Author: Brett

The Gay Uncle spent another lovely day in the company of in-laws today, hiking through some brushy woods down to a ice cold stream, where he and the other nine family members were feasted upon by an endless swarm of deerflies and horseflies for several hours. On the way home, fed up with being trapped in the car, and full from a roadside meal, he and his sister-in-law Lizzie and his youngest niece Daphne decided to get out walk down the 1/2 mile driveway leading up to their rental house. Being sporting, Lizzie challenged the seven year old to a race, which, about six bounds in, led to the girl doing a giant stomach-skidding, knee-and-elbow shredding, face-plant in the dusty gravel. Obviously, crying ensued, and the kid was rushed back into the car for the rest of the trip. “Daphne,” Gunc’s mother-in-law said sternly after traveling about ten feet with the weeping girl. “If you want to continue that crying, you are going to need to cry silently, without making any noise.” The Gay Uncle finds this instruction intriguing, as he believes that one of the core cathartic properties of crying comes from its howling/bawling aspect. But Episcopalians must think different. “Your crying is making me nervous,” grandmother Sarah explained, “and I can’t drive when I’m nervous.” What will Granny propose next? Mouthless chewing? Armless handstands? Wheelless bicycling? Your guess is as good as Guncs.

Always wanted to tell other people how to raise their kids? Think your way is best? Simply have a big mouth? Well, here”s your chance to let the world hear your voice! Tribune newspapers parenting columnist (and good pal of the Gay Uncle) Heidi Stevens has started up a new parenting column””The Parent ”˜Hood””in which real moms and dads write in with questions, and real moms and dads give the answers. And they”re looking for folks to respond to a fresh new set of readers” problems. The issues are listed below. If you have a (brief) solution for any of these dilemmas, they want to hear from you. Simply e-mail your answers to parenthood@tribune.com And be sure to include your first and last name and your hometown, (as well as some mention of the question you”re responding to.) Join the conversation! Help others! Rule The Parent ”˜Hood!

Upcoming topics:

1. You’ve gotten in the bad habit of buying your child a “special treat” every time he/she behaves at Target. Now he/she expects a gift every time you enter a store. How do you break the cycle?

2. Your tween daughter came home from a friend”s house wearing heavy makeup. It looked atrocious and she seems too young. But she, of course, loves it. What do you do?

3. Your child”s pal gets everything she asks for (think multiple American Girl dolls) and your child wants to know why you won”t offer up the same. How do you handle?

4. Your son chews his nails incessantly. You’ve tried the nasty-medicine-on-his-fingers trick, rewards, punishments, ignoring the behavior. Nothing makes it stop. What should you do?

5. Meals have become less-than-nutritious endeavors at your house, with your kids demanding hot dogs and chicken fingers or nothing. How do you get them to stop the junk food gluttony?

The Gay Uncle was rewarded today. Just by spending the afternoon hours with his brother-in-law Marty during their family vacation in Montana, delicious fresh material for this site was delivered to him, like manna from heaven. All it took was the sighting of a native rodent, a few beers, and Marty’s fertile mind, and an incredible plan was hatched. “Let’s set up a trap on the porch to try to catch one of those prairie dogs,” Marty exclaimed, immediately rushing around the house in a frenzy. He gathered up a few key but apparently unrelated items: fishing line, a fork, a plastic dog dish, a rock, some sourdough bread, a cell phone charger, a trout fly, and a jar of peanut butter, and before the G.U. could say, “This won’t end well” he’d assembled a makeshift trap–like something primitive man might have made if he had begun his evolutionary path in a Bass Pro Shop–and was baiting it with a tiny sandwich. “We’ll put a little more peanut butter here in order to lure him up,” Marty said, as he smeared a dollop on the edge of the deck. He then ran the filament to the fork/trigger, stepped inside the house, and closed the sliding glass door, leaving it open just enough to allow the cell phone charger cord to which he’d tied the line some slippage.

The first “test” of the mechanism revealed it to be functional. “We’re going to nab that little fucker,” Marty gurgled gleefully from his perch behind the curtains. He reset the trap and opened another beer. As he did, Gunc poured a second vodka tonic, doing his best to keep up. “Can I ask you a question?” he said to his B.I.L. “What do you plan to do with the prairie dog if you succeed in catching him?” Marty cocked his head and donned an expression that was a close approximation of what other people look like when they’re thinking, and smirked. “I think Brookie,” his 9 year old, “said she wanted to pet one. I guess I’d probably put it in her room. Like, under her pillow, or in the closet or the dresser” His daughters were on a shopping expedition with their grandmother and auntie and were expected back any time. “Can you imagine the look on her face if she found that there?”

The Gay Uncle did not answer. Honestly, he could not.

The Gay Uncle is on vacation with his boyfriend’s family this week, which means: NEW MATERIAL. The first bit arrived this afternoon when his mother-in-law got fed up with the constant shrieking of his three car-ridden nieces, Violet, 9; Brooke, 9, and Daphne, 7. She’d already nearly lost it the night before, when the girls–just having reuinted for the first time in months–were expressing their loud, noisy, shrill but appropriately child-like joy over the re-cousinification proceedings in downstairs porch of the rental house in which they’re all staying. (Gunc and his BF are in a cabin down the hill.) But after a long drive through a nearby National Park this afternoon, Granny was notably more fed up. “If you girls do not stop that shrieking right this instant,” she lectured while the girls sat belted into their seatbelts in the rental car, “the next time you do it, I’m going to have to spank whoever shrieks. And,” she paused, for dramatic effect. “I don’t even believe in spanking.”

The Gay Uncle marveled at the logical loops of this narrative. How does one go about being forced to do something in which one does not even believe? He thought of prayer, or Republicanism. But beyond this, he pondered the probable results of implementing this disciplinary system. The girls shriek. Granny beats. The result? MORE SHRIEKING. Problem solved???

Neither one is about kids–or cars for that matter–but since they both play on being gay, VanityFair.com let the Gay Uncle un(fudge)pack Brüno and Humpday. Check it out.

For those of you who are interested in reading the entire study on the Disney films–the one discussed by the Gay Uncle in his column this week on MOMLOGIC–you can download it right here (at the link below that says 315.pdf). Gunc says, it’s worth the read.

315.pdf

The Gay Uncle recently read about a very interesting solution to the question of gender identity. A Swedish couple has decided not to tell anyone whether their kid–who they call Pop–is a boy or a girl. This is meant to free the child from the social construct and stereotypes associated with the male/female dichotomy, something the Gay Uncle has written about rather extensively in the past. He thinks this is kind of an interesting experiment, in the same way as raising a child without anything to play with, or only feeding them Ensure might be “interesting”. In other words, it’s a dorky stunt. First off, gender development–like food–is not something you can wholly insulate a child from, nor does it seem particularly wise to do so. Kids, like the rest of us, live in society, and while our rules about boys and girls may be fucked up, its more germane to give them tools to question these ideas than try to bury their heads (and private parts) in the sand . Second, while “society” is one of the big influencers on how kids understand gender, other important sources come into play, namely family; and since Pop’s parents and a few others do know what’s going on inside the diaper, Gunc finds it hard to believe that some of this won’t seep through, rendering the experiment somewhat futile. Third, whenever we create something totally illicit and secretive with young kids, it forms a correlative and greater interest in that very thing, so while these Swedes might think they can keep this from Pop and its peers, a countervailing force–Pop itself–will likely exert some other form of influence, and soon. And finally, gender development isn’t something that ends at age three or four, when Pop will likely be released from the experimentally controlling situation of its family and into the social world of school where folks are bound to find out what’s up down there. Then what?

The Gay Uncle suggests that if you would like to conduct an “experiment” about something like this, you use a subject other than a living, functioning, human child. Maybe an art installation would be a better solution?

Cool Moms pick the Gay Uncle. Shouldn’t you?

The Gay Uncle takes on a new role this week: expert in the Tribune Newspapers’ new parenting column The Parent ‘Hood. Parents ask questions, other parents respond, and then Gunc (or some other know-it-all) dishes out their three cents. First problem? A girl who insists on wearing her princess dress. Everywhere. (And she’s not even a real princess!) Gay Uncle to the rescue. Click here to lose the pink acetate blues.

After spending eleven summers at his house Upstate, the Gay Uncle finally broke down today and attended his town’s Fourth of July celebration. Not the parade; as you may recall, he hates parades. (All that phony pageantry, and old firetrucks. Ew.) Or the chicken barbecue. (He hates animals so much, he refuses to even eat them.) But he loves to see shit blow up, so he drove in for the fireworks. For geographical reasons too complex to get into here, the best viewing area for this display is from atop the berm on which the town’s railroad tracks run. This is a spectacular locale, overlooking the river, a field, and the setting sun, and is pretty much an ideal play area for kids, loaded as it is with lots of fun rocks to pick up, rails to hop or walk along, and tons of railroad spikes to hunt for and collect. Since these events always start about fifty minutes after you think they’re going to, Gunc is all in favor of letting the kids who attend wander around within a safe distance and engage in all of these entertaining activities. But apparently the mother who was sitting just to his right didn’t agree with this practice. Every time her two and five year olds started to do anything resembling “fun” she yelled at them. “Put those rocks down before you drop them on someone.” (?) “Don’t walk away, there are a lot of people around.” (??) “Put those railroad spikes down before you fall on one of them and cut yourself and get infected with tetanus.” (???) Stranded without anything to do, the kids began quarreling amongst themselves. Big surprise. What was surprising was her solution: she bribed the two year old to behave by giving him a can of Pepsi. Gunc is just glad he didn’t have to go home with that family and witness the ensuing caffeinated bedtime battle. Happy Birthday, America!!