Thank you all for weighing in on the Should We Stay Or Should We Go issue. It's unfortunate when desire butts heads with blunt reality, and the Internet has done well to present both sides of both sides with such informed passion. The truth is, we could stay here for a while if 1) I score a better-paying gig, and 2) we make every vertical surface in our apartment look like this. To stay in NYC, it might be worth it.
As Metro has written, New York can be a hard town, and if we hang around we want to make sure we raise kids who can hack it in the big city. Recent events suggest we are on the right track.
Robert continues to resist fervently the affront of having his fingernails clipped. And the thing about three-year-olds is that they're harder to manipulate, because they're beginning to catch on to your usual lines of bullshit. I spent about half an hour running all sorts of stuff up the flagpole:
- It's important not to slice Mama and Daddy to ribbons when you storm into our bed each morning.
- Howard Hughes's long fingernails were a window into his crippling depression and paranoia.
- People will think you're undead.
... but he wouldn't salute.
Finally, after all diplomatic options were exhausted, I did what had to be done: I pulled him into my lap, pinned his arms against his chest, and gently snipped off his three biggest talons. And oh, how the tears poured. I tried to comfort him and explain why I did what I did, and he calmed down after a few minutes. But then I let him down off the couch, and he started wailing again ("Daddy! I want to be in your lap!"), so I swooped him up. And as I began stroking his hair, he nestled down into my chest--and emphatically blew a huge loogie onto my shirt and spent the next five minutes laughing his ass off.