, though, I did get to force her to spend time with me by having her fold laundry. Laundry is a weird task, because she offers little resistance to folding clothes. Same with grocery store runs...she still seems to  actually enjoy heading with me to the supermarket. There are plenty of tasks at which she lashes out as only a teenager might, but laundry and groceries are (at least for now) safe spaces.

So we're folding laundry, only taking brief breaks to pet and love the cats (my daughter opined that our cat Edalyn Clawford DuBose "looks like she's thinking of killing a man"). I ask about school, only to get "it's okay" and "it's too early to say a lot." Fair enough. I ask if she's in classes with her friends, but she's now taking all honors classes, and "I know a lot of the kids, but we're really more acquaintances at this point."

I'm getting conversation, but it's mostly in the form of baby steps until I ask my kid about her teachers. "Funny enough," she tells me while working on a towel, "most of them are hyper aware Disney adult-coded." This, of course, stops me in my tracks, so I have to ask. "You know the type of people who worshipped The Lion King and The Littlest Mermaid and such when they were young but kept that a main part of their personality even though they're adults? Kind of geeky and obsessed? That's them...but they're mostly really good teachers, so I don't mind it." She folds a washcloth before letting me know, "my social studies teacher is amazing."

It's moments like this I try very hard to engrave directly into my memories. They're also moments which make me feel the world will be made better by my wonderful child.

context doesn't always help

 There were three conversational highlights from today's grocery run. I will leave it to you to decide whether knowing the context helps or hurts the sheer level of awesomeness of these quotes.

Highlight the First

The Quote

"What about Narcolepsy Nancy's Juggling extravaganza?"

The Context

I had to stop by the library to pick up a requested book. They had some kids program going on, and when we asked the librarian, she told us it was a "crazy juggling show." Of course, my daughter and I started riffing on mental state-themed juggling possibilities.

Highlight the Second

The Quote

"I don't want to go through the five stages of grief in order to catch a walleye."

The Context

My daughter was telling me about what she's doing in Stardew Valley.

Highlight the Third

The Quote

"The great gummy muffin kerfuffle!"

The Context

When my daughter didn't give me a sample of the pre-packaged blueberry muffins I bought her at the store, I threatened to cut her out of my will.

the great outdoors

I needed to get out of the house. I hadn't left the house for non-shopping purposes since Tuesday, and although I am certainly as far away from "outdoorsy" as one can get, I've learned that being landlocked is not always healthy.

So I decided to go to a park and walk around...and since misery loves company, I made my kid join me. We get to the metro park, find a trail, and enter the woods. Within ten minutes, she's spotted "around twenty" dragonflies. Within twenty, her legs have become too tired, so we have to turn around.

On the way home, I try to take her to get ice cream. She refuses. Instead, we have to go to a produce store.

In this life I lead, even "getting outside" is a bit weird.

life isn't dull with her

At the grocery store, my daughter asked for a packet of beef jerky "so that when one of my games gets aggravating, I can know on it like a feral dog."

she has a way with metaphors

My daughter likes to go with me to the store. I don't know why, but she seems to legitimately enjoy shopping with me. She's now technically a teenager (and has had that attitude for a while now), so while I don't fully understand why she'll willingly accompany me, I will take the win.

Today, we were at a stoplight, and a motorcycle pulled up next to us. The guy on the bike had new country blasting on his radio, and Sylvia immediately started flinging out snark.

"I'm so glad that he's not only sharing his awful music with the world, but he's doing so at top volume. Why," she asked, "doesn't use ear buds?"

This gave me a chance to exercise my Mr. Know-It-All ability. "It's actually illegal to drive while wearing headphones. It makes it too hard to hear ambulances and such."

"Ah. That makes sense." She studied the biker for a few seconds. "He looks like the kind of guy who leaves his house on a cul-de-sac and goes to Bass Pro Shop every other week whether he needs to or not."

And this is when I realized that, as much as I love my child, I also kind of fear her.

house spirits

As a homeowner, some evil spirit who controls my domicile regularly adds to my agenda of projects. It's almost as if these very walls do not like nor trust me. I don't know why this might be the case (I got the best loan possible, honest!), but still, the building does its best to force me to do work for which I feel fully unqualified. 

Case in point: a few months ago, my back door decided to quit latching. At the time, I chalked this up to weather, mostly so I might claim to be a personal victim of climate change...for the bragging rights or something. Alas, spring and summer arrived, and the damn door still wouldn't stay closed...so it was my house's wicked intentions after all.

A renter would only have to make a call, and a professional (or a stoner who bluffed their was through an indifferent interview process) would come and apply expertise to the problem. I was left with just my wits and mechanical aptitude. Naturally, this initiated thoughts of doomsday scenarios.

As I have made clear before, home repair is not a natural ability. I do, however, have YouTube access, so I could at least consult with professionals...or at least enthusiasts...or stoners with webcams. Soon enough, I had a plan of attack.

But not, however, the confidence. I naturally tried the low-stakes solutions first. However, when tightening screws, lubricating the hinges, and animal sacrifice all failed, I knew I would have to move the door handle's scratch plate, and this would man chiseling out part of my door frame.

There's nothing quite like knowing one has to permanently and irreversiblly alter one's own house to freak one the heck out.

I brought out my freshly purchased chisel, along with a drill, screwdriver, holy water, Dremel, rubber chicken, cement mixer, and hammer. I prayed to Pan, the goat god. I texted Norm from This Old House and asked to borrow any talisman he might possess.

In short, I delayed in every way I could until there was nothing left to do but enter a fugue state and start carving out chunks of my own house. 

That's the last thing I remember before waking up in my garage. I put up my tools and went back into the house...only this time, the door closed and locked perfectly. I can only assume I was overcome by the spirit of some pioneer carpenter who defeated my house demon in single combat, because the work itself doesn't look half bad. Either that, or maybe I'm secretly a mechanical genius. 

I'm betting on the ghost angle.