So, is it normal...

Sometimes I wonder about myself. 

Is it normal to:

-want to jam cotton balls in my ears and act like I can not hear my son or daughter ask the same questions over and over and over and...

-enjoy sitting in the dark (hey, I've lived my entire life there) and enjoy the peacefulness...

-completely lose yourself in thoughts about winning the Powerball and how you would spend it, even though you know there is almost zero chance of that happening (I really think I will hit someday)...

-doubt yourself even at the age of 36...

-want your kids to grow out of that frustrating phase and want them to not age at all...

-wonder if I will ever be able to eat whatever I want without gaining weight (unfortunately I already know the answer to this one...boo!)...

-want to go back to college so I can relive such amazing memories as a certain roommate peeing on the answering machine (he's now a father of two)...

-want to go back to college to smack myself when I chose journalism as my major (I'm a moron)...

-think that even though I am getting older, I am invincible...

-think that even though I am getting older, I am weak...

-wonder how I am  going to be able to raise two kids by myself (half of the time)...

And finally...

-want to continually reinvent myself?

So, Happy Birthday Dad

Dear Dad,

Happy 65th Birthday!  I wish you could be here, but hey, you have a lot going on right now.

I just wanted to fill you in on what I think you would be doing if you could be with us.

There is no doubt that you would absolutely love your grandchildren.  Luke looks just like us (poor, poor kid) but he is more athletic than you and smarter than me (I know that isn't that tough).  He is so dang sweaty, I do not know where that comes from. 

Luke is starting second grade at Fort Allen Elementary.  Crazy, I know, since I am in the house I grew up in and I went to Maxwell.  He is excited because his homeroom will have a guinea pig in it.  The kid loves animals. 

He is also a huge a fan of soccer...I know, I think I failed at raising the next great baseball player.  That said he also loves art, which comes directly from you.  I still remember the funny drawings you would doodle on occasion.

Now, I know you would love Luke, but man would Avery Gray absolutely own you (it's ok, she owns me too).  I can not tell you how many times I have envisioned her running to you and you sweeping her up in your arms.  Of course you would try to play it off like you were not as happy as you really were when you saw her, but you would smile thru that gray beard of yours. 

I am positive you would laugh when she asked you about your big ears.  She would be your fishing buddy, much like Face (I call her shitface) was growing up.

We go to Bucco games, and we love them.  It reminds me of my favorite memory with you.  Luke lasts the entire time and he asks a lot of questions...like a lot...like to the point you would probably look at me and expect me to handle it.

I have learned a lot about being a father from you, whether it was intentional or not.

I am dating an amazing woman, I call her Dinkus.  I think you would really like her.  She would probably call you out on your crap, then the two of you would gang up on me.

Finally on this day, your 65th birthday, I want to say I miss you and I hope you are watching over me (I could use the help), and of course I love you Big Buckster!

Love,

Forever your Son

So, enjoy the stupid things in life...

I was sitting on the couch the other night with Dinkus and we were just watching TV.  Somehow we started talking about things that make us laugh (besides my looks, kickball ability, choice of clothes, etc.) 

I immediately thought of a clip I once saw on America's Funniest Videos.  It may be the stupidest thing you will ever see, but for some reason I can not even describe it without starting to cry from laughing.

It is a video of some little kid (I am literally smiling while typing this) running along a basketball court.  He starts out at the bottom of the screen all happy and probably thinking of that hot dog and coke he is about to get at the snack bar (I just laughed)...oh hell with it...here it is...

 

 

Seriously...I pee a little every time I see this.  I do not really know why (actually it's because I need some help).  It brings me great joy to see this little kid get crushed by a basketball (wow...I need a lot of help).

That got me thinking of the saying "Enjoy the little things in life" and of course I had to make it my own, so "Enjoy the stupid things in life".  If we can not laugh at stupid things, and lets face it a kid getting hit in the head with a basketball is pretty stupid, we need to reexamine our priorities.

I know I am not the only one that stresses too much about life and specifically the little things that I can not change.  I need something that I can count on (seriously, I think I just a peed a little watching this video again) to take my mind off of the stresses in life.  I need a stupid constant. A constant that will make me smile, laugh or pee a little.

Now this video is my stupid thing that I enjoy.  I hope that you have something stupid that you can look at when you have a bad day that always makes you smile (and I don't want to hear my spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend always makes me smile because we all know that's crap).  If you do not have a stupid thing that makes you laugh, I encourage you to scour the Internet and find something (please don't say this blog is your stupid little thing).

So, I have failed as a father...maybe

I picked up the Blonde Blur and Stud from the daycare just like I do on my days.  They were happy and in a great mood.  I told them if there was no whining and if they cleaned their rooms, I would order pizza for dinner (truth be told I was in no mood to cook no matter what).  They did very well with both tasks.

After eating pizza I put together Luke's pitch back (yep...they still make them).  They were out playing while I was folding clothes, just like I normally do every. single. day.  Then it happened...proof that I have failed as a parent...I wanted to cry...I wanted to yell...I wanted to punch the wall...they started singing Country Roads GASP!  For those that do not know that is the unofficial theme song for the West Virginia Mountaineers.  I know...I know, I should be flogged in a public forum.

I immediately sprung to my feet and bolted for the door.  I thru it open like that dude in that Christmas poem...you know the one about the night before Christmas, I never remember the name.  I just glared at them.  Stud looked at me and immediately he knew he was going to get a life lesson, Blur did not seem to know what she was about to experience.

I calmly called them over and sat them on my knee (I really did this) and asked where they learned that song, they said at day care.  I explained that the song they were singing was a song that was banned from this house (I really did this).  They both looked confused, so then I dropped the bomb...this is a University of Pittsburgh house, or Pitt house if you prefer. 

To my wonder, Stud got it.  He immediately started to chant Lets Go Pitt, Lets Go Pitt!   I beamed with pride.   I expected a similar reaction from the Blur, but to my chagrin I was to be disappointed.

She did not care when I explained that WVU was Pitt's rival (it took me a lot of time and a SpongeBob analogy for her to understand what a rival was), she was going to sing this song.  She went so far as saying she liked West Virginia...I know I wanted to cry a little too. 

I tried to hum the Pitt fight song...she did not care (I really did this).  I told her of Larry Fitzgerald's amazing catches against Oregon State and Texas A&M (I really didn't). I told her of Danny Marino, Mark May and even Andy Lee.  It did not matter, she was going to sing this song.

I have about 14 years until she goes to college, that gives me plenty of time to reconcile this heinous wrong.  Much like Shady McCoy going for the goal line, I will not be denied.  Mark my words Eer fans, I will win like Pitt won 13-9!

So, about Dinkus

So...

Crossfit gave me so much.  It gave me a healthier lifestyle.  It gave me stress relief.  It gave me a new passion for working out.  However, it also gave me the opportunity to meet Dinkus.

Now some background about Dinkus' and my relationship.  She had a crush on just about every single Crossfitter at our gym before she even noticed me.  I am fairly certain she noticed the kettle bells before she noticed me (to be fair, I kinda looked like one when I started).

We bonded over calluses, sweat (she is the sweatiest person I know), box jumps and double unders.  We started hanging out outside of the gym, we set up a company, we went to Pirate games (she kissed me there, no really she kissed me first), we golfed and we laughed...a lot...like an insane amount.  Basically, the last person to know we were dating was her. 

I would ask what we were or where we were headed, and she would give the same answer every...single...time.  She did not know what she wanted.  And thru all of it, I was ok with that.  Keep in mind she was very honest with me the entire time, at times painfully so.  That said, I would calmly remind her I would believe enough for the both of us.

I was patient (like Job patient).  I was patient because I saw who she was and who she was going to be.  She was by far one of the most competitive (it was the first thing I noticed about her), caring, funny, intelligent and stubborn people I had met (she's also a pretty good kickball player and a killer real estate agent (click here!)).  I knew that I had to try as hard as I could to keep her in my life...and I did.

Now I am sure she will tell you that I infuriated her at times (and still do), but she loves me.  I know this because while she claims not to be sentimental/cheesy/romantic, she is.  I know that even a small gesture from her is worth 10x more than a gesture from somebody else.  For example, while we were at the beach with another couple (Felbaum and Ten) she and Felbaum split off from Ten and I.  She wanted to get a picture frame for me for my birthday, which was a month away.  That may seem ordinary to some people, but that gesture meant the world to me.

Speaking of birthdays, I am not used to caring about mine.  I have a summer birthday, which typically meant a lot of my friends were on vacation during some of my childhood birthdays.  I am also a guy (really, I am), so usually I did not care about having a day be about me (truth be told, it usually makes me uncomfortable).

Well Dinkus was not having any of that.  She planned a day for us.  My favorite thing to do with Dinkus is play golf (well...it is my second favorite thing anyway).  She made a tee time at the course I learned how to play, she took me to dinner at my friend's bar (I love Oliver's Pourhouse in Greensburg, conveniently located behind the courthouse) and then we just hung out all night.  She was so excited to give me the frame, she gave it to me without the picture (it's the picture at the top, and I wasn't allowed to take the frame home since she didn't have the picture printed yet).  It was awesome, just like she is.

She can overreact to things, she is never wrong and her cardio is terrible (oops...did I just put that out there), basically she is not perfect (I can hear her now, "I'm not?), but she is perfect for me.

So, NOT making a choice

I was talking with a friend the other day and we got into a conversation about choices.  We both went off on a tangent about how inactivity and not making choices is actually a choice, and it is really the worst choice.

My kids do this to me all the time.  I will ask Avery (the Blonde Blur) what type of snack she wants.  Now at first I would just ask a general question (I'm a moron, it will serve you well to remember this), however I quickly learned to give her two choices.  While this change worked out better it did not completely end the frustration of me waiting for her to decide whether she wanted to eat the super-choco-fun-explosion candy banana or the pretzels.  She would just stare at me and say "Ummmmmm....."

This drives me nuts, like my eyes grow wide and want to scream at the top of my lungs (I don't...or do I?).  Finally I start counting, she knows when I get to three that I will make the decision and she has to live with it.   Right now we are at the point where she is smiling thru the one and the two, but she gets dead serious at about two and half.    She is choosing to not make a decision.

I would like to say it is only kids that make their decision by not making a decision, but lets face it, we all know people in our family, workplace, circle of friends, etc. that do the same thing.  You ask them a question, you start to slightly lean forward for their answer...you wait...you lean in even further...you wait more...your head is on your desk/table/between your knees...and finally you make the decision for them.

There should be a time limit for making decisions.  Sure I understand some decisions would be given more time, but I think we can all agree that after the agreed upon time we get to smack them (I wouldn't really smack them, I'm a Quaker after all).

It is like the people that do not vote that say, "I didn't vote for so-and-so."  Well you did not vote for them, but you did not vote for the other person either...so you made a choice to be nothing, nada, zip, zilch.  I am not an uber political person, this was just my choice for an example.

Perhaps an even better example is not making a decision to change.  If you are not happy with your weight, appearance, job or relationship, then you need to do something other than nothing about it.  Make an effort, try something differently, but for the love of all that is holy...make a decision!  When you are sitting on your hands, you are actively choosing to be inactive.

Perhaps I am writing this because I need more patience, which is entirely possible...actually, I have made my decision...I need you to make your decision.

So, life is challenging

Every time I think I have this life thing figured out, I am proven wrong (all together now...I'm a moron).

As I was cutting my grass this evening (tho I will be posting this in the morning, so should I say last evening), I had an epiphany...life is just a series of challenges.  Actually life is a series of challenges and how we react to them.

Nobody ever told me that life would be easy, but it would have been nice if somebody told me that life would be work (dang folks...a handbook would have been nice).  I turn 36 tomorrow (or today...or...I mean...whatever), and I have dealt with a decent amount of challenges.  Some of those challenges I have failed miserably (my father's passing) and others I have handled like a champ (divorce). 

When I look at the challenges I have owned (like a boss), it is because I was surrounded by great people.  On the other hand, when I look at the challenges I have failed, it is because I turned inside myself and expected things to get better on their own.  Things do not get better on their own.  Life takes work. 

Since I came to the conclusion today that life is a series of challenges, I also came to conclusion that overcoming those challenges makes me a better person (in other shocking news, people need air to live).  So basically, I need to work harder to get better.

I have let my self improvement get kind of derailed, and not for lack of a good reason (I've got a doozy) .  That said, it is not like the day has gotten shorter.  I need to put my big boy pants on and work harder.  Anybody can come up with an excuse on any day, I just need to stop with the excuses.

So Life...challenge me, kick me, punch me (not in the face), push me down, I want to work hard.

So, looking before you leap

I often hear you should look before you leap. I think that that can be bullshit at times. Why shouldn't we take risks, why shouldn't we believe in ourselves and others to the point where we can have blind faith, on occasion?

I am not advocating that we literally jump off of a cliff and hope we survive (tho I could name a few people that should leap from a cliff), I am however advocating that there are times where we just have to believe we will make it.

When I think back to some of the times that I have simply leaped and not looked, sure I've been burned, but there are also times where I have not only survived but thrived.

After my divorce, I was scared to death to do anything. Luckily I leapt into CrossFit. It was one of the best decisions that I ever made. I became healthier, I became stronger mentally (be quiet!), I met new people, and I met Dinkus.  Had I not decided to leap headfirst into CrossFit I could still be the doughy guy on the couch. Instead I am the slightly soft guy busting his butt at Innate fitness.

Again after my divorce, I was scared to date, I was scared to do anything that involved meeting women.  However I got out there, I met people from the online sites (don't ever use them, they are the devil) and I looked at them as practice runs.  They helped me shake the rust off of my game (which is basically the equivalent of Candyland).  Had I not simply jumped into the deep end in dating, I would not have been ready to date Dinkus. Dating Dinkus has been amazing.

I swore I would never go back into the medical field in any capacity. However several years ago I decided to leave a position where I was doing very well and to return to medical sales.  It was absolutely nerve-racking knowing that I would be going back into an industry that changed so much. However it is because of that change that I am finally happy in my career.

So again, please do not jump off a cliff, please do not risk your house on one hand of blackjack, please do not think you can beat that train across the tracks, but please be willing to take a risk every once in a while.

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.

So, this is terrible

Being sick is bad.  Having a sick child is worse. Having one sick child and one healthy child, while you are sick, is the worst thing ever.

So the chest/head/stomach/mind/body/soul bug that has been going around finally caught up to me.  I was overdue.  I had been around people that had it, I had been around my kids that had it, etc., everybody knows that drill.  Eventually your time comes.

That is not the terrible part.  The terrible part is I wish BOTH of my kids were sick, when I was sick.  While Luke and I wanted to sit and veg out on the couch, Ave was her normal, energetic self (which on a typical day can be cute, but when you are hacking up a lung, it is as cute as a fart in church).  She wanted to drag all her baby dolls out, and she has a lot (I tried to count them one day and I swear they multiplied).  Of course when she was done with one, she did not put the other away.  On a normal healthy day, I would have held my ground and made her put her toys away...not today, she had free reign.

While Luke's diet consisted of toast, juice and Popsicles, Avery decided she wanted eggs...and Lipton soup...and French toast...basically anything that required me to stand or get up a lot.  She also wanted to start about 10 different movies (please note I didn't say watch, but start movies).  Finally she settled on Despicable Me 2, and we watched it, no joke, at least six times over a two-day span.  Luke was out of it, so he did not care, but me, I was just in it enough to want to actually dislike Steve Carrell (and who dislikes him?).

Had Ave been as laid up as Luke and I, we could have all climbed into bed and slept, it almost would have been Rockwell-esque, minus all the coughing and sniffling of course.  So yes, I actually wish my daughter had been sick this last weekend.

That said, she is probably going to get sick next weekend and then pass it back to Luke...then to me...then to her...then to...

So, shamless, shameless plug

I am under the weather and so are my kiddos, so...check out this amazing, truly unique, never duplicated facebook site.

PLUG

Oh and here is a great video with Gene Wilder, because...well why not?

So,not knowing what to do

Not knowing what to do is the worst.  When you have anxiety, it can become excruciating. 

I play the "what if" game over and over and over and...a million times.  I will start out with the mindset that everything is great (a really nice starting point), then I will start to pick it apart.  I liken it to the scene in The Shawshank Redemption where the main character has a rock hammer (it is about the size of a dollar) and starts to tunnel thru this cell wall.  It takes him years and years, but eventually he gets to freedom.  The problem is I am using the rock hammer to chisel away at that great starting point until it is nothing but a pathway to 500 yards of crap-smelling foulness.

Now, keep in mind I know what I want.  I even know how to get it.  The problem is when I get close to it.  It is like I need a clone to just make that decision, and if it does not work out, then I get to step in and say "hey, just kidding" and I would start over.

If life was like Crossfit, I would be a very happy person.  You either get the exercise completed correctly, or you do not and you try to correct the issue.  There is no gray (btw, gray with an A is the American spelling, or so I was told when my daughter was given her middle name of Gray). 

The human mind is amazing and maddening.  I would love to know how I can be so sure of some things, and so scared of others.  I have been using the quote "you don't get the courage to do something until after you have done it" lately.  I really hope whoever originally said that was a smart person.

So, two hour delays

Two-hour school delays are the worst (teachers, I know you will disagree).  I seriously thought about ending the entry right there.

I am sitting here eating some eggs after making waffles for my children, which means that Luke will eat half of his waffle, Avery will eat all of her waffle and then come over to eat most of my eggs...ugh. 

I know this two-hour delay routine.  They get up at the same time as usual (hard to blame them for that), they get extremely excited because they think they are staying home with daddy for the day, they get extremely upset* (read as they meltdown) when I start to get them ready for school and the sitter, and finally they get to the quiet anger (because they think it's my fault they have to leave).

I remember loving two-hour delays when I was in school, mainly in high school.  Extra sleep, extra breakfast, extra video games, and most importantly a shorter school day that did not mean a make-up day in the summer.

This started me thinking, what else did I love as a kid that I now can not stand, and vice versa.

Well for one, snow.  As a kid, it was fun to get bundled up and play tackle football, have snowball fights, climb "the hill" and sled ride and finally pile into somebody's house for hot chocolate and Super Mario Brothers.

Now I loathe the cold and snow as much as...well...as much as I loathe Caillou.  I have always said I would never move from Western Pennsylvania, I was lying (I just didn't know it).  Megamillions (Powerball and I still aren't talking) carry me away to Hawaii!

When I was a kid, I remember fighting my parents at bedtime.  I had no desire to go to bed.  I had important things to do, like...ummm...I am sure they were important.  The point is I did not want to sleep.

There are days now that I would give up peanut butter (and I love peanut butter) to sleep after 6:30am.  It does not matter what time I go to bed (or what I have done the night before), I get up at the same time most days.

My kids would eat fast food every day of their lives, if they had the opportunity.  McDonald's Chicken Nuggets are like kiddie crack.  You put those golden brown hunks of something meat in front of them and it is like Pavlov's dog, the drool pools just form.

Now just the thought of eating fast food makes me a little queasy (not to say I haven't had it in years, but I do avoid it).  I would rather make a meal myself than eat the something meat.

My son has gotten into video games, you know the violent games that a six year old should not be playing but I let him anyway (yep, dad of the year right here).  He loves them, and I kinda like watching his hands while he plays, it is really neat.

I use my Xbox as my DVD player and for Netflix.  I do not find any appeal in playing video games anymore, even when my son asks for help in the games, I find it tedious.

Hey look, it is 8:40 am...only two more hours until the kids get back to a "normal" routine...*sigh*.

So, the Crossfit "cult"

I have heard a lot of people refer to Crossfit as a cult.  Personally I think everybody has the right to their opinion, it is one of the things that is nice about this country.

I want to tell you a little about this community (notice I didn't say cult).  Yesterday (or the day before, since I've had kids I forget a lot) I wrote that I had some job interviews lined up for the week.  Well apparently some of my fellow Crossfitters read my blog and were aware of my upcoming interviews.

At the 12:30 class (which I may sadly have to abandon when I find a new gig), there were only around seven of us, including myself.  Of the six other friends that were there, three wished me luck on my interview that I had today (I think it went well).

One crossfitter, a great man named Eric, had left and came back in to wish to me luck.  Now for those of you that do not live near Pittsburgh, yesterday it was NEGATIVE FOUR DEGREES, without the windchill.  I forgot my water bottle in my car and I refused to go out and get it.  This guy was so supportive that he came back in after heading out to his car to give me a little encouragement.  You are a good guy, Eric.

Two others showed interest in my interview, where was it, who was it with, what time was it, would I be able to make crossfit tomorrow, etc.  They also wished me luck. They cared, and it was not lost on me.  Thanks Ben and Pat.

This morning I woke up to a text and received a another from a fellow 'fitter wishing me luck.  It felt good to get that in the morning when the thermometer read -11 degrees.  Thanks Ben and Ryan.

Now keep in mind, I was wished luck from friends and family from outside the box, too.  I just wanted to express how important my crossfit community, Crossfit Latrobe, is to me.  We support each other during workouts, but also in life.

I encourage anybody to be active in their own way, but I really support the Crossfit model that my gym has embraced.

We are not a cult, we are a community.

So, my 10% rule

In sales you usually hear of the 80/20 rule.  For those not in sales (and really aren't we all selling something?), the rule means you get 80% of your sales from 20% of your clients, it also means you should listen 80% of the time and talk 20% of the time (also a really good rule for marriage that I definitely struggle with), it probably means a lot of other things too.  For me I look at a 10% rule, and I am going to do my best to incorporate it into my life.

I believe that you will get a no 90% of the time in sales, leaving the remaining 10% as successes, which is really good.  That is what I am going to focus on in 2014, the 10%. 

Does that seem low, does that seem a little depressing, I do not think so.  Think about it, if you hit the lottery (c'mon Megamillions, I've given up on Powerball) 10% of the time you play, that is a win of epic proportions.  If you can cut 10% of the sugar/fat you consume, you are winning.  Also, if you can increase your exercise/getting off the couch (CROSSFIT!!!!!), that is a heckuva way to get healthier.

If I can get 10 interviews, all I need is 10%, or one (I used a calculator for that number), to get my life completely back on track.  Once I have that job, if I can get 10% of my clients to say yes everyday, that is one helluva foundation.  I stand a better chance of getting that 10% to say yes by making more sales calls, so...

Who would not want 10% more sleep?  Nobody, that is who.  I know I could use that right now.

Lets look at it with my kids (who are still the cutest kids in the history of history, look it up, it's true).  Getting my son to expand his menu by 10% would be amazing (and a miracle).  Having Avery fall asleep 10% quicker would extend my day, and I need my time to watch Shameless (premiering this Sunday on Showtime...Go Gallaghers!).  Most importantly with my kids, if I can give them 10% more hugs and kisses, we will be better people.

Adding or dropping 10% is not a big number, but it can lead to big things.  Do 10% more, do 10% less and lets see what happens!

I wish I drew that in the sand

So, it's been some time

It has been some time since my last post.  I will be honest, I had been struggling mentally, and I had very little desire to write, or do just about anything other than Crossfit.  I did not want to keep up my writing, cooking, very little reading, struggled to finish my classes, etc.

I can not really pinpoint why that is, all I can say is that it was.  I have been able to come out of it (like an odd looking butterfly from a cocoon, ok, very odd looking).  While I can not pinpoint why I fell into my funk, I can give some pretty good reasons why I came out of it.

First and foremost, I have surrounded myself with some amazing people.  When you see positive people, you tend to become more positive (at the very least you fake it until you make it).  I have met a lot of new people over the last month, and for the most part, they have made me smile and laugh.

I have seen my baby sister.  She was in for the holidays, and she (along with her way too advanced 2 year old daughter and husband) make me happy.  How I can not smile when I am around someone like this.  My cousins, the youngest has a great sense of humor and can take verbal shots like a champ, are always fun to be around, and I saw them quite a bit.

I spent time with one of the strongest people I have gotten to know, and I have watched her become stronger. 

Second, I have ventured out into the world of small business ownership (bum, bum, buuuuuummmmm).  It is a small work out apparel company called Sweat Catchers (subliminal messages for you to click/like/order from that site...).  It has been a lot of fun working with my partner forming, designing, screwing up, winning, etc. during the process.  To actually see something come about from nothing is very rewarding.  I have gotten a lot of help from friends on how to set up Sweat Catchers, and a very special shout out to an amazing artist and friend Jason, seriously if you need a graphic artist, he is fast and very good.

So Sweat Catchers has been a lot of fun so far, and it helped me gain a sense of accomplishment.

Along the same lines of small business, I was contacted by an old friend from school to help out with copy writing.  It was great to catch up with her and it was even better to see somebody putting their trust in me, thank you Stonehouse Mixes!

Third, I am finally getting some traction for a full-time gig, again thanks to friends.  I have several interviews in the upcoming week and two of them are because of friends believing in me.  It will be up to me to capitalize on the opportunities.   

Fourth, I had my kids on Christmas morning...'nuff said.

Basically what this blog entry is saying is...I could not have gotten out of my funk without the people in my life.  So a big thank you to everybody that has messaged me, called me, made fun of me, hung out with me, and showed me that picking your head up does not have to be a one-man job.

Oh and I have not seen Caillou in over a month!  Woohoo!

Not so subliminal message above