. . . and then there was pickle.

Or how to pull a babysitter out of your ass in three easy steps.

One of the major things that has happened with me getting not just one job, but two - is an overwhelming need for Picklesitting. This also occurs when the Mother-In Law is on hiatus visiting the wife's sister in Seattle (yes, Zero Boss that bitter tension in the air is probably not a coincidence).

So here I am having to beg favors from any reliable source. I have even gone so far as to ship my mother in for a couple of days - having her bail on her adopted library kids. It is pretty desperate here.

I have been so preoccuied with the issue of finding childcare over the last couple of days that I haven't had to emotionally prepare myself for the actual moment of driving away from the drop off without her.

I have not felt this good about myself since I landed the 6 foot Romanian girl who didn't speak English on St. Patricks Day in 1999 when I was so drunk I couldn't speak English, but this morning as I got in the car . . .

That sucked.

I don't like crying. It's not a good look for me - especially at red lights, but there I sat feeling like I had abandoned my child to the wolves. In all actuality I left her with Mya's Mommy whom many of you have read enough about to know is completely trustworthy.

Didn't matter. I cannot recall feeling simultaeously so proud and ashamed of myself for one single act of going to work. I have to admit that I have not been able to ignore all of the subtle and sometimes not so subtle opinions of those who felt that I should be the one earning a paycheck. I kept feeling like once I went to work - it would show them that I was capable too.

In all actuality I feel very much like I've turned my back on all of the issues that I have come to feel so passionately about. I feel as though not only am I abandoning my child, but I am also turning my back on the validity of what I have been doing for the last seven months.

I do believe that having at least one parent stay at home with an infant is an invaluable asset to the development of a child. I think a father can play that role just as well as a mother, but unfortunately it is an asset that we cannot afford. I somehow feel that my going to work is an insult or degradation of the role and value of a stay-at-home-dad because in going to work I have walked away from my job.

I knew this day was coming but I don't think I knew how hard it was going to be to do the job - how hard it would be to deal with the insecurities it brought, and now to walk away from it. In the build up over the past couple weeks to getting work, I didn't think through one vital element - in getting these jobs I would actually have to quit the one I was doing.

One of my flaws is that I am never satisfied with the work of others. I am now passing off the care of my child to someone else, or rather, several someone elses, who I know will not put the same love and dedication into satisfying the lovely angel that is The Pickle. I dont want to leave my old job.

This is not easy, and as happy as I am that I have the work I do - I cannot help but wish I could clone myself to still spend my days with the little girl I have come to know and love.

Pickle's Papa

Yep.

I got the job, and one I wasn’t counting on.

I am now the co-coordinator for a local theatre’s youth outreach program. I will be producing four shows a year that will utilize high school talent, touring to schools in the greater Cleveland area. The program is to focus on key social issues such as abuse, suicide, etc.

I will be responsible for all aspects of production, booking, and fundraising. I will once again be the one-man-band that I was with my old company in the early days – except now I’ll have a budget, credibility, salary, and a product that I can actually rally some funds around.

I will be able to primarily work from home – which is good.

It is good because while I was waiting to hear about this job I got a call from a different local theatre wanting to know if I would be interested in acting in their touring show. It is an eight-month contract touring ‘The Hobbit’ all over Ohio, some parts of Indiana, and Pennsylvania. It is sporadic work that depends on the bookings and will work perfectly with my ability to build my own calendar with the outreach program.

When it rains it snows.

I am now dually employed as actor and administrator, and start rehearsal tomorrow.

This is more than I could have hoped for, and I am ecstatic to have actually landed a job that is not only in my field, but a step up from where I was – with the opportunity to build a program from scratch that will showcase what I am capable of as a producer and director.

This is exactly the kind of position I had in mind when I went back to school, and although the money is less than I was hoping for - the scheduling aspects allow me the flexibility to get freelance work as an actor and director, which will help to keep me balanced and sane.

So, yeah me.

Pickle’s Papa

Well, as we have been back from Hilton Head and parts South for over a month now - I thought, "What the hell . . . Why not upload those vacation pitures that have been eating up my memory."

This is a brief synopsis of the journey.

It all started well . . . The Pickle got everthing packed.

Upon arrival The Wife and Pickle hit the Pool.



Of course the true purpose of a family vacation to let the family smother the baby with kisses while mom and dad sleep.




But enough of this goofing off- we soon hit the road for one of the South's most beautiful destinations, Savannah. We did so under the direction and guidance of our navigator - El Pickle. The trip took longer than anticipated.



Hey Pickle, What do think bout Savannah?



Well, lets explore then.



Savannah is pretty cool.



But at some point you have to eat, and we did in the oldest standing building in Georgia - where Robert Louis Stevenson wrote Treasure Island. It had the most awesome southern style buffet and air conditioning.



The next major event was heading out on a fishing charter to catch some shark with a really cool guy, Coach:



This is one of my three.



Even the wife got into the act.



and yes, this is our family's fulbright scholar with the Black Tip she brought in.



Eventually it was time to head home though because . . .



Insert 'Home-Sick' joke here:



Pickle's Papa

For years now I have been attempting to win my nephews’ and niece’s love and admiration by spoiling them beyond normal means.

I have had to work this hard because I know that their mother, my sister-in-law, has the lowest possible opinion of me as a human being, and I am sure says very nasty things about me in regular conversation.

To prove to them throughout the years that I am not a bum, psychopath, or general miscreant I have gone out of my way to spoil them with things their parents wouldn’t allow (i.e. drum set, etc.).

I have also always done my best to be a very moral individual outside of the context of organized religion hoping to prove that ‘just you aint got god – don’t mean you can be a good person’ – that’s translated from the Greek.

This weekend I had my oldest ( 10 yr. old) nephew, Tall Boy.

He was dropped off on Saturday morning and I was to return him to the wilderness after the Indians game on Sunday night. For those of you who don’t know – I live in downtown Cleveland, and my brother has hidden his family at my father’s ‘Koresh Institute of Social Dysfunction’ in the part of North Central Ohio that the Amish thought was just a little bit too inconvenient.

He is home schooled for religious reasons, and is generally only allowed social contact with people from their church. This was a big deal, and it turned out to be an outstanding visit.

Saturday morning we went to the West Side Market, our old-world outdoor market, to let him see lamb skulls, whole pigs, and hear more languages being spoken than I am sure he knew existed. There also happened to be an arts and crafts festival going on in the neighborhood with tents lining West 25th street and makeshift easels set up along a side-street for graffiti artists to showcase their work in a healthy fashion – that was cool.

So we bought stuff for lunch, and headed home.

We then went for a walk around the neighborhood and bought ice cream from a really nice Shoppe along the main strip of galleries and boutiques. We stopped in one place that had a small Japanese serenity garden (sandbox with smooth stones and a mini-rake). The Tall Boy put the stones in the corners and raked out perfectly straight lines - then asked what serenity was. . .

Where’s Yoda when you need him?

It was then time to begin the sports segment of our journey. We watched the Browns play their third pre-season game (which they won) and bypassed the free modern dance performance that was going on in the park at the end of my street, mainly cuz I know the company and there was a possibility of me having to ask the Tall Boy to not mention some things he saw there anyway. So we spent the night watching football and I got to explain the difference between a Linebacker and a Safety and why you don’t go for it on 4th and 8.

Much fun.

We woke up to thick sliced bacon from the market, pancakes, and not making him shower before getting ready to go to the game. We then made our way to the corner to catch the bus.

One of the good things about my neighborhood is the public transportation, but one of the bad things about my neighborhood is the people that ride public transportation.

We began our wait for the bus with me being afraid that I was about to scar the Tall Boy into never riding the bus again. We seemed to be at the same stop as a bizarre tribe of white trash females that were beyond genetic analysis.

I spent ten minutes trying to figure out who was the mother of whom. There was one older alpha that was obviously the mother of the second oldest, but beyond that the lines got blurry – and they were all girls, and they looked like they ate their men.

Luckily they wanted a different bus than the Tall Boy and I. Our bus was clean quiet and got us to The Jake in less than 7 minutes.

This is where I get to brag. When The Pickle was born I knew that I would be less likely to show an interest in my brother’s kids as I have in the past – so I went out of my way to plan specific ‘big’ events that would make up for my overall lessening show of affection. I got approval and bought the tickets for this game in February.

Front row seats, in home run alley, in right field . . . awesome.

My family is from Detroit. It’s where my parents were born, met, and I was raised until I was 4. I remember watching the ’84 series on a black and white 13” TV being powered by a gas generator in the middle of the Arizona desert, while oceans of plumbers in the Detroit area with my last name cried openly in public.

When we moved to the Cleveland area in my early teenage years my father would generally take me to sporting events in which the Cleveland team was playing Detroit: Browns vs. Lions, Indians vs. Tigers, Red Wings vs. . . oh that’s right.

It was impossible to not become a Cleveland fan throughout the years. Who couldn’t love Albert Belle?

As a sign of respect, solidarity, and because the Tigers are a much better team than the Indians this year – I wore my Tigers cap instead of an Indians cap. The Tall Boy had me covered by keeping Chief Wahoo displayed on his dome. This way, one of us was always able to cheer.

As it turns out, there were just about as many Tigers fans at the game as Indian’s. This is not that surprising considering the way the seasons have played out so far, but it was shocking to me having watched so many games in The Jake in the glory days of The Tribe. It was odd to hear cheers when ‘The Other’ team did something.

There was a nice young couple from Detroit sitting next to us, and throughout the game the four of us had a blast. They wanted to know where to get food after the game, and I recommended a place just off the beaten ‘post-game’ path to avoid a crowd, and then decided to tag-along with the Tall Boy for fun.

It was really cool giving a tour of downtown to strangers, and simultaneously showing the Tall Boy how to be kind, and not be afraid of everyone you meet. I was a Good Samaritan, host, and uncle all at the same time.

We took The Rapid (the train) back into my neighborhood and walked the eight blocks back to my house.


The Indians lost. We had a blast, and I think the Tall Boy got to see a view of city life that I don’t think he could have imagined.

I am the best uncle ever.

Pickle’s Papa

And behold god spake unto my wife saying on the eighth day I have created buying in bulk . . . and it was good.

I was not there to witness the epiphany or the act of giving herself to the goodness that took place, but the years of preaching the good word have paid off – and The Wife has seen the light.

For when I returned from my day at work yesterday I found a plastic container of 24 rolls of toilet paper, 16 rolls of paper towel, and a box of diapers that may have had its own gravitational pull.

Halleluiah!!!


For you see my brothers, I grew up in a world where the peanut butter jar had to be opened with a can opener, and the dog food at the bottom of the 55 gallon drum was so stale that by the time Dutchess got to it . . . it doubled as a plaque scraper.

And for years - I have argued the point that we. are not. going to stop. Not going to stop needing these items any time soon . . . So why not buy enough to keep from having to run to the store for the same shit over and over and over?

And I believe. I believe that my wife was convinced that she could cheat death out of that second loaf of bread. Yes that's right, because if she didn’t buy it . . . and she happened to die (HAHAHAHA!!!!).

But the bulk buyer doesn't work that way . . . no.

I owe this miracle to my devoted OCD counterpart "Mya’s Mommy" with whom The Wife went to Target and, with the subtle art of a hooker on prom night, nudged my wife toward the understanding that, “yes, . . . that roll is a dollar, and THAT one is sixty cents.”

Now you must understand, Oh my bretheren, for years this has been a point of contention. A strained fragment of the tension between the wife and I, and one I had accepted to never . . . never find victory. And yes, I had reached that lowest of low places where even I had assumed that The Wife was not going to ever give into logic on this - and to continue her battle of will. Her battle of will against having to spend that much on toilet paper (I’ll save her aversion to pay for parking for another post).

I cannot tell you the joy, Nay, the love I am filled with to see my wife come full circle and finally understand that in buying that much at once - you’re actually spending less. Spending less on toilet paper. Spending less on Peanut Butter. Spending less on Sanitary Napkins . . . and less on gas for having to run to the store every two days to get some stupid shit that you’ve run out of.

And lo though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the Dollar Store. I will fear no Drug Mart. Thy Costco and thy Sam’s Club shall comfort me. For thine is the kindom of bulk and I will buy by the PALLATE!!

Can I get an AMEN?!!?

Pickle’s Papa

Necessity is the mother of desperation, and today I spent the day working with Ryan installing satellite TV in strangers homes. Not that if I knew any of them it would have made my job any easier, but at least then I would have had an excuse for my incompetence.

I have always been ‘handy’, but there is a big difference between working on your own project and being a professional technician. I am not a professional technician.

As I am still unemployed, not having heard back from my recent interview yet, and feeling the tug and twinge of the impending need for income – I ventured forth to do what most people do every day.

I left my home to go do a job.

I have led a spoiled, sheltered, idealistic adulthood that has enabled me to believe that one should be paid to do what one is good at and/or loves. Jobs have little to do with that premise.

A job is an exchange of your life for money. That is my rough summation of the concept. I’m not used to expending energy against my will. In fact I am not really used to expending energy at all these days.

My recent vocation, daddy, is more of an effort or exercise in will, determination, and logic. I am not used to the idea that my physical discomfort has an equal and reciprocated value in dollars.

Because today I was uncomfortable, and was so, in the pursuit of money.

This is a lesson I learned long ago in the mailroom of a best left forgotten newspaper where I was once the fasted ad stuffer this side of the Mississippi.

It is amazing how seven years working in your chosen profession will erase your memory, and work ethic.

I don’t like work. I love projects.

Today was a horrific reminder of how much I want to find a job in my field. I was once an excellent worker, and as I have aged and been spoiled - I am now perhaps the laziest man on the job that has ever lived.

This is not the historical path for me. I have always focused my OCD onto whatever task lie ahead of me – regardless of the job’s relevance or gratification. I think in my maturing understanding of the value of my soul and time, I have come to the acceptance - that toward many actions in this world . . . I just don’t give a shit.

I don’t care if you enjoy your television experience, but I do want to be able to wipe my daughter’s ass with hypoallergenic wipes - and today those two concepts somehow became related.

I am one in a thousand that discovered my calling, worked toward an education in my field – and built a resume and ties to the professional community that would allow for a sustainable career in the arts. I did so without wealth or family ties.

For the first time in my adult life I seem to find myself being pushed out of the center of my comfort zone in the working world. I know that I have said that this was a reasonable sacrifice to make for the support of my family, but when the act itself in upon you – it doesn’t feel very good.

And it isn’t that I look down on anyone that does anything but what I’m trying to do for a living. I think we all have different ways and approaches to satisfying our needs for personal fulfillment and the balance of financial support.

Ryan is one of the more intelligent people I know. He has a deeper understanding of all things scientific and mechanical than I could every hope to. He also has the vision and problem solving ability to walk into these people’s houses and within five minutes come up with an executable plan for the most time and cost effective solution to their unique situation.

I don’t care.

I think it may be the difference between a sculptor and a painter; or a gardener and a tree trimmer. I am definitely a gardener. I love to plant seeds and cultivate the right chaos for the right corner. Other people like to look at the chaos and whittle it down to a manageable and beautiful form.

The world needs both, but I haven’t been able to match my skill for developing a crop with the reality of feeding my growing herd.

Perhaps it is the same in parenting. It is the balance of the cultivation and the pruning that can make the stunning shape.

The trick is that as parents we don’t get to pick one role or the other. We have to do both, and I think that is what I am missing in my life. I need to relearn the ability to prune if I am to find the balance in my form.

Pickle’s Papa

The other day I was going through some of my old papers and such when I discovered a notebook of old writings and poems from high school. I was struck by how much, and little, my ideals have changed in almost twenty years. Hopefully my writing has improved.

This poem struck me as very relevant to a lot of my current questions regarding the development of a value system. I think I wrote this just about the time I realized I had one.

Life by the Lyrics


Elenor taught me
compassion for man.
The old fool on the hill
gave me patience at hand.

Comfortably Numb
taught me to set my goals as a human,
and Animals taught me
that life was confusion.

Lucy gave me dreams
when all seemed dim,
and Vera was there
to be my true friend.

The bombs did fall
as depression set in,
and the worms did crawl
as my dreams caved in.

The music told me
that life wasn't pure
and it told me that nothing
was ever too sure.

But it told me too
that if my heart was true,
anything I wanted
could be mine.

With hope, dreams, and
a life of pure goals;
no matter what happens
never sell your soul.

Because what you've seen before
will soon come again,
and that who was your enemy
will soon be your friend.

You can have everything that is,
and everything that will become
and everything, everything
under the sun.

I learned to live
and to be true to me,
because if I didn't
who would I be?

I set my goals to my conscience
not to society:
Least comes to money
chincy it may be.

Second to that
comes egotistical possessions,
and anyone reading this
could surely learn this lesson.

Then comes to others
that I do satisfy,
and now comes the toughest
that I fail, but consistently try.

Third is my country.
Second is me.
First and yet most ignored
is my sense of humanity.

It was my parents who actually
taught me right from wrong,
for you see it was them
that hummed me the song.



That, ladies and gentlemen, was crafted at the hand of Florence, AZ's 1982 first prize winner of the third grade poetry competition. It wasn't actually that poem that won me the prestigious honor, but I do think it was written about the time I was creative writing editor of my high school newspaper.

Yeah, I was that good. It's amazing I didn't end up writing for a living. Nowadays I kind of write so I can keep living.

Pickle's Papa

I am a horrible parent.

At six months old I have abandoned my child to the guidance and supervision of Baby First TV. I even went so far as to sacrifice my subscription to Playboy TV to get the channel in the door within our TV budget.

I can’t decide if this is a noble sacrifice or a pathetic example of how misguided I really am. I do love the channel. It is perfect for her cognitive development at this point; without commercials to plant the marketing disease in her yet.

The issue is that it is still Television.

She is already being conditioned to sit in front of the color-changing box and listen to the music. I really don’t like this, but I know it is doing a much better job of stimulating her development than I could without it.

I keep telling myself that the lack of commercials and regulated use will be a great developmental tool, but the truth is I am already using it as a crutch to my laziness. I am already plopping her in her exersaucer, and walking away.

That’s bad.

I need to be an active participant in her TV watching experience, but it is so easy to let it do all the work. What am I supposed to do? Stop being a lazy bastard just because I’m a parent? Oh. Well, I guess that would be a ‘yes’ then, huh?

I grew up without television as a child, and when we re-assimilated to functional society my parents went a wee bit overboard on the whole TV experience. In other words from the moment I woke up ‘til the second I went to bed there was the constant voice of a stranger in the living room.

It is still the case today in my parent’s house. Whether it’s the Weather Channel or Headline News – it’s always something.

When I was little - it was music, and for the majority of my adult life that has been the case. When I lived alone instead of turning on the TV, I would usually put on music and read - but these days it seems there is always the sound of someone talking at me coming from that box.

I don’t want The Pickle to think that is a good idea.

I need to figure out how to balance the positive aspects of the medium with the drawbacks of loss of input control, and numbing the nervous system to the subtlety of the general life experience.

I don’t know at what point the television stops developing auditory processes and starts teaching how to not listen, but I know it happens. I need to listen to her reactions, and gauge when to turn it off.

And here I thought this was going to make things easier for me. It’s scary to think that this box is going to be her first non-parent ‘teacher’, and with all of them in the future – we need to use our discretion and guidance to lead the knowledge she will glean.

If worse comes to worst then I guess I may be forced to read to her – Who knows?

Pickle’s Papa

OK

Due to popular demand, I will give some updates on posts and life in pickledom. I generally just rant about my concerns, but I suppose I could give some honest to god info.

My interview went very well, and I am even more excited about the job now than before. The sad news is that they have a ton of candidates, and I wont know for a couple of weeks.

The Pickle said Dada. Actually The Pickle is repetitively saying DADATHATHADABADADADTHATHA, but there was one time where she looked at me in the eyes and only said "dada". I came in my pants.

She is now mobile. She isn't technically crawling but she does alternating moves of combat crawl and on all fours fall forward. Her favorite is coaxial, but if she finds herself in a bad place she'll settle for phone line or speaker wire (the coaxial is saltier - that's where the cat pees).

Thanks to all of you linkers my technorati rank number is now less than 200,000. I am so close to victory I can smell it. P.S. if any of you fellow bloggers out there get chocolates in the mail - try them, they're really good - especially the ones that smell like almonds.

I seem to have acquired a nice, fun group of friends out there, and I would like to thank you all for your comments and support. I enjoy reading how my psychosis relates to yours.

I hope all of you enjoy my recent addition of advertising. I am one step closer to retirement now. I'm just not sure how they connect material to ads. I'm just glad they haven't wised up about me, and started to put the penis enhancement links here too. That would be really risky on their part - because we're not allowed to click on our own links.

Hope everyone is doing well, and I will post as soon as I hear anything about employment.

Pickle's Papa

p.s. almost forgot - NEW PICS at Pickle's Paparazzi

While many of you are reading this I am going to be at my first real job interview. I’ve actually had one other interview, but this is for the first opportunity that I actually want to get the job.

I am nervous.

This was the plan as The Wife and I drew it up: I was going to stay at home and take care of The Pickle while I finished school, and try to find employment when she reached the six month marker because that was the point we thought we would feel comfortable letting her begin some day care.

This would be that point when I need to find a job, and I am all kinds of conflicted on this.

The good news is that if I get this gig it would be a great deal of work from home, and work that I have done and enjoy doing with little supervision. All things good for my well-being.

The issue is that I don’t want to leave my baby. It is difficult to gear up for an interview that, as much as I want the job, would be very happy being told that I get to stay at home until the next opportunity arises – which isn’t very often.

The problem is that this could be a great job . . . but the kid in me loves the frosted side.

Now I’m just being redundant, but I cant get over the feeling like it’s a lose/lose situation. If I get the job I will probably lose three days a week with The Pickle; however, if I don’t . . . we wont be able to eat or pay our mortgage.

See, its really a very tricky balance.

I am beginning the process of preparing myself for having to leave The Pickle. I don’t like it, and I don’t want to do it – but I know it is an inevitability. If it isn’t this job it will be another, and perhaps one I wont want to do.

I guess the biggest issue is that I am actually having to come to terms with the fact that one way or another I am going to be rejoining the workforce.

I cant imagine The Pickle spending a whole day without either The Wife or me there as the problem solver in the moment to moment issues that arise throughout the day.

We are lucky in that the MIL is near enough to take up some of the slack, but the truth is that she will soon spend her first day in day care.

I don’t know which aspect of this will make me feel like more of a failure: if I am not good enough to get the job, or that I abandon my child.

I seem to have a very positive attitude about the whole thing.

I am feeling very insecure about the whole process, and have that horrible child sensation of wanting to throw a temper tantrum scream and cry running to my room yelling, “I don’t want to!!”

I almost wish that the job weren’t so perfect for me and my situation. I honestly don’t think that I thought an opportunity would arise that I would get excited about the work . . . but here it is, and I am caught between the decision of which selfish act is in my better interest.

My brain wasn’t designed for compromise. I could never make it in politics, and parenthood is turning out to be a real challenge . . . who’d a thought?

Pickle’s Papa