Become the Ping Pong. Breathe in.. Nice.
Originally posted on outienz:
Last night my children played ping pong with me. When one cried, I flew to the rescue.
Moments later I was sent flying to tend to the other child’s needs.
They were tireless and played with me for hours.
I have woken this morning feeling fuzzy and maybe a bit more like an old tennis ball…
But parenting is about rolling with the punches and trying to stay light. Trying to be calm even though you are angry at having your sleep stolen, trying to be wise when really you have no idea… So I’m sure I can learn from this.
I can be Ping Pong. I can be smooth…
Be like water – Bruce Lee
Be like the Ping Pong – me
Be like the Ping Pong my friend. A ping pong is hard and soft at once…
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Apocalypse baby is not far off. In seven weeks, I will be a daddy. This will be the coolest thing in the whole wide world. It will also signal the end of my world.
From the chrysalis of my past, I will emerge into middle-aged parenting like a glorious Pop-tart firing out of a wonky toaster.
What use is there for books, I will say, when I have the wisdom of my elders, plus I won’t be allowed a moments peace. Nothing except brainwashing cults and Barney the dinosaur can take away memories though, and that is where poetry comes in. While I am changing baby, or crying myself to sleep knowing my wife is suffering far worse, I can relive the glories of my past reciting babified versions of favourite poems to my wonderful son. The future is bright. That’s why I am going to wear shades to protect my puffy Panda light-sensitive eyes from the burning rays of the sun.
I know baby Pau will inspire material for writing. The creative well of potential false memories and hallucinations caused by sleep deprivation cannot be allowed to go untapped so I plan to keep a pocket-sized notebook and Ikea pencil at hand to barrel the stuff. If drops in lucidity reduce manual dexterity skills or I have my hands full with nappies, bottles and handwipes, I can record my burblings on my smartphone safe in the knowledge that this crude material at the very least might qualify as Dadaist.
So here because I am at heart a jackass is a recording I made trying to babify a well-known section of T.S.Eliot’s The lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock addressed to my dog, June, who will act as a stand-in until the arrival of little man Pau. The original version is also included.
Known enemies of the state
were reported in acts of play
with two named as ‘mama’
‘Mama’ and ‘papa’ expressed
positive reinforcement and
during said acts of play, they
A pre-emptive strike was deemed
necessary to degrade these soft
targets and stifle said acts
Said targets were serviced in
surgically precise strikes.
Collateral damage, friendly fire:
Said acts of play have ceased,
and the wellness potential of all
involved is zero. Operation play: