We’re full of questions, regrets, and sadness… but we’ll be ok. I wrote the following to read on Friday at her funeral, but ultimately someone stepped in to help.

Good luck, Tara. The worst is over, and there’s happiness ahead.

Tara had a hard life. She lived her life in a difficult way, and never managed to take advantage of what was offered her to make it better. Hard choices that may have helped her were often discounted; the easier path was more often taken. It was a frustrating cycle for those who loved her, and I, like others, ultimately gave up hope that she would turn her life around, and find a positive path.

You’ll always be family, Tara. We love you.

Well, today it is born. Business2Blogger.com opens its doors to the little Blogs, and the big. To multi-national corporations and Etsy moms. And the only downside is that on the other side of the door…

is me.

and holly.

and shauna.

Never dreamed I’d have “matchmaker” on my resume, but it’s now a reality.

Come see what it’s all about. There’s a contest, too. A BIG one. The first of many.

Just come see, already.

Been missing you.

I’ve been here, though it’s easy to believe otherwise. The life that I was loving last year, write read write read write, came to a crashing halt when my company decided to restructure in the fall. I kept my job, but was immediately handed new responsibility which sent me scrambling for safety…and I haven’t truly regained that ground yet.

Then the silly season started, and I took my family to one of my favorite places in England for a few weeks…truly amazing time I hope to share more with you in the future. In the meantime, I’m including bad video I took while I was there…don’t crucify me, I was in my blissful place and wasn’t thinking too much about cinematography.

Plus, there’s something coming that I have been working on with a couple of friends. It’s a bit revolutionary, and I will be bringing it to you in a couple of weeks. It has to do with that sidebar button over there…and beyond that I can’t give you any details. I just hope you’ll stay tuned.

I hope you know I am being heartfelt when I say…

I hope you are well, and happy.

As Christmas continues to ramp up, we all like to think of our suburbs as safety zones, relatively immune from the horrors we see on the news. And yet, those things are happening on our minivan-covered streets, by our exemplary schools, and out front of our designer stores.

We know a great couple in our neighborhood who had a terrifying moment this week. I am reposting what he wrote in the hope that it reminds you of family-changing possibilities that lie waiting for gaps in our attention.

Talk to your kids, keep ‘em close.

(I have changed names for anonymity)

December 3, 2009. Outside the Blue Goose in the Shops of Highland Village.

“”Amy and I were out with the kids and some friends (and their kids) on Thursday night . At the end of the meal, I went to get the car in a nearby parking lot and shortly thereafter, Amy and our friends exited. The kids were relatively close to Amy as they walked toward and were looking at a horse drawn carriage. At the same time an older looking man, without saying anything, grabbed Parker’s hand and attempted to walk off with him. Amy noticed what was happening, yelled for Parker, the man dropped Parker’s hand and walked off into the darkness. Parker ran to the safety of Amy and our lives have been changed forever. Kiss, hug and love your kids, play basketball when they want to, dance if they want you to dance and tuck them in every night with a prayer. PLEASE learn from us, do not get comfortable with your surroundings, teach your children the dangers of strangers, even at a young age, they will comprehend. It has taken me some time to write this, as my emotions have run from hatred to fear to anger, I am working on forgiveness. Lastly, please say a quick prayer for the man that changed my families’ lives forever. I pray this man and all people like him seek and receive the help they desperately need. Remember, we serve an awesome and forgiving God, who protects us in all that we do.”"

What was vivid, she went on to explain, was that I had done it. According to her, I had been with a woman named Jennifer. She had a dream, and when she awoke, I was informed that I had been cheating on her.

“It was so vivid”, she said. “So real”.

I said, suddenly excited about the detail of my indiscretion, “Well, was I any good?”

“I didnt see any of that.”

“Uh…well, was she hot?”

“I didn’t see her face.”

And yet, so vivid.

Now, aside from the fact that I know quite a few Jennifers, and many are cute, today I return to something I believe in wholeheartedly.

There are people who can, and people who can’t. I have heard people say that they believe that everyone is capable of going outside their marriage, and I don’t believe it for a minute. Sure I know guys that could, some who have, and some I predict very well might, but I also know a fair number who absolutely aren’t built that way.

Me, I’m the guy who’s a bit of a flirt. I love women, and like their company as much as I like hangin’ with the daddys. In fact, more often than not I’m a guy who has more to talk about with the ladies, because they like to talk about more than sports, which if you recall, I know nothing about. But I have zero interest in looking for an extracurricular piece.

I’ve got my hands full at home with a feisty 5 year old, and it won’t help her in the least to have a part-time father. Not to mention, I love my wife. And if she ever caught me messing around, modern science couldn’t measure how fast she would grab my kids and run.

But this morning I’d simply like to thank my wife for having a dream that didn’t take the fact that I was home with the kids for granted. Maybe it’ll make me a bit dangerous in her mind, and add a spicy new act to our marital play.

Then again, maybe she’ll just realize that her dream was an exaggeration of the truth, which is that I really AM cheating on her. Every night when we are bathing the kids and I say, “Oops, be right back”, I am actually running downstairs to stuff my face with Halloween candy.

MAN, it feels good to tell the truth.

I’m a pharmaceutical rep. Many of you already know this, and hopefully some of you doctors have read me and felt my wrath. I know…like anyone reads me, let alone doctors…sigh…

I don’t talk about my company, or my drug, and the only times in the past I have referenced my profession is when I was so frustrated with certain aspects of it that I chose to lash out. Today, I had something happen that gave me pause, and I wanted to share.

I am a specialty rep, meaning I call on other than Primary Care, and in my case, those professionals are Psychiatrists. And where do the psychiatrists practice? Yep, a collection of private practices, hospitals, and private and government-subsidized clinics. I was in such a clinic today, and although I like to think I am putting on a compelling show when giving a presentation, the real drama occurred as I was simply approaching the building. I mentioned this on Facebook this morning, but as I had hours to stew in the memory of a certain gentleman, I thought I could take a minute and add some detail.

Now, to be fair, I was given some general warnings when I was in training as to what I might encounter in waiting rooms and parking lots, but today put a face on what they were being so deliberately vague about. As I approached the clinic, I noticed that the path to the front door was split in two different directions, and each had individuals sitting alongside. As one side had a number of people sitting, smoking, and watching me approach, I chose the path less traveled, the one that led past the solitary gentleman, as large as he turned out to be.

I had been previously warned, by the way, to keep my samples hidden from view so as to avoid being asked about them by those who a detailed explanation of pharmacokinetics might be lost. Today, as on all days, I remembered this as it made perfect sense to me, and had them secured in my rolling black case.

As I approached the gentleman, I noticed him very slightly lift his gaze in my direction. He was large, larger than his sitting form gave credit to my previous cursory evaluation, and he was solid. As I got closer and his eyes found my face, I realized that there was a telltale look in his eye that seems to be common among those who struggle with normal neurotransmitter function. Whether it was the effect of disease on the general expression of his face, or the pharma effect of his meds that caused him to look so blank, he appeared to look right at me, and yet right through me.

He slurred something that I quickly translated to “You got some drugs with you?”

As I had been instructed to, I simply looked at him, smiled, and said, “No, sorry”, and continued along the path, mere feet from where he was sitting.

As I passed, he rose, far taller than my 6 foot form, looked at me and YELLED, “Somethin’ funny there Sarge??!!”

Pretty sure modern science couldn’t have measured how fast I made it inside the clinic.

I don’t get spooked a lot. I’m not the toughest character you’ll ever meet in a dark alley, and I don’t know shit about sports, but I can handle myself. I’ll just say that I wasn’t particularly scared today, but this gentleman gave me pause in the wake of what just happened at Fort Hood. I further think that life gives you wakeup calls, some with more violent ringers than others, and the prudent person doesn’t keep hitting the snooze bar.

I am more conscious than ever of being respectful of those with mental illness, and my uber-intelligent friend Em has taught me how devastatingly insensitive the “r” word can be, so I hope that if any of you ever catch me two-facing those topics you will reward me with an email-slap. Not to mention, I have a 5 year old and a 2 year old. I am in NO position to judge anyone’s mental health.

So these days as I get used to a new gig in new geography, I plan on keeping today’s safety-nod on my frontbrain, and I recommend to all of you being not scared, but always prudent.

Wishing you all a safe week.

She works on the occasional Sunday, leaving our kids with me in, again, questionable care. A friend described her family to me last night as having “2 boys, 3 if you count my husband, and I do.” It hit home, as I realized that my wife had married with her heart and not with her head in many cases as well. And being a kid at heart, my child-rearing skills sometimes…lack. Sure, I think I am a good father, but I watch other parents perform these attitude-corralling feats with much greater skill, and I haven’t yet discovered their secrets.

So that brings us to Sunday mornings. Days with so much promise, and yet they are built on emotional and behavioral eggshells these days. One 5 year old, one two year old, one 41 year old. One highly spirited kindergärtner, one fairly standard two year old ball of energy with his father’s suspect agility, and one 12 year old father of two simply trying to move from meal to activity, to snack, to activity, repeat.

They are wonderful at 6am, I will admit. Full of love and kisses, smiles and optimism. My 6am coffee and Facebook are the creme on top, and the day ahead seems open and laden with promise. A cup of milk, a snack, a show.

And then, 7:30. The screams, the accident, the backtalk, the terrorized dog, the fit, the tears.

Where is the damn manual for all of this? I can Google a how-to for a toaster whose blueprint hit the dumpster 40 years ago, but getting through a Sunday…no one seems to have a damn clue. Maybe that supernanny broad can help me out.

I know what the answer is, clearly…activities, keep them busy, blah blah. And as I sit here trying to write one damn post this week and actually have a few minutes to myself, I am back and forth to the kitchen to address the screaming and pouting more often than a OCD home pharmacist checking on his meth lab.

I mean, I can imagine that one would have to attend to one’s meth lab diligently…gulp…

I don’t know what the answer is, other than getting off the computer and attending to my kids’ needs. I sat with her this morning teaching her to draw her first third dimensional chair…she loves to draw and color, and I love to teach her. But even during a wonderful Daddy-Daughter activity, she managed to throw two fits for not getting her way about the silliest of things.

I’m doing something wrong. Or I’m simply expecting too much. Or I’m just too flippin’ controlling. But maybe I’m also doing a great job just because I care about doing better.

Regardless, it’s 8am. Three tantrums, one revelation, and one very long day ahead. One very long, exhausting, frustrating, wonderful day ahead.

I did have some fun this week though…ate half my weight in sushi and concerned several friends with my ability to alternate coffee with vodka depending on the sun’s position in the sky. A long time friend and co-worker thought it would be fun to convince people at a hibachi grill that it was my birthday, something I strongly objected to right up to and including the point where the restaurant began to sing Happy Birthday, and the ice cream came out. But then the high point, a beautiful little japanese girl, roughly 3 years old, was so caught up in my fake birthday celebration that she came over to help me blow out my candle and clap for me, and I rewarded her by handing over my ice cream.

She went home with the memory of eating her ice cream before her dinner, and I take home an amazing memory of the best birthday I ever didn’t have.

I look out the window now, and Tennesee is gone. Once a habitual flier, I now find this form of travel, even though ooccasional, unbelievably annoying. And yet, I am returning home in a fine mood thanks to breezing past TSA, managing to grab the last window seat on an extremely full flight, and the following exchange I just had with a passenger…hope you enjoy as much as I did.

I sat in my window seat, and a gentleman counterpart who had the aisle seat followed me into the row. A minute later, a woman stopped in front of us, motioned at the middle seat next to me, and the middle seat in the row behind us.

She said, looking at my counterpart, and then me, “Those are our seats, but we were hoping to sit together. Will one of you move so we can sit together?”

The gentleman and I looked at each other, smiled briefly, and I asked, “You have the two middle seats?”

“Yes.”

The gentleman looked at me again, but said nothing. I replied as politely as I could, “I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to sit in a middle seat for the next 3 hours.”

I have a tendency to cut to the chase.

The woman paused, looked at me and yelled, “OH AWESOME. WE’RE GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW, AND NOW WE CAN’T SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER!!”

My counterpart and I looked at each other one last time, and although somehwat taken aback, grinned, and went back to our activities. Ultimately a woman seated behind me agreed to give up her window seat to allow the couple to sit next to each other, and Bridezilla promptly went to sleep in her middle seat next to her “fiance” (alleged), and they havent spoken in over two hours. Do I feel bad about not giving up my seat? No. Am I glad I don’t have to sit next to that woman for the entire flight? Absolutely. I am only bothered by one thing.

I will now have to live out my life knowing there is someone out there who is more sarcastic than I am.

Thanks for stopping by, friends…I missed you.

I’m gonna be tied up for the next couple of weeks, if you care. In our industry, when you start carrying a new drug, or in my case, when you keep your job and have to re-learn your drug for the THIRD time, the company sends you some brief night table reading. Then they put you in front of a firing squad and ask you to recite it word for word. And THEN, they pull you away from your family, test you on your ability to recount all of that data to a healthcare professional, all the while holding your family’s financial well-being and food for your children as incentive for you to get a score of 90% or better.

It’s all fairly low stress, and positive.

As you can maybe imagine, the chicken chili had less of an impact on my tract than the next couple of weeks will. The upside is that the amount of vomiting and shaking the next weeks will bring will be fantastic for weight loss. If I am strangely quiet it is because I may be focused on other things.

Although, some would argue that some quiet from me may be a good thing. I call those people “my wife and kids”.