The Gay Uncle’s close friends, and parental whipping posts, Kate and Dylan came upstate for a visit this weekend, bringing along their adorable kids Max (nearly 6) and Athena (3). Fortunately for the Guncles’ sleep patterns, a friend with an empty country house nearby offered to put the family up there, allowing a win-win situation: hanging out with the parents as late as possible at Chez Empty once the kids were in bed, and then being able to retreat home to sleep and sleep in. Oh yeah, and being able to get rowdy with the little tykes without worrying about breaking any of the Gay Uncles’ shabby but beloved crap. The first daytime activity was a trip to a local swimming hole on the River, which entailed taking a short walk through tall grass. Urbanites to the core–both New York natives–Kate and Dylan were worried about bugs. Fortunately, they also have ADD and forgot to be worried during the trip, focusing more on keeping their tots from being washed downstream by the strong current. But this concern came alive again when they were performing the children’s bedtime ritual. “I have to check you for ticks,” Kate said once she’d finished reading them their stories. “And they say it’s particularly important to check your genitals–your private parts.” The wee ones lit up at this opportunity–Mommy’s going to tickle our fancies?–and once they’d enjoyed their first check, Athena insisted on a repeat. “You need to check me again,” she said, smiling slyly. This catalyzed a need for another check for Max as well. “You checked her again,” he burbled, pointing at his penis “now you need to check me again.” Oneupmanship followed. “You checked him more times than me! Again.” “Now you checked her four times, and me only three!” “You need to check me again, mommy!” “Mommy!” Finally, Kate had had enough. “You’re done. There are no ticks. Now go to bed.” She came out of the bedroom and grabbed her margarita. “I don’t know who’s more perverted, him, or her.” The G.U. shrugged. “Kids are pleasure seekers. It’s human nature. Would you turn down the opportunity? In fact,” he turned to Tal, and smiled lasciviously. “Maybe you should check me…?”
Daddy Mouth
The Gay Uncle’s beautiful sister called the other day to alert him to a milestone: his baby niece’s first word. Being a clothes hound, like the baby’s mother, G.U. was pleased to hear that the child’s first coherent utterance was…”Outfit”. He knew he liked that kid. But her second word held an even better story. Sis Roxy has been trying to get the little bugger to say “Mama” for months, repeating it to the girl all day long in various inflections. “Mama. Mama. Maaama. Maaama. Mama.” The child seemed to relish this focused attention, so even though it delivered no results, Roxy kept it up. Finally, one evening when she was getting together an OUTFIT for her weekly girl’s night out, she became so frustrated with the girl’s steadfast refusal to deliver the all-important maternal designation, that she began browbeating her with it. “MAMA! MAMA! MAAAA-MAAAA! Say MAMA. Mamamamamamamamamama. Say it! Say it!” Her baby, perched on the bed, looked up at her, tilted her head, and spoke. “DA-DA.”
Roxy was devastated (and enraged) by this betrayal, until Gunc reminded her that the infantese word for father in just about every language contains an easier-to-pronounce hard consonant sound, whereas the word for mother contains a more-difficult soft one, stacking the odds in daddy’s favor. “Why is that?” Roxy asked. “Well,” G.U. responded. “It’s a little thing called The Patriarchy. But don’t worry. We’ll bring it down soon.”
A Friendly Reminder
The Gay Uncle lives by the motto “if you’re not cross-selling, you’re not doing your job”, so he wants to take this one line to remind his gorgeous readers that a new posting is up in his Vanity Fair column Stick Shift. Check it out.
Not an SUV
Look at this, all of you idiot parents currently stuck in traffic and reading this blog on your iPhone. This is how moms get around in the great Pacific Northwest. The Gay Uncle received this image (minus the blurred-out face) from one of his absolute favorite readers today. This is what is called a “South-East Portland Mom-Mobile”, and it comes to you live from the land of slugs, rain, and
TrialAthalon
The Gay Uncle talked to his friend Danika today. Always a rich source of stories, she told him one during their call about her older daughter Erica. Erica is eight and a half, and is very interested in mastery. She excels at most of what sets herself to–gymnastics, ballet, violin, horseback riding–an interesting contrast with Danika’s own (self-confessed) non-competitive nature. The most recent of the girl’s interests is biking. A cycling enthusiast himself (though one completely without skill) Gunc and Danika had a good laugh about him and Tal taking the girl on a seaside trail ride during their next annual summer visit. “Maybe part of it,” G.U. suggested. “It’s a long way to the lighthouse.” Danika chortled. “Well, she’ll likely be pretty advanced she is by then. She’s driven. Plus, the twins are into biking.”
The twins,, G.U. thought. He’d heard about this duo before: an inciting–but mismatched–pair of girls, one of whom is thin and pretty, and the other of whom is pudgy and clumsy. (Guess which one is favored by their parents? Here’s a hint: when both twins recently made the horseback riding team, one received a brand-new, form-fitting, custom equestrian uniform, while the other had to make do with ill-fitting, adult-size cast-offs purchased from the Salvation Army and brutally chopped down to size.) “As you know, their parents are very competitive,” Danika explained, “They’ve recently had their girls biking for hours every day in training for some intense course they’ll complete in September.” This kind of insane sportiness (combined with the whole good/bad twin thing) piqued Gunc’s interest. He’s always been fascinated with endurance athletics, in part because he can’t understand the appeal of this kind of self-torture, in part because he loves the stories of people cheating during said events (like the lady in the New York Marathon who took the subway for part of the route), and in part because he likes to watch the end of these races when a few people inevitably collapse yards from the finish line, lose control of their bodily functions, and pee and poo all over themselves. “How far do they have to ride in this so-called course?” he asked. “Well,” Danika replied, “last year they went about twenty-six miles in one day. Which is kind of impressive” “Um, yeah,” Gunc said, recalling his own recent bragging about a seven mile ride. “Of course,” Danika continued, “one of the girls had a severe knee problem after, and couldn’t walk for over two weeks. But still. Her parents were very pleased that she finished.” Finished, indeed, Gunc thought. He wanted to tell his niece (and nieces everywhere) that life isn’t a race. Or if it is, it’s certainly not that kind.
Biter
The Gay Uncle provides another report on his sister Roxy’s good friend A-M. You might remember A-M from a long-ago post on providing a name for her newborn-ish son, or for the one on this cranially blessed baby boy. Well, that darling little head case is about nine months old now, and is both teething and breast feeding, as most kids that age do. A-M has been somewhat distressed of late, as her son has been occasionally using his newly developed chompers to clamp down on some of her more sensitive bits. “He’s driving me crazy with the biting,” A-M told Gunc’s sister. “So the last time he did it, I’d had enough. I took matters into my own hand, and finally bit him back.” Roxy stared, flabbergasted. “What?” A-M said. “You gotta’ show ’em who’s boss sometimes or they take advantage.” Roxy nodded, walked away, and immediately called her brother and asked him if he thought this was an appropriate response to an infant’s behavior. “Um. I don’t think so,” the Gay Uncle said.
Well, the next time the G.U. spoke with Roxy, after their usual catch up, he asked how A-M’s boobs were faring. “She’s doing okay,” Roxy said. “Jorrdan’s not clamping down as much as he was–maybe the bite-back was effective? Though the other day at work, she had the baby there, as well as her nine year-old daughter, Ambrosia. A-M was taking a break to nurse and deal wit the kids, and all the sudden I heard her squawk from the break room; the baby bit her again. She looked down at the boy, tensed up her hand into a fist, and screamed Hey. Cut it out, asshole!. Her daughter was right there, and she looked at her mom, forlorn and protective. Mom. Don’t call my baby brother an asshole!” To which A-M apparently shrugged, and replied. “Well, tell the little asshole to stop fucking biting me then.”
Dykey Tykes, Femmy-Butches, Fairy Princes, and Girly Girls
Learn all about how little men and women are made. Check out the Gay Uncle’s new essay on Babble, “The Gender Spectrum“. And while you’re there, take his “Gender Spectrum Quiz“.
Number Two
Writing about outdoor toileting–a post on which the G.U. received more than a few notes–reminded Gunc of a time he spent with his darling nieces Brookie and Grace, the oldest of whom was then just three and a half. They were on one of his boyfriend’s famed total-family summer trips, on a barren barrier island off the coast of North Carolina. Being the gracious uncle he is, Gunc had volunteered to remain with his nieces on the beach after everyone else had left, as the girls wanted to continue playing in the water. [Full disclosure: Gunc had only arrived at the beach forty minutes before: the family had been out there since dawn; he and Tal had been in their room “working”, avoiding their dramas.] He was enjoying his time with the girls, digging holes and playing in the foamy wave edges, when suddenly, Brooke–a scrawny, rambunctious little child who G.U. adores–announced in a somewhat panicked tone that she had to go to the bathroom. Gunc pointed at the surf. “There’s your toilet, darling” he said. “Go for it.” Brookie nodded and walked toward the water, and the Gay Uncle returned to playing Drown Barbie with her sister. When he turned around to check on Brooke’s progress a moment later, she was back to happily chasing the breaking waves. But there, not five feet behind her was a tiny and perfectly pyramidical structure. Gunc rose to examine it, fearful that it might be a sea creature’s emerging head, or an alien’s signpost to a buried treasure. But when he was close enough to see it in detail, he discovered that it was neither. Indeed, it was a delicate pile of his niece’s poo. Unwilling to pick it up, allow it to disturb the path of egg-laying sea turtles, or leave it to be discovered by one of the wealthy home owners who gathered on the shore every sunset with fancy lawn-chairs and bottles of Chard, he turned to the girl. “I think you missed the ocean by a few feet. Please cover that up.”
Babies Cry
The Gay Uncle is in the midst of writing an article about parents’ feelings on the first day of school, and in response to a request for stories, he received this one from a wonderful colleague of his. She explained that her older daughter was a very colicky baby–she cried all the time. Gunc’s friend had to resort to wearing ear plugs around the house in order to get any rest or peace. In keeping with the helpful habits of the medical profession, when she asked her pediatrician about this issue, he sighed and dismissed the problem, waving her off. “Babies cry,” he said. (Duh!)
Fast forward a bit to G.U.’s colleague returning to the work force. Her daughter was still quite little at this point, but said friend had found a great early childhood center she liked. She dropped her daughter off at preschool the first time, without mentioning this issue, and gleefully, and with much relief, peeled out of the parking lot to go back to her job.
When she came to pick her daughter up at the end of the day, the teachers looked kind of troubled and worn out. They pulled Gunc’s pal aside. “I want to ask this gently,” they said. “Do you think there’s a possibility that your daughter might be…colicky?” The proud back-to-work mom shrugged. “Babies cry,” she said.
First Gay Car of the Week
The Gay Uncle wanted to alert you to the fact that his first “Gay Car of the Week” has posted on Vanity Fair’s website. His new column, Stick Shift, will appear on the site every Thursday for at least the next 25 weeks. Check it out.