"That's How You Become Great, Man. Hang Your Balls Out There."

So said the copy shop clerk said to Jerry Maguire as the two admired the final printed copies of Jerry's mission statement. That move, of course, was a defining moment in the protagonist's life, briefly putting him on top of the world, then quickly sinking him near rock bottom, before he rode the coattails of a mouthy, undersized wide receiver with ungodly numbers. (Seriously, the season before Rod Tidwell and Jerry got low-balled with a three-year contract offer worth less than $2 million, Rod caught 110 balls for 1550 yards. At least that's what we were told on the eve of the NFL Draft as Jerry paraded his client before the likes of Mike Tirico and Mel Kiper. Just one season like that these days and you'll easily get eight figures in guaranteed money in your next deal.)

I'd like to believe that my ability to craft words together makes it possible that I could create a published work like Jerry's mission statement that would inspire many ... and/or create enough backlash to prompt my own termination. But up until now I haven't chosen to do so. I'm about is conservative as they come, so I'm not the kind of guy who's likely to take a big risk or hang my balls on the line.

Well, that's kind of changed now. And while it has nothing to do with my professional career or anything that I've written, I have taken a somewhat-risky leap with my family. As of October, we now pay two house payments. And two utility bills. And two water bills. Etc.

After several months of building her case, my wife finally convinced me to get on board with her ambitious business plan. According to this plan, our existing home would be used strictly for my wife's daycare business. Without being filled with our personal belongings -- i.e. beds, dressers, kitchen table, living room furniture -- there'd be more room for kids' stuff and more room for more kids. I didn't believe it the first dozen or so times my wife crunched the numbers for me, but I became a believer after I did the math myself a few times. Getting a new license to expand the daycare would allow several more kids to attend the daycare, and even having to pay for a part-time employee to help out, there would be enough extra money to justify paying for our own separate place to live.

Yeah, it would be really tight at the start, considering we'd have to put money down on a new place and try to set a little aside to buy some new things to help fill the new house and some extra kids' stuff for the soon-to-be expanded daycare. But what the hell? I decided to hang my balls out there a little. Especially over the long-term, this seemed like a pretty good business opportunity. Besides, we really needed the extra space for our family, and there are always parents in need of daycare. Our cozy little 1200 square-foot house makes a perfect little private daycare. And, in the meantime, our new 2300 square-foot place gives us a significant and necessary amount of breathing room.

So you wonder why I've been a little less consisent as a blogger lately? Here it is. I've been shitting my pants every step of the way these last couple of months, closely monitoring incoming and outgoing funds, doing my best to help maintain two houses and trying hard to keep my sanity.

I'm stretched fucking thin, man.

And anyone who reads this surely knows how seriously I take sports. So consider that all of this happened as the Cubs were winding down a horribly disappointing season, as my alma mater began what has turned out to be a horribly disappointing football season, and as the Bears have whipped up and down on their own roller coaster 2009 journey. Fuck, college hoops season is now here, and I don't know how I'll have capacity to give it the energy it deserves. (Don't worry, I'll find a way.)

As the holidays arrive, I'd argue that 'tis not necessarily the season to be jolly. It is, of course, a time to be thankful. But this year, at least for me, it's also a season to just hang on tight. That's what I've been trying to do lately, and it probably isn't going to get any easier for a couple of months. Anyone else have trouble laying down a hard line Christmas budget with the wife? A budget that's less than previous years despite having children with increased expectations? Not an easy sell.

I've made my concessions, and I'll continue to do so. Drinking a quality value gin rather than a top brand ($9 for 750ml of Gordon's vs. $20 for Bombay Sapphire. You didn't think I'd quit altogether, did you?); choosing to only partially furnish my new so-called "man cave" of a finished basement. Small sacrifices, especially in the short term.

But, in case anyone wants to throw me a Christmas gift, I'll take some fucking cash.

A few other notes about the new house and our relocation:

It took less than a day before my youngest son fell down the stairs. It wasn’t actually a full flight of stairs, but it was enough. He tumbled down three steps and did a full roll before popping his head against the wall. This literally happened as we were doing the final walk-through. We technically hadn’t even gotten the keys yet.

It took two days before my wife officially fell in love with our neighborhood. On a mild October Saturday, the street and cul-de-sac quickly filled with children scattered on bikes and parents conversing in their driveways. I don’t have the same hard-on for this kind of stuff; I spent most of the time watching football inside. But it was a great start for my wife and the kids. And as long as they’re happy, I’m happy. Usually.

It took about a month before I woke up drunk in a random room within the house. This actually happened in the early morning hours of the day of our housewarming party. It was about 4:00, and I woke up face down in my son’s bedroom. Not sure how or when I got there. But consider the house warmed, I guess.

Let Me Tell You a Little Something About Spirit

Today is College Spirit Day at my stepson's school. And while most of the little homos will likely be running around wearing Kansas, Kansas State or Missouri apparel, my almost-nine-year-old will be in his Juice Williams jersey.

Of course, we all know that this has nothing to do with the children; rather it's about the kids' parents and their college affiliations. It's kind of like the mock elections held at elementary schools across the country every four years as a U.S. Presidential election nears. "The kids choose Obama!" Like they've studied the fucking issues. It's much more of a measure of how their parents have rubbed off on them. Likewise, try asking Dominic what he thinks about Ron Zook coming back next year to lead to 2010 Illini. And does he think Jacob Charest should be the starting QB heading into next year? He's likely to respond to those questions with the same kind of reaction I get when trying to help explain his homework. Perhaps like all third-graders, he doesn't care what the right answers are, and he doesn't give a shit how we've gotten to them.

But I do have to wonder if there are any teachers at Horizon Elementary who spot that orange #7 jersey today and think, "Shit, that kid's dad is having a rough season." Surely I'm not the only person who thinks that way. I just can't believe how passive some people are about sports, especially with college affiliations. My father-in-law, for example, can't understand why I get so freaking pissed when he sends me texts after Iowa Hawkeyes victories, updating me on their record and including an obligatory "Go Hawks!" Luckily, I haven't had to see one of those gut-wrenching messages in a few weeks. For the same reason he sends those messages, he should easily understand why I fucking loathe receiving them: Because I don't want his god damn school to win!

That's what spirit is about, having your kids wear your school colors and looking at people who wear your enemy's colors and telling them to go fuck themselves (although it's usually unspoken). No smiles and wishes of good luck. I wish ill will upon my enemies.

And, by the way, Dominic had absolutely no say in what he wore to school today.