Friday night. I had to go to my office because I forgot my phone charger. On the way out of the block I see Anna and Jeff walking their dogs and carrying bags of poop. Hop in, I say, we'll throw poop at people. We laugh about it.
I get into D.C. and park near my office then decide to walk a few blocks to the Borders that is going out of business. It's so fucking hot that I stop at a bar for a beer on the way. Service is slow so I leave. I get to the Borders just as it closed. No big deal, I turn around. Lots of pretty women are out walking. Back to the office and the guard says about the spots on my shirt from my shoulders to my belly, "Oh, is it raining?"
No, I say, that's sweat. We laugh about it.
On the way out of D.C. that Eddie Money song comes on. It's a good one I haven't heard since a long time. Moving like a sea of madness, yeah!
With the windows open I get a whiff of Maine Avenue; the marina and seafood market. Lots of people would balk but I revel in it. Bring it all the way down the GW Parkway past the Marina where the Belisana, our friends' sailboat was once docked. It's that kind of night.
Maya and Jonah are happy at Wolf Lake. Rebecca is happy in Santa Monica. I'm going to meet her in San Diego on Sunday but right now I'm going home and all my chores are done. The song that comes on the radio as I pull in front of our home; Joe Walsh, Life's Been Good.
Travelogue - Camping in Oregon, Summer 2010
We recently spent some time in Southwestern Oregon. Our first stop was at Rebecca's cousin Nettie's property outside of Grants Pass for the Eichler family bi-annual reunion. This event draws aunts and uncles, cousins and kids from all over the west - LA, Washington, Utah - and us Easterners - together for three or four days of camping, games, storytelling, drinking, and bear-hunting.
This year, Maya and Jonah got to meet some cousins that they hadn't ever met. In particular, they palled around with two girls, Jasmine and Kaylie, who belong to Rebecca's cousin Jason (who is Nettie's son). The four kids, and a dozen or so other Eichler offspring, roamed Nettie's property (which was about two acres - and fenced in, which was perfect) unsupervised for most of each day - playing on the rented moonbounce/water-slide, in the rented dunk-tank, with the goats, chickens, dogs, gathering wood for the fire, rolling around in the dirt, eating occasionally, and generally going feral. At night, Uncle Ernst would hide his bears around the property and the kids would go on a flashlight bear hunt. It was a grand time as it always is.
Since I have been going to these reunions with Rebecca, they have taken place at Lake Quinnalt in Washington; Moab, Utah; Jalama Beach in Santa Barbara, CA; Bear Lake in Idaho, and now in Oregon. These are not like I would imagine it would be to go to Rebecca's high school reunion - where I would feel like an outsider. Without exception, the family is warm, friendly, inclusive, and just fun to be around. One of the cousins even offered to let me handle her bikini bottoms (after she took them off). Hospitality, I tell you.
After the reunion ended we buddied up with Rebecca's cousin Thea and her husband Matt and drove out to the coast for a night. The most direct route to the coast from Grants Pass is through the Siskiyou National Forest on a windy road up and down mountains where the top speed is 20 MPH. We learned that Jonah gets car sick. Fortunately there was a bucket that we had brought along for tide-pooling right in front of him and some of the berries we had eaten from Nettie's strawberry patch that morning ended up in there. Others ended up on Jonah's shirt and car seat. And the sweet smell hung in the air. But it was the damndest thing - he'd be moaning and crying while we were driving and then we'd stop and he'd be tearing up and down the side of the road like nothing in the world was bothering him. His car sickness must be the equivalent to the sea sicknees I felt in 1992 on a ferry from Ireland to Le Havre, France on a rolling sea. My mind felt like I was on acid - no way out - and my stomach wanted to jettison all the Guinness I had drunk that day. Nothing to do but lay down on the floor of the ferry (like dozens of other passengers) and try to sleep. Of course, telling Jonah to close his eyes and try to sleep is useless - he won't do it. So, our 78 mile trip from Grants Pass to Gold Beach took about 4 hours.
We finally got to the campground we had chosen the night before with Thea, and in advance of Matt and Thea who were still breaking down their tent when we left Nettie's that morning. Matt is this giant of a man with such an easygoing and bright-side nature that you can't help but want to hang out with him. Add irrepressible Thea to the mix and it is one fun couple. Matt and Thea were driving back to LA and the plan was that we would camp with them the one night in Gold Beach and then go our separate ways. At least that was the plan, but Matt and Thea ended up renting a "cabin" at the campground (after we had pitched our tent in a fierce windstorm) and Maya and Jonah ended up in their hot tub. I adjusted the heat down because my kids were doing a slow-boil and ended up messing up the setting so that when Matt and Thea tried to get in the tub later that night, the temp was about 70 degrees. Maybe that's why nobody likes me.
After we left Matt and Thea on Wednesday morning, we headed a few miles further south on U.S. 101 to the town of Brookings, where we stayed at Harris Beach State Park. The plan was to stay there one night to do some tide-pooling but the campground was so nice and the beach so beautiful that we scrapped our plan to camp the last night in the Redwood forest in CA and spent a second night at Harris Beach. We did pass through the Redwood forest on Friday on our way back to Nettie's where we spent our last night before flying out on Saturday morning, so got to see some big tree specimens. I had never seen a redwood and have to say they were pretty impressive. Rebecca remembered a photo from her youth in which she and Chris and parents are standing next to a Redwood and look like dwarfs. She wanted to re-create that for Maya and Jonah so we tried to take some pictures.
We also did a detour on the way to Gold Beach to see the world's tallest pine tree. Maya was asleep in the car so she is going to have to visit it again someday. It's too bad because Maya is actually a big fan of trees. I remember being in Shenandoah National Park when she was our only child teaching her how to hug a tree. Her school lunch bag has a tree on it. I have a picture she drew for school of her flag design - which is a flag with a tree on it. We should have made her middle name Oak. Anyway, the world's tallest pine tree is in the Pine Campground in Siskiyou National Forest. It's pretty old too.
Both Maya and Jonah are such good campers. Many of our friends say we are so brave for going camping with them (that's city folk for you) but they are so easy and I think they really enjoy it. Of course, they may also like it because we don't pester them to wear clean clothes and bathe themselves! About the only real life rule that applies when camping is that you still have to brush your teeth.
Jonah is really into helping set up and break down camp. They both love to gather wood and help start the fire. Our second day we had to move from one site to another and Maya was so helpful in gathering our things and following the camping rules by not walking through other peoples campsites (even though it was a shortcut). I've noticed that Maya is very good at being respectful of other people's rights/things/privacy. She is really a very mature person for only seven years old!
The highlights of our Harris Beach state park time were the fish dinners we had each night (at a restaurant); tide-pooling where we got to see some cool aquatic things (mostly anemones, star fish, mussels, but also some crabs), build rock cairns (there are some cool looking rocks in Oregon), and listen to me tell stories about my childhood summers at Belmar on the Jersey Shore (I may have enjoyed that part more than the others).
I guess I could go on and on . . . and maybe sometime I will add to this post. But right now it is getting late and I'm going to wrap it up. I'll post some pictures shortly.
This year, Maya and Jonah got to meet some cousins that they hadn't ever met. In particular, they palled around with two girls, Jasmine and Kaylie, who belong to Rebecca's cousin Jason (who is Nettie's son). The four kids, and a dozen or so other Eichler offspring, roamed Nettie's property (which was about two acres - and fenced in, which was perfect) unsupervised for most of each day - playing on the rented moonbounce/water-slide, in the rented dunk-tank, with the goats, chickens, dogs, gathering wood for the fire, rolling around in the dirt, eating occasionally, and generally going feral. At night, Uncle Ernst would hide his bears around the property and the kids would go on a flashlight bear hunt. It was a grand time as it always is.
Since I have been going to these reunions with Rebecca, they have taken place at Lake Quinnalt in Washington; Moab, Utah; Jalama Beach in Santa Barbara, CA; Bear Lake in Idaho, and now in Oregon. These are not like I would imagine it would be to go to Rebecca's high school reunion - where I would feel like an outsider. Without exception, the family is warm, friendly, inclusive, and just fun to be around. One of the cousins even offered to let me handle her bikini bottoms (after she took them off). Hospitality, I tell you.
After the reunion ended we buddied up with Rebecca's cousin Thea and her husband Matt and drove out to the coast for a night. The most direct route to the coast from Grants Pass is through the Siskiyou National Forest on a windy road up and down mountains where the top speed is 20 MPH. We learned that Jonah gets car sick. Fortunately there was a bucket that we had brought along for tide-pooling right in front of him and some of the berries we had eaten from Nettie's strawberry patch that morning ended up in there. Others ended up on Jonah's shirt and car seat. And the sweet smell hung in the air. But it was the damndest thing - he'd be moaning and crying while we were driving and then we'd stop and he'd be tearing up and down the side of the road like nothing in the world was bothering him. His car sickness must be the equivalent to the sea sicknees I felt in 1992 on a ferry from Ireland to Le Havre, France on a rolling sea. My mind felt like I was on acid - no way out - and my stomach wanted to jettison all the Guinness I had drunk that day. Nothing to do but lay down on the floor of the ferry (like dozens of other passengers) and try to sleep. Of course, telling Jonah to close his eyes and try to sleep is useless - he won't do it. So, our 78 mile trip from Grants Pass to Gold Beach took about 4 hours.
We finally got to the campground we had chosen the night before with Thea, and in advance of Matt and Thea who were still breaking down their tent when we left Nettie's that morning. Matt is this giant of a man with such an easygoing and bright-side nature that you can't help but want to hang out with him. Add irrepressible Thea to the mix and it is one fun couple. Matt and Thea were driving back to LA and the plan was that we would camp with them the one night in Gold Beach and then go our separate ways. At least that was the plan, but Matt and Thea ended up renting a "cabin" at the campground (after we had pitched our tent in a fierce windstorm) and Maya and Jonah ended up in their hot tub. I adjusted the heat down because my kids were doing a slow-boil and ended up messing up the setting so that when Matt and Thea tried to get in the tub later that night, the temp was about 70 degrees. Maybe that's why nobody likes me.
After we left Matt and Thea on Wednesday morning, we headed a few miles further south on U.S. 101 to the town of Brookings, where we stayed at Harris Beach State Park. The plan was to stay there one night to do some tide-pooling but the campground was so nice and the beach so beautiful that we scrapped our plan to camp the last night in the Redwood forest in CA and spent a second night at Harris Beach. We did pass through the Redwood forest on Friday on our way back to Nettie's where we spent our last night before flying out on Saturday morning, so got to see some big tree specimens. I had never seen a redwood and have to say they were pretty impressive. Rebecca remembered a photo from her youth in which she and Chris and parents are standing next to a Redwood and look like dwarfs. She wanted to re-create that for Maya and Jonah so we tried to take some pictures.
We also did a detour on the way to Gold Beach to see the world's tallest pine tree. Maya was asleep in the car so she is going to have to visit it again someday. It's too bad because Maya is actually a big fan of trees. I remember being in Shenandoah National Park when she was our only child teaching her how to hug a tree. Her school lunch bag has a tree on it. I have a picture she drew for school of her flag design - which is a flag with a tree on it. We should have made her middle name Oak. Anyway, the world's tallest pine tree is in the Pine Campground in Siskiyou National Forest. It's pretty old too.
Both Maya and Jonah are such good campers. Many of our friends say we are so brave for going camping with them (that's city folk for you) but they are so easy and I think they really enjoy it. Of course, they may also like it because we don't pester them to wear clean clothes and bathe themselves! About the only real life rule that applies when camping is that you still have to brush your teeth.
Jonah is really into helping set up and break down camp. They both love to gather wood and help start the fire. Our second day we had to move from one site to another and Maya was so helpful in gathering our things and following the camping rules by not walking through other peoples campsites (even though it was a shortcut). I've noticed that Maya is very good at being respectful of other people's rights/things/privacy. She is really a very mature person for only seven years old!
The highlights of our Harris Beach state park time were the fish dinners we had each night (at a restaurant); tide-pooling where we got to see some cool aquatic things (mostly anemones, star fish, mussels, but also some crabs), build rock cairns (there are some cool looking rocks in Oregon), and listen to me tell stories about my childhood summers at Belmar on the Jersey Shore (I may have enjoyed that part more than the others).
I guess I could go on and on . . . and maybe sometime I will add to this post. But right now it is getting late and I'm going to wrap it up. I'll post some pictures shortly.
Martial (Brain F) arts
Jonah began taking karate classes a few months ago. So far he has learned a front ball kick, a side kick, a hammer punch, a thrust punch, defensive maneuver #6, and stepping out on guard. He tests for his yellow belt this Saturday.
Jonah was encouraged in this endeavor by Rebecca, who actually took photos of Jonah as an infant at an anti-war rally so that she could create a a photo album to document his lifelong pacifism so that he could avoid being drafted into the army as an adult. Apparently if Jonah were to show this album to his drill sergeant at boot camp he would be excused from service, with apologies. This is the kind of crazy thing you read on the internet and think is a good, solid idea.
Anyway, the studio where Jonah takes karate lessons is running a promotion that allows mothers to take classes for free for the entire month of May. The promotion is purportedly in honor of Mothers Day, but is obviously the brainchild of one of the hot, young-buck instructors who see slightly-toned, been around the block a few times women parading their kids in and out of the studio every day. I will eat my hat if this studio runs a similar promotion in June for Father's Day.
Rebecca, always in search of a good deal, is of course taking advantage of this offer. It is just coincidence, I'm told, that Rebecca and all her friends, who debate endlessly about whether to allow their sons to play with pretend guns, have taken a sudden, keen interest in "learning" the deadly art of karate. Rebecca even got Jonah's teacher, Sensei (one of the aforementioned hot, young-bucks) to extend her free lessons into June.
All along Sensei has been telling Rebecca that he has never taught a more athletic or coordinated 4-year old than Jonah. Originally, we thought this was just to keep our checkbook open. However, I now think it is Sensei's master plan to woo Rebecca into his Dojo permanently, so that he can have unfettered 24-7 access to Jonah, in order to mold the boy into the next Bruce Lee/Chuck Norris/Jackie Chan, and bonk the bird to boot. Not a bad little scheme for a guy who, as far as I can tell, never wears shoes and only owns one belt.
Actually if this plays out the way I've imagined it, it would have a bright side. I mean, it's true I want my kids to have things better than I had; and the best Jonah can hope for from me is to learn how to read a box score.
Jonah was encouraged in this endeavor by Rebecca, who actually took photos of Jonah as an infant at an anti-war rally so that she could create a a photo album to document his lifelong pacifism so that he could avoid being drafted into the army as an adult. Apparently if Jonah were to show this album to his drill sergeant at boot camp he would be excused from service, with apologies. This is the kind of crazy thing you read on the internet and think is a good, solid idea.
Anyway, the studio where Jonah takes karate lessons is running a promotion that allows mothers to take classes for free for the entire month of May. The promotion is purportedly in honor of Mothers Day, but is obviously the brainchild of one of the hot, young-buck instructors who see slightly-toned, been around the block a few times women parading their kids in and out of the studio every day. I will eat my hat if this studio runs a similar promotion in June for Father's Day.
Rebecca, always in search of a good deal, is of course taking advantage of this offer. It is just coincidence, I'm told, that Rebecca and all her friends, who debate endlessly about whether to allow their sons to play with pretend guns, have taken a sudden, keen interest in "learning" the deadly art of karate. Rebecca even got Jonah's teacher, Sensei (one of the aforementioned hot, young-bucks) to extend her free lessons into June.
All along Sensei has been telling Rebecca that he has never taught a more athletic or coordinated 4-year old than Jonah. Originally, we thought this was just to keep our checkbook open. However, I now think it is Sensei's master plan to woo Rebecca into his Dojo permanently, so that he can have unfettered 24-7 access to Jonah, in order to mold the boy into the next Bruce Lee/Chuck Norris/Jackie Chan, and bonk the bird to boot. Not a bad little scheme for a guy who, as far as I can tell, never wears shoes and only owns one belt.
Actually if this plays out the way I've imagined it, it would have a bright side. I mean, it's true I want my kids to have things better than I had; and the best Jonah can hope for from me is to learn how to read a box score.
The Junk Collector
I read an article in the Washington Times recently that was premised on some good old fashioned twentieth century thinking - that recycling is actually more costly to communities than if we sent the stuff to a landfill. The article went on to analyze this premise from a dollars and cents perspective - which I don't think is any great revelation. However, being that this was an article from the Washington Times, it completely neglected to compare the concept of recycling versus not recyling for the long-term good of the planet (the Washington Times not espousing far-left views.) Though, to give the author some credit, he did stop short of advocating throwing your empty beer cans into the river when fishing.
In the spirit of Earth Day, Maya's first grade class has been studying the environment and earth-friendly attitudes. In that context, Maya brought home a checklist the other day of all the household items that can be recycled. I was happy to see that Maya had checked off each item on the list (things like plastic, aluminum, glass, paper, compost) and had even added one of her own - bringing food scraps to the chickens at Tauxemont, her former preschool. It's nice to see Rebecca and my influences rubbing off on the girl.
Then I had these thoughts while running past a perfectly good pencil eraser, baby bottle, and red bandanna on the Mall the other day. I could very easily see myself, in fact, I nearly had to prevent myself, stopping to pick those things up. Whether they had been lost or cast away by others, they still had some use. I could take the eraser home and give it to Maya to put on her school pencil. I could run the baby bottle through the dishwasher and post it for free on Craigslist. One hot wash with Rebecca's special homemade dye and perfume free detergent and the bandanna would be perfectly fine to put on my head or mop my brow. At the very least, it could be a rag.
The problem is, once one starts down that path, where does it end? Why not stop to pick every little thing up that someone has lost or cast away that still has some use? I see plenty of pens and pencils on the ground - why not stop and pick them up? All those popsicle sticks could be picked up and stored for neat crafts. Reduce, reuse, recycle is a fine mantra for a junk collector.
And what about items that can be recycled that are left on the ground or deposited in the trash? I could spend all day every day gathering the empty gatorade bottles strewn about. Some of them might be worth 5 cents in NY. How many abandoned newspapers have I seen on the Metro or bus? Don't the Boy Scouts pay cents on the pound for old newspaper? Can I bring it to the animal shelter? It gets to be too overwhelming to think about the waste and ignorance and I have to just carry on and do what I can do.
Of course, while I am running, thinking all of this, I am listening to Van Halen's 1983 album Diver Down on my iPod. Some people would call Van Halen useless junk, yet I've been listening to the stuff for more than twenty years and I still get good use out of it (just try sitting still while listening to the Full Bug). No need to thank me, I'm just carrying on doing what I can do for the Earth.
In the spirit of Earth Day, Maya's first grade class has been studying the environment and earth-friendly attitudes. In that context, Maya brought home a checklist the other day of all the household items that can be recycled. I was happy to see that Maya had checked off each item on the list (things like plastic, aluminum, glass, paper, compost) and had even added one of her own - bringing food scraps to the chickens at Tauxemont, her former preschool. It's nice to see Rebecca and my influences rubbing off on the girl.
Then I had these thoughts while running past a perfectly good pencil eraser, baby bottle, and red bandanna on the Mall the other day. I could very easily see myself, in fact, I nearly had to prevent myself, stopping to pick those things up. Whether they had been lost or cast away by others, they still had some use. I could take the eraser home and give it to Maya to put on her school pencil. I could run the baby bottle through the dishwasher and post it for free on Craigslist. One hot wash with Rebecca's special homemade dye and perfume free detergent and the bandanna would be perfectly fine to put on my head or mop my brow. At the very least, it could be a rag.
The problem is, once one starts down that path, where does it end? Why not stop to pick every little thing up that someone has lost or cast away that still has some use? I see plenty of pens and pencils on the ground - why not stop and pick them up? All those popsicle sticks could be picked up and stored for neat crafts. Reduce, reuse, recycle is a fine mantra for a junk collector.
And what about items that can be recycled that are left on the ground or deposited in the trash? I could spend all day every day gathering the empty gatorade bottles strewn about. Some of them might be worth 5 cents in NY. How many abandoned newspapers have I seen on the Metro or bus? Don't the Boy Scouts pay cents on the pound for old newspaper? Can I bring it to the animal shelter? It gets to be too overwhelming to think about the waste and ignorance and I have to just carry on and do what I can do.
Of course, while I am running, thinking all of this, I am listening to Van Halen's 1983 album Diver Down on my iPod. Some people would call Van Halen useless junk, yet I've been listening to the stuff for more than twenty years and I still get good use out of it (just try sitting still while listening to the Full Bug). No need to thank me, I'm just carrying on doing what I can do for the Earth.
Sign of the Times
Rebecca read the headlines from the front page of the newspaper to me last night. There was something about the killings at Fort Hood. A mass murderer was executed in Virginia. The chief of police got pulled over on a DUI. Public transportation ran behind schedule. Congress fought. Nothing really uplifting was going on. And today it rained all day and I realized that this country really is going to hell in a wicker hand basket that was woven in China. Think about it. We've been the omnipotent presence in the world for generations and we still have to walk around in the rain with an umbrella that might break any moment the wind blows the wrong way.
I remember my picture bible had a shot of Jesus in Nazareth carrying a Totes model that they still make with the same cheap plastic arms it had in B.C. The Georgetown Yacht Club advertises that it's Cinzano umbrellas were purchased from a cafe in Yalta where FDR, Stalin and Churchill had absinthe before holding the conference that launched the cold war. What kind of world do we live in? In all this time someone hasn't been able to improve the umbrella design so that a gust of wind doesn't turn it inside out?
I've probably gone through more umbrellas in my lifetime than I have pairs of socks (Rebecca can attest to that). Granted, I've seen some folks walking around with those vented umbrellas that look like one smaller umbrella placed on top of a larger umbrella, presumably to give a gust of wind a realease. Is that it? That's the improvement the world is waiting for? It's so ugly. But do they work? I can overlook ugly if it works. I don't know anyone who has one. What do those things cost? Who can afford one? Anyone? Please, restore my faith in the world.
I remember my picture bible had a shot of Jesus in Nazareth carrying a Totes model that they still make with the same cheap plastic arms it had in B.C. The Georgetown Yacht Club advertises that it's Cinzano umbrellas were purchased from a cafe in Yalta where FDR, Stalin and Churchill had absinthe before holding the conference that launched the cold war. What kind of world do we live in? In all this time someone hasn't been able to improve the umbrella design so that a gust of wind doesn't turn it inside out?
I've probably gone through more umbrellas in my lifetime than I have pairs of socks (Rebecca can attest to that). Granted, I've seen some folks walking around with those vented umbrellas that look like one smaller umbrella placed on top of a larger umbrella, presumably to give a gust of wind a realease. Is that it? That's the improvement the world is waiting for? It's so ugly. But do they work? I can overlook ugly if it works. I don't know anyone who has one. What do those things cost? Who can afford one? Anyone? Please, restore my faith in the world.
Secrets of the Future Revealed - Stay Tuned
Now that the Yankees have reached the promised land of their 27th world championship, and there is no more baseball to watch on t.v., my nights lack meaning. I lack direction. and since even i have to admit i've been at the top of my witty, good-humored game lately, i thought it was time to start up this blog again. though, honestly, it's mostly because my kids, maya and jonah are so damn funny and cute that i want to capture the funny and cute things they do and say so they can read them sometime when they are older and say, "damn, we were funny and cute. why was poppy such a goddamn crank all the time?"
well, that's easy enough to explain. rebecca and i never had a fight before we had kids. now all our fights are over the kids, or caused by the kids and their complete inability to do anything the first through the fourth time you ask them to do it. i will never be the husband who is divorcing his wife and giving his kids the platitude, it wasn't your fault. if rebecca and i ever get divorced you better bet it will so be the kids fault. it will be all because of them! but whatever. i'm not going anywhere. rebeccca does have a crush on this guy named hans who lives down the street and rides a bike. so, i'm not sure what her plans are. she's down the street right now. she told me that she was going to a baby shower. it's eleven o'clock. should pregnant moms-to-be be up this late?
just to get you back into the groove with where we are as a family; Maya is almost seven (December 14) and started first grade this past August. In some ways she is so grown up (the way she can tell a story and roll her eyes and make expressive faces and voice inflections makes me think she might have more talent as a story teller than me!) and in others she is still so exasperating (do we really need to cry for twenty minutes because we don't have eggs in the house?). in all ways she is wonderful. but sometimes i have to remind myself of that truth!
Jonah is obsessed with star wars, guns, swords and sometimes plays to the dark side of the force. he bit one of his friends tonight. that's a first. he doesn't bite. usually he will punch, kick or push them. he's also a big sports fan even though he doesn't quite understand the rules of the games (he's four this past August). But he is committed to playing for the Eagles, the Yankees, and an undisclosed soccer team when he's older. Early retirement, here I come!
What can I say about Rebecca? She still makes me smile. She still makes my mouth dry. I still want to please her. She's still a wonder to me. Like, I wonder why she married me. I wonder why she sticks with me. I wonder why I got so lucky. I wonder if I'll get laid after she reads this? Well, that will be our secret (figure yes) but not much else will be. I'm doing this to tell it like it is. if it feels like rain, i'll write it. but when the sun is shining, i will be too.
well, that's easy enough to explain. rebecca and i never had a fight before we had kids. now all our fights are over the kids, or caused by the kids and their complete inability to do anything the first through the fourth time you ask them to do it. i will never be the husband who is divorcing his wife and giving his kids the platitude, it wasn't your fault. if rebecca and i ever get divorced you better bet it will so be the kids fault. it will be all because of them! but whatever. i'm not going anywhere. rebeccca does have a crush on this guy named hans who lives down the street and rides a bike. so, i'm not sure what her plans are. she's down the street right now. she told me that she was going to a baby shower. it's eleven o'clock. should pregnant moms-to-be be up this late?
just to get you back into the groove with where we are as a family; Maya is almost seven (December 14) and started first grade this past August. In some ways she is so grown up (the way she can tell a story and roll her eyes and make expressive faces and voice inflections makes me think she might have more talent as a story teller than me!) and in others she is still so exasperating (do we really need to cry for twenty minutes because we don't have eggs in the house?). in all ways she is wonderful. but sometimes i have to remind myself of that truth!
Jonah is obsessed with star wars, guns, swords and sometimes plays to the dark side of the force. he bit one of his friends tonight. that's a first. he doesn't bite. usually he will punch, kick or push them. he's also a big sports fan even though he doesn't quite understand the rules of the games (he's four this past August). But he is committed to playing for the Eagles, the Yankees, and an undisclosed soccer team when he's older. Early retirement, here I come!
What can I say about Rebecca? She still makes me smile. She still makes my mouth dry. I still want to please her. She's still a wonder to me. Like, I wonder why she married me. I wonder why she sticks with me. I wonder why I got so lucky. I wonder if I'll get laid after she reads this? Well, that will be our secret (figure yes) but not much else will be. I'm doing this to tell it like it is. if it feels like rain, i'll write it. but when the sun is shining, i will be too.
The End of an Era
The other day while I was looking through the medicine cabinet for my nose hair clippers, I came across my hair brush. It's been awhile since I'd seen it. It's been even longer since I've used it.
If you haven't seen me in a while, say about a decade, you might be surprised to know that I am nearly bald.
My hair brush hasn't had much to do lately except act as a stand for our tube of Neosporin. In fact, I can't remember the last time I used it. I got to thinking, have I even used it since we moved into this house? I used to use it, so when we moved here, I likely put it in the medicine cabinet out of habit. But we moved into this house in 2000. That's nine years. I don't think I've used my hair brush in nine years.
Then I got to thinking about all the other things that don't seem like that long ago but are almost nine years old too. I started dating Rebecca in 1998. That's eleven years ago! We've been married since 2000. I've worked for the IRS since 2000. That's nine years! I've been listening to the music I've been listening to for years. I've been wearing the clothes I've been wearing for years. The people I know, I've known them for years.
My life has moved into the "decade" phase. Most of the things that I've done can be measured in decades now.
"I've known her for about a decade."
"We've lived in Alexandria for about a decade."
"Remember that time . . . when was that? About a decade ago."
"Gosh. I haven't brushed my hair in about a decade. There just hasn't been any need."
I'm not a sentimental guy. I realize it's time to move my brush from the medicine cabinet where it is taking up space that can be more productively used by a box of Dora the Explorer band aids to a less intrusive spot in the linen closet. But I haven't done it yet. I feel like there needs to be some fanfare. My hair is gone. Did it have to take my youth with it?
If you haven't seen me in a while, say about a decade, you might be surprised to know that I am nearly bald.
My hair brush hasn't had much to do lately except act as a stand for our tube of Neosporin. In fact, I can't remember the last time I used it. I got to thinking, have I even used it since we moved into this house? I used to use it, so when we moved here, I likely put it in the medicine cabinet out of habit. But we moved into this house in 2000. That's nine years. I don't think I've used my hair brush in nine years.
Then I got to thinking about all the other things that don't seem like that long ago but are almost nine years old too. I started dating Rebecca in 1998. That's eleven years ago! We've been married since 2000. I've worked for the IRS since 2000. That's nine years! I've been listening to the music I've been listening to for years. I've been wearing the clothes I've been wearing for years. The people I know, I've known them for years.
My life has moved into the "decade" phase. Most of the things that I've done can be measured in decades now.
"I've known her for about a decade."
"We've lived in Alexandria for about a decade."
"Remember that time . . . when was that? About a decade ago."
"Gosh. I haven't brushed my hair in about a decade. There just hasn't been any need."
I'm not a sentimental guy. I realize it's time to move my brush from the medicine cabinet where it is taking up space that can be more productively used by a box of Dora the Explorer band aids to a less intrusive spot in the linen closet. But I haven't done it yet. I feel like there needs to be some fanfare. My hair is gone. Did it have to take my youth with it?
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