This Saturday we decided the family would take a trip together to the new super Target that recently opened up. This takes a huge leap of faith on my part as my wife has been known to lose herself at Target for more than six hours, the only thing I have done for six hours is watch football, my yin to her yang, so to speak. The boys will jump in the car as soon as they hear the word "Target" on the outside chance that this might be the trip that they wear my wife down with constant begging and walk out with new Lego's.
I, on the other hand, shutter at the thought as my wife can enter this shopping 'zone' where time ceases to exist, everything is just a blur on her periphery and anyone silly enough to be on this voyage with her is at her complete mercy, which she doesn't show a lot of.
Here's the part where I outsmart myself as usual. I know that I want to watch a huge college football match up on Saturday night, and that Sunday afternoon belongs to my beloved Broncos, so I had better make an effort to spend a little 'family' time on my terms before she decides I need to skip some pigskin and comes up with a family project, destination, or meal we need to do together during the football games. If I only had a crystal ball I would have gladly given up USC vs Ohio State to skip the Target run.
We make the fifteen minute drive over to the store without incident, but as soon as we hit the parking lot it starts. This is the first time I have been to this new shopping center so I casually cruise through the parking lot getting the layout, and in the process drive by a couple parking places, 'So I guess there is something wrong with all those spots, huh?', she asks me. 'No, I'm just looking for a spot that we won't need a freakin' can opener to help us get out of the car since the spots are so close together.' She's like a kid on Christmas, 'Just park already.' OK.
As we all exit the vehicle, we are treated to the sight of a runaway shopping cart pick up speed and ram into a parked car. The boys all laugh hysterically and want to see it again. My wife takes this one since she can see me smiling also and tells one of the boys to get the cart and return it to the cart rack. He wants to know why we can't keep it to shop with, and when told we could, he quickly changes his mind and parks it in the cart rack.
We enter the four hundred and eighty million square foot store and head straight to those three little bins that are supposed to have things for a dollar or less. There are twenty other people milling around the three racks, now my kids are darting in and out trying to be the first to discover the coolest thing there for under a dollar, then I notice that only about twenty-five percent of the bins have things for a dollar, everything else is more expensive, not much but some. Nice move Mr. Target, whoever you are, the old bait and switch ten steps inside the front door, and it works!
We are all overwhelmed by the sheer size of the store, except for my wife who already has a game plan, why don't you take them to get something to drink. Cool, I could use a Pepsi for this outing and the boys are giddy with the proposition of soda since it doesn't mix well with the three of them and is referred to as 'crazy' juice. I have no idea where the fountain drinks are but just follow the path of the Tasmanian devils apologizing to people and helping them pick up their things. We get to the counter and I am stunned to see that Mr. target also charges one dollar for a ten ounce cup. I dole out he $4.50 for the four of us and watch the wanna be alchemists start to mix their potions. It is a contest to see who can mix the most varieties in one cup regardless of the flavor. My youngest says ,'I want Hi-C and Sierra Mist' and I oblige him. The middle one does Dr. Pepper, Hi-C, Root Beer, and Gatorade, he is quite proud. My oldest brings his cup to me and says,'Look Dad, it's some of everything' and I point out that he doesn't have any ice to which he replies,'You get more pop without ice Dad' so he has that gimmick figured out already.
We decide to go to the electronics and look at video games and televisions, it's inborn for guys, we almost race back to that department. I lead the way and am checking out a few titles for the X-box when I notice my oldest son isn't with us. I ask the others where he is and they say he turned off at the Lego aisle. Well let's check out the DS games then we'll go get him and find Mom. We don't see anything that we can sneak past Mom as not being 'too violent' and decide to hit the Lego aisle. It has everything you can imagine...except my oldest son. Now as you probably know he is pretty big for his age and I doubt anyone could smuggle him out of the store but the angst rises with every minute that passes and I start to sweat a little bit. The three of us start to scour the store doing 'the dizzy move', you know the one, you walk fast and look left then right down each aisle as you go until you feel like you have just got off a ride at Elitches. You parents know what I'm saying. We end up spotting my wife who so far has put some Play-Doh and bird seed in the basket, I don't remember needing either of those but why fight it.
Immediately she asks where is the oldest and I have to say that we lost him, she gives me the look and sends me out on a solo search as I can cover more ground than Geronimo by myself. My saving grace is her eye catches a comforter that would be 'cute' on one of the boys' beds, and it's on clearance! I take off doing the dizzy move and before I throw up spot him at the check out counters looking at the candy. I gather him and head back to comforters. No one home, so we take off doing the dizzy move until we spot them by the greeting cards, didn't know we needed those either.
All present and accounted for so my wife suggests I take them to get something to eat. Why not, she even throws in some cash and I take the bait. We line up at the counter again and order our three pretzels and one order of bread sticks, he's always got to be different. I tell them to find us a spot to sit while I get the food. I walk into the dining area and notice one at the bench by the window, one in the corner at a table for two, and the youngest at a table for four in the center of the room. I pick the youngest as he has the capabilities of making the biggest mess. My oldest scarfs down the bread sticks and comes over to announce he has to go the bathroom, 'Then go', I say, and see that he has beaten me again and spilled his dipping sauce all over his table. We see his mother clear down the aisle and the oldest says he will catch up to her and takes off. The other two are chasing a fly around the dining area while I try to finish my pretzel. They both go running out laughing and ignore my yells to get back here. I take two minutes to finish up and throw away the debris, walk out and don't see them.
I figure they followed the oldest to catch their mother and do the same. Wrong, I show up without two of them and am sent back out to find them. Again I employ the dizzy move and get three quarters of the way around the store and see them at the dollar bins we started at, they are trying on animal masks that only cover your eyes and it looks like a junior Mardis Gras gone bad. Let's go I say, Mom wants you to look at costumes, and they are gone like the road runner. I manage to keep them in sight and they go straight to the Halloween display and it is our lucky day. They happen to have an Indiana Jones, a Boba-Fet from Star Wars, and a Clone Trooper from the Clone Wars, its perfect, and expensive. Mom heads off to the boys clothes dept. and we stay and battle with the plastic swords, cleavers, and machetes until the youngest takes a pitchfork (plastic) in the arm and we have to quit. We proceed to push all the buttons for the talking displays and try to get them all going at once, it's very entertaining. Next, to the claw candy dishes where you try to stick your hand in before the claw grabs you but this freaks the four year old out and we decide to out vote Mom, time to go home.
We catch up to her in the kids clothes and plead our case, she lingers on for a while, because she can, then grudgingly says OK. We head to the cashier and unload. She has a clever idea for her Bunco group and the final tally is just under three hundred dollars. I see even my wife is a bit shocked but grab the loaded cart and head out the door with the two youngest boys. I am trying to hurry but we have to wait for the seven old to try and hurdle the big red Target sculptures on the way out. We make it half way way across the parking lot and I hear my wife yelling at me to turn around and come back. Are you kidding? So I do. We head straight to the return line and unload about eighty bucks worth of the unnecessary stuff. Is this how everyone does it? The thrill of shopping and the agony of paying for it. Oh well, we head back out to the car and pile in.
I figure that little outing cleared me right through the play-offs, don't you agree?
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
HAMSTER HYSTERIA
This little beauty started about two months ago, right before school got out for the kids. My oldest son's best friend forever talked the boys and their mother into adopting two hamsters from their colony at home that was brimming with eighteen hamsters. I have already told you about the dog, and the failed cat attempt, (Kellen turned out to be allergic to felines and we gave her away to my niece), so I was not included in this decision. Everyone had to know my answer would be a resounding no, so they decided to skip that link in the chain of command.
It started out during school that the hamsters would stay in my wife's classroom during the week as a class pet and then be brought home on the weekends to by enjoyed by the entire family. I really didn't even notice they were here at that point so whatever, no big deal. The real kick in the crotch happens a couple days after they are home for the summer. Now my son's best friend forever has anointed himself Marlon Perkins of the hamster world as they have such a huge population and has guaranteed us that we are receiving two male hamsters. Yep, you guessed it, the reason they have eighteen hamsters is because no one can tell the difference between the boys and girls, all of a sudden we have eight hamsters. Thanks BFF. Now my wife jumps into the picture and tries to separate the sexes which means doubling up on all all hamster confinement and habitrails. So much for the 'free' hamsters, now I'm in for at least one hundred dollars. She also has unbelievable knowledge about hamsters as she has owned at least one, and one is the magic number, for years growing up.
She did an almost perfect job with genital separation and only missed one. Now we have sixteen hamsters as she accidentally slipped one of the 'son' hamsters in with the 'mom', and presto! I thought these were hamsters not jackrabbits, give me a freakin' break. More habitrails, more food, more exercise balls for all the hamsters to stay healthy and abstinent. Cha-ching!
I have to give my wife credit for the next step, I voted for leaving them all together when she told me that sometimes the parents ate the young, but was shouted down like I was the coldest person on the planet, what, it's natural selection. My wife embarked on a hamster give-away campaign that was second only to the peasants storming the Bastille. She talked to every kid under ten years old we knew, not their parents, the kids. We started to see the fruits of her efforts pay off, slowly the hamsters were disappearing one here, two there, to where we are now down to eight.
One of the families, that we brainwashed the kids into taking a hamster, went on vacation and as a bit of payback asked us to watch their hamster and parakeet. Touche' to you I say. I see your hamster and raise you a parakeet.
That brings us to today. Our neighbor girl that was in Kellen's class came over today to play with the boys and as usual was in and out of the house and upstairs and downstairs all day. I've learned to tune kids out to some degree, usually mine, so I didn't think anything of it. Now neighbor girl was disappointed that the older boys were wrapped up with the X-box and resorted to playing with my four year old. No big deal until it's bedtime, neighbor girl is long gone and a hamster head count is taken. There are three missing, and unfortunately she didn't steal them because my four year old said they had been playing with them earlier but couldn't catch them. WHAT?! We couldn't catch it he says, he can see the tidal wave coming and is already cooking up some stories to save his skin if it is possible. My wife tells him that he needs to tell us exactly where they saw them last in a tone that even made me shiver a little. I can see the tiny wheels turning, is she concerned about the hamsters being gone or is she going to be mad about where we were playing with them? He makes the right choice and informs us that they had one downstairs, (unfinished basement, catch all storage, toy room, disaster area) and it ran under the stairs. Of course it did, they don't run out to the middle of the floor, or hop up on the couch now do they.
The two big boys and myself wade into the abyss of the basement and start looking, they are calling the hamster's name like a dog, hoping the thing will suddenly appear. I start sorting through all the stuff under the stairs thinking that if we can find just one of the missing then we won't have to put my four year old on e-bay. The older boys are half-hearted looking around and chastising the four year old since he has no defense what so ever. They needle him enough to make him start to whimper, and as I pull my head out from the eighteen inch gap under the stairs I see that he has taken the time to tie a red scarf around his head pirate style and pick up a sword. Then I see a slight movement out of the corner of my eye in the dark corner. No Way. Yes Way. It is Mama Mia, one of the missing hamsters. As I reach for it i have a fleeting thought, are you sure that's a hamster? It is and all is good for five minutes.
We return upstairs to the other scene of the crime, put Mama Mia away and put my four year old under the interrogation lights again. Where did you see the other hamsters last? In Bailey's room he says in just a whisper. The hamster patrol descends on my oldest son's room and starts to turn it upside down. My wife lifts a chair and tells the boys to check underneath, and sure enough, there's another hamster. Hey, this is getting better than Easter eggs. No my youngest son mixes up his story and tells us the last one was lost downstairs also. Again we swoop downstairs like Tommy Lee Jones chasing Harrison Ford. It reminds me of the scene in the movie "The Fugitive". I see my son saying to my wife, right before he jumps out the window, "I didn't lose the hamster." My wife saying, "I don't care." I digress, we find everything but the hamster. The troops call off the search for the night and this sends my middle son into a frenzy worried that the hamster will die in the night. My older son retires to his room and...what was that...finally the third hamster has taken up residence in his miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower.
All is well that ends well, a few minor changes to the house rules that ban certain people from ever getting the hamsters out again it is over. I tell my wife, "I told you we didn't need hamsters." She says, "I don't care."
It started out during school that the hamsters would stay in my wife's classroom during the week as a class pet and then be brought home on the weekends to by enjoyed by the entire family. I really didn't even notice they were here at that point so whatever, no big deal. The real kick in the crotch happens a couple days after they are home for the summer. Now my son's best friend forever has anointed himself Marlon Perkins of the hamster world as they have such a huge population and has guaranteed us that we are receiving two male hamsters. Yep, you guessed it, the reason they have eighteen hamsters is because no one can tell the difference between the boys and girls, all of a sudden we have eight hamsters. Thanks BFF. Now my wife jumps into the picture and tries to separate the sexes which means doubling up on all all hamster confinement and habitrails. So much for the 'free' hamsters, now I'm in for at least one hundred dollars. She also has unbelievable knowledge about hamsters as she has owned at least one, and one is the magic number, for years growing up.
She did an almost perfect job with genital separation and only missed one. Now we have sixteen hamsters as she accidentally slipped one of the 'son' hamsters in with the 'mom', and presto! I thought these were hamsters not jackrabbits, give me a freakin' break. More habitrails, more food, more exercise balls for all the hamsters to stay healthy and abstinent. Cha-ching!
I have to give my wife credit for the next step, I voted for leaving them all together when she told me that sometimes the parents ate the young, but was shouted down like I was the coldest person on the planet, what, it's natural selection. My wife embarked on a hamster give-away campaign that was second only to the peasants storming the Bastille. She talked to every kid under ten years old we knew, not their parents, the kids. We started to see the fruits of her efforts pay off, slowly the hamsters were disappearing one here, two there, to where we are now down to eight.
One of the families, that we brainwashed the kids into taking a hamster, went on vacation and as a bit of payback asked us to watch their hamster and parakeet. Touche' to you I say. I see your hamster and raise you a parakeet.
That brings us to today. Our neighbor girl that was in Kellen's class came over today to play with the boys and as usual was in and out of the house and upstairs and downstairs all day. I've learned to tune kids out to some degree, usually mine, so I didn't think anything of it. Now neighbor girl was disappointed that the older boys were wrapped up with the X-box and resorted to playing with my four year old. No big deal until it's bedtime, neighbor girl is long gone and a hamster head count is taken. There are three missing, and unfortunately she didn't steal them because my four year old said they had been playing with them earlier but couldn't catch them. WHAT?! We couldn't catch it he says, he can see the tidal wave coming and is already cooking up some stories to save his skin if it is possible. My wife tells him that he needs to tell us exactly where they saw them last in a tone that even made me shiver a little. I can see the tiny wheels turning, is she concerned about the hamsters being gone or is she going to be mad about where we were playing with them? He makes the right choice and informs us that they had one downstairs, (unfinished basement, catch all storage, toy room, disaster area) and it ran under the stairs. Of course it did, they don't run out to the middle of the floor, or hop up on the couch now do they.
The two big boys and myself wade into the abyss of the basement and start looking, they are calling the hamster's name like a dog, hoping the thing will suddenly appear. I start sorting through all the stuff under the stairs thinking that if we can find just one of the missing then we won't have to put my four year old on e-bay. The older boys are half-hearted looking around and chastising the four year old since he has no defense what so ever. They needle him enough to make him start to whimper, and as I pull my head out from the eighteen inch gap under the stairs I see that he has taken the time to tie a red scarf around his head pirate style and pick up a sword. Then I see a slight movement out of the corner of my eye in the dark corner. No Way. Yes Way. It is Mama Mia, one of the missing hamsters. As I reach for it i have a fleeting thought, are you sure that's a hamster? It is and all is good for five minutes.
We return upstairs to the other scene of the crime, put Mama Mia away and put my four year old under the interrogation lights again. Where did you see the other hamsters last? In Bailey's room he says in just a whisper. The hamster patrol descends on my oldest son's room and starts to turn it upside down. My wife lifts a chair and tells the boys to check underneath, and sure enough, there's another hamster. Hey, this is getting better than Easter eggs. No my youngest son mixes up his story and tells us the last one was lost downstairs also. Again we swoop downstairs like Tommy Lee Jones chasing Harrison Ford. It reminds me of the scene in the movie "The Fugitive". I see my son saying to my wife, right before he jumps out the window, "I didn't lose the hamster." My wife saying, "I don't care." I digress, we find everything but the hamster. The troops call off the search for the night and this sends my middle son into a frenzy worried that the hamster will die in the night. My older son retires to his room and...what was that...finally the third hamster has taken up residence in his miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower.
All is well that ends well, a few minor changes to the house rules that ban certain people from ever getting the hamsters out again it is over. I tell my wife, "I told you we didn't need hamsters." She says, "I don't care."
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Making Clay
Soon after my second son was born, which was only fifteen months after my first son, I thought about being that house on the street where all the kids came to play. You know the one, maybe it was yours growing up, the one house where there was always something going on, the kid's parents were cool, and time ceased to exist. I would be showing them how to build things and fix their bikes. We would light fireworks and shoot BB guns. They could all call me Mr. S or even Shep if they wanted to.
All I can say is be careful what you wish for. This summer our house is becoming that place. I'm not trying to say we are cool, because I'm starting to struggle with being the house with a yard full of everyone else's kids. You can cross out the part about the parents being cool. Actually cross out the dad part, my wife is extremely cool, being a teacher probably helps with this, but she finds all kinds of projects and experiments for the kids to try that includes them all and keeps them spellbound. I am stuck with trying to remember all their names and quite frequently don't recognize some of them as they come out of the kitchen with cookies and snacks from the pantry. I call my kids by the wrong name and there are only three of them, so when the kid carousel is spinning and someone new shows up, I have to say their name out loud, but under my breath, a few times so in case I have to address them I am not saying," Hey.....kid....no, the one with the red light saber, what are you doing?"
Well we took it to another level tonight as my middle son and one of his classmates that lives next door asked my wife if they could make something out of the kids creation book. My first thought in my head was, hell no, but my wife said as long as you can do it by yourselves then go for it. Again I defer to her in the kid arena as I am still quite juvenile myself. I'm thinking, wow, that is cool, she is empowering them and they will have to read the problem and conduct the experiment themselves, she is still teaching in the summer. They decide to make clay. All they need is oatmeal, flour, and water. What can possibly go wrong with that? They set about it diligently and are working well together. At this point the doorbell rings and one of the new kids to the Shepherd family circus has finished dinner and is back for more. I answer the door and tell him that the other boys are downstairs, you know the way.
Now my hearing is suspect after being in the landscape industry for twenty years and raising three boys, but fortunately my wife can hear things that escape the bionic woman, and catches a snippet from the kitchen, it is our neighbor that is helping with the clay experiment, say,"..watch Kellen, it is going to spark again!" I see the alarm in my wife's eyes and tune in. What? See what they are doing please. I walk into the kitchen to see my son getting ready to heat up the clay in the microwave. I make the great parental decision to open the microwave and see that they have chosen a Sprite can to use as their 'bowl'. I grab the can and feel that it is warm so they obviously have already run it through the first time. I over react and tell both of them that they are out of the kitchen. My wife trumps me, and asks my son to read the recipe and tell her where it says to heat up the clay. Kellen, being the stubborn one(he gets that from his mother) brings out the book and says,"it says here to heat up the clay if it is too runny." My wife says,"How do they spell heat?" My son replies,"K-N-E-A-D, heat." My wife explains to him that that is knead, not heat, and he wants to know what the heck knead means. She explains and he tells her,"we can't now, we dumped it all down the drain."
You all know how I am spending the evening now, right?
All I can say is be careful what you wish for. This summer our house is becoming that place. I'm not trying to say we are cool, because I'm starting to struggle with being the house with a yard full of everyone else's kids. You can cross out the part about the parents being cool. Actually cross out the dad part, my wife is extremely cool, being a teacher probably helps with this, but she finds all kinds of projects and experiments for the kids to try that includes them all and keeps them spellbound. I am stuck with trying to remember all their names and quite frequently don't recognize some of them as they come out of the kitchen with cookies and snacks from the pantry. I call my kids by the wrong name and there are only three of them, so when the kid carousel is spinning and someone new shows up, I have to say their name out loud, but under my breath, a few times so in case I have to address them I am not saying," Hey.....kid....no, the one with the red light saber, what are you doing?"
Well we took it to another level tonight as my middle son and one of his classmates that lives next door asked my wife if they could make something out of the kids creation book. My first thought in my head was, hell no, but my wife said as long as you can do it by yourselves then go for it. Again I defer to her in the kid arena as I am still quite juvenile myself. I'm thinking, wow, that is cool, she is empowering them and they will have to read the problem and conduct the experiment themselves, she is still teaching in the summer. They decide to make clay. All they need is oatmeal, flour, and water. What can possibly go wrong with that? They set about it diligently and are working well together. At this point the doorbell rings and one of the new kids to the Shepherd family circus has finished dinner and is back for more. I answer the door and tell him that the other boys are downstairs, you know the way.
Now my hearing is suspect after being in the landscape industry for twenty years and raising three boys, but fortunately my wife can hear things that escape the bionic woman, and catches a snippet from the kitchen, it is our neighbor that is helping with the clay experiment, say,"..watch Kellen, it is going to spark again!" I see the alarm in my wife's eyes and tune in. What? See what they are doing please. I walk into the kitchen to see my son getting ready to heat up the clay in the microwave. I make the great parental decision to open the microwave and see that they have chosen a Sprite can to use as their 'bowl'. I grab the can and feel that it is warm so they obviously have already run it through the first time. I over react and tell both of them that they are out of the kitchen. My wife trumps me, and asks my son to read the recipe and tell her where it says to heat up the clay. Kellen, being the stubborn one(he gets that from his mother) brings out the book and says,"it says here to heat up the clay if it is too runny." My wife says,"How do they spell heat?" My son replies,"K-N-E-A-D, heat." My wife explains to him that that is knead, not heat, and he wants to know what the heck knead means. She explains and he tells her,"we can't now, we dumped it all down the drain."
You all know how I am spending the evening now, right?
Monday, May 19, 2008
7 Years Old
April 25th commemorated one of the five greatest days of my life. My middle son celebrated his 7th birthday. He was dealt an ace in the hole as his birthday fell on a Friday this year, nothing better than that no matter what birthday you are celebrating right?
I took the Friday off from work so that I could spend the day at school with him on his big day. For some reason I thought it would fly by, a dizzying blur of birthday congratulations, cupcakes, and silliness. Strike one. My wife also teaches at the same school (kindergarten) and manages two separate classes of 24 kids which alternate each day except Friday when both classes are there for half a day, that's 48 five year olds. Strike two. She was having 'career day' for all the kids which required them to dress up as what they wanted to be when they grew up. (For the record, not one of them dressed up to be a landscaper, smart kids)
My job was to call names out of a basket and that person was to come up front and tell everyone what they planned on being while my wife took the previous student into the hall and took their picture for the end of the year graduation production. Simple enough right? Strike three. I watched a parade of vets, dentists, chefs, and swim instructors file up to stand proudly but bashfully in front of their peers and not have a word to say. It might be because the kid who wanted to be Spiderman kept distracting everyone by slinging imaginary webs from the crouch position and reminding us all that he, "was Spiderman!" I took a quick glance at the clock to see if we were going to make it to lunch time before I had to strangle Peter Parker and saw that it was only 8:47. Next Batter. I told my wife that I needed to go to my son's room and see what I could help with there and she grudgingly let me go but told me to be back at 12:45 for round two of you'll never guess what I want to be commences. Deal. Anything to get away from Spidy.
I arrived in the first grade room in time to sit on the floor,(I'm forty) for twenty minutes to listen to the teacher read us a story, and also for my legs to cramp up and fall asleep. Mrs. D would read a paragraph then ask all the kids a question, by the end of story time I was trying my hardest not to blurt out the answer and ruin it for the kids, just like when I was in first grade.
As the day dragged on to the lunch hour, I was extremely happy to find out that there was a complimentary lunch for all the volunteers today, my luck was starting to turn around. I let the kids go to the cafeteria to have school pizza as I ventured to the potluck room and found out it was a salad potluck. Are you kidding? Twenty different salads the teachers all brought in for us, don't get me wrong, I appreciate their time and effort, but a salad pot luck? Where else on the planet is this normal? And is every salad required to have cold green peas? A cold taco salad kind of defeats the 'taco' part doesn't it? I managed to scarf down a couple samples without too many peas slipping by my radar and noticed that it was rapidly approaching afternoon career carnage, I knew that at some point during the day I would aggravate my wife and didn't want it to be this early so hustled off to help again.
Well surprise, surprise, the afternoon brought some soccer players, Hannah Montana, a plumber, dirt bike racers, but no web slinger, he was replaced by the red power ranger that was stealing things out of the cubbies and putting them in his backpack. The two cops didn't even see him, nice work Baretta, better start thinking of a new career, but Mrs. S saw him and the power ranger was wishing he could take the 3-5 years instead of the talking to he received, I was even uncomfortable and put back the candy I took off her desk.
OK, I could go on forever but have to fast forward to the evening festivities. We had secured a place called "Pump it Up" that consists of inflatable obstacle courses and jumpy things for the big celebration. Kellen invited everyone in his class and most were more than eager to attend, he was a bit troubled that his 'girlfriend' was out of town but it didn't spoil the evening for him. We had to stop by and pick up a classmate that had missed all week due to the fact he brought a BB gun to school to show his friends and was suspended for 5 days, normal right?
When we arrive at PIU, all the kids are giddy with anticipation but have to sit through a safety video which none of them paid any attention to, then they were unleashed and it was on. I hovered around the periphery to make sure no BB guns or other foreign objects were brought in and noticed the group of dads that had decided to stay, all gather around my charming sister as she was just nice enough not to say leave me alone, so they didn't.
Well I hadn't acted like a seven year old for at least forty-five minutes and the urge to jump in and join the fun was killing me. My wife noticed the inevitable that was building and gave me the go ahead nod, like get it over with, so I plunged in. It was better than great. I could jump higher than all the kids, I was faster through the obstacle course than all the kids, I was the best dodgeball player there, I was never going to leave, I was the supreme ruler of "Pump it Up". Then I noticed I was breathing rather heavily and had some pretty severe mat burns on my elbows that had now caught fire as I worked up a lather. It was at this point when I accidentally hit the sweetest girl there in the eye with a nerf dodgeball. I crawled out and watched the kids continue this madness for two hours straight.
When the two hours was up we were herded into the 'birthday room' where a PIU employee directed traffic as she got the cake ready, poured drinks, and moved Kellen rapidly through his presents. This wasn't her first dance either. Birthday 'nazi' is what we started calling her, not to her face, probably would have stepped on your cake and thrown your root beer in your face for insubordination. She wasn't going to stay a minute past closing time, and made sure we didn't either.
We traded in the suspended kid for the girl who had started crying for her mother twenty minutes ago, and had to give her a ride home. Brutal. When we finally got home, got all the presents in the house, and kicked our feet up, I decided I'm glad they are only seven once. Career day seemed like a week ago, then it hit me....I still have a four year old.
I took the Friday off from work so that I could spend the day at school with him on his big day. For some reason I thought it would fly by, a dizzying blur of birthday congratulations, cupcakes, and silliness. Strike one. My wife also teaches at the same school (kindergarten) and manages two separate classes of 24 kids which alternate each day except Friday when both classes are there for half a day, that's 48 five year olds. Strike two. She was having 'career day' for all the kids which required them to dress up as what they wanted to be when they grew up. (For the record, not one of them dressed up to be a landscaper, smart kids)
My job was to call names out of a basket and that person was to come up front and tell everyone what they planned on being while my wife took the previous student into the hall and took their picture for the end of the year graduation production. Simple enough right? Strike three. I watched a parade of vets, dentists, chefs, and swim instructors file up to stand proudly but bashfully in front of their peers and not have a word to say. It might be because the kid who wanted to be Spiderman kept distracting everyone by slinging imaginary webs from the crouch position and reminding us all that he, "was Spiderman!" I took a quick glance at the clock to see if we were going to make it to lunch time before I had to strangle Peter Parker and saw that it was only 8:47. Next Batter. I told my wife that I needed to go to my son's room and see what I could help with there and she grudgingly let me go but told me to be back at 12:45 for round two of you'll never guess what I want to be commences. Deal. Anything to get away from Spidy.
I arrived in the first grade room in time to sit on the floor,(I'm forty) for twenty minutes to listen to the teacher read us a story, and also for my legs to cramp up and fall asleep. Mrs. D would read a paragraph then ask all the kids a question, by the end of story time I was trying my hardest not to blurt out the answer and ruin it for the kids, just like when I was in first grade.
As the day dragged on to the lunch hour, I was extremely happy to find out that there was a complimentary lunch for all the volunteers today, my luck was starting to turn around. I let the kids go to the cafeteria to have school pizza as I ventured to the potluck room and found out it was a salad potluck. Are you kidding? Twenty different salads the teachers all brought in for us, don't get me wrong, I appreciate their time and effort, but a salad pot luck? Where else on the planet is this normal? And is every salad required to have cold green peas? A cold taco salad kind of defeats the 'taco' part doesn't it? I managed to scarf down a couple samples without too many peas slipping by my radar and noticed that it was rapidly approaching afternoon career carnage, I knew that at some point during the day I would aggravate my wife and didn't want it to be this early so hustled off to help again.
Well surprise, surprise, the afternoon brought some soccer players, Hannah Montana, a plumber, dirt bike racers, but no web slinger, he was replaced by the red power ranger that was stealing things out of the cubbies and putting them in his backpack. The two cops didn't even see him, nice work Baretta, better start thinking of a new career, but Mrs. S saw him and the power ranger was wishing he could take the 3-5 years instead of the talking to he received, I was even uncomfortable and put back the candy I took off her desk.
OK, I could go on forever but have to fast forward to the evening festivities. We had secured a place called "Pump it Up" that consists of inflatable obstacle courses and jumpy things for the big celebration. Kellen invited everyone in his class and most were more than eager to attend, he was a bit troubled that his 'girlfriend' was out of town but it didn't spoil the evening for him. We had to stop by and pick up a classmate that had missed all week due to the fact he brought a BB gun to school to show his friends and was suspended for 5 days, normal right?
When we arrive at PIU, all the kids are giddy with anticipation but have to sit through a safety video which none of them paid any attention to, then they were unleashed and it was on. I hovered around the periphery to make sure no BB guns or other foreign objects were brought in and noticed the group of dads that had decided to stay, all gather around my charming sister as she was just nice enough not to say leave me alone, so they didn't.
Well I hadn't acted like a seven year old for at least forty-five minutes and the urge to jump in and join the fun was killing me. My wife noticed the inevitable that was building and gave me the go ahead nod, like get it over with, so I plunged in. It was better than great. I could jump higher than all the kids, I was faster through the obstacle course than all the kids, I was the best dodgeball player there, I was never going to leave, I was the supreme ruler of "Pump it Up". Then I noticed I was breathing rather heavily and had some pretty severe mat burns on my elbows that had now caught fire as I worked up a lather. It was at this point when I accidentally hit the sweetest girl there in the eye with a nerf dodgeball. I crawled out and watched the kids continue this madness for two hours straight.
When the two hours was up we were herded into the 'birthday room' where a PIU employee directed traffic as she got the cake ready, poured drinks, and moved Kellen rapidly through his presents. This wasn't her first dance either. Birthday 'nazi' is what we started calling her, not to her face, probably would have stepped on your cake and thrown your root beer in your face for insubordination. She wasn't going to stay a minute past closing time, and made sure we didn't either.
We traded in the suspended kid for the girl who had started crying for her mother twenty minutes ago, and had to give her a ride home. Brutal. When we finally got home, got all the presents in the house, and kicked our feet up, I decided I'm glad they are only seven once. Career day seemed like a week ago, then it hit me....I still have a four year old.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
EVEL KEEGAN KNIEVEL
I'll admit it. When I was a boy I came up with a few ideas that could be considered "daredevil"ish. My younger cousins probably can recall them more clearly as they were usually the first ones I convinced to try out these incredible stunts. Needless to say no one was ever injured very badly, more likely they were permanently scarred psychologically. Some might now have a hidden fear of high places or sharp objects, but they are all still speaking with me.
One that comes to mind is the mystifying snow bank jump. The house I grew up in was located at the end of a dead end street on the edge of town. To the north was nothing but empty pasture land for as far as the eye could see. Now when it snowed and the wind was blowing, which one never happened without the other, we would get these monstrous snow drifts in different areas around the old homestead. Well after a particular nasty snow event my keen eye noticed a four foot snow drift on the north side of the house that was about ten to twelve feet away from the house. It was really cool, not a flake of snow from the foundation out until you came to the drift that appeared to be a snow wall. My mind started to race, man it would be cool to jump into that drift. How could I do it? There is nothing around to jump off.......except.......the house!! Brilliant!! All I need to do is scale the deck railing, stand on the clothesline post, pull myself onto the top of the deck and then just walk onto the roof. Now I had been on the roof many times before in the summer months to retrieve various pieces of sports equipment but I had never attempted this climb in the winter with everything covered in snow and ice. I actually made the climb quite easily and was giddy with anticipation. It really looked like a long ways down but I was going to land in the snow, just like a pile of feathers. Also, I reasoned, the snow drift was four feet high, that made it even closer to the roof so it wasn't really as far as it looked. The one obstacle I could see was the distance from the house to the actual drift, if I came up short, well, I'd only do that once. Now if I made it I would be as close to a superhero as I was ever going to be, I'd basically been given a license to fly. I walked the runway back and forth a few times to get the feel, I'd lose a little speed with the snow boots and three extra layers of clothes, they would also cause more drag as I flung my self into the wild blue yonder so I tacked on a few more feet to the approach. Deep breaths, focus, I momentarily hear my mothers parenting catch phrase, "Be sensible", her voice is drowned out as the wind rushes through my ears, 15 feet, 10 feet, you are really going to do this, 5 feet, and then I am there. I don't look down, just straight out to the horizon as I give a herculean push off, it's perfect! I sail through the atmosphere like a dream, it's really better than I thought it would be if that is possible. I'm not descending, I just keep moving in a linear line away from the roof, or that's what it feels like. I steal a glance in slow motion at the ground, ooops, reality comes crashing back, am I really 20 feet off the ground, am I really falling like a rock, am I really not going to make it over the barren chasm of death, am I going to have to explain to my mother why I wasn't sensible. Then I stretch my legs out and there is impact. I do make it to the snow bank by about 8 inches, but as I do it's like sinking your legs into wet concrete, the momentum of my body wants to keep going but as I sink in past my knees they are locked. My upper body does continue until I think my hamstrings are going to snap, then I recoil, and I'm standing there upright waist deep in the snow bank. I take a quick inventory, all parts are working and realize, that was....awesome! I go on later and convince my younger cousins to try it, and as usual, they do.
Sorry for the flashback, fast forward to our house, present day. The kids had all received "back-jacks" from Gappy. Let me explain, the back jack is a small folding item that kids can use to sit in and watch TV, or they can be adjusted so you can lie down on them, they have been a staple in our family for years. A grown-ups way to keep kids off the furniture. Anyway, you can also ratchet the back jack into a horizontal position that some what resembles a surfboard, unless you are three in which case it looks exactly like a surfboard. There we are at home, just me and the three boys, my wife is at Bunco. The two big boys are actually getting along downstairs and the three year old is upstairs doing something, later it turns out he was waxing his board. I'm watching the History channel when I hear the unmistakeable sound of someone falling down the stairs. (After it has happened a few times you are tuned in to it.) I turn around on the couch in time to see my three year old laying on his stomach, facing backwards, hanging ten down the last six steps. There is no time, crash, he runs into the wall at the bottom of the stairs, I just look at him to see what the reaction will be. I see his eyes as big as saucers, he mentally does a quick inventory, all the parts are working, Dad's not mad, at the same time we say, that was....awesome! The two big boys hear the commotion and come bounding upstairs to see what happened, they take in the scene. They see me and the three year old smiling and giggleing, they see him at the bottom of the stairs, they see the back jack, they do the math and sprint upstairs for their back jacks. I spend the rest of the night like Hasselhoff on Baywatch. No more surfing kids, nope, to dangerous, sorry, beach is closed.
Even now when I think about it, that was......awesome!
One that comes to mind is the mystifying snow bank jump. The house I grew up in was located at the end of a dead end street on the edge of town. To the north was nothing but empty pasture land for as far as the eye could see. Now when it snowed and the wind was blowing, which one never happened without the other, we would get these monstrous snow drifts in different areas around the old homestead. Well after a particular nasty snow event my keen eye noticed a four foot snow drift on the north side of the house that was about ten to twelve feet away from the house. It was really cool, not a flake of snow from the foundation out until you came to the drift that appeared to be a snow wall. My mind started to race, man it would be cool to jump into that drift. How could I do it? There is nothing around to jump off.......except.......the house!! Brilliant!! All I need to do is scale the deck railing, stand on the clothesline post, pull myself onto the top of the deck and then just walk onto the roof. Now I had been on the roof many times before in the summer months to retrieve various pieces of sports equipment but I had never attempted this climb in the winter with everything covered in snow and ice. I actually made the climb quite easily and was giddy with anticipation. It really looked like a long ways down but I was going to land in the snow, just like a pile of feathers. Also, I reasoned, the snow drift was four feet high, that made it even closer to the roof so it wasn't really as far as it looked. The one obstacle I could see was the distance from the house to the actual drift, if I came up short, well, I'd only do that once. Now if I made it I would be as close to a superhero as I was ever going to be, I'd basically been given a license to fly. I walked the runway back and forth a few times to get the feel, I'd lose a little speed with the snow boots and three extra layers of clothes, they would also cause more drag as I flung my self into the wild blue yonder so I tacked on a few more feet to the approach. Deep breaths, focus, I momentarily hear my mothers parenting catch phrase, "Be sensible", her voice is drowned out as the wind rushes through my ears, 15 feet, 10 feet, you are really going to do this, 5 feet, and then I am there. I don't look down, just straight out to the horizon as I give a herculean push off, it's perfect! I sail through the atmosphere like a dream, it's really better than I thought it would be if that is possible. I'm not descending, I just keep moving in a linear line away from the roof, or that's what it feels like. I steal a glance in slow motion at the ground, ooops, reality comes crashing back, am I really 20 feet off the ground, am I really falling like a rock, am I really not going to make it over the barren chasm of death, am I going to have to explain to my mother why I wasn't sensible. Then I stretch my legs out and there is impact. I do make it to the snow bank by about 8 inches, but as I do it's like sinking your legs into wet concrete, the momentum of my body wants to keep going but as I sink in past my knees they are locked. My upper body does continue until I think my hamstrings are going to snap, then I recoil, and I'm standing there upright waist deep in the snow bank. I take a quick inventory, all parts are working and realize, that was....awesome! I go on later and convince my younger cousins to try it, and as usual, they do.
Sorry for the flashback, fast forward to our house, present day. The kids had all received "back-jacks" from Gappy. Let me explain, the back jack is a small folding item that kids can use to sit in and watch TV, or they can be adjusted so you can lie down on them, they have been a staple in our family for years. A grown-ups way to keep kids off the furniture. Anyway, you can also ratchet the back jack into a horizontal position that some what resembles a surfboard, unless you are three in which case it looks exactly like a surfboard. There we are at home, just me and the three boys, my wife is at Bunco. The two big boys are actually getting along downstairs and the three year old is upstairs doing something, later it turns out he was waxing his board. I'm watching the History channel when I hear the unmistakeable sound of someone falling down the stairs. (After it has happened a few times you are tuned in to it.) I turn around on the couch in time to see my three year old laying on his stomach, facing backwards, hanging ten down the last six steps. There is no time, crash, he runs into the wall at the bottom of the stairs, I just look at him to see what the reaction will be. I see his eyes as big as saucers, he mentally does a quick inventory, all the parts are working, Dad's not mad, at the same time we say, that was....awesome! The two big boys hear the commotion and come bounding upstairs to see what happened, they take in the scene. They see me and the three year old smiling and giggleing, they see him at the bottom of the stairs, they see the back jack, they do the math and sprint upstairs for their back jacks. I spend the rest of the night like Hasselhoff on Baywatch. No more surfing kids, nope, to dangerous, sorry, beach is closed.
Even now when I think about it, that was......awesome!
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Oh no...more Legos
Well my oldest son celebrated his 8th birthday recently and as usual was showered with gifts and spoiled rotten, not so much by his mother and me, but the rest of the family is quite generous. Thank you all, I think. He received a wonderful trove of treasure, some games for his Nintendo DS, a skateboard (blogs to come), Harry Potter movies, clothes, tickets to a wonderful show called "Walking with Dinosaurs" (he loved), what a haul right? Sorry if you are reading and I skipped something you gave him, it's hard to keep track of everything with his birthday only a month after Christmas.
These gifts were all fabulous and he has played and used every last one of them, but there is the one can't miss gift for boys ranging in age from 4-12 years old, and that is Legos. Since my three boys all fall into this age range you can imagine what our house looks like, for those of you that have spent time at our house, you know exactly what I'm talking about. They are everywhere, under the beds, in your shoes, between the couch cushions, and between your toes. I even check my cereal in the morning. I realize they are great for kids to help them imagine and innovate their own ideas, but to adults they are tiny land mines, waiting to take you down when your arms are full or sneaking up on you and attacking in the middle of the night when all you are trying to do is get to the bathroom.
Now many moons ago when I was a kid, I too indulged in the delicious art of Legos but there was only one set you could get. It had like a one foot by one foot pad to build on and you received maybe 20 2x8 legos, some 2x4 legos, a couple 2x2's, and a couple 12x2's. If you were lucky you got a couple roof pieces that never fit any house you could actually build, so when you were done, your project usually looked like the last place standing in tornado alley. My how things have changed. You can actually get sets that end up looking exactly like the cover of the box. Add to that the supreme marriage of Legos and Star Wars and you get the greatest, most marketable boys toys of all time.
It seems that with every birthday and the passing of each Christmas, that galaxy far, far away is moving closer and closer, it might even exist in my sons bedroom. If you step into this wonderland,(be careful where you step) you can find Jabba the Hut's sail barge, the Millennium Falcon, a Jedi StarFighter with hyper drive booster ring, an Imperial landing craft, an AT-AT, a Naboo N-1 Starfighter to name a few. Sounds awesome right? Well if you have ever helped with one of these or looked at the box if you were giving them as a gift, you would know that they are assembled out of hundreds of pieces. The Jedi StarFighter is comprised of 585 pieces by itself, the Millennium Falcon has over one thousand, yeah, take a minute and think about that. These aren't just old fashioned, snap together, stack one on the other Legos either. I don't know who possibly thinks them up. I sometimes think the creators are truly from the dark side, either that or bunch of MIT professors get together and laugh as they design these toys that have blueprints more complex than most houses. They probably giggle to themselves knowing that parents everywhere will be spending hours sorting pieces and constructing.
I happen to like putting these things together, as sick as that may sound. It is probably the appreciation and joy I see in my kids face when it is complete that keeps me going. The Jedi StarFighter took 4 1/2 hours and the boys were long asleep when it was completed around 10:30 p.m. I set it on the table in front of the box and admired it. I think I have a minor in engineering by now. The boys loved it and scampered upstairs with it the next day and in about 15 minutes I heard the inevitable crunch-crash followed by Daaaaaaaad!
That's the hardest pill to swallow, knowing all that hard work will never hold up to the boys actually playing with it. It never goes back together the same way either. My wife has instituted some new "Lego" rules. After construction is complete, the toy is set on a shelf to be enjoyed at a distance, then gradually, the boys can play, (carefully) with it a few minutes at a time. It's like letting the toy build up an immunity to kid powers. It seems to be working, the spare parts box of Legos is holding steady but there has been talk of an impending war on the horizon, the Jedi StarFighter must be ready to defeat Jabba the Hut and the AT-AT, possibly with help from the Naboo N-1 Starfighter, and if this happens it will mean nothing but a huge pile of Legos. I hope a treaty can be reached but Jabba is very stubborn and rarely deals with rebels.
Stay tuned, right now I'm working on plans for my greatest invention.......Lego glue!!!
These gifts were all fabulous and he has played and used every last one of them, but there is the one can't miss gift for boys ranging in age from 4-12 years old, and that is Legos. Since my three boys all fall into this age range you can imagine what our house looks like, for those of you that have spent time at our house, you know exactly what I'm talking about. They are everywhere, under the beds, in your shoes, between the couch cushions, and between your toes. I even check my cereal in the morning. I realize they are great for kids to help them imagine and innovate their own ideas, but to adults they are tiny land mines, waiting to take you down when your arms are full or sneaking up on you and attacking in the middle of the night when all you are trying to do is get to the bathroom.
Now many moons ago when I was a kid, I too indulged in the delicious art of Legos but there was only one set you could get. It had like a one foot by one foot pad to build on and you received maybe 20 2x8 legos, some 2x4 legos, a couple 2x2's, and a couple 12x2's. If you were lucky you got a couple roof pieces that never fit any house you could actually build, so when you were done, your project usually looked like the last place standing in tornado alley. My how things have changed. You can actually get sets that end up looking exactly like the cover of the box. Add to that the supreme marriage of Legos and Star Wars and you get the greatest, most marketable boys toys of all time.
It seems that with every birthday and the passing of each Christmas, that galaxy far, far away is moving closer and closer, it might even exist in my sons bedroom. If you step into this wonderland,(be careful where you step) you can find Jabba the Hut's sail barge, the Millennium Falcon, a Jedi StarFighter with hyper drive booster ring, an Imperial landing craft, an AT-AT, a Naboo N-1 Starfighter to name a few. Sounds awesome right? Well if you have ever helped with one of these or looked at the box if you were giving them as a gift, you would know that they are assembled out of hundreds of pieces. The Jedi StarFighter is comprised of 585 pieces by itself, the Millennium Falcon has over one thousand, yeah, take a minute and think about that. These aren't just old fashioned, snap together, stack one on the other Legos either. I don't know who possibly thinks them up. I sometimes think the creators are truly from the dark side, either that or bunch of MIT professors get together and laugh as they design these toys that have blueprints more complex than most houses. They probably giggle to themselves knowing that parents everywhere will be spending hours sorting pieces and constructing.
I happen to like putting these things together, as sick as that may sound. It is probably the appreciation and joy I see in my kids face when it is complete that keeps me going. The Jedi StarFighter took 4 1/2 hours and the boys were long asleep when it was completed around 10:30 p.m. I set it on the table in front of the box and admired it. I think I have a minor in engineering by now. The boys loved it and scampered upstairs with it the next day and in about 15 minutes I heard the inevitable crunch-crash followed by Daaaaaaaad!
That's the hardest pill to swallow, knowing all that hard work will never hold up to the boys actually playing with it. It never goes back together the same way either. My wife has instituted some new "Lego" rules. After construction is complete, the toy is set on a shelf to be enjoyed at a distance, then gradually, the boys can play, (carefully) with it a few minutes at a time. It's like letting the toy build up an immunity to kid powers. It seems to be working, the spare parts box of Legos is holding steady but there has been talk of an impending war on the horizon, the Jedi StarFighter must be ready to defeat Jabba the Hut and the AT-AT, possibly with help from the Naboo N-1 Starfighter, and if this happens it will mean nothing but a huge pile of Legos. I hope a treaty can be reached but Jabba is very stubborn and rarely deals with rebels.
Stay tuned, right now I'm working on plans for my greatest invention.......Lego glue!!!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Lordy, Lordy, look who's FORTY!
That's right, I'm saying it out loud. I'm turning 40. It won't be so bad right? I have been ignoring this little fact for as long as possible, but I can no longer look away. I'm staring right down the gun barrel at ......middle age.
Not much will change I keep telling myself. I am lying, it all will change. It can't possibly happen to me. It's one of those things that happen to everyone else but not me. It can't. I'm not ready. I refuse. I can't pass the test. I know what the calendar says but it has to be a mistake, a huge mistake. I still like playing video games, it's to the point where I tell my kids they get to watch while I pile up the points on Star Wars Lego rated E for everyone. If I have a choice between Raisin Bran or Lucky Charms, I'll take Lucky Charms, come on, they are magically delicious, always have been always will be. Don't even think about Oatmeal, nothing has changed, it still sucks. I still think it is hilarious when I or someone else, anyone, farts. No I don't want a Latte, give me Pepsi. I still wake up on Christmas with a flutter in my stomach, it is Christmas for goodness sakes. Am I going to the caucus? NO, I have to find out who goes into the Inferno on MTV. I smile when I think about Skittles or Starburst candy. Pay the mortgage, maybe on Boardwalk or Park Place. I love my Ipod. I want to ride bikes not do my taxes.
Now I have to balance all this with the fact that I am slowly turning into my father, who always was at least forty as far as I was concerned. I drive by gas stations and shout out gas prices to no one in particular. I ask my kids things like, are you trying to heat the whole outdoors? I tried to dunk the basketball and I ended up stuffing myself on the front of the rim, landing awkwardly tweaking my back, and felt like I dislocated my shoulder, the rim was adjusted to 8 1/2 feet. My back hurts if I stand for more than an hour at a time. I can't eat a block of cheese with a box of Triscuits anymore or else, you know. (If you don't know ask your father or grandfather.) I went sledding with my boys and at one point I actually thought man, this is going to hurt, and it DID! I can't drink any liquids two hours before I go to bed if I want to sleep through the night. I watch the weather channel.
So I am trapped. I feel the oppressive weight of time hanging over my head, I am no longer young enough to out run it. So I am making a plan for my inevitable mid-life crisis. I can not afford a Ferrari or a time share in Aspen. So here is my plan, all I need is an Xbox 360 and a heavy bag. I can still play video games and they need to be in high def because I am not going to get glasses yet. The heavy bag is for punching and kicking when I can't figure out any of the controls to the new Xbox 360, and eventually have to ask my kids how to play. Also the recliner will be next to the heavy bag in case I get light headed and need to sit down. Still counts as a work out in my book, I know I'll at least be sweating a little bit. I will no longer attempt to dunk, (at least when anyone is watching). I will shoot jumpers and when I get frustrated, will turn to the heavy bag. See how this twisted circle of life works? As I grow older and more frustrated with the things I can no longer do, I will force myself into a work out that will prolong my life.
Take that Father Time. You haven't sunk your hooks in yet. Excuse me now, I have to go to the bathroom,,,,again.
Not much will change I keep telling myself. I am lying, it all will change. It can't possibly happen to me. It's one of those things that happen to everyone else but not me. It can't. I'm not ready. I refuse. I can't pass the test. I know what the calendar says but it has to be a mistake, a huge mistake. I still like playing video games, it's to the point where I tell my kids they get to watch while I pile up the points on Star Wars Lego rated E for everyone. If I have a choice between Raisin Bran or Lucky Charms, I'll take Lucky Charms, come on, they are magically delicious, always have been always will be. Don't even think about Oatmeal, nothing has changed, it still sucks. I still think it is hilarious when I or someone else, anyone, farts. No I don't want a Latte, give me Pepsi. I still wake up on Christmas with a flutter in my stomach, it is Christmas for goodness sakes. Am I going to the caucus? NO, I have to find out who goes into the Inferno on MTV. I smile when I think about Skittles or Starburst candy. Pay the mortgage, maybe on Boardwalk or Park Place. I love my Ipod. I want to ride bikes not do my taxes.
Now I have to balance all this with the fact that I am slowly turning into my father, who always was at least forty as far as I was concerned. I drive by gas stations and shout out gas prices to no one in particular. I ask my kids things like, are you trying to heat the whole outdoors? I tried to dunk the basketball and I ended up stuffing myself on the front of the rim, landing awkwardly tweaking my back, and felt like I dislocated my shoulder, the rim was adjusted to 8 1/2 feet. My back hurts if I stand for more than an hour at a time. I can't eat a block of cheese with a box of Triscuits anymore or else, you know. (If you don't know ask your father or grandfather.) I went sledding with my boys and at one point I actually thought man, this is going to hurt, and it DID! I can't drink any liquids two hours before I go to bed if I want to sleep through the night. I watch the weather channel.
So I am trapped. I feel the oppressive weight of time hanging over my head, I am no longer young enough to out run it. So I am making a plan for my inevitable mid-life crisis. I can not afford a Ferrari or a time share in Aspen. So here is my plan, all I need is an Xbox 360 and a heavy bag. I can still play video games and they need to be in high def because I am not going to get glasses yet. The heavy bag is for punching and kicking when I can't figure out any of the controls to the new Xbox 360, and eventually have to ask my kids how to play. Also the recliner will be next to the heavy bag in case I get light headed and need to sit down. Still counts as a work out in my book, I know I'll at least be sweating a little bit. I will no longer attempt to dunk, (at least when anyone is watching). I will shoot jumpers and when I get frustrated, will turn to the heavy bag. See how this twisted circle of life works? As I grow older and more frustrated with the things I can no longer do, I will force myself into a work out that will prolong my life.
Take that Father Time. You haven't sunk your hooks in yet. Excuse me now, I have to go to the bathroom,,,,again.
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