It wasn’t too long ago, maybe four or five years, when my stepson’s dad hated me. Yeah, we’re told from an early age not to use the word ‘hate’ because it’s such a strong word; but trust me when I say it could certainly be used in this case.
I mean the guy basically told my wife, who was then just my girlfriend, that he wanted to kill me. He actually once told my wife after they’d broken up that if she ever became pregnant with another man’s baby, he’d kick her in the abdomen until there was no more living thing in there.
And I thought I didn’t handle rejection very well.
It was those kinds of comments that made me on several occasions tell my wife that I was going to smash his head through a wall. (I don’t know why, but that always seemed like the thing to do, grabbing him by the back of the head and just driving his head through some sheet rock.) To avoid complication, and perhaps some actual physical violence, my fair lady advised me not to be around when there was any exchange of Dominic. I usually complied for the sake of simplicity, while also acknowledging the absurdity of this aspect of our life together.
Fast forward to 2009, when somehow the guy is now a truly reliable friend of the family. At some point in the recent past, he figured out that he didn’t want to go down the path of the enemy. He realized that he should embrace those who love his son and treat them with the respect his son receives.
Sadly, I think it was the death of his mother that ultimately made him change his philosophy. He was openly remorseful about the ways he’d acted in the past. For all intents and purposes, he declared himself a new man.
That new man helped move us into our new house this fall, he takes Dominic to and from school everyday, and he fairly regularly brings beer when he has reason to show up at our house.
One of those random occasions was last week. After one of many recent trying days in my stress-filled life, the night was pleasantly capped by drinking about a half dozen beers with the man who was once my Lex Luthor.
I’d have never guessed five years ago that this would be the case.
And, sure, it’s plenty weird, in part because my wife always feels the need to freshen up her makeup before he arrives. But I consider the alternative, the Old Sal, as my wife sometimes says. This is much better. Especially the free beer.
But it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s normal … not that much else in my life seems to be either.
And a little more about dysfunction:
Wanting to hold a baby is one thing, but volunteering to shove something up his tailpipe? My wife’s a proverbial nurturer, and she should be since she’s a childcare provider. But this shit with my nephew is getting a bit overboard. She had to stop at her brother’s place last night to give the kid a suppository. Right, no one wants to do that; it’s an exit, not a point of entry. But when it’s needed, a parent fucking does it. Well, not in that family, I guess. For all I know, they can’t even change a god damn diaper on their own.
I also find it a little odd that every time we’re around the kid my wife goes way out of her way to reinforce how cute the kid is.
“Isn’t he cute, Steve?”
“Didn’t I tell you he was cute, Steve?
I’m sorry, but when that kind of stuff is said repeatedly in the presence of a kid’s parents, it seems an awful lot like just trying to justify it for them. Translations:
Aloud: “Isn’t he cute, Steve?”
Translation: “Come on, Steve, tell them you think he’s cute too.”
Aloud: “Didn’t I tell you he was cute, Steve?”
Translation: “I swear, I do think he’s cute, and I brag about him!”
Merry Christmas to you, too, A-hole. My mom is a Christmas list Nazi. She wants detailed lists from everyone in the family, adults and children alike, and we’re hounded until we provide them. These lists are usually provided via email, broadcast to all family members who celebrate the holidays together. This includes my mom and dad, my two brothers, myself, my wife, my sister-in-law and my aunt. So you might expect these exchanges to be innocuous. Well, not always.
One of my brothers had the dubious distinction of being the last to submit his wish list this past weekend, and among those items listed was a gift card to Banana Republic. This prompted the following comment from my other brother:
“Don’t a lot of gay guys shop at Banana Republic?”
The response, which went out to the entire group:
“Gay guys who get a lot of pussy, mother fucker.”
Yeah, that was received by his wife, my wife, our mother, father and aunt. Classy!
Shortly thereafter, a text from one brother to the other served as a reminder that the email went out to the whole group, suggesting an apology may be in order to the ladies. Brother #2’s response:
“I apologize for nothing.”
I love my freaking family.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Observations from a Grinch
Note that I say a Grinch, not the Grinch. There are surely a lot of other people out there who are more anti-holiday than I am. My overall lack of spirit is more due to a combination of indifference, annoyance and realism. It's not driven by true hatred or distaste, although I do have plenty of that reserved for other things in life.
That said, I understand when there's a need to come through with a little cheer. Last Thursday would be a good example.
We were due to attend my stepson’s holiday music program at his school. This was especially important to Dominic, who loves to belt out his vocals. Sure, I give him a hard time occasionally about how it’s relatively gay, but I do prefer that he’s happy. This, singing in a school program, clearly was going to make him happy. So he promoted his upcoming music program pretty aggressively as it approached.
Predictably, it didn’t all go as planned.
Among those expected to attend, my parents backed out Thursday afternoon seemingly due to my dad’s full-day hangover. Likewise, my father-in-law also informed us he wasn’t going to be in attendance. His excuse, well, sounded an awful lot like he simply forgot, then he stumbled while telling us about something work-related that had apparently come up.
The final straw, however, came just minutes before heading out the door that evening. We came downstairs to find Dominic in tears. His dad, who had arrived a few minutes earlier with plans to follow us to the school, left and told Dominic he wasn't going to the program. This officially had all the makings of a train wreck.
Our trip to the school was understandably tense, with my wife leaving several inflammatory voicemails on Dominic's dad's phone. The tension was spread around too. It was apparently partially my fault that we were late because I didn’t help enough, not with finding clothes, getting the diaper bag ready, etc. It was also clearly part Dominic's fault because he lied about what he was supposed to wear (either that or he's an even worse listener than I thought. A light-colored shirt and shorts for a winter holiday program. What the fuck? My wife actually called a neighbor to confirm the correct and more formal attire that we’d expected).
But that didn’t really matter. What did matter was that Dominic’s big night was going to be a big turd.
After just a few songs, he clearly wasn’t feeling it. I pointed out to my wife that it looked like Dominic wasn’t giving it his all. She thought that was a good thing because it meant he wasn’t being flamboyant in a Disney Channel girl type of way. But, as I pointed out, “No, I mean you can tell his heart isn’t in it.” That made my wife sad, and even me a little too.
Luckily, there was a late rally. Dominic’s dad showed up after all, and maybe it was because Dominic noticed him that his demeanor on the stage changed. He was all smiles for the second half of the program, and by the time it was over he was ready to relive all of his favorite songs and favorite moments.
Good for him. Even a Grinch can appreciate that … although it should be noted that Dominic has since reproduced the entire program – all eight songs – on three separate occasions for those who weren’t able to attend the show. So I’m officially done with this aspect of my holiday spirit.
As you might guess, I have some other thoughts as well.
Political correctness reigns. What was Dominic’s favorite song in his program? “Oh Hanukkah.” He loves it and still sings it around the house. During its actual performance in the program, the opening notes sounded straight out of “Fiddler on the Roof” and it did seem pretty jolly. Nice clever beat. Keep in mind, of course, that there was a Kwanzaa song and a Mexican Christmas song in the program too. It’s great that everything was so balanced, despite the fact that 90% of the kids on stage appeared to have blond hair and blue eyes.
Welcome to December. It’s supposed to be fucking cold. If it’s two degrees outside, you can complain about it being cold. If it’s in the 20s or 30s, don’t complain unless it’s April through September. Get the hell over it. Also, it’s not an “event” when it fucking snows. If it snows a whole hell of a lot, perhaps a foot or more, maybe you can call it an event. Otherwise, it’s weather. It’s the type of weather we’re supposed to get, for Christ’s sake.
I have a defective cranium. As has become tradition over the past couple of years, my boss hosted myself and my fellow team members along with our spouses this weekend for a holiday dinner. Just like last year, it also involved a fair amount of alcohol and a friendly board game. Perhaps it was a problem that I'd already had a steady flow of beer since noon, seeing as my Fighting Illini played at 11:30. So by the time we arrived close to 5:00, I was probably already in a place that most people didn't reach by the end of the night. Add to that the fact that I'm really competitive and a really sore loser, and you have the makings of an at-times unpleasant game of Cranium. That includes me cursing the rules, cursing my opponents and cursing my teammates.
‘Tis the season to make an ass of oneself, no?
That said, I understand when there's a need to come through with a little cheer. Last Thursday would be a good example.
We were due to attend my stepson’s holiday music program at his school. This was especially important to Dominic, who loves to belt out his vocals. Sure, I give him a hard time occasionally about how it’s relatively gay, but I do prefer that he’s happy. This, singing in a school program, clearly was going to make him happy. So he promoted his upcoming music program pretty aggressively as it approached.
Predictably, it didn’t all go as planned.
Among those expected to attend, my parents backed out Thursday afternoon seemingly due to my dad’s full-day hangover. Likewise, my father-in-law also informed us he wasn’t going to be in attendance. His excuse, well, sounded an awful lot like he simply forgot, then he stumbled while telling us about something work-related that had apparently come up.
The final straw, however, came just minutes before heading out the door that evening. We came downstairs to find Dominic in tears. His dad, who had arrived a few minutes earlier with plans to follow us to the school, left and told Dominic he wasn't going to the program. This officially had all the makings of a train wreck.
Our trip to the school was understandably tense, with my wife leaving several inflammatory voicemails on Dominic's dad's phone. The tension was spread around too. It was apparently partially my fault that we were late because I didn’t help enough, not with finding clothes, getting the diaper bag ready, etc. It was also clearly part Dominic's fault because he lied about what he was supposed to wear (either that or he's an even worse listener than I thought. A light-colored shirt and shorts for a winter holiday program. What the fuck? My wife actually called a neighbor to confirm the correct and more formal attire that we’d expected).
But that didn’t really matter. What did matter was that Dominic’s big night was going to be a big turd.
After just a few songs, he clearly wasn’t feeling it. I pointed out to my wife that it looked like Dominic wasn’t giving it his all. She thought that was a good thing because it meant he wasn’t being flamboyant in a Disney Channel girl type of way. But, as I pointed out, “No, I mean you can tell his heart isn’t in it.” That made my wife sad, and even me a little too.
Luckily, there was a late rally. Dominic’s dad showed up after all, and maybe it was because Dominic noticed him that his demeanor on the stage changed. He was all smiles for the second half of the program, and by the time it was over he was ready to relive all of his favorite songs and favorite moments.
Good for him. Even a Grinch can appreciate that … although it should be noted that Dominic has since reproduced the entire program – all eight songs – on three separate occasions for those who weren’t able to attend the show. So I’m officially done with this aspect of my holiday spirit.
As you might guess, I have some other thoughts as well.
Political correctness reigns. What was Dominic’s favorite song in his program? “Oh Hanukkah.” He loves it and still sings it around the house. During its actual performance in the program, the opening notes sounded straight out of “Fiddler on the Roof” and it did seem pretty jolly. Nice clever beat. Keep in mind, of course, that there was a Kwanzaa song and a Mexican Christmas song in the program too. It’s great that everything was so balanced, despite the fact that 90% of the kids on stage appeared to have blond hair and blue eyes.
Welcome to December. It’s supposed to be fucking cold. If it’s two degrees outside, you can complain about it being cold. If it’s in the 20s or 30s, don’t complain unless it’s April through September. Get the hell over it. Also, it’s not an “event” when it fucking snows. If it snows a whole hell of a lot, perhaps a foot or more, maybe you can call it an event. Otherwise, it’s weather. It’s the type of weather we’re supposed to get, for Christ’s sake.
I have a defective cranium. As has become tradition over the past couple of years, my boss hosted myself and my fellow team members along with our spouses this weekend for a holiday dinner. Just like last year, it also involved a fair amount of alcohol and a friendly board game. Perhaps it was a problem that I'd already had a steady flow of beer since noon, seeing as my Fighting Illini played at 11:30. So by the time we arrived close to 5:00, I was probably already in a place that most people didn't reach by the end of the night. Add to that the fact that I'm really competitive and a really sore loser, and you have the makings of an at-times unpleasant game of Cranium. That includes me cursing the rules, cursing my opponents and cursing my teammates.
‘Tis the season to make an ass of oneself, no?
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Half-full or Half-Empty? Thankful or Not?
I've never been accused of being optimistic. I've said that to my wife many times, along with such similar unpopular statements as "I've never been accused of being fun" and "I've never been accused of being romantic."
Trust me, those are real fucking winners in the eyes of a woman.
Whatever.
Anyway, it's no mystery to those who know me that I'm rarely going to sugarcoat things. Case in point recently when I questioned a communication strategy at work and my boss said, "Steve, the glass is half full."
Now that's one of my least favorite expressions. Honestly, regardless of which way it's interpreted, there's a flaw. I don't see how it's reasonable for someone to look at a glass and say, "Wow, it's half-full! That's great!" Pardon me, but that sucks. Seriously, how could you not look at that and think, "Why the fuck is it only filled halfway? That's retarded."
Sorry, but that's reality. And excuse me for being a fucking realist.
Enter Thanksgiving, a day on which we're basically supposed to ignore all flaws and be thankful for all that we have. I have no problem appreciating my wife, children, job, etc.; but that doesn't mean that all of life's other problems have disappeared. It's just not in my personality to pretend those things don't exist, and I'm at a point in my life when there are a lot of plenty of other things on my mind.
With two of my own kids and a stepson, plus the recent addition of a second house payment and double the utilities, cable, etc., I don't think it's unfair for me to be more concerned with my day-in day-out responsibilities rather than taking time out to honor the people/things I already recognize each day. Trust me, while I'm not a religious and prayer kind of guy, I think about my many blessings everyday, and that includes my parents, my siblings, my wife, my children and my belongings. Please don't try to tell me when I might need to truly acknowledge them. Instead, please just give me a chance to relax.
It's probably not difficult to imagine that I have a few other Thanksgiving-related thoughts to share. Here are a few:
Can someone really be referred to as a Grinch prior to Thanksgiving? Maybe this is more of an indictment of our society and the way it identifies "The Holiday Season." (Thanks to my good friend Nick for helping me realize this.) Because the so-called Holiday Season revolves around shopping and because holiday shopping revolves around the so-called Black Friday that follows Thanksgiving and the many days of hype that lead to it, I suppose it's okay for people to interpret the attitudes of their peers and family members before the last Thursday in November. My wife apparently had no qualms in doing so early last week as she spread holiday cheer and decorations throughout our house, much to the obvious delight of our children and to the palpable indifference of yours truly. (Please see the paragraphs above should you need further explanation.) After placing a very small plug-in Christmas tree in our basement, the part of our house that might be known by the terrible title of 'man cave', my wife told my stepson that "even the Grinch needs a tree." Again, pardon me for not needing to be told when and how to celebrate things.
Consider this chain of events on a Thanksgiving weekend for a sports fanatic who also had to work on the month's final Friday: Illinois football pummelled Friday afternoon, Illinois basketball losing in heart-breaking fashion Friday night to an inferior opponent, followed by another hoops loss the following night to an in-state non-BCS school, capped by a Chicago Bears' blowout loss to hated divisional opponent Minnesota, who happens to be led by longtime hated quarterback Brett Favre. Sorry, but at the age of 32 I still don't have the capacity to handle all of that negativity like a true adult.
And here's how I contributed to Thanksgiving this year. My wife is the kind of person who insists on bringing something to contribute to a holiday celebration that's being held outside of our own home. This year, I enjoyed her choice of bringing a large jug of warm apple cider. Very seasonal. I was the first to indulge once we'd arrived at my parents' house, and as wonderful as it smelled while being warmed on our stove top, it tasted even better when mixed with a great cognac like Courvosier. My father and brother followed by pouring their own, and I'm pretty sure they were happy to have such an option to warm their souls.
So passed Thanksgiving 2009.
Trust me, those are real fucking winners in the eyes of a woman.
Whatever.
Anyway, it's no mystery to those who know me that I'm rarely going to sugarcoat things. Case in point recently when I questioned a communication strategy at work and my boss said, "Steve, the glass is half full."
Now that's one of my least favorite expressions. Honestly, regardless of which way it's interpreted, there's a flaw. I don't see how it's reasonable for someone to look at a glass and say, "Wow, it's half-full! That's great!" Pardon me, but that sucks. Seriously, how could you not look at that and think, "Why the fuck is it only filled halfway? That's retarded."
Sorry, but that's reality. And excuse me for being a fucking realist.
Enter Thanksgiving, a day on which we're basically supposed to ignore all flaws and be thankful for all that we have. I have no problem appreciating my wife, children, job, etc.; but that doesn't mean that all of life's other problems have disappeared. It's just not in my personality to pretend those things don't exist, and I'm at a point in my life when there are a lot of plenty of other things on my mind.
With two of my own kids and a stepson, plus the recent addition of a second house payment and double the utilities, cable, etc., I don't think it's unfair for me to be more concerned with my day-in day-out responsibilities rather than taking time out to honor the people/things I already recognize each day. Trust me, while I'm not a religious and prayer kind of guy, I think about my many blessings everyday, and that includes my parents, my siblings, my wife, my children and my belongings. Please don't try to tell me when I might need to truly acknowledge them. Instead, please just give me a chance to relax.
It's probably not difficult to imagine that I have a few other Thanksgiving-related thoughts to share. Here are a few:
Can someone really be referred to as a Grinch prior to Thanksgiving? Maybe this is more of an indictment of our society and the way it identifies "The Holiday Season." (Thanks to my good friend Nick for helping me realize this.) Because the so-called Holiday Season revolves around shopping and because holiday shopping revolves around the so-called Black Friday that follows Thanksgiving and the many days of hype that lead to it, I suppose it's okay for people to interpret the attitudes of their peers and family members before the last Thursday in November. My wife apparently had no qualms in doing so early last week as she spread holiday cheer and decorations throughout our house, much to the obvious delight of our children and to the palpable indifference of yours truly. (Please see the paragraphs above should you need further explanation.) After placing a very small plug-in Christmas tree in our basement, the part of our house that might be known by the terrible title of 'man cave', my wife told my stepson that "even the Grinch needs a tree." Again, pardon me for not needing to be told when and how to celebrate things.
Consider this chain of events on a Thanksgiving weekend for a sports fanatic who also had to work on the month's final Friday: Illinois football pummelled Friday afternoon, Illinois basketball losing in heart-breaking fashion Friday night to an inferior opponent, followed by another hoops loss the following night to an in-state non-BCS school, capped by a Chicago Bears' blowout loss to hated divisional opponent Minnesota, who happens to be led by longtime hated quarterback Brett Favre. Sorry, but at the age of 32 I still don't have the capacity to handle all of that negativity like a true adult.
And here's how I contributed to Thanksgiving this year. My wife is the kind of person who insists on bringing something to contribute to a holiday celebration that's being held outside of our own home. This year, I enjoyed her choice of bringing a large jug of warm apple cider. Very seasonal. I was the first to indulge once we'd arrived at my parents' house, and as wonderful as it smelled while being warmed on our stove top, it tasted even better when mixed with a great cognac like Courvosier. My father and brother followed by pouring their own, and I'm pretty sure they were happy to have such an option to warm their souls.
So passed Thanksgiving 2009.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
"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.
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.
Friday, November 20, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Illinois Football May Really Suck Right Now, But It's Not Really Gay
ABC's new Wednesday night comedy lineup must be doing pretty well, because it wasn't more than a few hours into the following day that I'd had three friends ask me if I happen to watch the show "Modern Family." And I don't have very many friends either.
The reason they asked is because it was revealed this week that one of the main characters on "Modern Family" is a former University of Illinois football player. He also happens to be gay. Perhaps timely considering how queer the 2009 UI football season has been.
Consider this: On the road at Purdue tomorrow (a game that was surely circled as a W on the schedule before the season began) it's very possible we'll see redshirt freshman quarterback Jacob Charest take the field at some point. He's never taken a college snap before, and why would he? He came into the season as the #3 quarterback behind a three-plus year starter and a relatively experienced junior who's the #2. Must be bad luck with injuries, right? Nope, both of Charest's elders on the depth chart are completely healthy; for whatever reason, though, they just happen to be highly ineffective this year.
During the Illini's 2007 Rose Bowl season, they set a school record for total offense. Last year, despite finishing just 5-7, they came within a hundred yards of breaking that record again. This year, with a majority of their key skill-position players back, they're averaging just over 14 points per game. Can it simply be blamed on the departure of offensive coordinator Mike Locksley, who left to take the New Mexico head coaching job where he could safely go punch assistant coaches and discriminate against older women (allegedly)? Can all the blame go to an unexpectedly porous offensive line? There's no right answer, only wrong results.
So I don't know what the hell goes on in "Modern Family" but my family has to leave the house when I watch these Illini play. And it does no good to know that popular culture is throwing the UI a bone ... no gay pun intended.
The reason they asked is because it was revealed this week that one of the main characters on "Modern Family" is a former University of Illinois football player. He also happens to be gay. Perhaps timely considering how queer the 2009 UI football season has been.
Consider this: On the road at Purdue tomorrow (a game that was surely circled as a W on the schedule before the season began) it's very possible we'll see redshirt freshman quarterback Jacob Charest take the field at some point. He's never taken a college snap before, and why would he? He came into the season as the #3 quarterback behind a three-plus year starter and a relatively experienced junior who's the #2. Must be bad luck with injuries, right? Nope, both of Charest's elders on the depth chart are completely healthy; for whatever reason, though, they just happen to be highly ineffective this year.
During the Illini's 2007 Rose Bowl season, they set a school record for total offense. Last year, despite finishing just 5-7, they came within a hundred yards of breaking that record again. This year, with a majority of their key skill-position players back, they're averaging just over 14 points per game. Can it simply be blamed on the departure of offensive coordinator Mike Locksley, who left to take the New Mexico head coaching job where he could safely go punch assistant coaches and discriminate against older women (allegedly)? Can all the blame go to an unexpectedly porous offensive line? There's no right answer, only wrong results.
So I don't know what the hell goes on in "Modern Family" but my family has to leave the house when I watch these Illini play. And it does no good to know that popular culture is throwing the UI a bone ... no gay pun intended.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Should I Shave Today If the Illini Win?
In Bruce Weber's first year as head coach at Illinois, the team somewhat struggled through the difficult portion of their non-conference schedule and the start of the Big Ten slate. Those struggles hit their peak the day before my 27th birthday, January 24, 2004. Hungover, I watched the TV from my bed as the Illini absorbed a sobering 20-point loss to Wisconsin, which completed their drop from preseason #12 out of the the Top 25.
Two days later, I began a week's long vacation in Chicago, during which I didn't shave, returning home with essentially a full-grown beard. I decided to stick with the facial hair for a couple of weeks, and a great thing happened at the same time: The Illini clicked. Coach Weber's motion offense began to hit on all cylinders, led by future NBA draftees Deron Williams, Dee Brown and Luther Head.
As a loyal fan, it would have been irresponsible for me to shave at that point, right? The beard remained for two full months as Illinois finished the regular season with ten straight wins, plus two more in the Big Ten tournament before ultimately falling in the conference finals. Despite that single loss, I didn't want to break any of the superstitious momentum heading into the '04 NCAA Tournament, for which the Illini earned a #4 seed. So, still bearded, I watched as the Orange & Blue played to their seed, winning two games to get to the Sweet 16 before falling to the region's top seed, Duke.
That effort was a far cry from the apparent state of Illinois basketball in late January before my facial hair mojo.
Fast forward to the current college football season. All signs point toward this year's Fighting Illini as a complete flop. In losing three of their first four, the Illini have been outscored 102-26 by its FBS opponents, with their lone win coming against FCS challenger Illinois State. Preseason Biletnikoff Award candidate Rejus Benn has just nine catches, Mackey Award nominee Michael Hoomanawanui has caught just six balls, and Unitas and O'Brien Award candidate Juice Williams - a three-year starter - has been benched.
Today's matchup with Michigan State clearly has to be a turning point. And I arrive at this crossroads as a bearded wonder for the first time in nearly six years.
Having taken a few days off of work to move into my new house, I let the facial hair go this week, mainly because I was lazy. So it's merely coincidence that this happens as the Illinois football program appears stuck in the mud ... or is it coincidence?
Just like Weber's early struggles to get his first Illini squad fully in tune with his motion, the 2009 Illini gridders have gotten no traction with new offensive coordinator Mike Schultz. Now has to be the time.
So I'll watch today with all the usual passion and an unusually itchy chin and face. And I'll hope that I'm left with a decision after the game whether or not it would be appropriate for me to consider a full lather on my face for the first time in a week.
Go Illini!
Two days later, I began a week's long vacation in Chicago, during which I didn't shave, returning home with essentially a full-grown beard. I decided to stick with the facial hair for a couple of weeks, and a great thing happened at the same time: The Illini clicked. Coach Weber's motion offense began to hit on all cylinders, led by future NBA draftees Deron Williams, Dee Brown and Luther Head.
As a loyal fan, it would have been irresponsible for me to shave at that point, right? The beard remained for two full months as Illinois finished the regular season with ten straight wins, plus two more in the Big Ten tournament before ultimately falling in the conference finals. Despite that single loss, I didn't want to break any of the superstitious momentum heading into the '04 NCAA Tournament, for which the Illini earned a #4 seed. So, still bearded, I watched as the Orange & Blue played to their seed, winning two games to get to the Sweet 16 before falling to the region's top seed, Duke.
That effort was a far cry from the apparent state of Illinois basketball in late January before my facial hair mojo.
Fast forward to the current college football season. All signs point toward this year's Fighting Illini as a complete flop. In losing three of their first four, the Illini have been outscored 102-26 by its FBS opponents, with their lone win coming against FCS challenger Illinois State. Preseason Biletnikoff Award candidate Rejus Benn has just nine catches, Mackey Award nominee Michael Hoomanawanui has caught just six balls, and Unitas and O'Brien Award candidate Juice Williams - a three-year starter - has been benched.
Today's matchup with Michigan State clearly has to be a turning point. And I arrive at this crossroads as a bearded wonder for the first time in nearly six years.
Having taken a few days off of work to move into my new house, I let the facial hair go this week, mainly because I was lazy. So it's merely coincidence that this happens as the Illinois football program appears stuck in the mud ... or is it coincidence?
Just like Weber's early struggles to get his first Illini squad fully in tune with his motion, the 2009 Illini gridders have gotten no traction with new offensive coordinator Mike Schultz. Now has to be the time.
So I'll watch today with all the usual passion and an unusually itchy chin and face. And I'll hope that I'm left with a decision after the game whether or not it would be appropriate for me to consider a full lather on my face for the first time in a week.
Go Illini!
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