Fall of James

Winter Comes to Those Who Pray

2015-01-13T21:45:00.000-05:00

Anyone ready for spring, yet?

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

2014-12-25T20:30:00.000-05:00

We got the stomach bug. The one that's making half of America vomit. In a house with seven people, it takes several days for even a 24-hour illness to make its rounds through the whole family. Unfortunately this time it reared its head the week of Christmas. We had to bow out of parties on both sides of the family, and while it was disappointing, it actually helped remind us of some of the many things for which we are grateful. Like triple ply garbage bags. And Gatorade. And clean bedsheets.

And it inspired me to pen this dilettantish pastiche of the world's most famous Christmas poem. I think I may need to lay off the egg nog.

The Virus Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and finally somehow
Not a creature was barfing, at least not for now;
The laundry was running, checked the labels for care,
In hopes that the stains would no longer be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
With trashcans strategically placed near their heads;
And mamma in her sweats, and I in my shirt,
Tried to settle down while remaining alert,
When somewhere upstairs there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
Away to the bedroom at once I took flight,
Tore open the door and turned on the light.
The lamp was blinding, but my eyes did adjust
as I scanned the room to see who had fussed,
When what did my listening ears clearly hear,
But a cough, not a retch, I had nothing to fear,
Flipped the light off and crept out the room just as quick,
Thankful at the moment that no one was sick.
Had this bug run it’s course or would I catch the same,
I surveyed my drug cache and checked them off by name:
“I’ve got DayQuil! and, NyQuil! some Advil and Vicks!
Zicam! Sudafed! Theraflu and Mucinex!
No matter the symptoms to which I befall
I’ve got big pharm to cover them all!"
So back to the TV, in a matter of clicks,
in search of a marathon to stream on Netflix;
I’ve got wrapping to finish, no time for the flu
With a floor full of toys, clothes and books too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from my throat
The rasping and scratching of a slightly off note.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
I felt a bit dizzy, my head started to pound.
On came an aching, from my head to my feet,
The signs I’d received my own viral treat;
A bundle of nerves were pinched in my back,
And I looked uneasy, I was all out of whack.
My eyes—how they watered! my tonsils, not funny!
My cheeks were all rosy, my nose it was runny!
The back of my neck began to act twitchy,
And the stubble of my beard was feeling all itchy;
On came the shivers, I chattered my teeth,
Sinus pressure, it encircled my head like a wreath;
My stomach was crampy, I started to bellow
I knew that tomorrow I’d be living off jello.
I was chubby and plump, a right sickly old elf,
And I cried when I realized what I’d done to myself;
A blink of my eyes and a touch of my forehead
Soon gave me to know I should be off to bed;
I spoke not a word, but trudged straight upstairs,
Grabbed a few tissues; and mumbled some swears,
And laying in bed with a stopped up nose,
Feeling all clammy, my temperature rose;
Then I sprang to my feet, ran right to the can,
Away the chunks flew, I spewed like a man.
But I managed to whisper, in the midst of my plight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Do the Earth

2014-12-03T14:50:00.000-05:00

"I love it more than Christmas."

That's my oldest son's reaction when asked if he likes going on our annual camping trip over Labor Day weekend. I think I agree. It's a tradition in my family that goes back about 30 years. Some of my best memories as a kid come from our Labor Day camping excursions. I'm not even sure why. It was always hot. Or raining. Lot of bugs. Poison ivy. Burnt food. Cold showers. Hard beds. Cramped quarters. More bugs. Despite all the shunning of creature comforts, I looked forward to that trip all year long. I still do.

Apparently it's good for you, though.

Our family needs to do it more often. Lately, we only make it out twice a year. Next year I'd like to double that. It's a lot of work to pack up five kids and take them camping, but they really do love it. The list of benefits (especially for children) from spending time outdoors is growing. In Japan, they even have a concept called Shinrin-yoku, which translates to "forest bathing." It's considered a form of therapy and has been shown to decrease cardiovascular disease, lower heart rate and blood pressure, decrease cortisol and increase white blood cell counts. One study showed that a two night trip to a forest resulted in increased human natural killer (NK) cell activity, increased number of NK cells, and increased intracellular anti-cancer proteins with the effects lasting for more than a week afterwards for both men and women. So if the elements and poison ivy don't get you, spending time outdoors can have a real and significant impact on our health.

My kids won't mention the health benefits when they talk about how much they love our annual camping trip. It's fun for them. There's a certain freedom that comes with our week in the woods every year. I can see it in their eyes the moment they step out of the car. Freedom from schedules. Freedom from staying clean. Freedom from electronic screens. Freedom from boredom.

Here are some of my favorite photos from our 2014 trip.

My cousin organized an "obstacle course" for the kids. It was a blast.

It was competitive to say the least.

Sometimes it takes a few years to get promoted from the kiddie table.

Luckily this fella was behind glass.

Experienced hiker. No biggie.

The rocks were GINORMOUS.

Epic canyon hike. Felt like a lost world.

View from above.

Lots to explore.

It took a sharp eye to discover this little guy.

Just dangerous enough to get the heart pumping.

Highly recommended hike in Indiana.

Campsite clothes dryer.

The grown ups got to pretend we were 20 years younger than we really are.

Build a Bigger Iceberg

2014-11-03T12:05:00.000-05:00

I took some of the kids camping this weekend (mom stayed home with a sick child and a homebody). We go camping around this time most years. It's freezing cold outside and it's my favorite time to camp. It's the kind of camping where a fire isn't just for looks or roasting marshmallows -- it's for keeping your toes from going numb. The campground is mostly empty and there isn't a bug to be found. It feels just a bit more survivalist and that makes it all the more invigorating.

This was a fairly cold one. The low was 26º and the high was 40º. The kids were completely unfazed and hats and coats somehow managed to become optional. (How do such little bodies with so little insulating fat maintain so much heat?) We were well fed with food and drink that warmed from the inside. The peacefulness of it all was amplified by the cool air and nearly bare trees. We had no choice but to unwind. And, the best part, there was no talk of movies, video games and cell phones.

The water couldn't have been more than 35 degrees.

My grandfather built this killer campfire rig in his shop.
My kids never met him, but they're impressed with his work.

While this may look like chopping firewood, in reality it was
getting the splitter caught in a log. Repeatedly.

The cold was for real.

Cold weather camping bonus: No need for ice!

Junior sausage chef.

Biker heaven.

Some Things Are Big (And Some Things Are Small)

2014-10-09T14:24:00.002-04:00

A throwback to my post from five years ago. Not much has changed. In all the best ways.

Originally posted October 9, 2009.

It was on this date in 2004 that you hit the jackpot, Julie.

It's been five years since we tied the knot and since then I think I've continually exceeded your expectations. Surely you didn't expect me to gain so much muscle weight. I'm certain you never anticipated how passionate I could be about fantasy football. And I know you didn't think it was humanly possible to spend so much time in the bathroom. What can I say -- I'm an overachiever.

But today isn't just about me. It's also about all the things I do for you. I've introduced you to so many wonderful things. Like online first person shooter games. And breakfast cereal for dinner. And dutch ovens. I even cultivated your unconditional love of camping and watching ten straight hours of football on Sundays. How empty would your life seem without me?

Just think of all the personal growth you've achieved with my gentle and persistent coaching. I'm sure that when you eventually learn where exactly the toilet paper belongs in the bathroom you'll only have me to thank. (Hint: It's not on the sink or the back of the toilet.) One day, you too may obsess over refrigerator organization all because of my mentoring. And if you commit to it, I think you have the potential to surpass my own hypocrisy and stubbornness -- traits revered in political circles the world over. These are just a few of my many gifts to you. (I'm what the single ladies out there refer to as "a keeper.")

Sure, it hasn't been all wine and roses. I've gotten pretty adept at anticipating your every need, but sometimes even I make a mistake. Luckily those mistakes are few and far between. Married life is full of challenges, but I'm just as committed as ever to help show you the logical way to overcome those challenges. I know logic doesn't come easy for you, but that's what I'm here for. That's why we make such a great pair.

So here we are, five years in on an already crazy journey. (Seriously, what's up with cranking out four kids already?) Most people probably look at our relationship and scratch their heads. How did Hoolie land such a man? How does such an imbalanced marriage thrive? Well, I just smile and wink at those head scratchers. We're in this marriage for the long haul and I know you've got plenty of time to make it up to me.

Happy anniversary, Julie. There's no one else in this world I'd rather drive crazy. I love ya' lots.

The Littlest League Possible

2014-09-27T17:31:00.000-04:00

This picture tells two things:

1) Why I cannot hang out on Saturdays.
2) The height of my children relative to their peers. (The lower the number, the smaller the jersey.)

Despite his small stature, Darwin is one of the more aggressive players out there, especially for his age group. But since his usual competition is always bigger, stronger and faster, it's not really a surprise.

Hot Freaks

2014-08-22T22:46:00.000-04:00

While cooking dinner, I heard a howl come from the dining room. I wasn't particularly startled since I'm used to screams coming from just about any room in the house throughout the day. This scream seemed no different than any other. I was sure it was my two-year old, Eliana, crying out. Her brother probably looked at her funny. Or her sister had the nerve to use a crayon that she had been using three hours earlier. You know, the usual.

I stopped what I was doing and made my way towards the ruckus. In addition to the sobs of the two year old, I could hear hysterical laughter coming from at least a couple of her older siblings. Despite, or maybe because of, the mundane nature of the disturbance, my annoyance level was running high. There's something about mid-dinner prep disruptions that make me grit my teeth and huff harder and louder than normal. I could already feel a roar welling up in my chest before I even entered the room. Whatever these chowderheads were up to, this parental volcano was about to vent some steam.

They didn't disappoint.

My poor two year old daughter, tears streaming down her cheeks, sat in front of a partially eaten taco. A taco made entirely of shredded cheese and habanero pepper sauce. Her three older brothers could barely contain their laughter. Until they saw my face. Silence descended upon the room mere milliseconds before the first notes of operatic fury left my lips. I froze them in their tracks before they could make their breakneck retreats to the far corners of the house. Timeouts were issued sagaciously and without delay. While my hooligans quietly reflected on their heinous misdeeds, I tended to my daughter's scorched mouth.

Some cold milk and a lollipop were enough to soothe both Eliana's taste buds and her psyche. But what to do with the scoundrels that perpetrated the crime...

I had each of the boys stick out their tongues to receive two direct drops of unadulterated hot sauce. The anticipated heat was probably worse than the actual hot sauce, but the message was received.

Hot sauce retribution. Fitting? Silly? Cruel and unusual?

A Big Fan of the Pigpen

2014-07-17T23:44:00.000-04:00

If ever there were a picture that summed up my niece, this is it!

A Salty Salute

2014-04-24T21:03:00.000-04:00

My days of caring for a pregnant woman are over, but the scars remain. Here's a throwback to when Julie was pregnant with baby number four.

Inherit the Breeze - originally posted February, 2009

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time and attention today. Over the next few minutes we will be discussing a topic of grave importance, one that affects not just the parties involved in the incident I am about to describe, but all of mankind. What you are about to observe is not just the retelling of single garish episode of manipulation. Rather, it is but a window into the world of exploit that is the dark underbelly of married life. The mistreatment of married men by their wives, especially the pregnant variety, has gone on long enough.

My client, me, has risked everything to bring this case before you today. No government, no police force in the world can protect him from the blowback that will certainly arise from nothing more than his appearance before you today. My client's bravery, determination and outright selflessness are to be commended. No. Revered. Today my client risks everything for the mere chance at a better humanity.

What you are about to hear may be disturbing, but please listen closely.

The following diagram (Exhibit A) shows the general set up of the second floor of my client's home. Please note the location of the bed and TV in the bedroom, the desk in the office and the stairs that lead to the first floor.

On the night in question, my client's wife, "Hoolie," was in the bedroom watching TV shows about parents with way too many kids, people with mysterious, unsolved illnesses or some other reality rubbish about births, deaths or autopsies. Meanwhile my client was at the computer doing work of great importance to the family, like managing finances or something, not say, reading sports pages, updating his Facebook status, or browsing YouTube videos of people hurting themselves. This diagram (Exhibit B) shows the location of Hoolie in red and my client in green.

At approximately 9:35 PM, Hoolie left the bed and made her way to the office (Exhibit C). She proceeded to call to my client, "Hey. Come here."

Before my client could even respond, Hoolie returned to her original position in the bed (Exhibit D).

My client, being the devoted husband that he is, left his location in the office and proceeded to make his way to the bedroom (Exhibit E). He then climbed into the bed and snuggled up to Hoolie in an affectionate manner, fully expecting that she was in need of some alone time with her hubby (we can all agree that he is quite the specimen) or, at least, that there was something obscenely gross to be witnessed on TV. Surely there must have been some reason to drag my client from his work in the office to join Hoolie in the bed.

And there was a reason, my friends. There was.

For it was at this moment that Hoolie leaned in close to my client and whispered into his ear, "Go downstairs and get me a soft pretzel."

That's right folks. My client was called to bed to take a food order. Had my client's wife not just made the trip nearly halfway to the downstairs kitchen herself? Yes. And, if she didn't want to carry out the task herself, could she not have simply made her request while my client was sitting a few feet from the stairs rather than calling him back to bed (and further leading him on) to place her order? Yes.

And did my client refuse? No! My client, being the selfless marital supporter that he is, then fulfilled Hoolie's request by proceeding downstairs to carry out her order for one, mildly tasty, microwaveable soft pretzel (Exhibit F).

But it doesn't end here, ladies and gentlemen. Upon return with the requested soft pretzel, the following conversation took place:

"Here's your pretzel."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"You didn't put any mustard on it."
"You didn't ask for mustard on it."
"But you know I like mustard on my soft pretzels."
"But you didn't ask for mustard on it."
"But you KNOW I like mustard on my soft pretzels."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I guess I'll just eat it like this."

There you have it. Undeniable proof that women are crazy and men are their unwitting pawns stuck in a game of psychological mistreatment and manipulation in which they have no real chance of satisfying the whims of their oppressors.

And for these reasons, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask that you award my client damages in the form of the March Madness package on DIRECTV and one PlayStation 3 game or Blu-ray Disc movie of his choosing.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

The Finest Joke is Upon Us

2014-04-16T22:44:00.000-04:00

Pssst. Hey you... prospective parents. Yeah, YOU. Guess what... everyone is lying to you...

Parenthood is, in fact, one lie after another perpetuated by those "in the club" to those considering membership. When it comes to honest conversations, you're likely to find more straight talk in a timeshare sales pitch.

"You'll fart, pee, puke and poop in front of ten complete

strangers who'll be staring intently at your vagina."

From the act of birthing a child on through college and beyond, it's one fabrication after another. OK, I don't know about college and beyond since I'm not there yet, but given the track record of parenting reality vs. parenting marketing, I'm going to assume it's a continued pack of lies.

The first rule of Parent Club is never talk about Parent Club. Ha! Just kidding. Everyone knows that 75% of what we do in Parent Club is talk about our kids, our way of parenting, other people's kids, other people's ways of parenting and our kids. I've never actually seen the rules, but I'm guessing the real first rule of Parent Club is never tell the whole truth about Parent Club.

Here's a perfect example. The grossest part of parenting is usually advertised as changing dirty diapers. FALSE. I'm not even sure if changing a poopy diaper cracks the top ten list of nastiness in the parenting world. Why don't we find out? Here is my honest take on the top ten grossest experiences in parenthood.

10. Cleaning boogers off of walls - Old, hard, crusty boogers. Smeared on the wall next to the bed. These things are nasal concrete.

9. Cleaning carseats - Really cleaning the carseats. Covers off. I can't tell you the kind of amazingly disgusting things I've found in the crevices of carseats. No, really, I mean I literally cannot tell you what those things were. They were unrecognizable by the time I got to them. All I know is they were sticky, stinky and utterly nasty.

8. Picking another person's nose for them - Sometimes baby needs you to go for the gold on her behalf. It's a revolting feeling. Makes the hair on my neck stand up just thinking about it.

7. Someone sneezing in your open mouth - Kids have a fascination with the insides of mouths. And they have the uncanny ability to sneeze directly in one when they have it open for inspection. You would think the odds of these events converging would be astronomically low, but somehow it happens. All. The. Time.

6. Wiping a runny nose on the inside hem of your shirt - Sometimes there just isn't anything else handy. Nothing. Sure, as a parent you should have tissues stuffed into every pocket on your person at all times -- even that useless little coin pocket in your jeans. But one day you won't be prepared. And on that day your child will be a fire hydrant of long, stringy, chunked out snot.

5. Changing a dirty diaper during/after an illness - This is not the same as changing an everyday poopy diaper. Not even close. The stench and consistency is both unpredictable and unbearable. You'll know it when you change your first one. You'll probably briefly lose consciousness.

4. Cleaning the bathroom after potty training is over - How do I know that changing dirty diapers isn't the grossest part of parenthood? Because if you have boys, eventually you'll actually long for the days when they were in diapers. How can such little things create so much filth in so little time?

3. Recovering an old sippy cup that six months ago contained milk - Oh, you finally moved the couch to clean under it? Surprise, there's that missing Mickey Mouse sippy cup out of which she loves to drink her afternoon milk! Spoiler (heh) alert: It's now cheese. The stankiest cheese you've ever encountered. Might as well throw that nastiness directly in the garbage can. The outside garbage can.

2. Cleaning up after a toddler that learned how to remove his own diaper - I know he's up from his nap, but I can hear him on the monitor and he sounds like he's entertaining himself in his crib. What a cutie pie. I'll just finish loading the dishwasher before I go get him... Rookie mistake. If you think cleaning shit off of a diapered butt is grand, you'll just love cleaning it out of fingernails, hair, pajamas, pillows, curtains, stuffed animals, walls, crib rungs, belly buttons, ears, blankets...

1. Catching vomit in your bare hands - Kids don't vomit like adults. There's no moaning. There's no dry heaving. It's all smiles one minute, projectile vomit the next. Strangely, though, there is some parenting instinct that gives you a 1/10th of a second warning. I don't know what it is. Maybe you see their eyes suddenly dilate or the hue of their cheeks alters ever so slightly. Maybe their lips twitch. Whatever it is, you'll know it. And, reacting faster than you ever have in your entire life, like lightening bolts from Zeus himself, your hands will shoot under your child's chin to form a receptacle for the oncoming deluge. After all, cleaning vomit off your hands is far better than cleaning it out of the shag carpeting. Just kidding! It's not like you actually catch more than half of what exits your retching offspring. Congratulations, you got barfed on AND you have to clean the carpet.

Well, there you have it. Run of the mill changing of dirty diapers doesn't make my top ten list of the grossest realities of parenthood. Truth. I'm sure any parents that are reading this are thinking of several disgusting experiences that I left off the list, too. It's a dirty job for sure.

Remember this, though, prospective parents: Once your kids are out of diapers, parenting only gets easier. And being a parent is the greatest joy in life. There's some truth in there somewhere. I swear. You can trust me... I'm a parent.

Smothered in Hugs

2014-04-08T07:33:00.000-04:00

Over the years, I've developed a number of little games and rituals with each of my kids. They're not created with intention... they just sort of emerge over time based on our interactions and the meshing of our personalities. All dads must do it. It's part of our fatherly bonding experience and a way to show our kids that we share something special. Some of these routines only last through certain ages or phases of development. Some stick around longer. Some seem to go away and then pop up later when you least expect it. They're all important, though, and serve as little reminders of the unique relationship we fathers have with each of our children.

Eliana, my little two year old whose charisma cup runneth over, has several of these little rituals she shares with me. They are mostly madcap and always loving. And 100% unique to her. The one I love the most right now (and hopefully one that lasts) is our bedtime routine. After getting dressed for bed and brushing our teeth, we head downstairs while the remaining hooligans of the house prepare for bedtime under mom's supervision. We find a cozy blanket, turn off all of the lights and snuggle into the recliner to begin our nighttime wind down. Sometimes we read a book by the light coming in from the window. Sometimes we go straight to the music. Every time Eliana insists on picking the first song. And she ALWAYS picks "Book of Love" as sung by Peter Gabriel. It's an odd choice for her as any other time of day she prefers upbeat dance music. But without fail she scrolls through the music list on my phone and her tiny little finger taps her chosen song. As soon as the music starts, she lets me know that it's "Book-a-Love." And she reminds me again every time Mr. Gabriel sings those words throughout the rest of the song. Sometimes, without any specific prompting in the lyrics, she tells me "he's singing James and Eli." Needless to say, my heart promptly melts and I nestle her in even closer. (And this all but guarantees that one day, the first boy to break her heart will meet an untimely death at the hands of her hysterical father.)

Once her preferred song is over we listen for awhile to whatever music the random toggle serves. Each time a song starts, Eliana immediately asks me "what's this song about?" I smile because she always responds the same way -- repeating whatever description I just gave her but prefaced with an "Ohhhhhhh." Like, "Ohhhhhhh, it's about two people in love." Or, "Ohhhhhh, it's about dancing all night." This goes on for several songs as she moves and adjusts to find the optimal arrangement for drifting off to sleep. Finally (and maybe my favorite part of our whole routine) her stirring subsides as she finishes fine tuning her position on my lap and she asks me to "put it back on Book-a-Love." She closes her eyes. Her little hand gives me a pat on the arm. Her breathing gets deep and slow in that way that only babies and puppies seem to master. And before the first verse is over, she's... out.

And usually before the second verse is over, I too am... out.

How's My Drinking?

2014-03-18T00:22:00.001-04:00

For one reason or another, St. Patrick's Day has been a good day for family photos for us. Maybe it's usually around the first days of warm weather so outdoor family portraits sound like a good idea. Maybe it's the luck of the Irish.

Looking back at these makes me feel old, though.

Sláinte!

The Closer You Are

2014-01-28T06:45:00.000-05:00

May 15, 2010. That's the date this photo was taken. Why am I standing in a beautiful meadow, posing for pictures with my daughter? Because I'm actually standing on 1.25 acres of property we had just purchased in a huge master-planned housing development. I was imagining where our new house would sit. I was dreaming of the home where our family, which had ballooned to six people, would live and grow for the foreseeable future. Exciting times those were. Out in that empty lot.

Eventually that empty lot would be excavated to hold the foundation of the house that Julie and I spent months designing as we scrutinized every little detail, making sure it would be perfect for us. And on that foundation a building would be erected over the course of a year while the six of us lived in a bedroom over the garage of Julie's parents' house. And with the help of our friends and family, we finally moved (almost) all of our earthly possessions into that brand new house and got to the task of settling in and making that marvelous new house our home.

And now... we're moving out. And on.

Shortly after committing to building that perfect home, our family business started getting pulled into the muck of the financial crisis and economic depression. Our timing was horrible. Luckily we were conservative enough in our finances up to that point that we were able to weather the storm for awhile. Throw in some unbelievably high property taxes (like as high as a second mortgage) and it eventually became too much. We loved our house, but there was no joy in dedicating so much of our shrunken income to our living expenses. So almost exactly two years after moving into the house that took so much planning and patience to obtain, we put it on the market. Downsizing was the only option.

Which leads us to now, almost exactly one year after we listed our house for sale. We're in the final weeks of preparing to hand this house over to another family and move into the next house that we'll call home.

We really did painstakingly design every square inch of this house with us and our children in mind. It really is "our" house. In some ways it feels like we've barely lived here, but in other ways it's hard to imagine anything but this house being our home. Despite all that, though it may be surprising to some, leaving this house isn't that big of a deal. It's just a house. A thing. It sheltered us, but it's just brick and stone and wood and cement. The same stuff of which our next house is made. I care far more about the lives lived inside the house than the house itself.

Plus this gives me all the more reason to dive into my favorite show on television, This Old House. I can't wait to give Julie my list of projects I want to tackle...

Is This Thing On?

2013-08-13T21:40:00.003-04:00

Hmmm... time to dust off the ol' blog...

Before the Last Leaf Falls

2012-10-19T07:40:00.000-04:00

Every year, when the leaves begin their color change, we head off to Caesar's Creek Lake for a hike through woods. Thank god. At this time of year it's about the only thing for which we slow down. It's always therapeutic. I've got dozens of pictures I've wanted to post for the last two months, but these were my top priority. Looking back at them again is a small dose of much needed medicine.

"I'm free to roam? Really?"

"I'm an old pro."

"Maybe Mom will walk faster if I shove a leaf in her ear."

Sprouted acorns. I don't think I had ever seen one before.

Sprouted acorn. Again. For effect.

All orangey and stuff.

Leaf hunters.

Group shot.

"Thanks for including me in the group shot. Dicks."

Definitely a fall girl.

Teaching? Protecting? Threatening?

Our fearless leader.

And now back to your regularly scheduled madness...

Stop the Ride, I Want to Get Off

2012-10-18T23:12:00.001-04:00

Wow, look at all the blogging I've been doing lately. Yikes.

(The Catch-22 of parent blogging: the more things to blog about, the less time to blog them.)

What's been going down around here? Well, in the last eight weeks we've celebrated four birthdays, two baptisms, one anniversary, we've gone camping, started school, ran a half marathon, attended twenty soccer games, sold a car, gotten a dental crown put in, fixed a washing machine and visited emergency rooms and urgent care centers.

Throw in an uptick in my photography business and the ol' blog here loses out to face planting into my pillow almost every single night.

It's a good kind of busy. Really.

If I can keep my eyelids in the upright position for a few more minutes, I'll post some pictures I've been meaning to upload. In the meantime, some tuneage.

Race Day

2012-09-15T07:56:00.001-04:00

A special thank you to all my sponsors.

Half Marathon Prep

2012-09-13T12:32:00.000-04:00

The half marathon is two days away and I'm about as ready for the race as I am for Amelia to start dating. My training has been sporadic at best. I'm as slow as ever. And this 13 mile run will involve much walking. HOWEVER, the most important part of my preparation, my race day playlist, is coming along quite nicely. Given my current conditioning, I'm estimating that I'll need about three hours of motivational tunes. I'm still about thirty minutes short on music and there are a few songs in my current list that need to be replaced because they're really not the right fit for running a road race and/or vomiting on myself before passing out.

So help a brother out and give me some more tune suggestions. The biggies are here already -- Eye of the Tiger, You're the Best, Gonna Fly Now, etc. I seem a little light on Hip Hop, Heavy Metal and Scandinavia, so maybe you can help out there. Sorry, but Eminem's Lose Yourself and Kanye's Stronger have been played to death in my workouts, so they're disqualified. Any new song selections need to meet at least one of the following criteria (and the more criteria met, the better):

A solid pavement pounding beat that gets me through at least three minutes of running without realizing it.
Running or other goal oriented lyrics. Though death and pain related lyrics are equally acceptable.
Main theme in a 1980s feel good movie soundtrack, featured in a Nike commercial or used without the artist's permission at some point in a political campaign.
Includes clapping or harmonious shouting. Especially clapping while harmoniously shouting.

***If I add one of your music suggestions to my race day playlist, I will not only give you full credit on the blog, I will also write your name on my race day shirt in black marker as some sort of weird honor that all the other runners will surely mistake for some much more meaningful tribute as to why I'm punishing myself with this athletic endeavor.***

Sweet List of Songs to Listen to Until I Cross the Finish Line or Lose Consciousness, Whichever Comes First
Nothing to Worry About -- Peter Bjorn and John
I Wanna Be Sedated -- Ramones
Battle Without Honor or Humanity -- Tomoyasu Hotei
I Love It -- Icona Pop
Cherry, Cherry -- Neil Diamond
Two -- Lenka
You're the Best -- Joe "Bean" Esposito
Tear It Up -- Yung Wun featuring DMX, Lil' Flip & David Banner
Carry On -- Fun.
Hold Me Back -- Round Table Knights
Elephant -- Tame Impala
Bang On -- The Breeders
I'm Alright (Theme From "Caddyshack") -- Kenny Loggins
Don’t Stop Now -- Guided By Voices
Nuthin' but a "G" Thang -- Dr. Dre
Run With the Wolves -- Prodigy
Ho Hey -- The Lumineers
Gonna Fly Now (Theme from "Rocky") -- Bill Conti
Blood -- The Middle East
The Underdog -- Spoon
Surf Wax America -- Weezer
Sour Cherry -- The Kills
One Foot -- Fun.
Eye of the Tiger -- Survivor
We Will Rock You -- Queen
Everything At Once -- Lenka
Can't Get Enough of Your D+Dang-Da-Dang -- The Taste
Rhythm -- Awol One & Daddy Kev
Jerk It Out -- Caesars
I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked -- Ida Maria
Mrs. Robinson -- Simon & Garfunkel
Serpentine (I Don’t Give A, Pt. 2) -- Peaches
I'm On a Boat (feat. T-Pain) -- The Lonely Island
The Final Countdown -- Europe
Poker Face -- Lady GaGa
Pumpkin & Honey Bunny/Miserlou -- Dick Dale & The Del-Tones
Go for the Exit -- Boston Spaceships
Helena Beat -- Foster the People
My Doorbell -- The White Stripes
Cannonball -- The Breeders
This Too Shall Pass -- OK Go

Your help is greatly appreciated!

I Dream of Mustaches

2012-08-27T10:52:00.000-04:00

Any day now, my youngest sister is going to have her first baby. Sometimes people have dreams that tell them what the sex of a newborn baby is going to be. I had a dream that my sister's baby was going to be mustachioed.

That would be awesome.

Three Down, Two to Go

2012-08-22T22:29:00.000-04:00

Passing of the Torch

2012-08-21T10:52:00.000-04:00

So we all got up early this morning, had a big breakfast and piled into the minivan to take Jameson to school for his first day of first grade -- his first day of being in school for the whole day. It's a big day in a young man's life. The household excitement (which led to a "first day of school" dance in our bedroom at the crack of dawn) is amplified by the fact that Truman and Amelia are also joining Jameson for the first time as they join the pre-kindergarten program at the same school. Even Darwin is excited as he finally gets to "pick all the shows" while his older siblings are out of the house. And Eliana is excited, too, but that's just because that's how she rolls.

Julie did the honors of taking Jameson into school and escorting him to his classroom (with nary a tear shed). He was the first student in his room and Julie said he sat quietly at his new desk while he examined the room and sized up his new teacher. (For the record, Julie has already stated that the combination of a young and cute teacher and Jameson's romantic heart will guarantee a crush this year.) Sitting quietly at a desk is not Jameson's usual modus operandi -- this is a side of him that only surfaces under certain circumstances like the first day of school in a new classroom with a new teacher. It's not really a nervous or anxious response -- his confidence is still there, but you can tell he's doing a full mental assessment of the environment and the situation. Unfortunately for his new teacher, the quiet and reserved Jameson will be short lived. I'd love to have a webcam broadcasting from his classroom so I could watch the transformation unfold.

Truman and Amelia don't start school until after lunch, so we headed home to start our new daily routine sans Jameson. The significance of today's milestone was not lost on Truman. He ran into the house, calling over his shoulder, "C'mon, Darwin! I'm going to teach you to play video games!"

Weekend in Pictures - Birthday Edition

2012-08-20T07:12:00.000-04:00

My nephew celebrated his 5th birthday this weekend and my sister threw a killer party for him, complete with pizza, puppies and pie fights.

Baseball themed. Natch.

If there's one thing all pregnant women love, it's being poked in the belly.

Yay! Cute puppies!

Yay! Cute babies!

Ready! FIGHT!!!

Director of activities.

How did we never play this game in college?

Dignity is overrated.

Cheetos perms gone bad.

You have no idea what just happened, but trust me, you won.

Dear god when will these fools stop.

Ewwwww, a piece of grass in my hair.

I could get used to this look.

The aftermath.

Rules of Engagement

2012-08-17T22:17:00.001-04:00

Unfortunately for me, Amelia already likes to argue. And she doesn't follow the rules of arguing as spelled out in any of the 117 Yahoo! relationship articles on the top ten ways to fight fairly and maintain a healthy marriage. Does she not get relationship advice from the internet like the rest of western civilization?

Most of my arguments with Amelia occur when she's been busted for one misdeed or another. Her first line of defense is to remind me of my own failures as a father, husband or human being in general. She apparently catalogs these things for later use when I confront her about her actions. Sadly, she's quite good at it -- she may be the one who wrote on the wall but somehow I'm the one in timeout for sneaking a piece of candy before dinner two nights ago. She hasn't even reached her fifth birthday and she's already a formidable opponent. I really don't need more women in my life who can run verbal circles around me at will. By the time she's thirteen I may just go into hiding.

I often use this blog to document the things my kids say, but mere written words would not do justice to Amelia's retort from a few days ago. I was reprimanding her for something (which I've already forgotten -- see how good she is at this???) when suddenly she turned into Jerry Stiller with a photographic memory of my past transgressions. Here is my impression of her response.

What could I say? Sunflower seeds are disgusting.

The Other Twins

2012-08-14T13:02:00.001-04:00

Healthy Habits

2012-08-11T11:22:00.001-04:00

They say kids shouldn't watch any amount of television before age two. But, I haven't read any guidelines about limits on playing LEGO Batman with your big brothers.