So, holidays without the kids

Thanksgiving my kids were with their mother, which left me heading to my aunt's house by myself.  See, at least for me, holidays without the kids are not that bad before or during the normal festivities (tho I freely admit that I am an odd individual), it is the time after leaving the family gathering that gets to me.

I was spoiled when I was married.  My ex-wife did not have a big family and what family she had was spread out or she was not close with, so we did not spend a lot of holidays with them.  While I liked spending time with her family (despite being PSU fans, lets go Pitt!), I always liked spending time with my family more.  So like I said, I was spoiled.

So when we got divorced, I gained even more time with my family around the holidays, but I lost my kids for half the holidays during the year. 

Like I said earlier, it is not the time before the day's activities that get to me (I got to stop over and see my kids before making the trip to my aunt's house).  The trip is the same I have made for over 10 years, so I can make it in my sleep (this year I ate so much I think I was actually in a turkey-stuffing-potato-green bean coma for the ride home). 

Even the unofficial, yet official, traditions were the same.  I am the oldest grandchild, but probably the most immature (shocker).  The cousins play a game where we guess what my Grammy Rue is going to wear to dinner (she's in her 80s and still has her wits, but I know where I get my fashion "style")  Even if a cousin is not around, a mass text is sent out so we can get our guesses in before dinner time.  For the record I lost with a not-even-close guess of blue elastic pants and a white sweater, my youngest cousin was not close either going with black pants and red sweater.  Nope, my brother in-law, who was well over 1,000 miles away in Denver nailed it to a tee with a guess of a pink velour jumpsuit (who even thinks of something like that?).  

The cousins tend to go to one room of the house where we sit around and make fun of each other, mainly at the expense of my youngest cousin (luv ya stinky).  So things were the same as far as what we did.

I missed my kids, but I was not distracted by the fact my kids were not there.  We still ate...and ate...and ate...I can not wait to go to Crossfit Latrobe and work off all the calories.  We still took bets on when my uncle would leave after dinner (if you take anything over five minutes you are pretty much guaranteed to lose).

It starts to get real, and uncomfortable, for me as other people start to leave.  See when I have my kids, I have that parental clock.  You start to notice the little things, things that nobody else would notice about your kids signalling they are close to their limits.  For Luke, he stops trying to wrestle with my cousin (it is neat to see the two of them interact, since we used to wrestle when he was little, I have him by about 12 years).  With Avery, she starts to get cranky, but she also starts to hide behind my legs.  When those things happen, I know it is time to go, without them...well...I am kind of adrift in a sea of confusion.

I grab my coat, keys, phone and wallet.   I say my good-byes with hugs and then I am out into the cold (I really dislike the cold).  This is where it really starts to hit that I am heading to an empty house without my children.  I have nothing, I mean nothing to do when I go home.  The house is clean, the laundry done, the dishes done, Colby is fed and it is a holiday, so friends are either in their own food coma or they are still with family (and besides I went out the night before, I can't make a habit of going out, can I...hmmm).  The ride home, which seemed like it took forever on the way down, goes way too fast on the way back.

Now I know my kids are having a good time with their mother, and that is comforting, however it is not all encompassing comforting.  It was only about seven at night when I got home, so I have a lot of time to kill.

I am notorious for forgetting to turn on my outside front door light when I leave, and of course I forgot again last night, so it is dark when I opened the door to a happy puppy (Colby rocks).  Luckily somebody a lot smarter than me invented texting and Facebook (if that didn't exist, where would I shove my blog links down your throats, myspace...please).

Crossfit at 5:30am helps to get me going in the morning, but even better is that I got my kids back around 9:00am, and they have some serious energy and hugs for me.  The even better news is the next holiday is mine, and it is the holiday, and that makes me smile.

So, about my victory

Sweat runs down my nose, the taste of blood fills my mouth, I can not give up, I have come too far.

I bend over and put my hands on my legs, my pants are soaked from wiping my hands on them.  There is equal chance it is sweat and blood, and there is equal chance the blood is mine or a vanquished foe.  I need to fight thru the exhaustion and pain, "just keep moving" I tell myself over and over.  They will not stop, no they will keep coming until there is nothing left of you. I must be heartless, I must be ruthless and I must show no weakness.

I slowly raise my torso back up and take one last breath.  The air tastes stale, like it is rising from stagnant water.  I start to run, head up, hands open, slight lean forward...the only thing going faster than my feet powered by my quads is my heart.  I can feel its beating in my neck, it feels like a drum.  I shake my head of the distraction, a distraction this late in the quest is liable to get me hurt, or worse, make me lose.  Hurt heals, but losing is forever.

I must keep my wits about me.  Even if they are not my strongest asset, they have kept me around this long.  I am still in this, and I am in this to win.  Too much is riding on me succeeding.

I see a puddle of something dark ahead of me on my left, it is shiny and placid, like a pond on a summer day where the only ripples are caused by a fish jumping for a mid-day snack.  Before I realize my mind has wandered, I feel a jolt to my ribs and hear a crunch that tells me an Advil will not be a quick fix.  I am sent flying to my left and I slide across the smooth floor and into the once placid puddle.  It is not a puddle of something anymore, it is a smear of blood, I see that now.

I look back and I see her.  She is as wide as she is tall, and she is very tall.  She caught me unawares with what looks like a leather mace she wields with two hands.  Her stench reaches me before she does.  She has obviously been here longer than I have or this is not her first go around.

She takes slow, but deliberate, steps.  Her matted hair flies about her head, eyes smeared with black and lips covered in red as she begins to swing her weapon again.  It is slow at first but the weight it holds gives it speed.  That is how I will I defeat this one.  I need only to dodge a single swing and she will be unbalanced.

I stay on the ground, but I plant my feet away from the smear, I do not want to add to it.  Wait for her to come closer....closer still...still closer...NOW!  As she brings her arms and weapon down on my position, I slide to her right.  The weight and momentum carry her a little and she stumbles.  I jump to my feet and my ribs remind me that she is not somebody to take lightly.  I kick at her in her wobbly state and she goes down hard on her head.  I thick thud and a slight groan tell me she is bested.

I give myself a second or two to feel my ribs and grimace in pain.  I start walking and there it is...the reason for all the pain, the reason for the exhaustion, the reason I have done unspeakable acts that I will relive in my nightmares for years to come, but wait...there is another.  He is on the other side.  He looks hungry and he looks desperate.  Clearly his journey has not been an easy one either.  While I do not know the horrors he has seen, I know he has seen them, but now he sees his finish line too.

We lock eyes and for a moment we both stop, then we run.   My ribs hurt more with every step I take, my lungs are burning and I am gasping for air.  I can feel my quads, hamstrings, glutes and calves all burning, they are begging for a rest, but my head and heart tell them rest is for the weak.

My eyes are on the prize, nothing else.  I am within mere feet of winning, of completing a task I did not think completable, but so is my opponent.  I am not sure who will get there first, but I can not risk being second so I alter my path slightly and when I near the center I send a hard a shoulder into his chest.  I hear the air leave his body and he is left crumpled on the floor.  I see his eyes and they show hurt, loss, and disappointment.  I also catch a reflection of my own eyes, they show soullessness.

There is nobody left to stop me, so I gingerly walk to the center.  My fallen opponent is trying fruitlessly to regain his form, he will not be able to, I know this and deep down he must too.  He tries to speak, something about his daughter.

I reach up and claim what is mine, finally.  Where the energy or pain tolerance comes from, I do not know, but I let out a primal scream.

I have survived Black Friday at Wal-mart!  Victory, thy name is Tickle Me Elmo!

As I stride out with my chest puffed and my swagger back, I immediately wonder how I much it will go for on Ebay.

So, I'm thankful for you, the readers

When I started this, I did it as a means of release, much like Crossfit (warning, warning Crossfit mention), after my divorce and losing my kids for half their lives.  It was a way for me to keep my head calm and organized.  I truly enjoy writing this blog (and writing in general for that matter).  I never expected anybody to read this, other than my mother (who oddly enough can't figure out how to find it on the big, bad interworldnetthing).

Well for some odd reason, of which I can not figure out, there are a few people that are reading my writing.  I get to see how many people read the blog on a daily basis thru the blogspot.com reporting.

So first I want to say thank you.  I mean that from the bottom of my heart (which is running at a much better rate thanks to Crossfit, I sneaked it in there again).  I have received numerous emails, Facebook messages, texts and calls about the blog.  A lot of you have shared similar stories to what I have gone thru, and that makes me feel like I belong, so again, thank you!

Now, I also want to say, some of you scare the living crap out of me.  Those reports I referenced earlier also tell me which posts get the most views.  I can break my readers into three distinct groups (yep, I'm going to profile you).

1.  The first group loves the family/kids/emotional stuff.  The posts about my father and my sister were among the highest viewed.  Those can be the easiest to write, but the hardest to post for me.  That is the closest I can come to standing in front of the world as naked as the day I was born, which I think helps make me stronger (tho you may want to shield your eyes).

I imagine the people that continue to click on those posts are some of the people that would stop and help an elderly woman fix a flat tire.  You are most likely parents and you know what it is like to love and lose someone close to you.  I would love to have a dinner with you guys, then sit around a table and tell stories long into the night (but not too late, we have kids to get up in the morning).

2.  The second group really likes the posts where I attempt to be funny (notice the word attempt).  My posts on cartoon shows and online dating got some good play.  These are usually easy to write and even easier to post.  They are usually off-the-cuff and they are motivated by something I saw that day or something I heard from a friend (or something I eavesdropped while at Aldi's or Giant Eagle). 

I imagine these people are mainly readers that are reading this while at work and looking for an escape (unemployment is a helluva escape, but I don't recommend it).  I see them as needing a distraction at times because they are working their arses off (make no mistake stay-at-home parents, you are in this group too).  I want to go grab a drink (not beer, I'm trying to get rid of the belly...well, ok, just one) and then tell dirty jokes with.  This group would probably keep me up too late to make it to the gym (hey, I didn't mention Crossfit...dang).

3.  The third and final group, you guys worry me.  Scare me as in I do not know if I should call the cops or call a psychiatrist when I see you. The two most popular posts I have put on the blog are ones about unemployment and getting a Q-tip shoved into my *ahem*.  What is wrong with you people?  Are you only happy when I am miserable (have you been talking to my ex-wife, again I'm kidding, I have a good relationship with her)?  I mean, you think it is funny that I walk around clueless, moronic and completely deserving of the occasional kharmic smack to the back of the head?  If I somehow crap my pants in front of a large group of people, I know who is going to read that first...you!

That said, I want to spend time with you guys and laugh with you guys, because I am one of you.  I want to go to Pens games and the first Pirate playoff game in 21 years with you.  I want you to introduce me to vodka and water (aka wodka) and I want to introduce you to Prom Queens (amaretto and diet Coke).  I want to make memories with you (that I may have to be reminded about).

Nothing makes me laugh more than my own stupidity than the stupidity of others.  Lets not act like it is a bad thing either, hell how many comedians and writers have made a living exploiting stupidity (seriously, I want to know how many).

Obviously this is tongue-in-cheek (where the hell else would it be?), I know I should not, and can not, put everybody into one category.  And truth be told, I fit into these, and a lot more groups.

Again, I have really enjoyed writing this blog and knowing that there are people reading my ramblings motivates me to JUST KEEP MOVING (what, did you think I wasn't going to get that in?)

Thank you so much and Happy Thanksgiving,

M

So, shameless plugs

Divorce, Crossfit, parenting, embarrassment, being a single dad, why would I not shamelessly plug myself (because I don't do it enough already on Facebook)? 

You can follow me on twitter at Halvybuckets

You can follow me on Pinterest (I'm brand spanking new on this, so I have no idea what I'm doing) Pinterest  The Pinterest page will have recipes, exercises and probably random stuff!

So, sometimes doing the right thing....

I am firm believer that we should always do the right thing, I am also a firm believer that I do not always do that.  I think a lot of the time we avoid the right thing is because we are afraid of the consequences (I know my daughter has no problem trying to avoid the consequences of misbehaving).

It can be painful to admit being wrong, or admit we screwed up or sometimes it can be physically painful.  I figure I would share a humorous (at least I can laugh about it now) situation I went thru immediately after I graduated from college.

WARNING GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF ME GOING THRU UNPLEASANTNESS

Ok, you have all been officially warned.

I started dating my ex-wife during my senior year in college, she was a junior (no, that isn't the unpleasantness).  So she still had another year away at school while I moved back in with my parents and waited for her to finish up (some advice to grads, don't move back in with your parents, trust me).

I had my first unpleasant real job and I was making decent money (it was decent because I was living at home, eating at home, and had no bills to speak of).  I also received these things called health benefits.  I did not really care about them, but man did everybody else tell me how great they were (everybody was right, I was a moron).

I did not really need to use them, as I had been fairly healthy (aside from the yearly laryngitis I would get in November, I'm odd, I know).  However, I got it in my head (which before therapy and meds was like a roller coaster in outer space) that I should get checked out for any sexually transmitted diseases.  Now I was not the most sexually active guy (tho it was not from the lack of trying, I just had no "game", kinda like now), but I was with my ex and it was something I thought responsible people did (it is, go get checked you dirty, dirty college grads).  So I decided I would dust off my health benefits and see what all the excitement was about.

So, while I like to applaud myself for making the decision to do the right thing (again you dirty, dirty college grads, it is the right thing), I do not know I would have done it at the age of 21, if I knew the pain I would go thru.

My first bout of pain came from my mother, oh my dear, sweet, over-dramatic mother (don't worry she doesn't read this blog, she doesn't know how to get to facebook on her phone let alone a blog).  When I told her why I was going to the doctor, she kinda freaked.  She said she did not think it was a good idea.  Her reasoning, now try to follow this logic, was that if my insurance company saw I was going for STD tests, they would think I was in a high-risk lifestyle and they would drop me.  Yep, that "what the hell did I just read" thought in your head was in mine too.  Had this been a Saved by the Bell type of sitcom, I would have looked into the camera and shrugged.

I did not let my mother's concern over my health coverage versus my actual health deter me from seeing my nurse practitioner (who is an amazing woman, keep in mind I said woman).  I remember going to the office and it was a beautiful summer day, which for me is blazing hot.  I was off from work and I figured lets go get some blood drawn.  I checked in, waited and got called back to a room.

The nurse came in and took my blood pressure, weighed me and briefly went over my medical history.  She then asked why I was there.  I told her I wanted to get tested.  She asked if I had any reason to think I had caught anything.  Suddenly embarrassment washed over me, I am sure I stumbled with my words less than I remember, but I remember it like I was Porky Pig.  I felt this overwhelming need to tell her that I was not some irresponsible 20-something that slept with a thousand woman and did drugs all the time.  She did not care, at all.

The nurse said my nurse practitioner would be in soon and she went on her way. A few more moments passed where I looked around the exam room...wow, neat model...huh, that is a lot of rubber gloves...do they call it a sharps container because the needles are sharp...and other stupid thoughts probably went thru my head.  Finally my nurse practitioner came in.  This is where I should have left the room.

She looked at me with a confused look on her face.  She then asked me why I was not undressed and in the gown on the counter (somehow in my mindless gazing around the room, I missed that).  The look on my face must have told her all she needed to know.

I can remember her next sentence exactly "Ok, honey, you don't know what this test consists of, do you?"  Apparently I did not, since I was figuring they would draw some blood, send it out to some lab filled with giant spinning thingys that could tell me I was clean of all dirty, dirty things.  After I told her no, she calmly pulled up the stool that sits in every doctor's exam room (you know the bad news stool they use when the news is so bad they need to sit to deliver it).  She then reached into a cabinet and pulled out a long pointy Q-tip (insert inappropriate "how long was it" joke here).  Gentlemen, this is where you may want to stop reading, ladies, feel free to laugh.

I really wish I could have seen my face as she explained that she would be inserting the sharpened Q-tip into my urethra (aka my...*ahem*).  She told me that while it would hurt going in, it would hurt more when she took it out (because all the moisture would be gone from my *ahem*).  To top it off, she informed me that the first time I peed, it would burn...a lot.

She was not wrong...about any of it.

So while I was doing the right thing, I was not enjoying it.  It was embarrassing, confusing and very painful (despite my best efforts to never pee again, my bladder eventually failed and fire ensued).

All that said, I can tell you it was the right thing to do. Knowing my mental health (or sometimes lack thereof) I can also tell you that the physical pain and ego bruising was totally worth the mental calm I got when I got a clean bill of health. 

So basically, if doing the right thing is to take a sharp stick to the *ahem*, it may actually be worth doing.

So, about being unemployed

Being unemployed is the worst thing ever (ok, not ever, but it still stinks).  Being unemployed is fine for the first week or so because it feels like a vacation, but then you quickly realize this is not the vacation you dreamed of, it is the one where you are trapped in a cruise ship cabin with the flu (not the vodka kind either) and you have seven teenagers bickering over which character on Dawson's Creek (that's still on, right?) is the best.

It is especially terrible now that it is cold and it is getting dark outside at 4:30 pm (is there anyway I can blame the government on this one?).   No more working outside or sending the kids out to play to tire themselves out.  Nope, cabin fever will be setting in at about 4:31 pm.  Even worse, since I hate the cold, is I am stuck in the house.

Let me go over the list of things you can do when you are unemployed and you are stuck in the house: sleep, eat, clean, shower, use the bathroom, clean,  watch tv, clean, and the worst of them all, apply for jobs.

Sure I am supposed to apply for jobs, and I am...constantly...over and over.  It is very much like online dating (if you read my online dating entry, you know how much I loved that).  It seems every company is trying to one-up each other on how hard it is to submit a resume.  I do not mind entering my name, address, phone number and email address.  I understand needing me to upload a writing sample, a resume and a cover letter, really I get that, but do I have to do it three separate times?  I mean really, if you are trying to see who can get thru the online gauntlet with the fewest hairs left on their head, then you are doing a bang-up job.  However, if you are trying to find somebody that wants to work for a company that does not enjoy torturing their employees, you may want to rethink your "automatic parsing" program that takes info from my resume and puts it where the hell it wants to on your site...just sayin'.

Once I have entered my information about six times (see as this entry grows, so does my nose), I finally get to the successful submission...wait...what the...I did not enter all the desired fields?  Which one did I miss?  Ok, after wading thru the previous 45 pages of information, I realize I forgot to check the box next to MR.

Ok, now I have the successful submission page.  The next part is worst the part, I would rather fill out 1,000 online applications that make you enter your information eight times (hmmm...my nose is itchy) then go thru this next part, the dreaded waiting game (insert evil laugh here).

Seriously, when I see a position I know I could do, or one that I really think is interesting, it is exactly like online dating.  I have checked their profile (wow that job looks great in jeans), I have let them know I am interested (that suave email I sent you with the attached duck face resume is from me, wink wink) and now I am going to sit by my computer and wait for you to respond...you ARE going to respond, right?  You would not just let me sit here and stare at my laptop (that is currently missing the letter b, thanks Ave!) and hope you get back to me.  Wait...was that a new email?  Why yes it was, oh, it is just an automatically generated email saying you got my application (so you're saying there's a chance).  That is ok, I will wait patiently.  Ok I have been waiting for 20 minutes, what is taking you so long?  I match up so well with you!  Our children would be adorable! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! 

All joking aside, I really do hate the job hunt process.  I already feel pretty lousy that I am not contributing to society and that I feel like I am letting my kids down, I do not need some computer program scanning my uploaded resume looking for keywords that might set off an email to an hr rep.

So if you know anybody that needs a copywriter, or an editor, or anything else that was popular before computers were invented, I am your guy.  Just shoot me an email, text, phone call, carrier pigeon, a rock with a note wrapped around it thru my window, basically anything but a fax (who uses a fax machine anymore, geesh people).

Seriously...do it...now...please...I have been waiting for at least five minutes now!

So, I love my Fridays

I am sure this first part of the entry will not win me any Father of the Year awards, but it is how I feel, and I try to be honest.  I love my Fridays.

Now I know a lot of people love their Fridays, but I do not think it is for the same reason I do.  Most people look forward to Friday because it is their last day of work for the week (except for those in the service industry, thank you!).  Being unemployed kind of takes that out of the equation for me, so that is not why I love my Fridays.  For a giant group of people, Fridays are pay days.  Again, being unemployed kind of takes that out of the equation for me (I'm getting better at math with all these equations!).  No, I love my Fridays because my kids go back to their mother's house.

See I told you I would not win any Father of the Year awards (or any new friends for that matter) with this part of the blog.  Now I only ask that you hear me out before you come after me with pitchforks and torches.  My custody arrangement is 50/50.  Friday is the back-and-forth day.  So, for example, this last Friday, I got my kids ready for school and the babysitter's house and once they were dropped off, my week was over.

What this means is I am essentially a single-dad for a week at at time, which like this last week, can feel like an eternity.  My kids are really good, for the most part, but every once in a while they are kidsastors.

Every night I have to sit with my daughter, Ave, for about an hour to get her to fall asleep.  When you have homework, or a son constantly calling for you, or a hot date with the couch this can be a little taxing.  You just want to go Sammy Jackson on her and say Go the F to Sleep (you need to click on that and laugh for a long time), but that clearly is not the proper way to handle this situation.  Well this week it was even longer.  She wanted to watch a movie in her room, nope not gonna happen (especially since it was the crappy new version of Willie Wonka, seriously Tim Burton, just stop already).  She wanted a snack, nope not gonna happen, she should have eaten dinner.  She wanted a different blanket, nope not gonna happen, she should not have spilled chocolate milk on it the day before.

So I cave, as I think most dads will do with a waist-high, blonde-haired, blue-eyed princess, and I start the movie (my brother-in-law looks like the new oompa loompas), get her a banana (then apple slices because the banana wasn't good, then crackers because nothing says comfortable sleep like crumbs in your bed) and finally I dig the dirty blanket out of the laundry (it's better than her being cold and waking me up at 3 am).    She is the anti-Sleeping Beauty, so I guess that makes her the Waking Beast (hey Disney, good luck with that marketing campaign).

When Ave finally falls asleep it is time to get Luke ready for bed.  He has never been a problem getting ready for bed, but since I am writing this entry, clearly he was this week.  The one night he was playing a video game (I officially hate them all and I can't believe I liked them), and I told him he had to go to bed the next time his character died.  I heard his character go down in a not-so-blaze of glory, and told him it was bed time.  This did not sit well with Luke.  He went into full meltdown mode, which of course woke his sister up...I wanted to go into Operation Shutdown, but being by myself (serious kudos to full-time single parents) I had to start the whole process over again.

Ave is an antagonizer.  She likes to get a rise out of her brother and she knows exactly how to do it.  This week she was the Pablo Picasso of antagonizing.  Luke came home from school and did not want to do his homework (which usually doesn't happen), I told him no games or snacks until he did at least half of it.  He whined (damn you Caillou!) but eventually he realized I was not going to cave. Well Ave had no issues just picking at him...and picking at him...and picking at him...it was like a vulture going after the bleached bones of a meal.  I tried my best to intervene, but sometimes the water just beats the dam.  He flipped out, big time.  I told him no games or TV the rest of the night (along with Ave as well) and he ran to his room slamming the door.  With Luke, trying to calm him down is better with hugs and love.  I did that, he calmed down a bit and we went out to the living room.  It took Ave all of two seconds to get him going again.  i wanted to pull out that secret bottle of something that we all know Caillou's mom is hiding.

So those instances, along with the normal nightly issues of Luke not wanting to eat what I cook, Avery not wanting to get out of the bath, both of them disagreeing on what show to watch, etc., I had no issue texting someone "Woohoo...I dropped my kids off!" on Friday morning.

I mean, I guess there were a few fun moments this week.  I thoroughly enjoyed Avery painting my toenails (I wish I had nail polish remover).  I was so proud at Luke's parent-teacher conference when the teacher said he was so smart and a joy to have in class.  I was even prouder when I saw his report card (he is the next Einstein and Edison rolled into one).  Sure, Avery telling me that I am a bad singer and that I should stop was cute.  If you twisted my arm, I would have to admit that watching a Pens game with son has become one of my favorite things in the world (he is so into it and cheers so loud).  Fine, Avery "helping" me make dinner a couple nights is so adorable I just want to squeeze her.  And yes, Luke wearing the Pitt Panther winter hat makes me want to burst.

The times they are not going after each other they can be so cute it makes a kitten look like Gary Busey, like when Luke tried to teach Ave how to read or how to count past 15.  And if I had to admit it, watching the two of them wrestle and laugh beats any game on tv. But...

But...but...umm...so...is it Friday yet, I miss my stud and punkinhead.

So, some of my favorite quotes

You may think this is an easy way out of writing a blog entry, aaaaaanddddd you would be right (I was saving lives last night, aka watching the Pens).  That said here are some of my favorite quotes that I always find inspirational:


“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.
-William Purkey (of course if your daughter tells you that you're a bad singer, maybe you are)


“Be the change that you wish to see in the world."
-Ghandi (I tend to turn this one around and make it about myself)


“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”
-Ghandi (he was smart)


"We accept the love we think we deserve." (this one is so powerful to me)
-From The Perks of Being a Wallflower


 “I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.”
-Thomas Edison (Thank you Mr. Suttner, my fourth grade teacher for introducing me to Edison's history)


“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”
-Hellen Keller (I would say she has us all beat in the tough life category)


 “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
-Winston Churchill

Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/abraham_lincoln.html#gVpL8f0wkMOm3vFs.99

Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/abraham_lincoln.html#gVpL8f0wkMOm3vFs.99

"Most people are as happy as they make up their minds to be"
-Abe Lincoln (My favorite American and one helluva motivator during the roughest time in our great country.  If he could stay positive while half the country wanted him dead, he dealt with his wife  who was a cause of great pain, he lost children, and he battled his own mental demons, then what I'm going thru is a piece of cake, especially since I know I've made up my mind to be happy.)


"Just Keep Moving"
-From someone smarter than I am, Ryan Beth Lynn

So, hitting a curve ball

I know I have heard you should stay away from sports analogies because it tends to alienate a part of your audience, but it is my blog, so deal with it (I'm kidding, please come back).  Really tho, I think everybody knows what a curve ball is, and I would say even more people know what is meant when somebody says life threw you a curve ball.

We would like to have nice easy pitches, most of us probably think we are owed them (personally I'm waiting for somebody to put one on a tee for me), but that is not how life works.  Sometimes you have to swing at the curve ball and hope you make contact.

I have given up trying to see the curve ball coming, I am as accurate as recognizing a good curve as I am at predicting Powerball numbers (I drive a 2009 Pontiac G6 with kool aid stains on the front seat).  However, I am trying to become better at adjusting to them.

I do not like change, at all (do you know how hard it was for me to give away my clothes from when I was bigger?).  I still have t-shirts from college and I still have several CD players, despite my music being on my phone.  Of course those are trivial (pursuit?) and really I do not think anybody cares that I have t-shirts that may be older than some of you reading this blog.  The changes, or adjustments, that I should make are always the toughest.

I set goals like most people, and I try to come up with a a plan as best I can.  Every once in a while a hiccup, or curve ball, rears its ugly head and sends me into a little bit of a panic.  I had one of those this week.

See my problem is I am an instant gratification kinda guy.  I like my things and I like my things now (I just figured out where my kids get it from...*sigh*).  When that does not happen, I get a little frazzled and frustrated (I need to work on my long-term patience).

I think everybody is entitled to be a little frazzled or panicked for a little bit after getting fooled by a curve ball, but I think the recovery time is where I need to improve.  Usually I tend to stew or dwell on what went wrong, how I screwed up, how somebody else screwed up, or even how it is going to get worse, but really that does not serve any purpose.  If I could just keep moving (I've heard that somewhere before), I could fix my issues and move on quicker (at least if it is a week the kids are at their mother's house because quick doesn't exist when they are here).

Dwelling does nothing to keep me moving forward.  It makes small problems into mental mountains, and it makes big problems into self-made tragedies.  I do not need that in my life. Dwelling is a poison to me.  It keeps me from being me, from falling asleep, from staying asleep and can make me a pain in the arse to be around.  I need to avoid it.

So while I know I may not make the right decision after swinging wildly at that curve ball, at least I can shorten the dwelling and the amount of time before I finally get to that elusive right decision (sometimes I won't, it happens).  Lets face it, we could all use more time, even if my father liked to argue that time was a man-made invention (no dad, the way we measure it is a man-made invention, time is still ticking away, and it is finite...).

I am still trying to figure out how to make contact, but in the mean time, I will do my best to be ready for the next pitch (I really hope it's thrown underhand).   

So, about getting stuff done (another personal mantra)...

When I got divorced it was the first time I lived on my own (and by "on my own" I mean half the time truly alone and half the time with two little kidsasters running around messing up what I just cleaned).  It was a pretty good culture shock, and it is a very good thing for my next wife.

When my ex and I first started living together (in sin, oh no!), I did not pull my own weight on home front.  I had lived with my parents where a lot of the daily grind was done by my mom, and before that I lived in a townhouse with four other guys where nothing was done, so my idea of cleaning up was spraying some Febreze and shoving stuff under other stuff.  My ex and I had one of our only fights (looking back I wish we had more fights) about me ignoring household chores, and she was right.

I did shape up and the house started to run a lot smoother, then we had kids and all hell broke loose.  Simply picking up after yourself was no longer adequate, you now had to pick up after two other people (but really a kid is like five times more messy than an adult...at least mine are).  We adjusted and even tho the house was never immaculate, it was rarely in such disarray that I would be embarrassed if  somebody stopped over unexpectedly.

Then, I got divorced.  The first week of custody was mine, and it was an absolute bear (I'm serious, I think somehow my kids sneaked in a bear).  They were like a volcano married a hurricane, crap was everywhere.  I was working, going to Crossfit, fielding calls from people wanting the dirt, etc., so I thought it was a good idea to clean everything up after I got the kids down for the night.  (All together now...) I am a moron.

First, thinking my kids would go down easily after going thru a total upheaval was wishful thinking (heck they don't do it now and it's been over a year and a half).  Second, when they did finally fall asleep, I was completely crushed and exhausted.  There were nights I would get every thing cleaned up and I would look around with a grin that  could give away my hand.  Most nights tho, I was just too tired and I would pick and choose what I needed to do (usually based on the smell test).  I was losing the battle.

When my kids would go to their mother's house, I would spend all day Saturday cleaning, not exactly the way I wanted to spend my Saturday (I've got things to do people, important, life-changing things).  Of course there were those Saturdays that all I wanted to do was rest on my couch after coming home from Crossfit, so sometimes I would skip the Saturday cleaning.  I was not just losing the battle, I was surrendering.

At some point, I started adding another mantra, that I say mainly when the kids are home (I talk to myself a lot), Nobody Else Is Going To Do It.  Like with my other mantras, this one started to spill over in to other parts of my life.  Mainly it spilled because it is so true.  At first it started out seeing one of my daughter's dirty socks in the bathroom, I could leave it there, or I could realize that nobody else was going to pick it up.  I stopped waiting until the night to do things and I started doing them as I noticed them (who knew that could be a good idea?).  Dishes stopped resting in my sink and started resting in the dishwasher until it was full.  Dirty laundry (I think somehow I have five kids) stopped piling up and started getting done just about every day, all because nobody else is going to do it.

Like I said, it started to bleed into other areas of my life.  Calling with questions about grad school, running the mile without stopping, signing up for unemployment (again...boo!), learning new recipes, meeting new people, going to therapy, attempting to date and so on became things that I did because nobody else was going to do it for me.

All these "nobody else is going to do it" moments started to have a real impact on my life and my mental well being.  I started to realize that doing things that I did not usually do, things that were out of my comfort zone, were making me a stronger person, a better dad and happier.  From the small victories like picking up the thousand sippy cups that accumulated around my house (seriously, is anybody missing a kid?) to the major victories like starting school, it was like I could feel myself becoming more independent and stronger.  Now I know there is probably some sort of weighting system when it comes to gaining strength (I mean no way does the mundane picking up of a sock equal walking into an uncomfortable situation at a funeral home), but I have not figured it out, so I am going to just keep adding weight (finally I can put weight back on).

This entire entry may sound very much like a "no kidding" situation, but for a guy that had not lived alone until he was 34, it was not.  I will never enjoy doing the dishes or cleaning the toilet, but I do enjoy the end result.  I like that I am winning some of the battles, or at least going down with a fight.

So, I need to follow my own advice...

I am completely addicted to Crossfit and working out, and I am not sure if it is good or bad.

I know the body needs rest and I know that doing two work outs a day is not always a good thing.  That being said, I love the feeling after getting done with a work out.  The exhaustion, that feeling of accomplishment, being sweaty (I really like to sweat, which is good, because I do it a lot), beating a previous personal record, seeing others finish (sometimes even after me!) and a lot of other feelings that I can not put into words.

I have said before what a release Crossfit is for me from my daily mental issues (and there are plenty), but it is also a way of making sure I do not slip back into bad habits.  I equate missing a day of Crossfit to forgetting to brush your teeth at night.  You know the feeling, I am sure.  There you are all ready for a good night of sleep (which with kids means a solid 5 hours) pulling the covers up, fluffing the pillows, getting ready for your mind to keep you up longer than you want (what, that's not normal?) when suddenly...BAM...you realize you forgot to brush your teeth.  You do not want to climb down the stairs, but there is some force inside you that is telling you if you do not brush your teeth, they will explode when you wake up.  So you drag yourself out of bed to take care of it.  That is exactly how I feel when I miss a Crossfit work out.  So, playing inner shrink, why the hell do I feel this way?

First and foremost, I am scared to death to become that top picture on the blog.  I was always slender growing up.  My parents told me I could not play football unless I put on weight, I drank so many milkshakes it would make Kelis jealous (for those less fortunate to know who Kelis is mmmm...milkshakes).  Now, if I think about a milkshake, even if it is made from wheat grass, almond milk, tofu and protein powder I would gain 5 pounds (damn...I just thought of it, didn't I?).

It is not just the physical appearance (tho lets face it, that's a big huge friggin' enormous part of it).  When I was that big, I did not have any self confidence.  No way could I have made the decision to go back to school, ask somebody out, think about starting a business (shhh...more coming on that soon), or move on with my life after my divorce, had I still remained that big.

I see that picture and immediately revert back to how I felt then, and I do not want to feel that way all the time.  Crossfit (which is my work out of choice, but anything is good) keeps me from sliding back (hey this is a great opportunity to say Just Keep Moving).

This is egotistical (shocker that I have an ego), but I do like having people that have not seen me in a while tell me they do not recognize me.  I was at Crossfit Latrobe last week and the sweetest lady told me she saw my before and after pictures on the website (chance to pimp CrossfitLatrobe).  I knew the kudos were coming, and they still feel good, but she went a step further.  She said she noticed I did not have a wedding ring and that finding that partner would not be difficult now.  That hit me right in heart (in a good way, not in the I-just-ate-five-orders-of-grilled-stickies way).  It was so nice to hear.  Obviously, I would not have heard that with the 70+ extra pounds I had before I started Crossfit.

So working out builds me up physically, mentally and helps build my self confidence, so why am I worried if being addicted to it is bad?  Oh yeah, because I am 35, not 18 and I can hurt myself, that is why.

I know that rest helps the body grow after work outs, it gets you ready for your next work outs, and it just feels good to sit on the couch some times and watch Masterpiece Theater The Simpsons.  I was forced to take two days off this weekend since I had my kids, and I felt good on Monday when I went back.  Without the distraction of my kids this weekend (kidstraction?), I know I would feel terrible not working out.

Look, I know rest helps my next performance and health, but...I do not think I can stop, nor do I want to.  When I look at feeling the way I do after a work out versus how I feel when I skip a day, I will risk (and make no mistake, it's a risk) going too much.

M

So, my dog, the Colbster

My dog should be put up for sainthood.

Colby (or Colbster or Colby A) is my seven year old black lab mix that amazes me almost as much as my children.  When my ex and I got him, he was just 12 weeks old and he was adorable (and he still is, in a roll on your back and show your junk kinda way).  His giant brown, soulful eyes, the white stripe that went down his chest and the gray ring that went around his tail were Norman Rockwell-esque.

I was going to name him Crosby (being a huge Penguins fan), but I was afraid a lot of people would name their pets (or kids) after Sydney Crosby.  Instead, I went with a sure fire name of a player that could not possibly be traded, since he was Crosby's best friend on the team, Colby Armstrong.  Armstrong was traded a year later (it's ok, now people just think I really like cheese).  Clearly his life with me was off to a fantastic start.

I had been warned that Labs took a long time to mature and get out of the puppy stage, but I had no idea how loooooooong it really lasted (longest. three. years. ever.).  He was a chewer, and he did not  have any distinguishing taste.  He was a fan of shoes, a wooden stand my grandfather had made, Luke's binkies, and oddly enough the carpet (the hole was dead in the middle of the living room, of course).  He would constantly run around, after what I have no idea.  The mistake  to get him a laser light was made (there are few days in my life I wish I could redo, that is one).  While it was hysterical watching him chase the laser light around the house, onto the couch, up the wall, etc., it was not so hysterical when he constantly begged/cried/acted like a teenager for the light.  He knew we put it on the fridge, so we moved it.  That did not work, because even tho we knew the light was not on the fridge, he did not (mind boggling, I know).

Colby was enrolled in puppy obedience school, and he was doing a nice job too.  However, about 3/4 of the way into it, Luke was born.  Clearly I missed a few classes with Colby A, and it showed as he was now THAT dog in a class.  I am sure you all know what I am talking about, he was more interested in sniffing some ass and biting some ears.  

When Luke was born I naturally had some concerns how a rambunctious puppy would do with my son, I know I say this a lot, but I am a moron.  I should have been worried how my soon-to-be-mobile son would be with my soon-to-be-calm dog.  As soon as Luke was mobile, Colby was a target.  Luke, and later Ave, would torture this dog.  They had no issue grabbing his tail, putting their fingers in his eyes, trying to grab his tongue, licking the inside of his ears (my daughter is so gross sometimes) and falling on him like he was a real life Pillow Pet.

Colby took it all in stride.  He never, and I mean never, snapped or growled.  It was like he was supposed to be with these kids.  I would look at him while one of my kids would be water boarding him, and he just looked up with those soulful brown eyes that told me he was cool with this, if he could have shrugged, he would have.

He (I refuse to call him an it) has had patience with my children, but man his patience with me is even more impressive.  First, I was a very different person when we got him.  I had a bit of a temper and I did not walk him enough, yet he plodded on in life.  I realized the other day that while my kids went thru a major transition during the divorce, so did Colby.  He lost his mom, kids, and his "brother" (a shepherd husky mix named Rico).  He never showed any behavior issues (probably because he likes the first couple of days my kids are gone).

There was a time after my divorce/separation that I did not want to be home when my kids were not there.  I would go out, sometimes overnight, and leave him alone.  I fed him and let him outside to do his sinful business (vague The Simpsons reference there), but he was in the house...alone.  This dog was a champ.  He did not have any accidents, aside from a bout with UTI (ouch), and he always greeted me with a wagging tail and cloud of hair (he's a shedder to the point he can look like Pig Pen coming at you).

Like I said, he is seven years old, so while he still has brown eyes (even more soulful now), his face has a lot of salt and pepper, his white chest stripe is drowned out by gray and the gray ring around his tail is replaced by all black, his look fits his demeanor, he is laid back, caring and patient, just like a grandfather.

His chewing on the carpet and running after the laser light are now replaced (like one of his ACLs)  with the occasional walk (when his bad wheel will allow it) and ten minute games of tossing a plush bone in the air.  He is not the same dog he was 5 years ago, but who among us can say we are.

Come to think of it, if I could be more like my dog, I would be a better person.

So, really I am lucky...

I was looking over some of my entries and I get the feeling that I am projecting I feel down on my life, but really it is quite the opposite.  I really believe I am one lucky individual (still no dang Powerball tho).

I am healthier now than have been in the last 15 or so years (while embarrassing that I let myself get to the point I was at, I'm proud I've made it most of the way back).  My health was not a major concern of mine, even after putting on all the weight and becoming slug-like sedentary.  I do not think it was all laziness (tho I think that was a huge part of it), I think I had some mindset that I could always just bounce back (oddly enough, I was kinda right...hmmm).  I am lucky that I found Crossfit, that I have found a diet that is working for me and that I have found the people at that Crossfit gym that keep me motivated and coming back for more.  I am lucky I finally got my head out of my arse.

I am getting a second chance at school.  Let me just tell you that I did not apply myself at all in high school or college.  I went to class in high school, but I did not give a damn about the material or doing the homework.  I went because I was supposed to go (and lets face it, daytime tv isn't worth staying home for).  Going to college was much of the same.  It was the next step in my life, I did not go because I wanted to advance my life or gain much needed knowledge (tho I did learn that if one of your roommates pees on your answering machine, he probably won't care or remember it).  That is completely different this time around (paying for it out of your own pocket can do that to you).  I am actually enjoying my classes and I am surprised that I am pretty good at math, I have no idea where that came from.  While my stats class can make me go cross eyed at times, it is rewarding when I figure a problem out.  Again I am so lucky I was able to dislodge my cranium from my behind.

My friends are some of the most amazing people in the world.  I lost contact with two dear friends during my marriage and even tho they had absolutely no reason to pick up the phone when I called, they did (hey what's seven years between friends, right?).  Clearly I was lucky that they had huge hearts and short memories (kind of like my kids when I tell them to do something).  They have been a major reason I have been able to rebound after my divorce.

I typically split my friends into two groups, neighborhood friends and college friends (tho I definitely have a third group...yep, Crossfit friends).  My neighborhood friends have brought me such unforgettable memories like the game of Red Butt, naked snow angels, countless (ok, I could probably count them if I tried) concerts and a boatload of bonfires.  I will never forget those memories (and a lot more not fit to print) and I am lucky that I am still close with almost all of those guys.  I know that is not a normal thing, but I am lucky to not only realize that, but embrace it.

My college friends (good lord help us all) have given me memories that still make me bust out in laughter at times.  I am positive people have caught me laughing and are worried I have some serious issues (quiet you).  I havee seen a friend talk himself out of throwing a beer stein through a window,  I saw an NFL player and Road Rules cast member crash one of our townhouse parties, I saw a roommate try to steal underwear (don't ask) and, like my neighborhood friends, a lot more not fit to print (call me and I'll give you all the dirt).

I also married one of those college friends, and while it did not work out, I learned a lot about relationships (mainly what I needed to improve and what I want for my next relationship), but mainly I got the two cutest children in the history of time (I've done surveys, don't try to dispute my findings). 

I'm the luckiest father in the world.  Even when my daughter insists on drinking bath water (I think she needs an intervention), or when she decides at 1 am that she is up for the day (do they make Ambien for kids yet?), I know it is all worth it.  Her laugh is infectious, raspy, and absolutely perfect.  She is only three years old, but she has a drive that I know she did not get from me.  She will not be stopped and she does not want help. The girl has confidence.  When I asked her what she was for Halloween her response was "adorable" (you can't make that up, I'm not that good of a writer).   I have no doubt she will succeed in life (even if she cuts mine short). 

My son, the one who could play the whiny Caillou, is so intelligent.  I will hear him explaining something to his sister and it is like I am listening to an adult.  I went to his parent-teacher conference the other day and I could have just burst with pride (I also had a lot of water  before, so it could have been pee).  He loves baseball, and as I have written before, baseball is a passion of mine.  I got to coach him this year and every time, no joke, every time he got a hit I could feel my emotions well up inside me.  He does his homework without prompting (remember I didn't do mine).  He loves math (whose kid is this?).  He is a great person.

While I have not hit Powerball, yet (can't jinx myself like Linus with the Great Pumpkin), I have really hit the jackpot with so many other aspects of my life.

So, yes Clint, I do feel lucky.

So, cancer...

It is coming for me.

My family does not have a good history of beating cancer (of course I guess nobody does).  Looking at both sides of my family is enough to make an oncologist drool (or rather an insurance executive).  On my father's side one uncle died in his 30s, my father at 54, my aunt in her 50s, my grandmother in her early 60s and my uncle is living with the disease right now, he is in his 50s.  My mother's side is a bit better, only one person has died from cancer, my grandfather in his early 60s, however (which is just a fancy way of saying but) my uncle, 50s, and grandmother have both had cancer.

Cancer feels like a black storm cloud creeping over my head with all the thunder your ears can handle.  I think about it, at least two or three times a week.  I think how it took so much from my family and how it takes so much from all those that have had to deal with seeing loved ones wither away to nothing.  How because of that disease my sister did not get to walk down the aisle with my father, how my kids will not get to meet their grandfather, how it hurt my sister and my mother, etc.

It scares me, a lot.  I have no desire to go thru a treatment that can be as painful as what my father went thru (tho I will, if need be).  I do not want to burden my children.

Then I think about what I can do to delay the inevitable (and believe me, it's inevitable).  I do not smoke, and I never have.  My father started smoking when he was 14 years old, and I will not do it.  I did things for my father that no son should ever have to do near the end (how did I not see his death coming?), and I know smoking was a huge part of that.

I have lost a lot of weight (the equivalent of both my kids' weights), and I am active at Crossfit (grunt...push press...grunt...squat...grunt...burpee).  I know that being active and throwing that kettle bell over my head is helping me fight for more years, days, hours or even minutes.  Sometimes I sit after a workout, watching the sweat drip from my nose, fingers and elbows and I imagine how much more time I have bought (I don't have a formula).  Putting more tread on the tires, people.

I try to be as positive as possible (much easier to do when looking at somebody else than myself). This may sound new-agey or touchy-feely, but I believe if you think you can do it, you probably can (please don't try to fly).  There are things I am going thru now that I truly believe will happen because I am willing to put the time in and I will maintain a positive outlook.  This applies to my thoughts on cancer, as well.  I believe that negativity can affect (or is it effect, I always mix those two up) you physically.  Am I always positive, um...no, that would be annoying and an outright lie, but like I told somebody recently, I will believe enough for both of us.  I try to do that, really.

I go to a doctor when I notice something is wrong with me (novel idea, I know).  I just had this conversation with a friend of mine about our fathers, they did not go to doctors.  I do not know why, perhaps it was because of the fear of the unknown becoming known, not having time, or not wanting to pick up the phone and make an appointment (was it just our two dads that made their wives make appointments?).  I have no problem asking for help, even if it is uncomfortable (guys buckle up for the Q-tip from hell, if you ever get tested for std's and calm down, it was the responsible thing to do).

Perhaps one of the more driving factors that will delay that impending storm from opening up on me is I have some really exciting goals I want to accomplish.  I want to walk my daughter down the aisle, I want to coach my son in baseball, I want to finish school, I want to get married again, I want to become a grandfather, and I want to see Sweden, Australia, Hawaii and any other place that my Powerball winnings will take me.  I believe when you lose your purpose, you tend to lose the fight (which is also why my career will never be my true purpose).  I want a future and I want that future to be filled with as many memories as possible.

Who knows if a cure will be found in my lifetime, but I am not going to sit around and wait. I am going to do what I can, when I can.

Cancer.  It is coming for me, but it is going to have to catch me first.

So, about kids shows

I am apparently old, because I'm about to go on one of those when-I-was-growing-up rants.  I am not going to say I walked to school in the snow...up hill...both ways...all year...while carrying a wounded puppy, but I am about to absolutely rail on kids shows.  Now before you go clicking on to some other website, be careful.  If you are planning to have kids, or if you will soon become a grandparent, this is your official warning about the current state of kids programming.  If you already have kids, well, you already know you're pretty much trapped with this drivel.

My son was home sick from school this week so he watched tv during part of the day.  I don't know why his shows bothered me yesterday (who knows how many times I've seen the exact episodes I watched yesterday), but they did.  As in I wanted to go on youtube and show my son what kids shows should look like.  You know the kind we had when were were growing up, they featured muscle bound heros in cod pieces (hello He-Man), complete gratuitous violence (GI Joe, ThuderCats, Tom & Jerry, Popeye or any of the 8,000 versions of Scooby Doo), a ton of robots (Transformers and Gobots) and Disney shows that didn't try to teach you a damn thing (Ducktales, Rescue Rangers, and Darkwing Duck).

Instead of the Pulitzer Prize worthy literature we had growing up, my son has some of the oddest, most annoying and mind-dulling television to choose from.

Lets start with this weird craze that involves real life actor shows.  Aside from Mr. Rogers (all bow in a moment of silence for a legend) and Sesame Street, I don't really remember shows with real actors being geared towards kids.  Now, it seems you have can't avoid them.

There is the show called The Fresh Beat Band. Basically it's about some 30 year old looking actors pretending to be in grade school (??) and they sing and play instruments.  I hate this show for so many reasons, but the top one is they are constantly smiling.  Nobody is that happy, ever, so clearly they are on drugs.  That means a major network is telling my kids to get high and just start singing in the middle of the street...THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET PEOPLE!!!  Do you know how hard it is already for me to keep my three year old daughter to hold my hand while walking to the bus stop without her desire to bust into song and some odd jazz step now?  It is nearly impossible.

We also have the completely trippy Yo Gabba Gabba.  I can not tell you what this is about, because I have no idea.  I have very little desire to do a google search on the names of the characters, so I will just refer to them as what they look like, which is by far my biggest issue with this show.  There is a character with a flower growing out of her head (I assume it's a her since she's pink).  She looks like she was rejected from the Teletubbies (there's a hot mess I'm glad my kids missed).  There is some monster-looking thing with really long arms, that are not controllable.  It is essentially the inverted-T Rex, in that they both have useless arms and can not use them for anything except for comic relief. We also have some guy that is wearing an orange uniform that looks like a guard from The Wizard of Oz.  I do not know what his deal is, he is a giant or they are small, but sometimes they are not, I have no idea. Finally, there is the worst of them all, the red thing.  I have no other way to describe this character other than what it really looks like, a vibrator.  Now before you get all offended, here is what it looks like.  Look at it and tell me I am wrong...you can not do it, can you?

Then we saw five minutes of Spongebob Squarepants...go to  hell Spongebob.  I think that sums up my feelings on him.

Apparently in the world of bunnies, it is not only ok to let a 5-6 year old and a preschooler live alone, it is genuinely accepted practice. Max and Ruby is a show on Nick Jr. that has the 5-6 year old sister, Ruby, of the preschooler Max walking the town trying to peddle some crappy brownies from a wannabe girl scout troop.  Apparently there is a grandmother, but she must too busy to really care about her grandchildren (she's probably cashing some sort of check from the dead bunny parents, kinda like Frank from Shameless).  Max doesn't talk a lot, he will usually just get distracted by a butterfly or a bubble that leads him to accidentally solve the brain-busting problem of the day (like how to remember a dance step that was solved when Max accidentally threw a football at his sister).  I do not like the bunny world, it is too cruel a place.

Finally, there is the cartoon Caillou. This show is educational, teaches kids to like school, be creative, be nice to their sister, eat different foods, never features a video game, encourages using their imagination and teaches your kid how to be an all-around giant whiner that makes Fran Drescher sound like James Earl Jones.  It really sneaks up on you how much you want to drop kick the little bald kid (what's up with that anyway, is he being played by a 30- something year old actor trying to play five years old?).  Every time, and I mean every time, he does not get his way he whines.  I now know what a dog must hear when a dog whistle is blown, because I can be downstairs doing laundry and somehow I will still hear that incessant whine from upstairs, "but maaaaaaahhhhhmmmm!"  I can feel the migraine kicking in just thinking about it. 

If Caillou was a live-action show, my son could get the lead (provided I held him down long enough to shave his head).  I have done everything I can think of to get him to stop whining, including cancelling the Sprout Channel from my DirectTV package, but Caillou is still on PBS, and really who can cancel PBS (a communist, that's who)?  I yearn for the day where Caillou's mom (who must have a lithium drip hidden under her shirt) just flips out and grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels out of her secret hiding place and tells Caillou to go find his father while she takes some "alone" time.

Alas, I can only imagine the shows will get worse with time...where have you gone Charlie Brown (wait...you're bald too...crap)?

So, about my dad

I have been pretty critical of my father up to this point in my blog, and trust me he deserved the criticism.  That said, we did become closer the last two years of his life.  In fact, I can remember one of the first things we actually agreed on, Kordell Stewart was a terrible, terrible quarterback.

The agreement came out of the blue while he was sitting at the dining room table and I was starting to walk down the hall.  My mom (a much bigger Steeler fan than either of us) made a comment about Stewart and both my father and I said (now in stereo) that he was "terrible".  We both kind of looked at each other and I really think we realized something had just happened...COMMON GROUND PEOPLE!  Sure it was on the weak-armed slinger that should have been a wide receiver, but it was still common ground.

I can actually remember having conversations about how bad we thought Stewart was (oddly enough we were both right too).  That is what we had to latch on to for the longest time.  Sure it is silly but it was ours.  Now that was not the beginning of some father-son renaissance, instead it simply provided  a rest, a speed bump on the the road of annoyance.

We did not really start getting along until after I graduated college and he had been diagnosed with cancer for the second time.  I think the combination of me maturing and of him coming to a realization that he would not be around much longer greased those wheels (or maybe it was just the primo pain meds he got), either way it happened.

I wanted to share one of my all-time favorite memories with you about him.  It was April 9th, 2003 (thank you baseball-reference for jogging completing my memory) and Todd Ritchie was pitching for the Brewers against my beloved Buccos.  I had bought the really expensive tickets behind home plate for my father the day single game tickets went on sale (my fondest memories with my father always came at Three Rivers Stadium or PNC Park).  I chose that day because my father's favorite player was Manny Sanguillen (he claimed that Sanguillen married or dated a girl he went to high school with) and it was Manny Sanguillen bobble head day.

My father's cancer had progressed to the point where he was having a really hard time sitting down, let alone getting around.  I was working in Monroeville at the time and the plan was for my father to meet me at my office.  I never thought he would be able to go to the game with me, in fact I called a friend and told him I had a free ticket for that night, but there was still a slim chance my father would go.  My friend hoped he didn't get the ticket, and to my surprise he did not.

My father called later in the day to get directions to the office and the night was set.  Now, I should tell you I was clueless (shocking I know) about my father's condition.  I knew he was sick, I knew he was in pain, but I had no idea how sick he was, not until later.  I was 24, and I was stupid.

My father had his inflatable seat donut with him when he arrived.  We got into my car (I miss my Alero) and made the brief drive to PNC Park.  I would like to say the sun was shining and it was a very warm early April night, but I would also like to say I live Hawaii and drink straight out of coconuts, but alas, neither are true.  It was miserable that night.  It was a constant mist/drizzle from even before we left my office.  When we got to the stadium it was cold, wet and windy.  I was uncomfortable, so I can't imagine how a man riddled with cancer felt.

We got our bobbleheads and made our way down to the posh seats, which of course were covered with water.  The usher did his best to dry them off, but anybody that has gone to game when it is raining knows, you are not getting that seat dry.  So we sat down and let the water soak thru our pants and straight into our bones (or so it felt).

I bought several of the watered-down PNC Park hot chocolates that night, certainly not for the taste, but for the warmth on our hands.  The rain started to come down a little harder as the game went on.  In just the third inning I asked my father if he wanted to go, I noticed he was shifting in his seat quite a bit.  He said no.  The next inning I asked him the same thing, he said no because Todd Ritchie (again pitching for the Brewers, not our beloved Buccos) had a no hitter.  He did say that when the Pirates broke it up, we could go.  Now my memory is pretty good, but I'm not sure when the Pirates finally got a hit, it seemed like forever (I don't know that I've ever wanted a Pirate hit more in my life).  Finally, somebody probably past his prime got a hit off Ritchie.  I looked at my father and he said we could go.

We started up the steps to the concourse level, it took him a while to get to the top (I didn't really think about the steps when I bought the tickets).  We made our way out of the stadium, I know I remember this correctly, and it immediately started to pour.  It was so cold and it was so wet and he was so sick, he couldn't really move faster than a normal walk.  We walked the 10 or so minutes to get to my car and by the time we got there, we were both completely drenched, cold and tired.  He did not say much on the ride back to my office, maybe he was tired, or in pain, or taking in the fact that he knew he had just seen his last ballgame with his son, but we did not have some movie-type conversation about life and how to navigate it.  I dropped him back off at his car and we went our separate ways.

He died about three weeks later.  He was 54.

Looking back, I wonder how much pain he was in while sitting in that cold, wet and windy night.  Like I've said before, I can't control what other people say or think, only what I say and think.  Well in this instance, I want to think that my father wanted one last baseball game with his son.  No matter how much pain he was in, he was not about to let an opportunity to give me a great memory go by.  It was a pretty good gift he gave me that night (not the greatest gift, only a few people know that, and I will keep that one for myself).

He was buried with the Sanquillen bobblehead, along with a baseball signed by the kids (now adults) he coached.  I still have my bobblehead and someday, when he's old enough to appreciate it, I'll give it to my son.

Speaking of my son, one of our favorite things to do, is to go to PNC Park and watch our beloved Buccos.  My son will never meet my father, but he can sit in the same seats.

M

The next generation

So, what do I want

I'm not sure if I am going thru a mid-life crisis (actually I'm past my mid life according to my family's check out time, attractive quality, I know) or a divorce awakening, but I have really been trying to figure out what I want (and not just for dinner, that's pizza most of the time).  And I'm just going to focus on myself here, of course I want the best for my kids, world peace, to hit Powerball and for my beloved Pittsburgh Pirates to win the World Series (really who doesn't want that?).

I know that I want to be a good great father to my children.  It is funny, despite having a poor relationship with my father, he is the one person that has taught me the most about being a dad.  I try to do the opposite of what he did when I was growing up.  I do my best not to yell at my kids, I do not think yelling advances a discussion or the growth of a child.  You better believe I will raise my voice to them, but I am not about top-of-the-lungs, grunting-while-you-do-it yelling.  He was, and it served no purpose (tho it's serving a great purpose for me now).

I try to make time to play with them every day, which can be difficult when you've done laundry, written, worked out, cleaned, studied, etc., but I know my father would come home and park himself in front of his computer for the night and he was done for the night.

I tell them and show them how much I love them.  I am an affectionate guy and my kids know that (lets see how long they let that one last, especially with my son).  My father never really said I love you to anybody and if you got a hug from him, it was usually a half-hearted one.

I know I want to be happy in my career.  Again, I have learned this one from my father as well (good gracious, do I have daddy issues or what?).  He hated his job with a passion and he brought it home with him.  I am not going to kid myself into believing I can find a career that will have me skipping home while singing Sweet Georgia Brown everyday, but I hope I can find one that has me doing that a lot.  I am back in school because of this very reason.  I was miserable in my previous career, and I will not subject my family and friends to that.

I know that I want to be healthier (Crossfit gushing alert).  Crossfit has centered me so much mentally and physically.  Today I did the work out twice.  It consisted of 100 lunges, 50 box jumps, 100 lunges, 40 box jumps, 100 lunges, 30 box jumps, 100 lunges, 20 box jumps, 100 lunges and finally (yep you guessed it) 10 box jumps.  I needed this both physically and mentally.  I have had a couple trying days and I took it out on that wooden box like you would not believe.  I did everything I could to turn that damn thing into toothpicks (for the record box-1, me-0).  My weight is down, my blood pressure is down,my stress is down, my endurance is up, my strength is up and my confidence is up.  I'm getting healthier.  As I like to tell a fellow crossfitter, we're putting tread back on the tires.

The last big thing I know I want is what I want in my next relationship (and this was a lot harder than I thought it would be).  Of course I want somebody I can trust, somebody that makes me laugh, somebody that will put up with my constant talking, somebody I am attracted to, etc., but I think I am figuring out what else I want (I reserve the right to change my mind, just sayin')

When I was seeing my therapist (may that woman get everything she ever wants), she asked me if I knew of a relationship that I thought was healthy.  I had to really think about this, but ultimately I did find one.  It happened to be the same friend that kicked me in the ass when I first got divorced.

In my eyes, his relationship isn't two people trying to be the same person.  They have kept their individuality (which really isn't that what attracted you to the person in the first place?), meaning they have their own interests and their own time.  He is a sports nut, she is not.  She is into art, he is from central Pennsylvania (kidding!).  He is a beer guy, she is a wine gal.

Of course they love each other.  From what I can tell, they have a date night together every weekend.  They have a dog that is like their child that they both raise together as a team.  They share interests (and surprisingly they have ended up liking some of their partner's interests), but they aren't the same person.

It comes down to this for me; I don't want to date myself (um...wait, I mean...), I want to date somebody that makes me better, and I hope that whoever I date, I make better.

Oh and did I mention I also want to hit Powerball?

M

So, about the whole online dating thing...

So when I got divorced I knew that I was not the same person I was before I got married.  I knew that my views on the world, politics, religion, kids, etc. was completely different.  I am sure if you look back 10-12 years, you would wonder what the hell that person was thinking (I'm also sure that in 10 years I'll look back and wonder what I'm thinking now).

Unfortunately, the lack of self confidence and lack of guts I had before I was married when it comes to asking somebody out never left.  In fact it is probably worse now than it was in high school.  In high school, you had the sweaty pits and sweaty hands, you fumbled over words and you acted awkward, but in the end I was pretty resilient.  I just moved on to the next person (I was such a lothario, not at all).

Let me tell you something, as an adult I had hoped all that crap would have been controllable...nope, not a chance.  It is absolutely terrifying to put yourself out there.  I still have the sweaty palms and sweaty pits (and I think even my ears sweat somehow), I still get tongue tied, and I still act awkward, but to make it worse I have this whole I-am-aware-of-what-I-am-doing feeling while doing it. I do not know if it is because I am divorced or have kids or what, but I am keenly aware that I could be making an absolute ass out of myself (and on a much higher level than usual).  I have literally had a hard time physically saying words (those that know me, probably don't believe that). I have been terrified to put myself out there, because I thought being rejected can be one of the worst things ever.

So, I took a different approach to dating when I really decided I wanted to get back out there, I went the online route.  Now let me just say I have friends that have done well with match.com or eharmony.com, but I would not include myself in that group...not even close...I hate it...I bet the eharmony founder didn't use his service to find his wife.

First I tried match.com.  It is basically like signing up for Facebook. You put in your profile, add some pics, creep on some people's pages and send a wink/nudge/elbow to the face to somebody you think is cute or has a compatible profile. Of course match.com sends you about 5-7 profiles a day they think would be ideal for you, this is all based on...well...I don't know because they were so off I would have had better luck opening up the phone book (do those still exist) and pointing to a name.  I am a non-smoker with kids, I constantly got profiles sent to me where the people were smokers or did not want to date somebody with kids.  Well, I can't really do anything about the kids part (I didn't keep the receipts), and I do not think I want to do anything about the smoking part, so...

After wading thru the "picked specially for you" list, I would find a few that seemed to be normal, remember that word seemed, it comes back into play later.   I can not speak for anybody else, but I sent out quite a few unreturned messages and winks.  When I would get a wink or message from somebody I tried to respond, I really did, until the end of my subscription when I was letting it run out. 

So then I would get some responses back and some of the exchanges were nice, most were from hookers, some would start up then fizzle out and the occasional one would lead to a date who brought a gun with them.  Oh wait, did I mention a gun?

So after emailing back and forth for a week or two with what seemed (there's that word again) like a nice sensible person (she was a teacher, they're clearly sane, right...right?), we set a date to meet up.  We went to the movies and I got there first, and I waited.  She was late, and keep in mind she said she could see the theater from her house, but hey, things happen, right? I do, however, remember thinking this is not how it is supposed to be.  It did not feel right to me, but I was already there, so I was going thru with this.  She got there and we shared an awkward hug that feels like you're hugging a distant relative that you don't remember at all.  We talked a bit before the movie started and then settled into our seats.

After the movie, we decided to grab a few drinks so we could get to know each other better. She told me she was originally from the north hills part of Pittsburgh, but I noticed she had a New Jersey accent.  I asked her about it and she said she spent a summer there once (um ok). We got to talking and since it was in November the election was coming up and she started asking about my thoughts on politics.  I firmly believe there are three things you shouldn't bring up to somebody you first meet, religion, politics and Notre Dame football (all three will give you very passionate responses that could really blow up).  I did my best to dance around some of the questions, because I could tell she was passionate about it, but I was uncomfortable.  Somehow the political discussion turned to gun control.  I'm not a gun nut, nor am I anti-gun.  I have  hand guns and I have shot guns, but I do not hunt and I do not carry a concealed weapon.  I told her this, she did not like that at all.  Apparently I was supposed to be clearly on one side of this argument.  Her response, and I am assuming it was out of frustration, was to open her purse and show me that amongst the wallet, make up, some wadded up tissues, etc. was a handgun.  She informed me, in her New Jersey accent, that this should tell me where she stood (as if I didn't already know).  Shortly after that I asked the waiter for the check and walked her to her car.  This was clearly a loss for both of us, or so I thought.  At her car I gave her a hug and she asked if we could get together again.  It was at this moment that I realized I was wrong and I would rather be rejected, than do the rejecting.  I politely (I hope) told her that I didn't think it would work and she said ok and drove off.

Oh, and if you sign up for one of these sites, be prepared to get about a million emails begging you to sign back up, even if you opt out.