Invite design for my 32nd birthday party. It was fun.

( or download property.mp3 )

This summer, Nelsie, Sophie, & I are participating in 5090. It’s a songwriting contest. You can read all about it here, and my reaction here.

This song is called Property, by Ralph & Nels Hogaboom. Just a regular jam is all.

It looks like an in-house brand that targets stores owned by Safeway -Randall’s, Carr’s, Dominicks, Vons, Genuardi’s, et al. Anywho, after purchasing groceries, and with one child barely under control, I still stopped by the managers office to tell him what I thought.

“I find the ads offensive,” I said. “I don’t like being told by my grocery store – which has no right to dictate my family job roles – told by my grocery store that baby diapers and wipes are for my wife, not for me. Actually, it makes me mad as hell.” He thanked me and I left, but can’t really stop thinking about it. For a few other reasons, too.

I’ve heard some great conversations going on about what we should be using and putting in our bodies. Organic produce, rBSTs, etc. The same is true of child care and chemicals et al in some products. Suddenly I find that Safeway/Mom to Mom is excluding me from that conversation. Made by moms, for moms. Don’t bother asking 50% of the responsible party.

Look, I can appreciate that Mom to Mom wants to celebrate (& monetize) the special connection mothers have within families, often as the primary caregiver. But it’s inappropriate. We should, all of us, be celebrating the family that comes together in sacrifice and service to each other when we have children. When something becomes exclusive to the mom, it takes responsibility with it, squarely on the moms shoulders. Aside from implying a bigger workload for mothers, it excludes dads from the conversation, which tells the child they have reason to doubt both parents can confidently raise her.

Happy Christmas!

Dread Pirate Foster’s 4th Birthday Party from ralph hogaboom on Vimeo.

This savage also understands intuitively the role that status plays in our modern world. At the end of the bath time, I prompt him “Say goodbye, soap.” He looks at the soap, but catches the trick. Addressing the Enhancing and Revitalizing shampoo with a serious look, he says “Good-bye, Dampoo.” Then, and only then, can he address the lowly surfactant with a simple “Good-bye, Doap.”

When I’m at work, I’m a buoyant fount of comedy and helpfulness. I’m significantly less so at home.

I now generally have a tendency towards low self esteem. I default to Deny, Failure, and Loss. But as far as my fatherhood, I take it seriously. I put time and thought into my actions. I put a lot of work into it. To confess less than peachy at home is hard.

There was this conference I was going to go to. The Mankind Project. More of a ‘finding yourself’ retreat, but I imagine it as something with mannish versions of The Trust Game. One of the testimonies in the brochure I had read something like this:

“I was in wonderful relationships with my family, but I wasn’t expressing who I was. I had lost the exuberance of my youth, and this weekend I found that and am now sharing who I am with my family. It’s been life changing.”

I found some truth in that, in relation to the work/family dynamic. I mean, what is it about my Dadness that can’t be as lighthearted? A visitor wouldn’t see it. They’d see that I get down on my hands and knees and play – often, too much even. I get grass stains on my work slacks because of it. They’d see I let my kids climb all over me, and I make jokes often with my wife.

But it’s not the same, it’s not really me. It’s just a part of me.

The old me, before kids, was a bit flamboyant. I took better personal care of my self and how I dressed. I was a wise-ass, all the time. I was very upbeat and lighthearted. I really enjoyed being around myself.

I can’t tell where the darkness creeped in. I somehow became someone different at home. Please don’t misunderstand me – I don’t prowl the halls at midnight like a savage beast with blood dripping off my fangs. I get home and immediately pick up my kids in my arms, and go play. We set the table, we all have dinner together. I usually get to bathe both of them and put them to sleep. I Am Not A Dad Who Comes Home And Sits In A Recliner To Unwind. I strongly reject that concept.

What I’m trying to say, and what I fear will be misconstrued, is this:

I don’t understand why I act differently at home and feel less like myself. I don’t know where the real me goes, and I’m uncomfortable scared about that.

Having admitted this to myself, for the first time, I wonder what tonight will be like.

Nels Hogaboom (no middle name as of yet)

born 8 lbs, 7 oz

21 inches long

home birth in the tub — water baby

The birth experience was really, really nice. I couldn’t imagine wanting to have a baby in a hospital again. Now that I’ve been all the way through the home birth, I can appreciate how — mundate — it is. It’s not some crazy, we-need-professionals-in-sterile-rooms Serious Operation. It’s a thing the woman’s body was meant to do, the body excels at doing. DLR said it best: might as well jump.