Daycare Update; and One of the Many Reasons I Hate Microsoft

October 15, 2009

Carver,

You've successfully completed your third day of full-time daycare and it seems to be going quite well. You still totally freak when I leave in the morning, but they tell me you calm down quickly. You also have become more comfortable in the brief period I hang out there with you: the first day you clung to me, seemed scared, and took a long time to finally start exploring a little; today you sat on my lap for a minute, but quickly started roaming around and having a good time.

Also, Arlinda, your afternoon teacher, basically told me you were a genius (OK, she just said "very smart" but she said it in an awestruck, I-can't-believe-he's-so-brilliant sort of way that suggested she meant more). She asked me, with great interest and all sincerity, what we "do with you" that has made you so very smart. I wasn't sure how to answer this question, mostly because the real answer is probably something like: "Well, we just kind of let him do whatever he wants, including all sorts of things most people would find frighteningly dangerous. And maybe read him a book or two every now and then." Also, I wasn't sure what she'd think of me if I said the first thing that came to my mind, which was something like: "Well, his mother and I are both, like, wicked smart, so it's only natural that he's awesome."

Arlinda also said that you are a shining example for your peers and that you help them and seem to try to teach them things. So overall I think you're rocking the daycare thing.

Microsoft, O’ How Do I Loathe Thee

Anne has a ThinkPad that runs Windows Vista. She got it not long after Vista came out, so the Vista bombing that seems to be so prevalent hadn’t gotten up to speed, or at least we hadn’t heard much of it. When she ordered it she asked me to look at what she spec’d out and I paused briefly at the operating system selection and thought about suggesting that she go with XP because I had heard a few of the early grumblings about Vista. I am extremely guilty about not voicing my concern at the time because now she has a slow, obnoxious, incredibly annoying $1800 “internet surfing machine” (what she calls it because of the following problem).

Her optical drive has not worked for several months, which means she can’t rip CDs to iTunes, can’t install the copy of MS Office that she’s had sitting here for months, et cetera. Not only has it not worked, Vista no longer recognized the drive. She’s tried a few times to fix it but got frustrated and gave up. So I gave it a shot and—hours later—I got it working again.

In my effort to find and fix the problem, this is what I deduced: (1) the problem most likely occurred one of the trillion times Windows updated itself, something about filters and such; (2) Microsoft blames 3^rd party DVD/CD ripping software for the problem, in some places the finger is pointed directly at iTunes; (3) Microsoft knows what the problem is and will fix it for you, but they’ll only do it if you click on the tool using MS Explorer because the tool doesn’t “recognize” Firefox or any other browser; and (4) the fix they provide for the problem they know about does not work. So, to recap, you’ve lost your optical drive because of Microsoft’s heinous operating system but they blame Apple. They’ll fix it, but only if you use their piece of shit browser. And the fix actually doesn’t fix anything.

I eventually found a thread on an online forum and modified the registry myself. Presto fix-o.

October 13, 2009

Carver,

Today is your first day in full-time, regular daycare. It’s a hard day for me, and probably is for you too. Up until now you have spent a handful of days in “backup” daycare, but aside from those few days you’ve spent everyday with your mom or me. You also spend many of your weekday afternoons with your “G-Ma,” who takes you to the park and gives you baths and you generally clearly love. Your G-Ma’s willingness to watch you most afternoons (and it seems to be more of a legitimate happiness than a mere willingness) has been quite possibly a literal lifesaver for me.

Unfortunately, or so I feel, I seem to need more help than your G-Ma’s tremendously generous and extremely appreciated assistance. So your mother and I have decided to send you to full-time daycare. Ultimately, I believe that this is in your best interest. But it’s still hard.

One of the reasons we decided to put you in regular daycare is that we think you’ve reached the age where you should make some friends and socialize with other babies. In your experiences in backup daycare and at the park you really seem to enjoy hanging out with other kids. We think you’ll like having some regular buddies to play with.

Another reason we’re doing this is that I simply don’t seem to have what it takes to be a top-notch stay-at-home parent. This makes me sad and makes me feel like a failure. I truly believe that your new teachers, professional child care providers, will do a better job at interacting with you regularly and feeding you well-balanced meals and all sorts of other things that I think you need. I wish I was better at this for you, I really do, but it’s become clear that I am not. I think the daycare is the best place for you right now.

My goal for myself now is to figure out what I’m doing, both professionally and generally, to try to sort out my life and attain some personal happiness. I’m drifting now, and it isn’t good. My goal is for you too, for I feel like in the end it is in your best interest to have a happy father, a father in whom you can be confident, a father you can be happy about having. It’s my goal for us.

This morning, as we were getting ready to go, I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth as you were standing there just outside the doorway, happy. You turned and noticed something out of my view; you ran to it and came running back with a ball in your hand. You held that ball up and cackled with absolute glee. You tossed the ball toward me, still laughing and smiling, and I thought about how you were the greatest, happiest, most awesome baby ever to have lived. It was a lovely thought, but it was immediately followed by a concern that perhaps daycare will have a negative effect on you, that you won’t like it and will become an unhappy baby—i.e., that my failure to be able to care for you every day will hurt you into losing your joy. I hope that’s not the case, I have faith that it won’t be the case—if I didn’t truly think that you’d be fine I wouldn’t be doing this—but it still worries me and makes me sad. Perhaps I could take some solace in the fact that in the time you’ve stayed home with me you have been a very happy and very capable baby, ahead of the curve on nearly every mark. But I don’t, because I love you and I don’t see the value in consoling myself; my only concern is what’s best for you.

The few times you’ve been in backup daycare you’ve totally freaked out when you realized that I was leaving you there. As soon as we arrived you’d hang on tight and hold yourself as close to me as you could, clutching with more strength than I knew you had, looking suspiciously at the daycare ladies (they’re always ladies). When I left you’d scream and sob and chase after me—it was heartbreaking every time. I don’t understand your baby brain enough to know what you felt this morning, but I hope you know that I did it because I love you—that at some point you’ll know that I only did it because I love you, that I love you more than anything and everything combined, and I only did it because I think it’s the best thing for you.

Papa