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, 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 being a parent...

So when my son was born, he's the oldest of my two children, I knew life would change.  I figured this little ray of sunshine would help me in every aspect of my life.  HA!  I was an absolute idiot.  Some of the things I actually thought would happen are so ridiculous, I have to share some of them to show how wrong I was.

First, I thought I would get healthier.  I figured with a child I would cook healthier foods.  No more just grabbing something from the freezer, especially if I was also making a meal for my son.  No way would I shove processed garbage in his mouth.  I wouldn't be going to McDonald's or Wendy's or Burger King, etc. either.  I knew that stuff wasn't healthy, so no way was I going to subject the future greatest baseball player of all time to unhealthy eating habits.

I was a moron.  Things got even worse with my diet.  I rediscovered Kraft Mac N Cheese (curse you orange powder cheese), because it was easy and my picky eater son would eat it.  I also found that I liked some of those toddler-focused treats, you know the ones with a ton of calories and carbohydrates that are supposed to help your child get the caloric intake needed to grow, yep I would steal one or two or seven.  I also now know how McDonald's and other fast food places stay in business, it's easy and my kids will eat it.  It comes with a toy...a TOY people!  If that little toy can buy me five minutes of quiet, I would pay double for that Happy Meal.

Staying with the "I thought I would get healthier" theme, I figured I would get more active when my son was born.  I was wrong again.  Nobody really told me that the first six months after your baby is born they are a slug.  They don't do anything but look cute (I don't think slugs are cute), eat, pee and poop.  I would get home from work, spend time with the little guy on the couch, or on the rocking chair, or on the floor, or basically anywhere that wasn't requiring me to break my sedentary routine.  I actually became less active.  I didn't play golf as much or go out with friends, so I wasn't even getting that small amount of exercise anymore.

Second, I figured it was a no brainer that I would be that tough parent that made sure his kids would grow up to have that killer instinct and not want to get a trophy for simply competing.  What was I thinking?  Seriously, my son is six now and I loved how his face lit up when he got his baseball trophy and soccer medals.  He may not remember getting them when he gets older, but I won't forget it.  Sure, I know some people think that giving trophies for participation is the wussification of America, but my son is six and no offense to him, but I don't think he's going to be a pro athlete, so I hope he enjoys all the trophies he gets.

Third, since I had one child, a second child would be more difficult, but it couldn't be THAT much more difficult, right?  I am the dumbest person in America.  My son was/is an angel.  He listens, he goes to bed when he's told, he does his homework when I forget to remind him, etc.  He is 6 going on 50.  He is wise beyond his years, a good student and a good person, then there is his sister...who I love.  I wanted a little girl in the worst way after my son.  I wanted to be able walk her down the aisle (something my father didn't get to do with my sister), I wanted to dress her up in pink dresses and have her be this dainty little flower.  It's good to want things, I guess.

What I got when my daughter was born three years ago, is the complete opposite of my son.  She is a bruiser who likes to run around the house naked, hit her brother and yell the word poop.  She hates to go to sleep, so I have to sit with her for about an hour every night (those of you that I text at night, there is a 99% chance my daughter is laying beside me).  I never thought I would be a parent that spanked their kids, especially since I have never spanked my son, well that went out the window too.  Forget about little pink dresses and putting stuff in her hair, like I said she wants to be naked and she doesn't even want her hair brushed.  There are days when I look at her and think she could pass for a homeless zombie with peanut butter on its face.

Fourth, I wasn't going to take my kids out in public if they misbehaved or if they weren't presentable.  This might be the funniest of them all looking back.  At this point I'm happy if the socks match, forget about the shirt and pants.  I'm color blind to begin with, so I've at least got that excuse, but I can't use it when my son or daughter are rocking a new chocolate milk stain on their shirt.  However the last thing you want to do after you've spent an hour chasing them down to get them dressed, made sure they went to the bathroom, cleaned up some of their mess, wiped their faces, let the dog out, got dressed myself, found my phone/wallet/keys, buckled them into their car seats is take them back into the house because you just noticed that stain.  I used to see kids out and wonder what their parents were thinking, I don't anymore, because I know exactly what they're thinking.

I also used to wonder what parents were thinking letting their kids throw a tantrum in public.  Yeah...while I will remove my child from the viewing public, I no longer judge any parent for their child's actions (provided that child isn't 17).  I've been in public where things are going so smoothly you actually kid yourself that you're going to get to all the stores you need to hit that day, then the dam breaks and the inner tantrum floods the entire mall/restaurant/Barnes and Noble (so sorry Barnes and Noble).  I get it now, and for all the parents I judged in my head, I'm sorry.

Finally, I knew I would love my kids, but I had no idea how much I would love my kids. Not a day goes by that I don't look at them and get amazed.  The other day I saw my son playing a video game, and I got mesmerized by his hands using the controller. He genuinely loves sports, baseball in particular, which to me is the greatest gift he's given me.   My daughter suddenly started singing a song word for word that she remembered from the radio.  Every decision I make is influenced by them, and believe me that's a good thing, because I've made some really dumb decisions.  They are my stud and punkinhead.

I can't wait to see how wrong I am when they get older.

M