All posts tagged: father

What Came First: the Princess or the Girl?

It’s not just that my son loves Disney princesses. He loves the entire kit ‘n caboodle of what society would label (unfairly) “girly” stuff. Purple lollipops. (Not just any lollipop.) Sparkly tutus Barbie pink dream cars Cotton candy Fancy Nancy Glitter this Sequined that Pinkalicious Pink everything Purple everything It comes as a package. Walking down the street, he’s got a focused attention to detail that’s both annoying and astounding. He loves all dogs, but seeing a King Charles Spaniel is all the cuter. (And it’s TRUE! King Charles Spaniels are cuter…than labs or regular spaniels or golden doodles.) It’s a fascinating cliché. Listen, I don’t want to put anyone in boxes. And it drives me crazy when people make assumptions about any of my tastes (even if they’re right.) So I try to accept that a girl can be equally inspired by Lego’s as by Elena of Avalor. (Oh, you haven’t heard of Elena? You’re missing out on Disney’s cornering of the Latina market.) And I think boys could choose a red crayon just …

Me: Solo.

I’ve been solo for 2 months. If you’ve spoken with me for more than six seconds over the last month, I’ve definitely reminded you when you ask, “How are ya?” “Oh…solo. That’s all. Me with two kids. All the time.” “Ohmigod. How are you holding up?” I’m fine. My partner is in London supervising two West End productions. This is what we signed up for. Long ago, when discussing becoming parents, he said to me, “But what if I have to go conduct in Vienna for three months?” “Well,” I quickly countered, “until the kids are like – fifteen? – we can all just go together. It’ll be fun!” Not for one second did I consider schlepping our lives to London for three months. I have a life – a performing career on life support and a small business that no one’s heard of (yet). I didn’t want to galavant to London for three months. And when I considered visiting for a mere month, my partner quickly brought me back to Earth. “Gavin, you’re accustomed …

Trump. My President.

Yesterday was my grief day. I pledged I’d be back on my feet, today. Don’t get me wrong…everything that Donald Trump embodies is what I teach my children to avoid. I hate him. And all of the hateful violence and harassment we’ve seen against people of color, immigrants, gays or people of different political stripes is un-American. (Also: I hope between now and January that Trump is convicted of all the crimes for which he’s accused and ends up in jail. Then again, Pence would also be a nightmare. C’mon Electoral College reflect the majority vote, stage an electoral coup and elect Hillary Clinton. Please.) But today, I’m moving forward. Because Trump won the most (Electoral College) votes. He is going to be President. So let’s figure some things out: I might be fooling myself, but I do have hope. He is educated (I didn’t say smart), he grew up in a city of diversity (c’mon Omarosa, minorities need your out-spokenness, now), and let’s hope he returns to his (formerly eschewed) “New York values” (assuming …

Judd Apatow’s Pioneer Woman

I don’t know if I make the disclaimer often enough that my complaints about my kids are generated from the 10% of the time they are (Colton is a) monsters. The 85% of the rest of the day, they’re wonderful, fun, happy boys. Of course, 40% of that 90% they’re sleeping. Or, I mean 50% of the original, so that’s really…whatever. Never mind. Math is hard. But still. There are demonic toddlers in the world. Colton is not one of those. He is scarily charming. My French mother says, “He is a seducer. Like Bill Clinton.” That’s a compliment for the French. And he’s easy to calm. Just pick him up and he’s happy. Now that I’ve confessed (absolved?) my guilt for his future therapy…let me complain some more. Over the past year, two metaphors craft my self-image: a lonely pioneer woman and a loser Judd Apatow protagonist. Wonderful, whiny Colton wants to be held all day long. I can’t and I won’t. Colton gets upset when he doesn’t get his way. #tearlesscrying ensues if …