Recently in Family Category

I went on vacation last week and at the start of the vacation I got a horoscope that read "The next 30 days will be an adventure." That's always advantageous when you're on vacation, I guess, and so I was excited. And it's come true. In spades.

When I left for vacation I was considering a change in career. I've been kind of burned out on programming and computers in general, and then something cool happened that I can't share fully yet, but someone called me about an opportunity and just that brief contact rekindled a lot of feelings I hadn't had in a while. I wish I could share more, but I can't. Not yet anyway.

So while that was playing out, I had a blast in Ocean City. We went swimming, I rode the tilt-a-whirl with my kids and niece until I was certain I was going to hurl, ate myself silly, totally fell off my diet (and still lost weight! French Fries FTW!), and just had a wonderful time.

Came back, found out that that opportunity that rekindled my interest wasn't going to happen, and was sad, but still happy because I felt renewed.

I picked up with my diet and I lost even more weight, coming in below 300lbs for the first time in forever. I finally am at the point where I need to start shopping for more clothes.

Then I get a call and I'm offered the position of coach for my kids' soccer team and accept. I'm nervous as all get out and excited about the opportunity and can't wait, so I've been working on getting myself ready for that, and then yesterday I got a phone call.

The "someone" has a new opportunity and wants to talk to me.

It's only been 15 days and it's been a whirlwind already. I can't wait to see if it continues.

Life is great.

About a month ago my kids told me that they wanted to go fishing with me, which is interesting because I've never been fishing, and I've never expressed an interest in fishing, but they were adamant, so we talked about it, and I promised them I would do it, as long as they started sleeping in their own beds. My children are the world champion co-sleepers. They will find a bed with someone in it and climb in. It could be the bogey man himself sleeping over, and they're in his bed.

I am the kind of guy that does a lot of research on everything, especially new things. Before I start a new project or hobby I'll read books, I'll go on the internet, I'll talk to everyone I can. The more information I can acquire on something the more comfortable I feel doing it. I think I've pretty much been this way my whole life. I've been banned from remodeling parts of the house because I'm spending more time planning and reading then the actual execution should take.

This time shouldn't be any different in my mind. I'm a rank amateur, and I need some guidance. So I called some local shops and asked the people on the phone to gauge who I should see in person. I settled on going to the BassPro Megastore in Harrisburg, not only because the guys on the phone were nice, but also because it's a very cool store.

On Wednesday I traveled there to talk to someone in person.

The guy I ended up talking to, Jim, was awesome. He was excited, he was enthusiastic, he wasn't condescending. He was very patient, and answered all of my questions, even the second time I asked them. He talked to the kids, who were with me, and I felt great after talking to him. That was, until I asked:

"So, do they have like a book where I can read about fishing and learn something about it."
Jim just looked at me like I'd asked him if I could hook a turkey.
"You know, something that will identify the fish and give me some pointers."
"Well..." he paused for a minute.
"I mean, if you don't..."
"Well when you register for your license you'll get a guide from the State about fish identification and things like that."
"Oh that'll be great! Exactly what I need"
"But really, you don't need a book." He leaned in closer to me and lowered his voice just a notch. "Just go out there and give it a try."

I thought about that for a while and considered what Jim had to say. The words turned over and over in my head for a while, and I kept playing with them like a loose tooth. Just go out and try it? I can't do that can I?

Why not? I am, I decided. I'm going to get my rod and supplies before the kids get theirs, and I'll going to teach myself the best I can so I'm ready for them when they go out with me. I'm excited and nervous, but then, it's only fishing, and really, I'm going to be the only one out there, so if I make a total fool of myself, I'm okay with that.

And to be honest, if most of the seasoned vets are as nice and knowledgeable as Jim, I'm going to be fine.

But I will point out one website that Google served up to me one day out of the blue. TakeMeFishing.org has got to be the greatest resource I've ever seen for beginning a new hobby. It's a great site, and before I talked to Jim, I'd pretty much picked the site clean.

What can I say? Some habits die hard.

This morning I was dancing around while we waited for the coffee to finish brewing, and I think I swatted Heather on the butt a few times, which, for her gets old at the first swat, and for me at the...well it never gets old. Finally she spun around and said "Alright, stop!"

To which I immediately responded "collaborate and listen. Ice is back with a brand new invention. Something grabs a hold of me tightly, flowing like a harpoon, daily and nightly, will it ever stop? Yo. I don't know. Turn off the lights, and I glow. TO THE EXTREME I ROCK THE MIC LIKE A VANDAL LIGHT UP THE STAGE AND WAX A CHUMP LIKE A CANDLE" and proceeded to rap the entire rest of the "Ice Ice Baby", complete with funky dancing.

After letting me go for a minute my wife said "I don't think that talent's something other people would be proud of".

Marital bliss I tell you . :)

There are lot of things that make parenting harder these days...parents that let their children dress like hookers and pimps, cellphones targeted at toddlers, CHILDRENS! PROGRAMMING! ON! TV! 24! HOURS! A! DAY!

But I've found one thing that's actually made my life kind of easier in this world as a parent when dealing with my sly little ones. Cellphone ringtones. See, my kids know about Santa Claus. We've told them that Santa's all-knowing. We've told them that Santa's all-seeing. We've told them that Santa has a round-the-clock surveillance system Dick Cheny has killed to try and get his hands on, and more importantly, Santa is in constant communication with all parents all the time.

And this is where cellphone ringtones come in handy. If I think my children are being very bad and they're not respecting my authority oooo, look, it's the special Santa ringtone coming out of my phone! "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake..." The look of sheer terror and wonder that song on my phone can evoke is nothing short of beautiful.

Which is where the other tip comes in. I told my daughter a while ago that every time she lies, one of Santa's elves dies, and that Santa knows whose lie killed the elf.

"Who had the toy first?"
"I did!"
"No! I did!"
"I promise daddy, I had it first. I'm not lying"
"No I had it first! She's lying!"
*after a few minutes of this*
"He sees you when you're sleeping...he knows when you're awake...."
"Hello Santa! How...oh my god! How many elves are dead???? Oh my. That is a lot. Oh...I think I should sit down..."
"Daddy, Owen had the toy first. I was lying."
"Daddy, I hit her first, I was lying."

Yes sir...works every time.

You should use both of these tips in your house. You'll be amazed by the power and terror you wield with these two simple techniques. You'll wonder how you ever got by without them before.

I went with Heather to the grocery store on Saturday, which is a treat, because I'm normally parked at home for fear I'll buy an $11 cheese or some imported Italian meat...and Heather's been feeling bad lately because she just had a root canal, and on Thursday she had her wisdom teeth out, so she's not eating either, which is doubly tough on her...I walked up behind her in the aisle, and wrapped my arm around her waist and just pulled her close. I felt the urge to, and she melted into me, and snuggled into me for a second right there in the middle of the store, and that unexpected moment of intimacy, in public no less, made my heart suddenly melt. I felt it burst open and gush everywhere, and one tear ran down my cheek. I pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head while another tear sneaked out, and then it was over, but that one moment of overwhelming love has stuck with me since Saturday.

Even now, writing this, I want to cry again, the feeling of joy is so strong.

I realized another great thing about having a young boy in the house, aside from his infernal boob fixation.

My son's at that crucial stage in life: learning how to use the toilet. As with any young man just starting to come into awareness of the equipment he possesses, he...well...let's just say that he's not the most careful about where he aims. And by not careful I mean it's amazing there's not a yellow trail a foot and half off the floor across the bathroom walls. Right now he'll come out of the bathroom with some accidental spotting because he forgets the important rule: "Before you put it back your pants, you give two shakes and you dance", or the urinal's too tall so he steps back and leans back attempting an arching stream, which as any man can tell you, does not end well, but I digress.

Every few days when the women in my house get around to cleaning they'll yell "SOMEBODY MISSED THE TOILET AGAIN!" Well, if anyone looks at me, I point at my son and shrug my shoulders. I no longer have to admit to my wife that I was the phantom puddler because I was trying to hang out the bathroom door, leaning on one leg, shooting at a great distance while watching the Redskins on the TV instead of where I was aiming.

I just say "Well honey, you know that Owen's still learning to aim. You can't really blame him." It's a great great thing. Of course, the other day I had to pay the price for this because while letting him go whizz in a farmer's field on Sunday he let fly all over my shoes.

My son's recently rediscovered the magic of boobs. He's fascinated with boobs and will grab them if he can. It doesn't matter if they're his mother's, my mother's, random visitors...or...mine...he grabs them.

This has, no doubt, caused some consternation in my house.

The women have flat-out said that the behavior has to stop, it's unacceptable, it's embarassing, and I have to be the one to deliver the news that grabbing boobs is not appropriate. Plus he's got the vise grip of a senior steel worker clutching a winning lottery ticket.

I looked at it differently. He's only 3, and right now, his fascination with boobs is still seen as "cute" by some people, and he's free to grab as many as he wants. In another six months it won't be cute, and he really will have to stop (because I'll be hauled before a judge for raising the world's smallest letch), at which point he won't have an opportunity to touch boobs until at least 16. If he's as smooth as I was in high school, make that 19, but who's counting? And furthermore, once he's at this age 16 period of fondlage he's expected to be at least something of a gentleman, and only fondle one given woman at a time. He doesn't have that restriction right now. He can be all the three-foot cassanova he wants to be right now, and it's still "cute". I have therefore dubbed this time of his life "The Golden Age". I argued a strong case for letting him carry on for the next six months so he gets to enjoy it.

But as I'm outnumbered, male, and make sense, I was summarily overruled.

A thought occurred to me:

It can never be 'Opposites Day'. The minute you say "It's 'Opposites Day'!", it's not, but if you say "It's not 'Opposites Day'" then, clearly it's not.

Explain that to your children and blow their minds.

Here are three scenes from my house for you to enjoy:

1. My daughter and wife were talking:

W: "Where are your manners?"
D: "I don't know"
W: "You'd better find them...quick!"
D: "I found them! They're in my mouth, but they won't come out. They're stuck."

2. My son was in the bathtub laying on his belly singing to himself:

S: "I'm putting my weiner on the bottom of the bathtub!!!!!" and he pauses for a second and looks at me "Daddy, I wish I had a giant weiner I could put on the bottom of everything."

3. The next day my son's getting dressed and starts singing:

"Scooby scooby doo, where are you? We have some work to do with weiners! Scooby scooby doo...where's your weiner? We have some work to do with weiners!"

Yeah, I don't know where they come up with this stuff either.

I killed a rabbit today.

In front of my kids.

With a golf ball.

We had a rabbit living in our backyard. I loved the rabbit because he routinely ate the clover, dandelions, and broadleaf that continually invades my lawn. Some in my house cast aspersions on him because he also ate the green beans in the garden, but I thought was in general a good guy. The kids loved looking out into the yard and seeing him back there.

So we were all a little distraught this morning when I saw a hawk swoop into our backyard and fly away with something. We assumed it was probably the rabbit and we mourned a little for him. The rabbit had outwitted the hawk a few times already, once by diving underneath the kids’ playset at the last minute, but we’d assumed the hawk would win eventually. And then the rains came, pummeling the house and yard over and over again, and still the rabbit was nowhere to be seen.

And then, surprise! He showed up with the sun, and headed to the garden to finish off the beans. I knew I was going to hear more complaints if I let him, so I headed into the garage and picked up one of the golf balls we have in a bucket, and walked onto the back porch. The rabbit looked at me and kept eating. The kids stood shoulder-to-shoulder behind me, watching me. My daughter never stopped her litany of questions while I moved. My wife stopped in mid-stride and watched me too.

I aimed for a spot near the ground on the other side of the rabbit. I hoped that a golf ball landing right next to him in the brush would be sudden enough and noisy enough to scare him. I wound up, swung my right arm back and down and kicked up my left leg and pitched. The ball streaked through the air, straighter than I intended. It flew faster than I intended. I feared for the worst, but still…I admired my throw. I admired it’s power and the truth of its aim. I’d never learned how to throw. Most times I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, so this throw was magical, this throw was wonderful. This throw was something I was proud of…until I heard a loud hollow popping noise.

I closed my eyes for a minute and offered a sinking prayer. There was no noise behind me. The birds were silent, the planes and lawnmowers and distant traffic hushed. My heart drained and stopped beating forever.

Owen spoke first "I think you killed it. The Easter Bunny won't be happy." Heather took a step forward and looked at me. Tears filled McKenna's eyes.

"Daddy, is the bunny okay?"

"I don't know. Go play."

"Is the bunny okay?"

"I don’t know. I think so, I think I just scared him."

"But is he okay? Daddy, why is he laying down? Why isn’t he getting up?"

"I just scared him, okay? Seriously! Go Play!"

"I think he's dead" Owen repeated.

I looked across to the garden. The rabbit laid on his side his legs still twitching in the air. I thought I should call a vet before I heard the whole phone conversation in my head, explaining the garden and the golf ball and a trip to the county jail and decided I'd better go check on the rabbit first before I made any decisions.

I walked across the yard and when I got to where the rabbit laid only his tail was twitching. He didn’t seem right, but he looked okay. I prayed: "Please let him be stunned. Maybe it’s just a head injury. I’m okay with scratches on my arms and trip to the hospital for a rabies shot, just so he'll be okay. Please let him be okay"

I brushed a fly off his hindquarters already crawling on him and touched his side. It was warm, and his fur was soft, but he wasn't breathing any more. I looked back at the house. My wife and kids stood in the living room watching me. I looked at Heather and shook my head slowly, in tiny movements so the kids wouldn't see.

I cursed myself, I cursed the rabbit, I just cursed. For a minute I sat on my haunches and cursed everything, then I turned and walked back to the house.

My wife was waiting for me.
"I would have used a tennis ball."
"Yeah that probably would have been good."
"So now what? Are you going to bury it?"
"Yeah. Keep them upstairs."

And I buried the rabbit. I dug a deep wide hole on the back property line, underneath the bushes with the large white flowers he lived under. I wrapped him the softest white shop towel I could find, put him in hole, threw the golf ball in the hole as well and filled the hole back in. Then I took a few minutes and piled all the large stones from around the house onto his grave. And I prayed again for the rabbit and myself.

Later my kids asked me what happened to the rabbit. I told them that I'd had a long talk with the rabbit, and I apologized for hitting him with the golf ball, but that he'd decided to go live somewhere else for a while, and might not come back until next summer.

My son and daughter seemed to accept that answer.

I just hope the rabbit can.

My son's working on potty-training, so he's been spending time in various states of undress through the day. At one point while he naked he ran into my bedroom holding the magnifying glass we bought them for Christmas and put it over his crotch.

"Mommy! Daddy! Look at my wiener! My wiener is HUUUUUGGGGEEEE!!!!!"

Tonight I laid down on my daughter's bed after she'd been tucked in. She grabbed my right hand and starting tracing the lines on my palm with her fingers. We didn't say anything for a few minutes while she looked at my hand. Then she broke the silence:
"Daddy, I really missed you today"
"I missed you too honey. I miss you every day"

Before my current contract I was working from home two days a week and getting home before 6pm most nights, so I saw my kids a lot. Now I'm lucky to get home before 7pm, and I jump on my computer at night and work more. And a thought occurred to me, lying there next to my daughter: "What if I've died already? What if I've died on the road one day and I didn't even know it and I'm merely a spirit lying here and she doesn't even know I'm here, doesn't even know me?" I spun in a moment of anxiety and terror gripped by this foolish idea that I didn't exist any more. I started to cry.

"Honey. I miss you all day every day that I'm not with you. You're the most wonderful little girl I could have ever hoped for, and you and your brother are the best reason for me to get out of bed in the morning. I love you no matter what."

I'm not dead yet, but I am dying a little each day; a lot, each day I'm away from those I hold most dear.

McKenna let go of my hand scooted closer and hugged me. "Daddy, can I please read a story to myself?"
"Of course you can sweetheart."
"I love you Daddy."
"I love you too honey."

I prayed with McKenna, kissed her forehead, and left her to her reading.

There was more work to be done.

Heather and I went out and got a black lab puppy this afternoon. Her name is Sophia. We weren't going to get a dog but our kids sat us down and explained to us both that we either had to make with another sibling for them or produce a puppy posthaste, so we went with the puppy.

It was some very tense negotiations with the kids, but we think they'll enjoy the dog just as much as another brother or sister, probably even more, at least until we make them start cleaning up the poop.

Once every few months, Heather and I talk about having another kid, though usually only briefly, and kind of in the same way other people talk about the weather, or what to eat for dinner:
"You think we should have another baby?"
"I don't know. We've got our hands pretty full with these two."
"Yeah, would be nice to have another baby in the house though."
"Well we'd have to adopt."
"Yeah, that could get expensive."
etc....

Recently, however, McKenna's started asking about getting a baby sister, and we talked about it more seriously. In part, spurred on by discussions at Sepia Mutiny and this post by Scott Carney, we talked about adopting an Indian baby girl.

Last night, when we looked into the logistics, however, most of the adoption agencies in India would not adopt to a family that's not Indian in heritage. I was a little shocked and dismayed and offended.

It might be because I'm white that I'm not used to discrimination based on my heritage and bland tapioca pudding-like complexion that I was offended, but I think also because I thought that with so many kids around the world in dire situations the agencies would seek to find any loving home for the kids regardless of color.

I love being a daddy, more than anything else I've ever done, and I adore and love my two kids to distraction. But I also see kids neglected or in need of love and attention and I want to wrap my arms around them too.

After a busy day moving, while I was driving to Giant tonight to get juice and milk and cereal for the morning; travelling the old familiar routes I'd driven for nearly 13 years of my life; I had a funny taste in my mouth. I couldn't stop frowning. Heather's breathing was unsettled and she fidgeted in her seat, as she picked at a bug bite on her leg. I couldn't think of anything to say, but I kept trying to say something to acknowledge the unsettling in my stomach. I must have flapped my mouth open and shut a few times because Heather turned to me and said "It feels weird to be home, doesn't it?"

On Saturday I was out shopping with the wife and children and we ran into one of the local supermarkets to pick up something that only they seem to carry. Posted right at the front of the store at my children's eye level was a massive display of Elmo cupcakes. I was quick to perform some parental misdirection ("Is that Thomas the Tank Engine buying Lucky Charms?") so the kids did not see them, and disaster was averted, but I know that I will not always be that lucky.

As my children get older, their awareness grows, and my awareness of what they'll latch onto grows, so I find myself planning the most advantageous routes out of stores to avoid having screaming fits and hours of conversations with my daughter. "But why can't I have a puppy Daddy?" "Because puppies are a lot of wor-" "But why?" "Because puppies need a lot of attentio-" "But why?" I don't go down that aisle because it's filled with M&Ms. I don't go down that aisle because it's filled with balloons. That aisle has dancing girls and machine guns, so that aisle might be okay.

The thing is, Giant, our preferred supermarket, doesn't seem to resort to pushing the stuff my kids would gravitate to right at the front. There's no cupcakes or beach balls or Easter baskets or dancing monkies and hurdy-gurdy men. It's all business. This week's specials, an artfully designed replica of the Roman Colloseum built out of cases of generic root beer and newspapers. My son's not going to reach out and point "Ooo dad, the Wall Street Journal!"

If he did, hell, that I'd buy it for him.

It's easy to focus on the bad things that happen in the family when we're in the house with all of them for several days. A home begins to feel like a cage, and all the ugliness builds up until someone, or everyone, has an eruption. It's nasty and painful and further sours the family relationship.

The problem is that many times, people have deeper issues that they're dealing with when they start arguments, or get involved in arguments. A ruined pot roast becomes a beacon for those deeper issues, and without naming the issue that's deep down, they far exceed what's acceptable for the ruined dinner and turn nasty.

The question that I struggle with is this: is it acceptable to name the deeper issue and try to confront the issue head on, or should each person seek out their own way of dealing with the family bones we're all chewing on?

As I sit here and type this, I think it's better that each person seek out a therapist and learn the tools they need to deal with the toxicity they face in their own families. You can't force healing and change on another person, and shining light on an issue in front of the whole family probably will not fix anything. And that stinks. But it's true...

I don't mean to be down this soon after Christmas, but this has just been something on my mind from before Christmas. Not even because of my in-laws or my own family. They've been great. I don't even remember why this train of thought left the station. It just did. So I figured I'd follow it to it's destination.

Yesterday was Heather's and my third wedding anniversary. Before you ask what magical and wonderful things we did to commemorate, I'd like to give you this glimpse into the start of the day:

I left home early to get to work early so I could be home early (there's a pattern in there) and so Heather and the kids were still asleep when I left. At 9am I got a phone call from Heather. I could hear the kids screaming and playing in the background.

M: "Hey baby, Happy Anniversary!"
H: "What????? Oh, yeah, I guess it is our anniverary. Is it already September? Yeah. Happy Anniversary honey."

So when I got home, Heather was at the doctor's with McKenna, we walked around the neighborhood, bathed the kids, and played cards. That was our special night. ;)

Speaking honestly for a second, I have to say two things:
1. I recognize that right now, we have two little ones, and many of the things that Heather and I would like to do just aren't possible right now, and I'm fine with that. If I can't take Heather to NYC to see a show on Broadway for our anniversary, that's fine, because the time will come later when we can.
2. The last three years that I've spent married to Heather have been the most exciting, stressful, wonderful, magical, amazing years I've ever had. Despite the stress and heartaches and troubles we've had (getting laid off twice, moving twice, having two kids in the NICU, the hypoglymic lows, the seizures, and all of the other things that have happened), I can't imagine spending these years with anyone else, and I'm thankful I've had Heather by my side. I love her dearly, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Dear God, sorry to disturb you, but... I feel that I should be heard loud and clear. We all need a big reduction in amount of tears
"Dear God" - XTC

I remember the times after my father died. I was still in high school, and I was in a lot of pain. My mom and I were both distant from each other, more distant than we had ever been before.

I met a guy a grade below me named Mike, who acted like as much of an outsider as I felt. He had moved to Mechanicsburg from Massachusetts and could not have stood out more. More importantly though, he liked the same things I did: Shakespeare, Monty Python, Sonic Youth, potato tennis. It was bound to be friendship from the start.

Mike filled a part of the emptiness in my heart, and I was glad for his friendship. I loved him dearly like a brother. It wasn't long until I was hanging out at his house. His parents had a fabulous collection of old vinyl records and a working record player and we would get together with friends and play the Rolling Stones or Iron Butterfly and play hacky-sack. We'd assemble in Mike's basement and pretend to be a band clattering on old drums and second-hand electric guitars. We'd go outside in the dark of Mike's driveway and smoke cigars. We'd sit on his couch and watch anime and eat cherry pies and drink Mt. Dew.

During that time spent at Mike's house, Mike's house felt like a second home to me. I got to know Mike's mom and dad, and they were surrogate parents to me. While my mom was busy with work and her own mourning, I became an addition to Mike's family, so that Mike's mom called me "Son #2", and I called her "Mom 2". She would hug me everytime she saw me, and ask me how I was doing, and how school was going.

They always treated me well, fed me, let me hang out at odd hours, and made me feel welcome. I loved them as much as I loved Mike, and I feel that it was their love and acceptance that, in part, kept me steady for many years.

Today, I learned that Mike's mom passed away suddenly this holiday weekend. One minute alive and vibrant, spending the holiday with Mike and his wife, and then the next, snatched from her husband and children. Life can be cruel, the way it vanishes so quickly. I tried to speak some positive words when Mike told me. She got to see Mike graduate from college, and get married to a woman that's crazy about him, but those are hollow consolations in the face of the raw anguish Mike's feeling now.

I wish that I had some magic words to speak to ease the pain. I don't. I wish I could return her to life, and restore her to health, and give her back to her family. But I can't. I can't carry this burden for him. I can only be there for him, and listen to him, and cry with him when he mourns for her. I'll have to reach out to him at the holidays and make sure he's not too distraught. And maybe, maybe, I can now help him put the pieces of his life back together in the aftermath of sorrow, as they helped me.

Rest in peace, Mom 2. I'll miss you, and I'll try to help Mike as much as I can. I promise.

I got an email a few days ago from an acquaintance, Bob (not his real name) that talked about some Toxic People in his own life. His wife has quite the extended family, 3 brothers, 4 sisters, many cousins and aunts and uncles. The problem is that Bob is kind of the outsider. His wife's family is very tight-knit and Bob doesn't fit in. He was an only child, he's outspoken and articulate, he's not afraid to argue, in a sense, a lot like me.

Well according to Bob: "They won't stop talking about me behind my back, no matter what I say to my wife. A month ago, they were whispering to each other that I was beating her. The month before that it was that we were broke. Now it's the 'fact' that I'm having an affair at work."

The worst of it is that Bob's oldest sister-in-law comes by the house often and lays these rumors on Bob's wife so then it starts an argument between them, and then Bob goes home from work and has an argument with his wife, because he's upset about what they're saying. He wants to confront them directly, but his wife won't let them.

Bob said "So, Maurice, what should I do? I'm going nuts here, and I don't think I stay married if I'm going to be sniped at all the time". Well Bob, I know what you're saying, and what you're going through. I've been in my share of passive-aggressive relationships before. I've been around passive-aggressive families before. I haven't forgotten you buddy, I'm just trying to think through an answer.

I figured I'd turn this over to my readers and see if any of them have any ideas. So what do you all think? What should Bob do? Divorce? Confront them? Leave it alone? What would you do?

I look at some blogs and they talk all about what they're doing family-wise and who's doing what, and going where, and I thought about it, I have NOTHING to report. Well, that's not true. Today is Heather's birthday, which is fun, but we can't do anything to celebrate until this weekend when someone watches the kids.

Not only that all I do is work, go home, play with the kids, eat dinner, and go exercise with Heather, put the kids to bed, and go to sleep.

I guess the word of the month is: monotonous

Well, that's not quite right either, because right now, it's not boring...so...

The word of the month is: routine

A dear friend sent this to me, and it fairly accurately describes how I feel about my kids. I can't think of another thing I'd rather do than be a dad. Fatherhood is greatest gift I've ever received, and I would not trade it for anything.

Just for this morning, I am
going to step over the laundry,
and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning, I will
leave the dishes in the sink,
and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.

Just for this afternoon, I will
unplug the telephone and
keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.

Just for this afternoon, I will
not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when
you scream and whine for the ice cream
truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon, I won't
worry about what you are
going to be when you grow up, or second guess
every decision I have made where you are concerned.

Just for this afternoon, I will let
you help me bake cookies, and I won't
stand over you trying to fix them.
Just for this afternoon, I will take
us to McDonald's and buy us both a
Happy Meal so you can have both toys.

Just for this evening, I will hold
you in my arms and tell you a story
about how you were born and how
much I love you.

Just for this evening, I will let
you splash in the tub and not get angry.

Just for this evening, I will let
you stay up late while we sit on the
porch and count all the stars.

Just for this evening, I will
snuggle beside you for hours,
and miss my favorite TV shows.
Just for this evening when I run
my finger through your hair
as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God
has given me the greatest gift ever
given.

I will think about the mothers
And fathers who are searching
for their missing children,
the mothers and fathers who are
visiting their children's graves
instead of their bedrooms, and mothers and
fathers who are in hospital rooms watching
their children suffer senselessly, and screaming inside that they can't
handle it anymore.

And when I kiss you good night I
will hold you a little tighter, a
little longer. It is then, that I will
thank God for you, and ask
him for nothing, except one more day...

I got up early with the O-man and bought Heather breakfast. I also had to get Mother's Day cards (yes typical man, yadda yadda yadda). My plan was to get them yesterday (still too late) but Heather had a lot of shopping she had to do, so by the time she got home to relieve me from child-watching duties it was 9pm, so I couldn't go then.