Not an SUV

returning-home-from-grocery-store.JPGLook 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 an inspiring Obama rally that G.U. attended this past spring. Apparently, after this innovative mom’s inaugural grocery run, she was able to cart home an immense load of food on this vehicle, including a bag of ice, 2 half gallons of milk, a jug of limeade, a jar of pickles, 2 tubs of yogurt, deli meat & cheese, and 2 boxes of cereal. (G.U. says, put all that in a blender with a fifth of coconut rum, and we are talking.) The money this awesome mom saved on liquid platinum (a.k.a. gasoline) was put to good use upgrading to organic produce. And though it may not be immediately apparent, it seems that that miniature ironing board hovering above the back wheel can be used to carry a child or two. (Gunc assumes you weave their legs under the black straps.) While The Gay Uncle is currently making part of his living writing about fossil-fuel guzzling behemoths in his new Vanity Fair gay car column Stick Shift, he’s totally in favor of this kind of ingenious and inspired mom-direct enviro-action. Except for the shoes. Not that they don’t look comfortable, and not that they wouldn’t work extremely well in a damp climate. He just can’t imagine himself in a pair (he has high protruding arches and wide Barney Rubble feet.) Pedal!

TrialAthalon

kcckidsstart.jpgThe 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

images-2.jpgThe 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.”

Number Two

images1.jpgWriting 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

images.jpgThe 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

humpstang.jpgThe 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.

Peeing Outside

images6.jpgA friend of the Gay Uncle’s–a mom, a suburban Detroiter, and employee at one of the big 3 automobile companies–wrote in to the G.U. the other day with a question/concern. Apparently, every day when she parks to wait for her son to finish up at day camp, she spots a mother (seemingly the same mother each time) marching her son or daughter to the edge of the lot and, in full view of everyone, having her kid stand or crouch, and pee. According to his pal, the poor kids appeared slightly mortified each time: no real attempt was made to move behind some foliage, and their mom had to cajole them into performing. The question was Gunc’s opinion on kids and public urination. His response? In a pinch, he’s all for kids letting it rip outdoors. (There was a big gnarled elm tree in the bathroomless playground he used to attend with his pre-school students behind which kids used to privately relieve themselves in an emergency: everyone in the neighborhood called it the Pee-Tree.) But he’s only in favor if there aren’t other options, and if the kid’s totally comfortable doing so. This is not something you want to make an issue out of, and creating a daily routine around it seems a little…odd, bordering on fetishistic (on the part of the mom). It’s the suburbs. There’s a Target/Rite Aid/Starbucks every fifteen feet, and they all clean their bathrooms at least once a day (Gunc’s seen the little charts on the door that prove it!) At the very least, these public restrooms are usually a tidier option than standing in the mud and risking the dampening effects of a blowback or an improper squat.

He told his friend all of this and she took it in. But in completing their communication, this friend–who was one of the G.U.’s interviewees when he was writing his novel set in the auto industry Safety Seat, and who was looking forward to being a regular reader of his new gay car blog Stick Shift–uncovered a perfect crossover topic which he could use to combine his dual interests (kids and cars). Now that minivans have televisions, refrigerators, sofas, and beds in them, she wrote, “Bathrooms are really the final frontier.” Gunc’s going to get going on a patent for an in-van can right away.

Gay Straight Alliance

img_0735.JPGThe Gay Uncle hosted one of his favorite guests at his house upstate this weekend, a fourteen year old former preschool student of his, Eddie. G.U. has known this boy since he was not even two two, when his mother approached him in the East Village park where he used to run his students and asked if she could join his school, and the longevity of their connection–as with all of his former students–is a source of boundless pride, interest, and hilarity. His boyfriend Tal–once afraid of Gunc’s young charges (“I feel like they’re judging me”)–of course joins full-force in the action when Eddie’s around, in their own personal take on the G-S-A (Gay-Straight-Alliance) popular in high schools across the country. Eddie provides the Straight, the Guncles the Gay. For example, the boy’s overnight last year featured the axe-wielding destruction of a toy metal car (which, perhaps symbolically, Eddie used to play with during long-ago upstate visits) as it’s Straight component, followed by the building of a complex car-wreck diorama, complete with realistic decorative elements (tiny painted slinky as razor wire, metal fountain pen ink reservoir as trash barrel) and landscaping (real moss and pine saplings) as it’s Gay one. [SEE PHOTO] This year’s visit included two such highlights: a very brief episode of Eddie piloting the Gay Uncle’s 1972 GMC Suburban through a wide riverfront National Park Service parking lot (Straight) following a long wildflower and geographic feature identification hike up a local mountain (Gay); as well as highly supervised target shooting with an air pistol (Straight) followed by the assembly and transcription of recipes for smoothies and Mexican food (Gay). The most fascinating thing to Gunc was the way in which all parties were equally fascinated in and entertained by all activities. He thinks that perhaps there’s a summer camp idea in all of this somewhere after all.

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