Heartbleed, Parenting, Teeth.

First off, even if you haven't heard of the Heartbleed OpenSSL vulnerability, just go change your passwords now. I'll wait right here. It's been awhile since you did that, hasn't it? For me, I try to change the passwords of most of my online accounts at least once a year, and Heartbleed is as good a reminder as any to do this. In a weird dichotomy of understanding and confusion, the awesome name "Heartbleed" (because it uses SSL heartbeat messages to "bleed out" data in memory on the server), along with it's iconic branding and on-point message has served to whip up a frenzy of attention to online security. The confusing part is trying to educate the online throngs about what it actually means. By far, the best description I have found is depicted here: Heartbleed explanation On the heels of Ed Snowden and the NSA's unmitigated spying audacity, the conspiracy theorists and paranoia wonks have taken it as a sign of the End Times and suggest that we should return our connected devices back to the sandy silicon form from whence they came. The politicians blame the industry. The industry blames OSS. OSS blames... Well, it all starts to sound like that Games Without Frontiers song by Peter Gabriel. In the end, either nobody wins or everybody wins, depending on your point of view. So go change your passwords. It will make me feel better.

Prior to becoming a parent, I used to think online computer security was hard. Now I'm beginning to understand what my friend Pat Melby meant when he said "Having a kid is hardest thing you can do, but also the best thing you will ever do." Last night was an atypical debacle of feedings, sleeping just long enough to get the taste in your mouth, and unrelenting requirements for attention. It was hard, but also strangely rewarding. This morning I feel like our little family unit repelled boarders at the bulwarks and strengthened the bonds that hold us together. Strangely rewarding, indeed. There is always this unrelenting pressure in the back of my mind that SadieBelle will become the sum total of all the time we spend together, so I better get it right. I think I have a decent grasp on the idea that kids are resillient, and that it's pretty hard to do them lasting damage-- I still feel like I'm shaping the mark I will leave upon the world and doing the "best thing I will ever do." It's an awesome responsibility. And with great responsibility comes great joy. And poop, barf, and other gross things as yet uncataloged.

The passage of time while parenting is also resistant to quantification. It seems to pass so fast-- every day I come home from work, SadieBelle seems to have changed and grown, and I lament missing it. Conversely, I just spent 30 minutes Pinteresting Lego sets that are waaay too advanced but I desparately want to enjoy with her. The list of things I can not wait to experience with her is so long as to be inifinite. And those are just the things I want, not to take into account what she may want.

The most linear of things, time is a constant in an equation of unknowns. A week ago I had my widom teeth extracted. Everthing has gone pretty well with no health complications, but I was surprised by the emotional response I've had. I didn't count on missing them. It's not the physical holes that now seem HUGE when probed with tongue. Or the new mindfullness I've learned when eating. I kind of miss just carrying them around in my head. I know it sounds weird, but I carried them around there in the back for as long as I can remember. Sure, I probably could have flossed them more, or just acknowledged their existence and attachment to me more. But now I miss them. Weird, huh?

And so, after tenously stringing together three completely unrelated thoughts my sleep-deprived brain is having this morning, I will wrap this up with a picture of our beloved Cleo who we had to have put down on April first. She was a wonderful, sweet kitty, and I wish she could have spent more snuggle time with SadieBelle. Now she is with Lucky and Alice and all the others who have left us for Cat Heaven. We miss you dearly, rest in peace.