Dancing about Architecture

There is an accepted school of thought, punkin, that "writing about music is like dancing about architecture". I think, without googling it, that Elvis Costello said it.

That his point, on saying it, was that the act itself is an art form, that any attempt to translate or somehow quantify it in another 'language' would necessarily lose something of the original, and that to attempt such would be inherently futile.

Some could say the same, punkin, about writing about parenting. That any individual's relationship with their spawn is, by its nature, one that exists on its own terms and doesn't necessarily correlate in any direct way to anyone else's experience. That we are, in attempting to document that relationship, losing something in the translation.

I acknowledge this loss, but I don't think that it means, even for a moment, that the exercise is futile. Anecdotes are anecdotes, and regardless of who finds them enlightening, or amusing, or touching, they are a part of the dialogue I have with you, even if they're only one way at the moment.

I was re-reading the (admittedly sparse) archives of this site the other day, trying to work out a framework within which to post about what's happening in our lives now, and I was struck by how much has changed within such a short time, and how much, to beleaguer another phrase, has stayed the same.

I'm still, punkin, confused about how to be a 'proper' dad. You're still growing and changing and presenting me with solutions using your irrefutable kid logic.

You went to a costume party for the first time last week, and your costume of choice was your Lightning McQueen Racing Car Driver outfit, and you were (are) so enamoured of this particular set of duds that, three days before said party, you were demanding to wear it as pyjamas.

No, I told you, you can't wear (this tight fitting one piece polyester costume that will make you very hot and therefore wake up in the middle of the night and disturb my sleep precious lovely sleep) your racing driver costume, because (PARENT LOGIC) it will get dirty and you won't be able to wear it to Thomas' party.

BUT DADDY, was your earnest reply, MUMMY CAN WASH IT.

Game, set, match. I was giggling too hard to say no.

love you.