The Kicking.

     I haven't set an alarm in four years. A few people have contacted me lately asking why this blog has gone silent. To clarify: I haven't had to set an alarm in four years because my children wake me up. That's right, plural. We've had another one. Which means we either really liked the first one or didn't learn our lesson. I'm not always sure which one it is. Our second girl is about 19 months now and things are starting to calm down. A little. Which is why there is now time to write this post. On the other hand, maybe I have habituated to the level of insane living accompanied by having more than one child.

     It's probably the last one.

     Let it be known now and forever that I am not the world's greatest dad. I'm a good dad. Not the greatest. Little stuff annoys me way too much for me to be the greatest. Things that shouldn't get under my skin, get so under my skin it touches bone. And there is no reason for it! It annoys me when I go pee and am immediately thirsty. It's as if the issue of "full bladder" has just been dealt with, do we really need to begin the cycle all over again so soon? I have things to do today.

     It also annoys me that, apparently, we have to sleep with the door open. This would make more sense if you knew that our youngest slept on a different level of the house. However, we bought a baby monitor so it sounds like she's right in the room with us. Just...right there! It's a VTech Cordless thingy and, you know what? Works great. Has multiple notification settings (vibrate, lights, sound, small bombs) and have never had an issue with connectivity. Which begs the question: Why do we have to sleep with the door open? You don't need it open to hear the baby crying, which she still does, in the middle of the night, even though she's 19 months old. This also annoys me even when I'm asleep.

     I have always been a heavy sleeper. When I was a child, fire alarms would go off in our house and I wouldn't stir. Not only does this speak to my ability to sleep through anything, but also my mother's cooking abilities (sorry Mom!). When our youngest starts crying, I don't wake up, but my wife ALLEGES I most certainly "stir". To believe her, I more than "stir", I kick her until she gets out of bed and gets the baby.

     Is it possible I am so sensitive to annoyances that, even in my sleep, when my body should be paralyzed and I'm imagining a planet made entirely out of trampolines, there's a part of my brain that says, "Hey! Knock it off!" and then starts kicking? There's no way! Even if there is, can I really be held accountable? I submit that no. No I cannot.

     To her credit, my wife is an absolute trooper about it and hasn't complained until lately. And this has been going on for 19 months, give or take. *ProTip*, if you do realize your spouse is missing from the bed, you hear crying, walk downstairs, ask if there's anything you can do to help, and your spouse says in a very steady and calm voice, "stop kicking me and go back upstairs"; just go ahead and go back upstairs. Nothing good can come from the rest of that conversation. I promise.

The Running.

     I'm glad my relationship isn't built on a lie because it'd be too hard to maintain; the lie, not the relationship. Could you imagine what it'd be like if the first time I met Catie I told her I was into running? I mean I could see the appeal; it'll make her think I'm healthy, in shape (read sexy), and disciplined. When, in actuality I'm not all that healthy, my shape is round (read pseudo-sexy), and the most discipline I have is stopping when the ice cream container is still half-full. Can you imagine the first day she'd ask me out to run? I show up in really new looking kicks and shorts that just seem too short on me, and I'm all, "WHEW! Yeah! Let's run!" We'd make it about three blocks (half a block) and if my wheezing didn't give me away, the collapsing that followed would. Then, as the paramedics resuscitated me, I'd make up some lame statement about how I'm use to running in colder weather. The next time she'd ask an old high school knee injury would flair up... This would probably continue until she just stopped asking.
     I know it's a ridiculous lie and it wouldn't amount to much, but still, you get the point. The funny thing is we all do it! Yes, everyone. Not necessarily out-right full-on lies, but lies of omission or bending the truth. Actually, now that I think about it Catie and I's relationship is based on a lie! It's true. I asked her if she had seen the Lord of the Rings movie that was in theater's at the time and she said no. What I heard her say was, "Ask me out to this movie because I haven't seen it and I'll probably go because I like the movie, even if I don't like you..." So I told her I wanted to see it as well, even though I already had. Turns out we had a great time and even held hands on the first date! I just hope I remember this when my kids start stretching the truth...

The Magi.

     Read "The Gift of the Magi" with my students today. Some of the punch was lost because of the old English used in the story. When I compared the girls hair to their PS3's and his watch to an XBOX 360, it made a little more sense. Each person trading their systems to buy the other person games for their system made it a little more clear. Turns out, making the moral of this story a "little more clear" doesn't make it any easier to understand. They were so taken aback by this vision of piles of video games with no system to play them on they couldn't grasp the concept that it was the sacrifice made my each person that meant so much more than the actual gift. I tried to help them see the beauty in sacrifice and how it paralleled love. Realistically, love and sacrifice are pretty inseparable. Reminds me of the Death Cab for Cutie song, Meet Me at the Equator.

The Cold.

     I would say that when I'm sick I turn into a little girl, but that would be an insult to little girls. I'm a total wuss. Now, my pregnant wife is packing stuff, taking care of me, and walking the dog. How is it that women are so stinking tough?
     I've noticed that my wife sees me at my most disgusting, smelly, grossness. All so I can make sure I look good for people that I don't love near as much as her! She's had to request I no longer breath on her before we meet people to see how bad my breathe is. Instead, I just carry gum around with me. And I won't hesitate to flip my head back and have her check to see if there are any bears in the cave. That's the thing though, isn't it? We love each other in spite of all the grossness. It's GREAT! On the other hand, I need to make sure my wife sees me at my best...at least some of the time. She shouldn't have to sort through all my sickness to see a few good things. But if we can't be disgusting in front of the people we love, who can we be gross in front of?

The Steering.

     Went and saw "Couples Retreat" this weekend, HILARIOUS. Seriously, go and see it. As the credits are rolling they are on jet ski's, in pairs, screaming across these crystal blue bays and inlets. It's a great scene, and I couldn't help but think of the first concert I ever went to: Smashing Pumpkins. I know it doesn't make sense yet, but stay with me to the end.
     It was high school and three of us piled into a girls car and took off down the highway toward the Pumpkins and good 'ol Billy C. Getting to that amphitheatre was kinda like getting to Rome, most of the roads in that part of Kansas led there. Well, this turned out to be a problem. The girl who was driving didn't really know how to get there, so the directions she was getting from me and the other guy were different. While they were both correct individually, if you tried to take them together you'd never get anywhere. Then, as we're speeding toward a busy interchange on the highway, I'm telling her to stay in the lane she's in while Michael was telling her to exit. At this point, her brain just locked up and she, along with the car, came to a screeching halt in the middle of the highway. I don't know if you've ever driven on a highway before, but I wouldn't recommend going any less than 55, much less stopping. There was no pulling over, no slowing down, no warning lights, just immediate and panicked stopping. While Michael and I couldn't agree on how to get there, we did agree in a very loud and insistent voice that stopping in the middle of the highway with cars whizzing by at 75 was a bad idea. I'm sure it was only a few seconds, but it seemed like we sat there for about five full minutes before Michael reached over and pushed the gas on the driver's side, forcing the car forward, and forcing the driver to make a decision. No one died and we got to the concert without further incident, but that little experience has stuck in my brain.
     This is where the story ties back into jet ski's, relationships, and driving. Just like driving, only one person can be in charge at a time in a relationship. This doesn't mean it's the same person all the time in every situation, just that only one person can drive a car at a time. Now, the driver can get input from whoever's in the car, but too much input or conflicting advice can make it pretty hard to know where you're really going. I guess what I'm trying to say is we should be careful who we let in the car of our relationships. I mean, Catie and I do a pretty good job of switching off between navigator and captain, but we're getting ready to have a new passenger. Not only do we have to make sure we agree on where we're heading, but also how we're going to get there. Otherwise, we may end up at a crossroads, and if we're not careful our marriage can come to a screaming halt in the middle of a busy road and we may just get hit by the proverbial MAC truck of divorce.
     That's how it goes, doesn't it? Two people, in a relationship, each one going different directions? How long can that really last? I'm not even sure how long I would want it to last. Even worse than that is getting tied to the bumper and dragged along like that dog on Family Vacation. How are you going to put any input into the relationship without being in the car? You could reach your destination and not even realize it. What a terrible and bitter way to go through something. That has actually happened to one of my dear friends and I miss him terribly. But she's got her foot on the gas, staring straight ahead, with no concern for him because he's on the outside of the car.
     Please hear me when I say this: I do not think men should always steer. Lord know's we got lost just as easily as anyone else and some comedian's have built entire careers on how we won't ask for directions. But I don't think women should be in control all the time either. It should be a group decision with input all along the way. Well, I'm starting to preach now, and I apologize. Anyway, let me know what you think. See you tomorrow with the new post.

The THX.

     So, just ran across this and I think it's a brilliant idea. If your local movie theater doesn't have a "Crybaby Matinee" thing, it totally should. It's a great move and you should call your local theater if they don't do it.

The Bargaining.

     Sprint PCS is driving me crazy. Yes, it's a short drive, but still being driven there! I'm on my third phone with them and it's junk. I'm more inclined to blame Windows Mobile is a terrible OS and I should go with something else. Regardless, Catie & I spent about two hours talking about how we were going to handle this. Going to a different cell provider would cost a bunch of money because we'd still have to buy a new phone. And let's be honest, I would probably want an iPhone. The other option is to stay here, hopefully Sprint will take care of me and make this better, but who knows. I may have to pay some money to get a new phone, but why pay money and resign a contract to stay with a company that kinda blows chunks? There was a point in time, before we got pregnant it wouldn't have been an issue. I would've worked a few more hours, made a little extra money, and bought the new phone. But now we're looking around at what we can sell (the treadmill topped the list pretty quickly) to make the money we might need if we want to buy it. Instead we're talking about setting up college funds for someone that doesn't really exist yet...it's just weird, that's all.

The Schedule.

     Alright, I think I'm gonna try to go toward quality a little more than quantity. Putting something out every single day is getting taxing, especially now that school is starting. Plus, I'm gonna expand the content of this site a little bit more, not only about parenting, and relationships, but also guy stuff in general. Also, there's some psychology tools I'm going to design that I'll put online. That's not for the general world, but I need someplace to put it! So, let me know what you think, men.
     Free tip: Tell your lady five things you love about her some time today. You'll thank me later.

The Conscience.

     When I was a boy my father told me a story I'll never forget. He said it was a Native American tale, but I haven't found anything to back that up. Regardless, there's something about it that has stuck with me for more than twenty years and I wanted to pass it along.
     I don't remember what I had done, but it was wrong. The real issue, the thing that scare my father the most, was that instead of feeling guilty for what I had done I was spending more time and energy trying to rationalize my behavior. He sat me down and told me that some people believed that when you're born, you're born with a square next to heart. In the middle of that square is a pin holding the heart in place and allowing it to spin. Then, when you do something wrong, the square makes a quarter turn. Sometimes, we even feel the tip of that square cut into our hearts as real pain. This reminds us of the hurt we caused in others and motivates us to seek healing for them, and our selves.
     However, if the square spins too often in too short a period of time, our hearts can grow calloused. When this happens, even though the square continues to turn, we do not feel it. This is dangerous, but can be fixed with time. If we go long enough without injuring someone else or, and this is what saves us most often, if a good friend comes to us and tells us we should be feeling our square, but we aren't, then we can allow our hearts to soften and we can allow ourselves to return to the way our hearts once were.
     But, if we have no good friends to talk to us when our hearts become calloused, then it is possible the square will continue to turn without us feeling it. If this happens too long, it wears the corners of the square down until they are rounded off. At this point nothing can be done. The healing words of friends will sound like poison, the helpful hands of family will look like fists, and the tears of those we hurt will look like weakness. After a time, the calloused heart that has worn away the edges of the square will heal; the callouses will fall away revealing a tender and vulnerable heart. The tragedy is there is no way to reach it. Nothing can touch that heart, neither pain nor joy, love nor fear, hope nor faith. This is the unforgiveable sin.
     I know this isn't my usual light hearted post but it's been on my mind and I wanted to put it out there. By the way, when my dad told me this story he actually used a piece of paper and tore the corners off the square. It really made an impact and probably prevented me from turning into an antisocial personality.

The SportsCenter.

     Fellas, the relationship we have with the mother of our children is important. Remember, it's even more important than sports. However, sports do have benefits because they can provide a respite, a shelter, where for a few precious hours we can lose ourselves in decade's old rivals and near superhuman feats. Yet, most of the time, women don't really understand. That's okay though, it really is. We usually don't understand why they want to see the newest Nicholas Sparks movie. But we (should) go anyway, we suffer through a few hours and a couple boxes of Kleenex because she likes it and it makes us look good. Well, here's a tip: Schedule the games you want to see. I use Google Calendar. It's free, and someone put a calendar for EVERY GAME EVER. Put it on there, email it to your lady, and she'll know what to expect. And, as G.I. Joe should've said, Having good expectations is half the battle.

The Touching.

     There have been a couple of posts about people touching my wife's belly without asking (The Questions. and The Stranger.), but it really hit home this evening. I'm sitting in class for the first time, with people I don't know, have never met, and am totally unfamiliar with. In order to send out the international symbol of, "Hey, I'm not really interested in talking to you right now", I've got my laptop out, I'm surfing, and I'm typing out an email. There has been no eye contact or smiles at all. None. And then, this rando dude walks over, puts his sweaty palm on my shoulder, flashes me a cheesy grin, and says, "I hope you're doing well tonight..." Well sir, I was doing well right up to the time when you walked over here and infected me with a terminal case of the creepies. Thanks for that. I'm not usually this kind of guy, but I felt like looking at him and saying, "Don't ever touch me again." But I didn't, I bit my tongue and just let the weirdness subside.
     Later that night I'm telling Catie about this and she says, "At least it was just your shoulder. Think about what it's like when total strangers do it to your belly." Ya know, i never really thought fully about that because I don't think I had a good way to contextualize it. Well, thanks Mr. Creepy Pants Man, I now have way more context then I ever wanted. You were an unknowing messenger that brought Catie and I closer together with your inappropriate greeting. Thank you. Now don't ever touch me again.

The Flowers.

     I figure, since the baby is going to suck down our income like a roided up AIG going after your mother's retirement funds, now's the time to spend, right? So, go out and buy your pregnant wife some flowers. Partially because she's wonderful, partially because it may temporarily assuage the ever raging tide of hormones, and it may also get you points that can be redeemed in the evening hours... Seriously though, buy some flowers for your baby momma. If you think you can't afford it now, just wait. Gentlemen, start your wallets.

• 1-800 Flowers
  
• FTD (by the way, does anyone know what FTD actually stands for? I don't)
  
• Pro Flowers
  

The Cart.

     I was walking walking around Target, shopping, and I see this guy with a little girl in the seat of the grocery cart. But there was something different about this set of shoppers. While the father was physically there with his daughter, he wasn't "there". It was like they happened to be in the same place, but were total strangers. Anyone else ever see this?
     Is it possible there is a lesson in this? I've seen parents that are physically part of their children's life, but they just aren't emotionally part of their life. There's a level of intent that's important here. Instead of people who happen to be in the same room together, there can be a family that is actively participating in the lives of one another. This is what I want. I want to take my daughter to the grocery store, not go shopping with her in the cart. Does that make sense?

The Timing.

     Finding time to fulfill all my husbandly duties is difficult. I work (sometimes) and go to school, and Catie works, coaches cross-country, and goes to school, and she's pregnant. Waiting for "the mood" to arise of its own volition. It's almost like the planets have to align before everything would sync up naturally. We can't just wait for it, so we have to create it. The timing isn't as important for us as the willingness. Because sex is such an important part of relationships it is something we should make time for, and I'm glad we do. It still seems a little strange to "pencil it in" my phone, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Strangely, this has nothing to do with her being pregnant, other than it makes her a little more tired than normal.

The Lies.

     I define a lie as a willful and intentional misleading of the truth through omissions or fabrications of what is true in order to persuade another person or persons to encourage a false belief. Keep that in mind as you read the rest of this story.

     We were sitting around with Mark and Dizzy, talking about movies we enjoyed, and I brought up Boondock Saints. Aside from its gratuitous violence and graphic language, the movie is one of the best lower budget films I've ever seen, the action sequences are astounding, and Wilem Dafoe is great. Catie and I have watched the movie together many times and talked about its message of vigilantism, what it means to sacrifice for the greater good, and how Edmund Burke was right all along when he said that all it takes for evil to thrive is for good men to do nothing. This is when our friends admit they've never seen the movie. Well, Dizzy made it through the first few minutes, but just couldn't get into it.
     I was floored! How could they have not seen/not enjoyed such a cinematic great? Sure it didn't get big budget advertising, but it's been around for a while and they're making a sequel, plus, I know for a fact they've had the opportunity to watch the movie over at my house! Then I realized that Catie was being suspiciously quiet on the subject. For someone who had participated in as many conversations about the movie as she had, one would imagine she'd have some input. Then I remembered Dizzy saying she really couldn't get into it. Finally, yesterday, it clicked: There's a really good chance Catie doesn't like the movie at all. I'm sure there's parts or theme's she likes, but for the most part, she may be just as happy at an asphalt tasting contests as she is watching that movie. So why has she watched it with me so many times? Why has she participated in passionate discussions about it?
     There's only one possibility: She loves me. She loves me so much, she's willing to watch movies she doesn't like and talk about them with me because she knows I like them. She's never told me she hated the movie, but let's be real, she's probably not as big a fan as I am. But because she loves me more than her own desires she faked it. Maybe lies aren't always bad. Kant would disagree, but he's dead so there's not much he can do about it. I just hope I will continue to notice when my wife lies to me out of love. And I certainly hope I'll be able to lie the next time she asks if I want to go shopping. Not just lie, but do it passionately, because as much as I hate shopping, I love her much more. Catie, this is your letter.

     Here's a free tip, if you do go shopping on Labor Day, stay away from Wal-mart. It's bad. Really really bad.

The Hand.

     Not sure if you've ever ridden in a cheap wagon with a kid who was battling childhood obesity sitting right behind you, but it's not as exciting as you'd think. First of all, the steering is not what I'd call responsive; it's actually not even sluggish. It's awful. Wagons either go straight or instantly turn 90 degrees. Plus, if I'm ever on a bobsled team, I'll know from experience where to put the big guy. If you put him in the back, you'll go way faster than you actually want, the only problem being stopping. There are no breaks on a Red Flyer Wagon; I've checked. Using my feet and hands far more than my brains, I tried to slow us down, only to have my hand stay in place while the wagon continued forward. After having my hand run over, and hearing an odd crunch, I decided that wherever the wagon stopped moving was the perfect place for me to get out and go home.
     I walked back home, pretty sure I broke something in my hand, wanting my mom to fix it. I went up to her, told her what happened, and asked her to take a look. She poked and prodded, then asked me if I could move my thumb, and wiggled stuff around. Her "professional" opinion? I was fine, now go play outside. I went out and started playing basketball by myself. Then, without warning, someone apparently inserted a tennis ball where my hand was supposed to be. It looked like I was wearing an inflated medical glove. The days of my mother being a doctor were over.
     Naturally, it was broken, which x-rays and a trained doctor proved. The thing that I still wonder about is how my mom could tell me it was okay, and all of a sudden it was! That kind of power is amazing to me. How is it that "kissing a boo-boo" is the salve of the god's? I hope I'll be able to illicit that type of calming affect in my children, but I won't be surprised if I can't. That's a mother's power. The best I can hope for is telling her to walk it of...

The Tool.

     I'm not much for reality shows. They pretty much lack reality and there's too much drama. Regardless, there's one show I do kind of want to see: Tool Academy. It's this show that puts a bunch of guys with daddy issues in the same room and films them while they're trying to prove their manliness. The real issue is the way these guys try to change and the motivation behind it. Their girlfriends are there and they go to this group therapy thing that's a little cheesed up for TV, but overall there are many men who could benefit from this type of change. The clip below is douche baggery at its height. Check it out... By the way, two words for you to meditate on while viewing these clips: "Roid Rage!!!"

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The Home.

     Catie officially started her third trimester yesterday. It was uneventful. The only thing being two-thirds of the way through the pregnancy has done is make me nervous about getting into a house before the baby comes. We're looking, and finding, but it's just so expensive! Have you seen these things? We want to buy before the end of the year because we'll get eight grand from the government and we'll hopefully have enough time to prepare for the baby coming. If all goes well we'll finish unpacking our last box and Catie's water will break. Unreasonable? Sure. But it's important to have goals. I'm just glad this has been a celebratory time instead of devolving into fights over money, where we'll live, or why it's not happening as soon as we want.

The Infomercial.

     Have you ever seen one of those infomercials where they make extremely simple tasks appear nearly impossible? Tasks like pulling clothes from a closet, stacking Tupperware, making cereal, or breathing are brutally bumbled by hapless idiots who are obviously in desperate need of whatever product they'll be selling for the next hour. This, of course, is designed to make the product look more useful and its ability to simplify our lives is supposed to come into stark relief amongst a background of chaos.
     I can't help but think there are some parents out there doing the same thing. Well, at least I hope that's what's happening. There seems to be some things that should be on the same level of taking clothes out of the closet, but it just get's all messed up. The other night I saw the box for a car seat in the parking lot of Target. Our Target happens to be across the street from a hospital. I would like to think that at some point before we get to the hospital in the throws of delivery pains, I would realize that though only two are going, three will be coming back. Hopefully I won't be putting it together, fresh out of the box, while my wife is giving birth.

The Sweeping.

     There's an asteroid called Asclepius that came close to hitting Earth back in 1989. Then, in 1996, the Near-Earth Asteroid Tracking (NEAT) project was started by the JPL in order to monitor big hunks of stuff floating through space that cross the same path of Earth's orbit in case we turn out to be on a collision course. Everyone with me on this? There are people, who go to work five days a week, and get paid moderate sums of money, in order to figure out if a giant chunk of space dookie is going to not allow us to merge on the solar system's version of a highway. Good. Just one question: say we figure out we're going to be side swiped by a drunk driving celestial body with malicious intent, then what? While it wasn't necessarily a high point in my life, I can admit I've seen Armageddon, but the fiction part of that movie is more accurate than the science part. We're not going to a comet to blow it up. It's not going to happen. And a nuke? Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if you urinated on a forest fire? I think you get the picture. Why are we monitoring something we can do nothing about? I'd rather be surprised.
     What does this have to do with Fatherade? Well, the last down of the up's and down's of fatherhood is Sweeping Down. I think this is the one that comes naturally to most fathers. Catie is probably going to be more nurturing, more comforting, and better at anticipating the acts of our children than me, but this one is just built for men. This is the reason comic books sell, it's why guys work out (or at least say they do), it's why we polish shotguns when our daughter's first date comes over: We want to be hero's. Hero's save people, often miraculously or with super powers. Jerry Seinfeld once said, "All men think of themselves as some kind of low level superheros in their own world. When men are growing up and they're reading about Batman, Spiderman, Superman,.. these aren't fantasies, these are OPTIONS! This the deep inner secret of the male mind." It's true. What he neglected to talk about is the motivation behind this desire. I like saving people, I really do. I'm looking forward to saving my kids from something...anything really. That's what dad's do! We "sweep" in, and save the day! Mom's get all the credit on game day ("HI MOM!!!"), but who gets the call when a car breaks down in the middle of the night in central downtown and they don't know what to do? We're the ones! We get the call! And we love it, even when we act like we don't. It makes us feel (finally) useful. That's what father's do.