Tagged: mommy blogs
Science Teachers: Teach the Truth
I was at an FBO (airport gas station—incidentally, this means very, very wealthy people are frequently around. I assure you, they do not inspire). Anyhow, I was there awaiting some maintenance on the helicopter for an afternoon the other day and I couldn’t help but notice that on the TV was a silly show where a “Science is fun!” guest teacher was visiting an inner city school to pep up the otherwise dry material.
It caught my attention, as you might expect, faithful reader, because the topic of my guided reading through the Great Books of the Western World is “Foundations of Math and Science”. So when I hear, “Newton”, “Force”, “Inertia”, and certain other keywords, I am always interested to take a closer look.
The particular concept the energetic guest was bringing to the kids was inertia. His whole game was to demonstrate inertia by yanking the tablecloth from under some dishes as they remain in place.
He says, “Inertia: the tendency of an object to stay at rest until a force acts upon it.”
The definition isn’t troubling. The troubling thing is…can you name it with me? On three. One, two, three: Everything in the universe is demonstrating it!
Whether this zany, cooler-than-your-teacher (and actually, kinda disrespectful) man shows up to a school and says the words “learn” “newton” “inertia”, or not, inertia is demonstrated by not only every object in a student’s immediate observation, the student’s body itself, but also by every object in the entirety of the universe!
But the man adds, “Isaac Newton would be so proud that you’re learning!!”
And there is the whopper. Isaac Newton would be proud if kids were learning (they’re not), but he would not be proud that a man claiming to be an expert is teaching kids that he is demonstrating inertia.
With me?
Inertia isn’t “demonstrated”. Inertia is.
“Pete, you’re being way too sensitive here.”
Am I?
****
Why does learning have to be fun?
From what I have read, the math and science greats do not seem to have had much fun while attempting to communicate their ideas. Moreover, many of their lives were fairly difficult—as they were battling commonly held conceptions held by nearly each and every fellow man.
Instead of “fun”, I say let’s teach the truth to kids.
Straight from the man.
Definition III from Isaac Newton’s Mathematical Principle of Natural Philosophy.
****
The vis insita, or innate force of matter, is a power of resisting, by which every body, as much as in it lies, continues in its present state, whether it be of rest, or of moving uniformly forwards in a right line.
This force is always proportional to the body whose force it is and differs nothing from the inactivity of the mass, but in our manner of conceiving it. A body, from the inert nature of matter, is not without difficulty put out of its state of rest or motion. Upon which account, this vis insita may, by a most significant name, be called inertia (vis inertio) or force of inactivity. But a body only exerts this force when another force, impressed upon it, endeavors to change its condition; and the exercise of this force may be considered as both resistance and impulse; it is resistance so far as the body, for maintaining its present state, opposes the force impressed; it is impulse so far as the body, by not easily giving way to the impressed force of another, endeavors to change the state of that other. Resistance is usually ascribed to bodies at rest, and impulse to those in motion; but motion and rest, as commonly conceived, are only relatively distinguished; nor are those bodies always truly at rest, which commonly are taken to be so.
(My underline.)
****
If that doesn’t do it for ya, if you still don’t understand what Newton means by the word inertia, then the only sentiment I may offer as a last ditch effort is this.
Imagine a man moving while inside a moving vehicle. Got it? (It doesn’t have to be a car with a man reaching back to grab a snack from the back seat, or a pirate ship approaching a storm while the captain paces to and fro by the helm, or an airplane with a man squeezing down the aisle after a bathroom break. It can be any vehicle, any person, but the vehicle and the person inside must be moving.)
That is the Newtonian picture of the universe as described at the end of that definition. Because, Newton says, the vehicle we’re in (which you didn’t know we’re in—and he doesn’t mean merely planet Earth) is moving; there is no “rest” in the plain sense.
Inertia, then, is the conception (defensible by math and experimentation) that all bodies resist. It’s an action. Or a force. To resist, there must be something to resist. (Period.)
And I’m out.
At Bedtime, You Gotta Be Smarter Than The Toddler!
I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier.
The trick is having them lay in bed as soon as possible in the bedtime routine. That’s the trick.
I had been reading to them (the best possible thing imaginable). But we had been sitting on the floor together. Or almost together. Usually Bee-bop and Rock-steady would find their way around every corner of the room as if led by a bewitched divining rod while I read and beckoned them back to the fold. But the reading was happening and they even were memorizing the words in turns. So I was fine with it.
But then we would excitedly pray (Aaronic blessing from frame on the wall—“Favor, A-, not favorite”) and sing and then I would put them to bed. Finally, I have a little thing I say to them every night.
But if I left at this point, someone would get out of bed and the light would be on and playing would ensue.
Any parent knows this is enough to drive you crazy. Just GET IN BED!!
No more. Tonight I had a moment of clarity and put them in bed before the book. They both tried to sit up to see the pictures until…they got tired of maintaining that position. Then they laid until the page turn and then sat up and then laid down again after examining the picture.
Finally it was pray, say the thing, and then I sung any remaining pressing ideas to sleep.
Boom!
Lights out.
What an amazing dad I am. And not a moment too soon.
Children Grown Older
“What are you doing, A-? Just get in your seat!” I begged my toddler daughter as she almost finally got into her car seat.
“I’m looking at the pictures,” she replied, un-phased by my pleading tone.
“The what? Oh. Those are instructions for people who can’t read,” I retorted, no less annoyed. Instructions for people who can’t read, I repeated to myself.
That’s about right. We have plastic seats for children. The poor and illiterate didn’t invent them, and wouldn’t think to use them if it wasn’t for the wealthy and literate. So what do the literate do? Write instructions on the seat, as if that solves any problem.
****
I would’ve thought this experience was a one-off. Wouldn’t you? This “providing help in an utterly un-useful manner”.
Then we were at the local mega-playground today. And there is a sign with English, Spanish, and Braille. But the Braille is not textured—ie, not Braille.
In English, our native tongue, then, “It gets worse. It always gets worse.”
For Men Only: A Disturbing, But True, Analysis of White and Black Women’s Options for Kidnapping Children from Fathers
In college I was fascinated by the cafeteria scene with its Black lunch tables. There we were, 40+ years after the civil rights movement, and segregation still existed. Freely chosen, to boot.
Years later, I began attending Black Baptist churches (still do) because the music and reliance on the Bible (both of these centered exclusively on the Gospel) is second to none.
I share these details to highlight that the following was not something I was looking to learn. But learn it I have.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows that black women have neatly exchanged black men for Uncle Sam. Even-steven. The women have probably even come out ahead, by most measures, in the exchange. And Uncle Sam couldn’t be more flattered. The numbers, I won’t bore you with them here, are staggering. In a word, black children would likely report that they didn’t even know that their mom has touched the man that is their father, let alone wrapped her legs around him in the throes of passion.
What is wrong with these women? Why are they so “easy” in the “willing to sleep with anyone” sense? Is it that lonely at night? I just don’t see it.
And why would they want to raise children by themselves? Why? I have tried and tried, but I do not understand it.
I want to ask, shouting, “Ever hear of birth control?”
None of it makes any sense.
But that’s black women.
White women have a different tactic to get to the same result of kidnapping children from fathers.
They wait. They linger among the crowd for years, usually four more than any black woman, never doing anything too remarkable. They just sit back and watch.
Meanwhile, some of the white men are laboriously studying and working diligently towards their goal of becoming successful men. Respected men.
Eventually, the men begin their profession, one of the most respected available (still carrying a certain mystique), that of the aircraft pilot.
Mind you, the white men and women know that pilots travel for their job. The expression is “banker’s hours”, not “pilot’s hours.”
Only now do the white women (btw, by black women I mean skin color, but by white women I mean culturally white) see their chance and begin to woo whichever pilot they fancy. Some woo all the pilots and it is a poor soul indeed who ends up with her.
In the end, the white women use birth control (or perhaps they wait to consummate the marriage), but whatever the case, the pair, for their own unique, if coincident, reasons, formally bind themselves according the Law of the land before they mix the baby batter.
Shortly thereafter, sometimes only two years, other times ten or twelve years, these white women complain that their husband—the father—is gone all the time. And they feign misery and divorce follows.
Meaningfully no different than how Uncle Sam welcomes his many black step-children, Uncle Sam happily opens his arms to Billy and Susie, under the premise, “Sir, you’re gone all the time. How can you possibly have time to raise them?”
Kidnap complete and sanctioned.
Law or no law, both white and black dads are now outta the picture. Generally the black dads are viewed as shiftless and drug addicted men who would probably beat their women if the relationship continued, while the white dads are viewed with more attention to the specific caricatures available to each relationship. Regardless, the point here is not the dads—but the women, the moms.
What is wrong with these women? Why don’t they want fathers for their children? How can today’s boys and young men possibly hope to raise their own children when considering these facts?
It’s as if the Universe has said, “Congratulations, boys. You live in opulence and unlimited wealth compared to your ancestors. But there’s a catch! You don’t get to be fathers.”
Obviously, gentlemen of all colors and backgrounds, don’t make a baby before being married to the woman. That goes without saying. (Even as it ultimately doesn’t matter.)
But are we saying no pilots can be fathers? Are we saying no children should be raised by pilots? (Obviously “pilot” is merely a very concrete example to be used as an analogy to the many other hard-to-acquire jobs which make white men strive to obtain and which are appealing to white women.)
****
To any women or future women (God Bless You) that have made it this far, you now know your options. You can either have babies via one night stands (starting at pretty much any post-pubescent age) and then raise them by yourself, or you can wait a bit, get married, have babies, and then divorce the stud and raise them by yourself. I’m not sure which option is right for you. (And there are likely others.)
Just rest assured, ladies, whether you are A. lonely and start early, or B. scheming and wait, you can achieve your goal of raising kids without their father.
My Favorite Deduction from Temu Ads
Whether the orange square icon that contains what initially appears like Chinese writing is a legitimate business or not, we’ll probably never know. Kidding. It is not legitimate. So don’t buy stuff from there, folks.
But there is something else that we can know about Temu just by the ads with which it blankets our devices.
Temu is not from Christendom.
Put another way, the humans or robots behind the scam are in the goat pile. Truth is not in them.
How do I know?
90% off sales, that’s how I know.
In Christendom, that’s what we call a lie. Nothing is 90% off. If the price you pay for the product actually is 90% off, the initial price is a marked-up lie. Another option is that the product may appear 90% off, but when completing the purchase, through taxes and shipping and other oddities, the price you end up paying isn’t 90% off the original price. Either way, only an unredeemed sinner would come up with such a scheme.
Here in Christendom, on the other hand, we have subtle understandings about sales. For example, everyone knows that everything at Kohls is at least 30% off, and so we just assume that they use non-Euclidian geometry when they write the Indo-Arabic numerals or what is the same. But nothing at Kohls is 90% off, because that would be a lie. And citizens of Christendom do not tolerate lies.
In short, try as you might, Temu—and it seems you are desperate and gagging for it—you are not fooling anyone. You ain’t from ‘round here. And we don’t trust strangers.
I Present the Latest Sham Holiday: Mother’s Day
Christmas, especially in its commercial sense, is at least pure and focused. Mother’s Day, on the other hand, has become a sham entirely. Worse than Kwanza. Worse than Juneteenth. Worse than whatever the heck Easter is supposed to be.
At church today a very old “Dr.” lady gave the sermon. She talked about how hard the job of “mother” is. That is to say, she talked about how hard the job of “mother” used to be.
If you send your kids to daycare so you can go to work to pay for daycare, is that noble?
If you are so tired from this unnecessary job that you feed your kids processed food, junk food, and fast food on the regular, is that noble?
If you spend any leftover income from your job on TJ Maxx and Ross for yourself instead of, I don’t know, saving for future expenses, is that noble?
This poor old lady, dignified and noble as she was, was so out of touch that she described my mom, who finished up 20 years ago. But today’s “modern” moms? They look and sound nothing like my mom.
It’s disturbing. And it’s another example available for use when instructing children to not be slaves to the sound of words but to consider concrete context too.
Having a baby doesn’t making you a mother anymore than being female makes you a woman.
Funny thing is, I, one of the last men raised by a mother (and father), didn’t get my mom anything on this holiday. But I did buy some over-complimentary cards (from me and the kids) and pointless gifts for my wife. What a sham.
There is nothing outside the man which can defile him if it goes into him; but the things which proceed out of the man are what defile the man.
Fatherhood: Stopping Entropy
I randomly clicked on a video explanation of the thermodynamic concept of “entropy” by Brian Cox. In it, he is sitting on a sand dune type local, an abandoned, weather-worn house as the backdrop—both concretely and symbolically.
I randomly watched my two toddlers play with (generally “break” would be more the appropriate description) their unseemly number of toys—unseemly as I never wanted to turn my children into spoiled brats and so am not sure how it came to this.
Did I just repeat myself?
Spiritual truths, such as entropy, take nothing more than observation, certainly not formal education.
Brian who? An on-location TV special is necessary which explains what any father knows?
The real question, the remaining question, of course, is when (if ever) do humans stop destroying everything they touch?
The answer: some combination of—
1. The advent of written language.
2. Writing down observations that can be confirmed.
3. Writing down laws—with the express purpose of sticking to the spirit of the law, if not the letter.
Bear in mind, fellow fathers, entire civilizations have never avoided entropy.
So let’s get to work.
Flattery for Women. Like in This Post I Am Complimenting a Woman. Seriously.
Women don’t get “a pass” in my book. People who know me truly, know this about me truly.
The “compliment” that I read in a book and inspired this post is great (still included at the end), but in truth, “Women don’t get ‘a pass’ in my book,” (my hook for the post) is actually about the best compliment I could ever pay y’all.
You’re not weak; you’re not “special” in some “need extra allowances” sort of way. Dishes are dirty after you do them, same as men. You can figure out how to pull into a garage correctly, same as men. Wooden utensils still get ruined when left to soak absentmindedly in the sink for long periods of time. Some ice cream scoops are not dishwasher safe, for me and for you too. Kids don’t learn obedience only from fathers. Neither do they learn strength and steely character only from fathers. You do not get a pass, women. Hear me?
The following comes from Jack London’s short story, “The Wisdom of the Trail.” Sitka Charley is an injun, back when there were those. As for nearly all London tales, the setting is the great white Northlands. The only two words I would add is, “…land…sea…and air!”
****
“Sitka Charley did not know this kind of woman. Five minutes before, he did not even dream of taking charge of the expedi-tion; but when she came to him with her wonderful smile and her straight clean English, and talked to the point, without pleading or persuading, he had incontinently yielded. Had there been a softness and appeal to mercy in the eyes, a tremble to the voice, a taking advantage of sex, he would have stiffened to steel; instead her clear-searching eyes and clear-ringing voice, her utter frankness and tacit assumption of equality, had robbed him of his reason. He felt, then, that this was a new breed of woman; and ere they had been trail mates for many days he knew why the sons of such women mastered the land and the sea, and why the sons of his own womankind could not prevail against them. Tender and soft! Day after day he watched her, muscle-weary, exhausted, indomitable, and the words beat in upon him in a perennial refrain. Tender and soft! He knew her feet had been born to easy paths and sunny lands, strangers to the moccasined pain of the North, unkissed by the chill lips of the frost, and he watched and marveled at them twinkling ever through the weary day.”
Why I Can’t Adopt MLK’s “Content of Character” Line
“Is that okay to say these days?”
“Probably not. To be sure, ‘No.’ But they’re my kids, and I like mulatto best. Haha.”
****
Mulatto has a certain clarity of meaning beyond just the fact that they are the product of me and their mom. Don’t you agree? Yes, it means white and black parents. But it also conveys, in 2024, “You’re kinda barking up the wrong tree already, stupid.”
Sure, I admit this is a bit harsh. And as such, I have not been using it exclusively. But my wife and I’s two kids garner enough attention, or I should say, my wife and I’s two kids’ hair garners enough attention that I needed something “full Pete” to say in response to all comers. In other words, I needed a line. But mulatto wasn’t cuttin’ it.
Naturally, MLK’s “not by the color of their skin” line is accurate, but as everyone has seen, it is also terribly ineffective. At the least, it is tired.
In having and using a “line”, I also am arming the two kids with their own “line”. Cuz, despite my general optimism in life and even my new line’s particular contribution to that hope, the problem ain’t going away. So I have been wanting to come up with something worthy of my progeny, for my progeny. And I have.
Again, they’re mulattos. Through and through. That is a fact. But while that word is funny to me and folks who know me well, it is unintelligible to Ethiopians and taboo to Yankees.
Here’s my solution. It starts with the fact that “mixed” is kinda en vogue. So, picture with me, say, a Home Depot parking lot. On a Sunday. Got it? Heavy foot and vehicle traffic. Sunny blue sky. Wind that negates low-talk.
I have J- in the cart, An- is at the car, and Ag- is about to help An- into her door when a dude, older, and a mix between homeless and Colorado Native, says to his partner—wife or fellow bum—and loud enough for all to hear, “Oh those are two beautiful babies.”
I smiled and thanked him politely.
Then he randomly re-appeared and continued as if never having left the area—but he and his companion had left—“I have some mixed grand-babies and they are just the most beautiful kids. You are lucky to have them grand-babies.”
I informed him, good-heartedly, that they were my own children, to his shock, and then he doted some more before leaving.
Mixed? Hmm. Mixed.
Eureka!
Next time, here’s my response.
“Mixed? Oh, look kids! A purebred! In the flesh! It is a pleasure to know you. Good day, Sir.”
****
That is my new Full Pete “line” and I believe it accomplishes everything I want it too and probably a teensy bit more at no additional charge. It has bite, but is not record-stopping like mulatto. It is at least as memorable as “content of character”, if not more so. And most importantly, it can carry the fire of truth forward into future generations.
Mixed?
We have to stop the nonsense, folks! Who’s with me?
“Mixed? Oh, look kids! A purebred! In the flesh! It is a pleasure to know you. Good day, Sir.”
So What That She Was Wrong?
So what that she was wrong? So what? She’s two and a half. How many times is little A- gonna be right at such a tender age?
Here’s how it started. A big winter storm was forecast to roll through over the night. (She couldn’t have known this, obviously.)
Then, this morning, as I surveyed the damage, I noticed it wasn’t quite as much snow as I feared, but I also knew more was on the way.
During breakfast, a certain sound, a bit like crackling, began as I monitored A-’s progress through her bowl of oatmeal and strawberries.
Focus in here: I wanted to test her meteorological knowledge. You see, she’s been the daughter of a pilot her entire life and school is always in session.
So I asked, casually, “What is that sound, A-?”
Simple enough question, right?
Apparently she hasn’t kept up her studies over winter break.
After turning towards the window, “Water?” was all that she could guess.
Much like you, when I heard this answer I naturally thought, “Wrong!”
To bring out the lesson, I got my phone, opened up ForeFlight, and read off the current METAR for the nearby airport, here redacted for national security purposes.
031415Z AUTO 01011G16KT 2 1/2SM UP OVC008 M03/M04 A2968 RMK A02
Obviously the only important part, the part she had neglected in her studies of late, was understanding just how broad a category “UP” was.
Sure, there is a certain sense in which precipitation of an unknown type and water are synonymous. But she was supposed to know the answer verbatim. Ver. Batim.
Maybe I’m being too hard on her. I don’t know.
So what that she was wrong? At least she heard the question. At least she considered it and gave an answer that reflected as much.