Of Lessons Learned, Skills Enhanced and Hello Kitty's Boobs

As I meander through the muck of stay-at-home fatherhood, I would say that these two nuggets have helped me the most thus far.

1) Never, ever forget the juice and Goldfish when picking up your daughter from preschool. Preschool-aged daughters are not the most understanding bunch. "But Mar, I was busy suturing up Sally's throat from a nasty raccoon bite!" "BUT YOU FORGOT MY JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUICE!"

2) You are going to become a far better colorer than you ever thought possible. Christmas decorations, silverware holders, maps -- we color them all around here. Xav visits the Crayola website daily and is always kind enough to print me out something so I can color with him. I guess I can go thirty minutes without visiting Huffington, the Wake Forest message boards or my email accounts.

Seriously, so long as I handle these two things with grace daily, I'm good to go. The day breezes by uneventfully.

And now a story. Mar was resting on Doc's chest yesterday when she started poking around. "What's this?" she asked? "My boob," Doc answered. "You'll get them when you get older." Mar's response: "Can I get Hello Kitty ones?"

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

I Can't Peel Hard Boiled Eggs

I can't. And don't say it's because I'm not cooking them right because I am. Doc peels them like a champ (it's her cooking method, actually). I just suck at it.

In other news on this otherwise worthless little blog, I'll never go to Disney World again in the summer. We just got back from a late October getaway. Wow -- short lines, great weather . . . it was awesome. Oh, Disney, do me a solid and have that free Disney Dining Plan available in October, 2011 (I imagine that is when we'll head back -- take note, burglars). Need to gain a few pounds? Eat on the dining plan -- I ran a few mornings and walked the parks yet still gained weight. Oh, and the food was great.

I dropped a carpet powder bomb on our house yesterday. Walking in after our trip, I was overwhelmed by the scent of our dogs. So I bought some stuff w/ baking soda in it and went to town on every rug that our dogs come into contact with. Moral of the story -- dog scent in many ways smells better. I'm now trying to cover it up with the scent of Mrs. Pumpkin's chicken pie -- that should do the trick.

Most relevant to a blog about the trials and tribulations of being a stay-at-home dad, I hit the two year mark on Halloween. Two years in the house, changing diapers/pullups, preparing meals, running a dad taxi, doing laundry, buying groceries, blah blah blah. Honestly, it's flown by. I can't believe it's been two years since I put on a tie and headed to a job that I liked quite a bit. Our house runs like a top now -- much better than it did when both Doc and I were working. Xav and Mar -- I can't imagine telling them that I was going back to work. They love their lives now. 

Me? I'm making it. Honestly, I am. My family digs the work I do for them -- they tell me all the time. I like being digged. Two years down, how many more to go?

Living In That

I recently commented on a friend’s Facebook status that I too was feeling rather uninspired lately. Worse, I noted that I’m sort of content living without inspiration.

I’m struggling as of late to determine what it is that motivates me. There are some things, for sure, but not many are of value as I see them. I’m motivated to run and am enjoying running, despite the aches, pains and downright strains it is putting on my body. Being inspired to run is, I believe, a good thing. But the rest . . . I don’t know. I’m inspired to keep the house running in tiptop shape. You know, get the laundry done, keep stuff tidy, shop, make sure Mar and Xav get to school, get home, get their fun in and their homework done.

After the relay (no post race write-up, but we won, the trip was great, my body held up -- good stuff all around), I finished The White Tiger. I’ve always been fascinated with India. I remember writing a big report on it in 3rd or 4th grade -- won a prize and everything. One of my favorite schoolboy crushes was an Indian girl. Such an amazing country -- sad and happy at the same time. So, yes, books inspire me at times as well.

I don’t think I’ve been a very good husband lately. That’s not to say I’ve been a bad one, but I haven’t done much to deserve merit of any sort. Doc gets home, we smile at each other then care for the kids. We do our own thing before bed and then smile at each other one more time before falling to sleep. It’s not pretend or fake -- we do love each other. But she’s tired and I’m, well, uninspired.

So this is it, huh? I’ve been a stay-at-home dad for just short of two years now and this is what happens? Stay-at-home parents, without mental challenges or problem solving skills put to the test, turn into task-oriented zombies (simple tasks at that)? Or, is this what happens when one lets it happen? It's not as if I sit around the house all day, watching tv or surfing the internet (ok, I probably surf more than I should). I'm doing stuff. As it stands, I can’t see the light at the end of the whenever it is that this will end -- Mar’s still two, for crying out loud. More importantly, I’m not even looking for the light. I’m in a routine that is comfortable -- I’m getting stuff done, the kids are happy, and that’s that. That’s that.

That’s that. That is why I haven’t blogged for a while. For all you folks wondering where I've been, that is where. That.

HEY BUD!!!

HEY BUD! It's always been our rallying cry. We always greet each other with a loud "HEY BUD!" Drinking? "HEY BUD!" Really drinking? "HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY BUD!" For our spouses, our significants, our children, the poor old souls sitting next to us at the bar -- it gets annoying, I'm sure.

This weekend, HEY BUD! takes on a whole new meaning in the lives of my friends and myself. In 20 minutes or so, CDL will pick me up and together we'll head to the airport for a trip to Boston. There, we will meet up with 12 of our best friends, guys with whom we drank, studied, read, ran, fought, and did more things I'll never talk about with anyone else but them (I'd rather die -- seriously). Guys with names like 8-Ball, Riverbark, Ween, Danger, Hammer (that's me, actually). A dangerous group? Only to ourselves. We'll drive up to New Hampshire and participate in the 200+ mile Reach The Beach distance relay. I'm sure to die there, actually. The running is going to be hard, as will be the laughter. Thanks be to Doc for supporting me throughout my training, the physical and financial workouts (therapy, orthotics, massage -- ugh). I wonder if the promise of me not returning spurred her support?!?

So, if you're relaxing on the couch and enjoying a beverage sometime around 10pm on Friday, feel free to raise your glass and shout a hearty "HEY BUD!" as it will be then when I will be embarking on my first of three relay legs. And if you're still drinking at 4am when I start leg two, well, get some help.

"I'm Free To Do What I Want Any Old Time"

Well, sort of. I'm free between 9am and noon, M-Fr, not counting time driving from and to preschool. Mar headed off for her first day today. She made it into her room without a tear -- all she asked was that her teacher hold her for a minute. I'm proud of how brave she was and, dare I say, became choked up myself as I handed her off. Soon after, I bounded to my car (if you saw me walk, you'd say I bound -- trust me) and celebrated my 180 minutes of freedom!

I marked the occasion by running 3 x 1 mile b/c I need to remember what moving somewhat quickly feels like (quickly being a relative term -- what's quick for me is not quick for most). Home now, icing my leg, I'll clean up soon and head out to pick her up. I have another 72 minutes, however. 72 more minutes of freedom.

From my college radio days, a song that was in heavy rotation back in the day. Remember the Soup Dragons?