So, my favorite job

Today my son, aka Stud/Luke William/the next great baseball soccer player, turns seven years old.

I am going to spare you all the post that says I am amazed at how fast he has grown up (seriously, I am amazed at how fast he has grown up).  I am instead going to focus on myself, because really that is what I do best.

All I really ever wanted was to be a dad.  I can remember being in high school and thinking this.  I know it was partly because my father and I did not have the best relationship and I wanted a chance to show a son the love I did not feel I was getting.

So when Luke was born (wow...he's growing up so fast), I literally got the only job I ever wanted, father.  Of course like any other job, there is a honeymoon period, followed by the harsh reality of what you are really getting into.

For me my honeymoon period last about five minutes, no kidding.  I was dead set that I would never name my kid after me.  I was named after my father and I was always referred to as Little Marc.  I did not want my son to be in my shadow or have that terrible nickname, so I chose Luke (my ex chose my daughter's name).  As I held him for the first time, I looked into his perfect little face with his perfect little nose and I immediately thought he looked like a Marc.  My son was five minutes old and already he was causing me stress (don't worry I grounded him).  Luckily for me, and more for him, I came around and realized that he was a Luke.

I still remember bringing him home in his little Winnie the Pooh outfit and then not sleeping at all for the first two days (now I can sleep thru just about anything).  First I, along with my ex, would immediately react every time we heard a noise.  Of course when he was quiet we hovered over him even quicker.

I used to have a weak stomach...yeah, that went out the window within a day.  When you change as many diapers (where do those mustard-looking things in a newborn's poop come from) as I have, you start to get an iron stomach.  This kid pooped all the time and his farts sounded like he was a drunken fat forty year old.

Reality was so much different than I what I envisioned, but it was not just extra poop and anxiety.  I knew I would love him, but until I had him in my life I did not realize how strongly I would love him (or anyone for that matter).

For me, my emotions have just been magnified by 1,000.  I can not tell you how much pride I had when he came home from school and had a teacher's note saying how much he had improved his hand writing (he worked so hard).

When I started him in baseball this year, he was the youngest and smallest, by far (he is a little peanut).  So when he gets a hit, it is all I can do to not run from coaching third and squeeze the little booger.

And when he is sad (think dead Olaf sad), it crushes me.  I want to just hug him until he feels better (and in the process until I feel better).

The harsh reality of being hired for this job has been amazing, frustrating, grounding, invigorating and especially humbling.  I would not change anything with how it has gone with him.

It also helps that he can not fire me...stinks to be him!!

So, please forgive my kids

Try as I might, I have my limitations.  Unfortunately for my kids, a lot of my limitations affect them.  For example:

-Please forgive my kids when they do not match (to be fair I rarely match).  I am a color blind guy, it is just how it is.  So when the Blonde Blur and Stud walk out of the house wearing brown shoes with black pants, just shake your head and mutter about their father.  When the Blur is wearing five different shades of pink (not to be confused with all the shades of gray that women talk about), just chalk it up to her dad not realizing there are are more than one shade of colors.

My Dinkus actually came over to help me color coordinate outfits (I think that was her subtle way of telling me I am bad at dressing my kids).

-When you see my daughter's hair in pony tail and it looks like she did it...well...she did not.  I have been flying solo on the pony tail tying for over two years, and I can not figure out how to keep all the hair in that stupid elastic puzzle of a hair tie. 

I am hoping the wind-blown messy look comes into style real quick.

-My kids fart in public and laugh.  Yeah...this one is easy to explain...I think it is funny too.

-Please forgive my kids when they belt out a waaaaaayyy off key song.  I have absolutely no musical ability, yet I like to screech out songs while with the kids.  Of course I do not tell my kids how bad they are when they sing (though maybe I should), so they think they are good.  What is even worse is they think I am good, so if they are trying to emulate me...ugh.

-Please forgive my son when he starts spouting out stats on left-handed relief pitchers from 1980s Pirate teams.  He gets daily lessons on how baseball was played, who played it, the unwritten rules, etc.  So if my son comes up to you and says "Cutch's OPS is in the top five and Volquez's xFIP indicates he won't be able to sustain his current success", do not call a priest for an exorcism, his dad has just gone way overboard with baseball (I can't wait until my daughter does this too).

-Finally, forgive my kids when they sweat...and trust me they sweat...a lot.  My son can walk for five seconds and he will look like he did the Boston Marathon.  This kid probably loses ten pounds a day from running around (lucky). 

So, sometimes **** happens

Sometimes shit happens.

So this one will be brief, because really I am essentially writing it to myself.  Sometimes shit happens that you can not control.  Sometimes you can do everything you can, and stuff still goes wrong.

You can not control a child getting sick (unless of course you don't know how to cover your cough USE YOUR ELBOW PEOPLE).  You can not control rain seeping into your basement causing your carpet to feel like SpongeBob's backside.  You can not control your father passing away at the age of 54. 

Despite your body telling you to lighten up (my body does it by sending sweet, sweet panic attacks wrapped in anxiety...yummy), you probably ignore the message.  I/We/You need to stop doing this and sometimes (not all, nothing is guaranteed except death and taxes, unless you're Willie Nelson) let life happen.

I need to remind myself of this every once in a while.  I hope this serves as a reminder to all you that...we can not control the actions or thoughts of others (or of the higher power you believe in), we can only control what we say and do.

Whew...glad I got that outta the way.

So, how wrong I was

Recently I ran into somebody at Innate Fitness that is going thru a divorce.  We got to talking and his situation is very similar to what mine was.  He is 33, just like I was.  He is a father, just like I was.  His housing situation was up in the air, just like mine.  He started at a new gym, just like I did.

While the conversation was going on, and after, I was reminded of all the thoughts that swirled around in my head during that time.  Man, I did not sleep, I did not eat, I did not want to go out of the house. 

I was convinced that I would not rebound. 

I constantly had nightmares about my kids growing up in a "broken" home.  Of course now I realize that they were in a broken home at the time.  I am a better parent because of my divorce.  I have to wear two hats, mother and father.  For fair balance my ex does the same thing when the kids are with her.

I was sure I would be alone for the rest of my life.  I looked at myself as an overweight, over 30, underemployed parent of two and thought I would repulse women faster than a fart after a protein bar (let that fester in your mind for a bit).   I never thought I would see another naked woman again (laugh, but every divorced guy I have talked with brings some form of this up).

I actually emerged from the divorce 80 pounds lighter and feeling better about my future.  After several months I went out on a few dates, tried the online dating thing (wow, does it suck coughchickwithaguncough), dated somebody for a little while and then met Dinkus.

The thought that I would be pitied also bothered me.  I felt like all eyes were on me when I went out.  I thought I could actually hear the conversations that were taking place in households across Western Pa about my situation.

I did not want anybody to talk to me in that tone.  You know the tone I am talking about.  You hear them talking to somebody else and then they turn to you and say with a huge sigh, "And how are you doing?" Of course they then lightly touch your arm, which is the international way we help people going thru a rough time.  I am actually surprised we still have famine in the world, all we should do is drop our voice a couple decibels and stoke some arms and all should be good.

I was so scared, and I had every right to feel that way. 

The good news is I was wrong in 99% of my fears.  There is hope at the end of divorce.  There is still love out there to be had.  I am 35, not 85.  I have a lot of my life ahead of me (here's to hoping my family's curse is over).

It has taken me over two years, hours of therapy, a lot of drugs (legal, as far as you know), countless conversations with friends, one amazing woman and some serious pulling myself up by my bootstraps to get to where I am.

I know my friend will get there, in time.

So...I'm tired here's some videos

Really beat up today, so here is some videos of crap (my kids aren't crap, for the record) I like...

 

Chaos @ Innate Fitness

 

 

My Buccos (this gives me chills)

 

 

My kiddos...it's the only video I have on my phone...:(

 

 

Pitt football (teehee WVU fans)

 

 

 

So, adjusting

I love baseball...shocker, I know.  I love my son...again, another shocker.

A few of my friends are having their first kids and they are going thru all the fun fortune telling you do when you find out you are  pregnant.  When Stud was born I immediately had these visions of him playing baseball for my beloved Buccos and when he won the NL MVP award he would look into the camera and say "This award belongs to my father.  He is the reason I am the greatest baseball player of all time.  Without my father, I would be stuck behind a desk."


As soon as I held him, I saw him growing up and all of my friends and family being in awe of his amazing baseball prowess (sad that I didn't see him being the smartest, but really with me as his father he has no chances of being the smartest...sorry Luke).


My son will be seven years old within the week and I am sad distraught crushed elated that my son is gravitating more towards soccer.  Before anybody thinks I am going to bash soccer (baseball is better), I am not.  I played soccer growing up, but I was better at baseball and I enjoyed it more.  I mean what normal red-blooded boy would not like to play baseball every day of the week over soccer.  If you choose soccer over baseball, clearly your parents have failed you...um...wait...what?


Now since my son does not know how to get to this site (I really hope he doesn't know how to get to this site), I can actually say that he is making me in to a soccer fan.  I was shopping with Dinkus the other day for his birthday and we were looking at the soccer equipment at Dick's.  I admit, I got excited.  Did I venture over to the baseball side of things at one point, of course, but looking at the shin guards, soccer balls, nets, etc. I was able to picture his sweaty (he is the second sweatiest person I know...it's awesome) head running around with all of his new shiny equipment.


Clearly I knew that I would support whatever choice my son makes, he is my son and I love him after all.  What I did not expect was that I would start to change my tastes/views because of his tastes/views.

Now if I start carrying around a baby doll and wearing Hello Kitty outfits, you will know who I am adjusting to next.

So, about those happy endings

Normally when I write a blog I put the picture in last.  I reread the blog for errors (of which I'm sure I miss many) then I try to find either a heart-wrenching picture or one that shows up in some random Google search that I do (it's always the latter).

That said, I saw this picture on Facebook one day and I immediately "got it".  I like it so much I made it my background picture.  I see it everyday I log on to Facebook and it helps me out.

I have had a lot happen to me (not as much most), but I have had my share.  I had a ten year period where I buried two grandfathers, one grandmother, an aunt, an uncle and my father.  I was then displaced/impacted(sounds gross I know)/laid off a couple of times because I happen to live in the wrong place.  My baby sister was diagnosed with cancer (she's kicking its ass) and I have other family issues.  Oh yeah, and then there was that little divorce thing.

That all said, I look at this picture and realize that no matter what crap I have waded thru to this point in my life, it is never too late to be happy.  I know that because of all the thorns I have pricked my fingers on, it has been worth the ability to stop and smell the roses.

I watched my father wither away to nothing.  I did things for my 54 year old father that no son should have to do.  He smoked since he was 14.  It is because of him that I will not smoke.  I have said it before on this blog, but I believe my fate is sealed, cancer will get me, but I will not go down without a fight.  That is where my cleaner (and really when you ate fast food about 4 times a week, it wasn't hard to get cleaner) diet and part of my dedication to working out comes.  I want to live as long as possible.

My cousin does not have either of his parents. I am lucky to have one left.  I have learned from my aunt and uncle passing that I want my kids to see me get old and wrinkly.  I want to be that old curmudgeon sitting on the porch on a rocking chair complaining about the whiffle ball coming into my yard (don't tell anyone, but I already do this...not really...ok, really).  My number one goal in life, and it is not even close, is to walk my blonde blur down the aisle.

I do something that I enjoy.  After being, well let's call it what it was fired (putting lipstick on a pig doesn't change that it's a pig), I knew I needed some sort of change.  My new career gives me the opportunity to work directly with patients and also be more creative.  I also work for a non-profit that directly impacts my community.

My baby sister being diagnosed with cancer...well...I do not really want to talk about that.  I will never be convinced that has any purpose.  She is an amazing woman with an amazing family.  She is one of my best friends (I love you shitface).

Finally there is the divorce thing.  I weighed 245 pounds when I separated from my ex.  I am down to 167 now.  I went on the divorce diet (patent is still pending) and did not eat or sleep for two weeks.  I continued to lose weight the proper way by joining Crossfit, cleaning up my diet and now joining Innate Fitness (woohoo Chaos!).  I am now healthier than ever, and I have also met some amazing people.  Some people are more amazing than others (dinkus, I love you).  I am dating somebody that pushes me, I am happy. 

Sure some days are better than others, some days are easier than others, but at the end of the day I know that it is never too late to live happily ever after (see what I did there).

So, Olaf died

I am not a monster.

Now that I have that in print...on a blog...on the Internet...it must be true, right?

About two months ago my son came home from school with a snail.  What the hell I was going to do with a snail, I had no idea.  Well that is not entirely true, I knew that I would have to go to PetSmart, get a bowl, some rocks, some snail food, etc and I knew I would take care of it.  Beyond all of the normal stuff, I did not know what I was going to do with this thing.

My son named him light saber (I told you he loves Star Wars), I think I pronounced him dead about two hours after he was brought home.

The issue was since Luke had a pet snail, Avery wanted a pet fish.  I figured this would be a nice way to teach her some responsibility (I'm a moron).  Why I thought my six-year old son could not handle a snail, but my four-year old daughter could handle feeding a fish and cleaning its bowl I do not know (actually I do, I'm a moron).  She named him Olaf, she loves Frozen (Let it go, let it go...try getting that outta your head).

She was gung ho about feeding it for much longer than I thought she would be...seven minutes.  After that I fed the thing every morning and every night.  Olaf and I bonded.  She listened to my hopes and dreams, scolded me when I went off my diet and quietly applauded when I went to the gym...actually no she did not.  She was a fish, aka sushi (which I love).

I actually forgot about Olaf when I went on vacation.  I remembered to have Colby, the greatest dog of all time, taken care of, but I did not remember about Olaf.  Well I was gone for eight days...

...and that damn fish was still alive when I came home.  I do not know what it ate, but it was still alive judging me for all the diet breaking I did at the beach (Avalon rules!).

About a week after I got back, I walked into the kitchen and saw Avery (my blonde-haired blur) feeding the fish...and I mean FEEDING the fish.  We are talking about almost half of the fish food floating on top of the water. 

She was so happy that she finally remembered to feed the fish.  I told her that next time we should not give Olaf as much food.  She said ok...but alas, there would be no next time.

The kids went to their mom's house that afternoon, so it was I that found the little chalk outline in the tank the next morning.  Olaf was no more.

As I flushed the stinky maki roll down the toilet I was relieved, then I remembered I would have to tell the kids the fish died.  I dreaded that.

When I finally told them a week later, they lost it.  I knew they would be sad, but they really lost it.  As in cried...and cried...and cried...and asked why the fish had to die.

This entire sequence has taught me some valuable life lessons:

-Do NOT buy another fish...ever.
-Based on how much my kids cried after the fish dying, I hope Colby lives forever...and for that matter I hope I live forever too.

and finally...

-Seeing your kids suffer loss is the worst thing a parent can see.

So, about December 18th, 2015

I am 35 years old.  Since I am 35 years there are some basic things you can assume about me.  In no particular order: I grew up loving Barry Bonds then hating him, I like Dave Matthews, but above and beyond both of those...Star Wars defined my youth.

I had the action figures (they are not dolls), I had the sheets, I had the lunch box, I had the light sabers, etc.  If it had even a hint of Darth Vader or Han Solo on it, there is a good chance I wanted or had it.

It is my love (yes love) of all things Star Wars that had me buy a bootleg copy of the Star Wars Holiday Special on DVD (and I know why George Lucas does not want it released, it is terrible).  It is also my love of all things Star Wars that has me so excited for December 18th, 2015.  On that date the seventh movie in the greatest film franchise will be released.

Also on 12/18/2015, things come full circle.  I will be there on the first day with my then-to-be eight year old son, Luke (really, I didn't name him that because of the films).

There are certain things I really hoped my son would like when he was born, chief among them were baseball and the original Star Wars films.

While my son enjoys baseball, he loves soccer.  That will be his sport, and I am ok with that (kinda).  The really good news was that he loves the original Star Wars films as much as I do.

No joke, I can still remember putting the first Star Wars (I refuse to call it A New Hope) on for him to watch.   He was in immediate awe.  His blue eyes grew wide and he was actually cheering for Luke to blow up the Death Star.  He was upset when Obi-Wan gave himself up to Vader.  He asked to watch it again as soon as it ended.

Now I am the one buying Darth Vader Helmets (I do not wear them when he is at his mom's house), light sabers, action figures, sheets, movies, video games, etc.  I get to relive a little bit of my childhood when he wants to play Star Wars (sometimes I even let him win...sometimes).  Whether he will remember all this when he is my age, I do not know, but I remember it now. 

The fact that this bond is because of some movie does not matter to me, because the bond is ours. On what is sure to be a cold day in 2015, I can picture us waiting in line for our tickets, getting our popcorn and waiting for the previews to end so we can see those giant yellow letters scroll on the screen.  I know we will have a great day.

Going forward I do not know what my relationship with my son will be like, but I know where I will be on 12/18/2015.

Oh yeah...and to completely misquote Empire Strikes Back...Luke, I am your father.

So, I'm no longer a Crossfitter

For those of you that know me I was a die hard Crossfitter...actually I was a full-fledged Crossfit cultist, and I was proud of it.

However, I have had to leave the Crossfit world (I heard they might shut down the Crossfit Games because of this).  I still enjoyed it, I was still getting stronger and healthier and I definitely still enjoyed all the people (they still rock!). 

I left because my life took me in a different direction.  I started a new career in February and making a work out in the middle of the day would have probably been frowned upon by my new employer.  Being a single dad 50% of the time I could not make the early sessions or the later sessions.

So knowing that I am somebody that needs to just keep moving, I had to find a new place to release stress and make my fat cry.  I found a new gym called Innate Fitness.  Yes, it is a great work out.  Yes, it fits my schedule better.  Yes, it is linked to the right of this blog post.

However, this post is not about Innate Fitness.  It is about realizing that even tho we may be forced to make changes, that does not mean they are going to be bad.  I have met a lot of new people (who also rock), learned a lot of new exercises, and have continued to become healthier (which is why I started working out in the first place).

I embraced this change (something I usually struggle with) and it is paying off.  I know I will not always react well to change, but I need to remember this simple change I went thru to realize that out of change can come great things.

So, sometimes it isn't as bad as you think

I think we can all agree that we feel pity for ourselves.  We think nobody has it worse than us.  Sometimes you feel like your friends are not as supportive, your job is not as fulfilling, your kids are the worst behaved kids on the planet, etc.

You look around and you wonder how some of the people that have succeeded are in the positions they are in.  You know you have tried hard and feel like you are spinning your wheels.

Basically we are feeling like we have it worse than anybody else in the world.

Well...that is total bullshit (except that somebody really has to have it the worst in the world, and if you are that person you can stop reading).

I recently met someone that has a constant smile on their face, is extremely positive and open about the trials and tribulations they have faced in their life prior to putting on their big girl/boy pants and bettering themselves.  Their life was a lot more difficult than my life (I can't speak to your lives).

They battled drug addiction.  I have never been addicted to drugs, and I hope I never am.  I am sure this person went to dark places, but I do not want to talk about that part.  I want to talk about how open they are with their experience and how that has helped me.

I knew them all of about a month or so when the addiction conversation came up.  They told me how they went to inpatient rehabilitation, then outpatient rehabilitation and how they go to meetings just about every day.  They know exactly how many days they have been clean. 

This person is great reminder that even tho we have gone thru shit, are going to go thru more shit, that we can always come out the other side smelling like a rose.  It takes a ton of work, but smelling like a rose sure beats smelling like an outhouse.

They had such a sense of pride when telling me that it really touched me.  If they could kick a habit that had taken control of their life (and continue to kick the habit), why should I worry about...well...almost anything? 

Where is my sense of pride for what I have done?  I have a lot going well for me (really, I do).  I need to embrace what I have accomplished and keep that positive momentum going.

When I start to feel overwhelmed or down, I remind myself that I have done great things in my life.  I also need to think of all the great things I am going to do in my remaining days.

I think sometimes we just need to realize that while not anything is possible (I have given up on my baseball career), most things are.

This Ain't Me

That guy up there...he ain't me.

So I am just going to act like I have been writing continually for the last five-six months, because...well...that is what I am going to do.

I know I will not be the guy in the above picture. I definitely will not be booked in Lake County, CA (I'm not ruling out Irvine tho).  However, I know I need to keep improving.

I have noticed some key areas of my life that I want to make better.  Chief among them is becoming a better father.  My girlfriend (I know, somebody wants to date me...crazy) has been helping me by calling me out on my shit (thank you dinkus).  The shit that I am talking about is that I am a coddler.  I am awesome (shameless I think I am a good dad plug) at the kiss-the-boo-boo stuff and the hug stuff and the cave-in because a little blonde blur with beautiful blue eyes starts the lower-lip quiver. 

Where I struggle, and I am getting better, is the cave-in because a little blonde blur with beautiful blue eyes starts the lower-lip quiver.  I do not do it because it is easier to cave (ok sometimes I do, when I am tired and simply want to get an extra 15 minutes of quiet), but typically I do it because I want the kids to be happy.  I can not keep doing that.

The short-term happiness of my Punkinhead and Stud can not outweigh what structure and discipline will provide them over the long haul (and I am planning on being around for a VERY long time, I have to see the Buccos win a World Series after all).  They deserve the structure and discipline, as well as the sweet stuff (which will still be there).

I am making active changes. Chief among them is I recently switched from a home-based sitter to a pre-school daycare.  Punkinhead needs this to be better prepared for school.  Stud needs it so he can be around kids his own age during the summer.

I have started the kids in an exercise program (it's not Crossfit...WHAAATTTT?!?).  They are definitely not overweight...like not even a little bit...like to the point I am jealous.  However, it is something they can look forward to, it gives them structure, it is social time, and it burns energy (precious, precious energy).  It is also something that we can bond over.  I work out (again, not Crossfit....WHAAAATTT?!?) and then it is their time.  I look forward to taking them and they look forward to going.

I am becoming more stern with them.  That sounds bad (and it was weird to type), but they need it and I need it.  When it is bedtime, it is bedtime.  When I make dinner, they eat what I make and they eat at the table.  The whining is there, but it is getting less every day (which makes my time with them even more enjoyable).

I do not want my kids to be little soldier, robotic, cookie-cutter zombies doing everything I ask (well...), but I do want them to be as prepared as possible to kick the crap outta the world (let's face it, the world kicks back) while keeping their individuality (speaking of individuality, Punkinhead literally just walked up to me giggling with a caterpillar crawling up her arm).

Time to go parent the hell outta these two.