On an Average Morning

I awoke this morning to Reedu vomiting in the bathroom. She had the stomach flu that's been going around. I threw on my pants and went in to Mylo's room. He was standing in his crib with a small reservoir of diarrhea contained inside his pajamas. After an emergency-cleaning in the bath, I handed him off to Reedu (who had finished vomiting at that point), put the leash on Ella, our ever-needy pitbull, and took her downstairs for her morning business. I returned shortly after with a bag of dog excrement, threw it in the garbage can behind our apartment, and went directly to the bathroom to scrub the diarrhea off of Mylo's pajamas.

I handle more bodily fluids every morning than most people do in a... well, I really have no idea how many bodily fluids other people handle on a daily basis, but suffice it to say that I handle a lot. And nobody said a thing about this to me when Mylo was born. No one said there would be a veritable cyclone of bodily fluids flying around me every day. And that many of those fluids would require my direct involvement in some manner. Not a thing. There were a lot of snarky little comments about how little sleep I was going to get. There were a lot of jokes about babies being 'game-changers'. But there wasn't a chapter in any book, not a conversation with any older dads, not a thing anywhere about preparing oneself for the sheer tidal wave of biological matter that was fast approaching. Now, in all fairness, a big part of this reality comes from the fact that I am a Dad/Pet Owner. Having a dog and a cat is a big part of the equation. But just the same, I could've used a warning. Not that I could've done anything about it, I'm just saying... someone ought to put the word out.

As the old saying goes, 'from shit, grows flowers'.

Stuff

The bread is in the dishwasher. The maple syrup can be found in the bottom drawer of the TV console. And our spare keys basically live in the watering can we use for our plants these days. Why the odd assignment of objects to places that they have no business being? Because objects have no contextual meaning to Mylo, their only value lies in how much noise they make when jiggled around, or how well their shape allows them to be perfectly jammed into some other random space. And so there's a wonderful kind of disconnection that forces one to look at everything in a totally different light-- you thought spatula's were used to flip pancakes and were contained in a pot on the kitchen counter? Nonsense! Now they're used to swat living room furniture and they live in your sneakers by the front door!

The daily objects of our lives, the things that we've taken for granted and absentmindedly assigned so much meaning to-- the healthcare bill, Reedu's jewelry, my checkbook-- are wrenched out of context, their intrinsic meaning thrust aside, and used simply as, well, objects. Stuff. The healthcare bill's only value lies in it's existence as a white rectangle with a cellophane window that makes a great noise when you crumple it up. The crystal's on Reedu's jewelry-- passed down from her grandmother-- apparently feel very funny when you put them on your tongue. And my checkbook makes a terrific noise when you tear apart the cardboard box. This is their value, their meaning, their only worth.

The compulsive, orderly side of my brain is, of course, driven mad by this constant chaos. But the other side of my brain (whatever side that is) loves it. All the everyday items that we take for granted, that we have assigned such significance and purpose to have, essentially, been turned on their head. All the stuff has been rendered, simply, as stuff. You thought your belt was perfectly designed to keep up your pants? Silly you! Belts are intended to swing around one's head and drag across the floor in ever increasing circular motions. And they can be found under the dining room table when not in use.

Toothbrush, iPod... need I say more?