Lullaby

I try to let Max and Wyatt listen to music as they fall asleep. I try to stay away from songs with lyrics so the kids do not lay in bed singing along. Normally I play some instrumental Baby Einstein stuff or some CD that claims "your kids will be smarter if they listen to this" type of classical music. I do think the CD made Wyatt smarter because he learned at a very early age how to open the CD player and toss the CD across the room.

Lauren, on top of her many talents, has an excellent singing voice. Wyatt and Max prefer to fall asleep to the sounds of Lauren singing Ben Folds songs and request her to perform every night. I get a little jealous that the kids never ask me to sing to them. That may have to do with the fact that I can never remember all the words to songs.


I recently discovered this music by Sunflow. The music is perfect for kids and as a parent I love the fact that the songs are easy enough for me to learn and try to sing to the kids myself. Here is my favorite song from the CD. I wish you Love. I sound nothing like Sunflow when I try to sing the songs. Max and Wyatt seem to like the CD but have no problems telling me I should not sing and they request Lauren.

The past few nights I have been sitting in on her rendition of Lullaby by Ben Folds and I totally understand why the kids prefer her singing over me.

I am still jealous.

Illegitimate Children

I have been making arrangements for Jackson's baptism. I wanted to register with St. Johns, the parish that I belonged to as a kid, and I needed to finagle a paper work switch with the parish where I am supposed to go. I called the rectory at St. Johns and I spoke with Father R. and told him of the registration switch. In an effort to facilitate a quicker move Father R. asked me to register over the phone with him until the proper paper work made it's way to his office.

Father R. asked for the basic info such as address, family members, D.O.B etc. etc. He then wanted some background information about which sacraments I received.


Baptism-Check

First Penance-Check

Holy Communion-Check

Confirmation-Check

Marriage - well this is where it got interesting.

When father R. asked about the sacrament of marriage I explained that Lauren and I were not married in a Catholic Church. I did tell him we were married by a Catholic Priest we found on the Internet who left the priesthood to start a family.

Father R. then advised me that there was a good chance Lauren and I were not legally married. He told me of some local recent court cases where ex-priests who officiated wedding ceremonies were never legally registered with the state. He asked me if I would like to have a service at the church to bless my marriage and make sure it was all documented. I told him I would check with Lauren and let him know. Father R. urged that I investigate the legality of my wedding documents. Legally, he said, my marriage may not be recognized by the state and that my marriage is not really recognized by the Catholic church.

I, of course, could not let this opportunity for a joke go to waste and I said, "Are you saying there is a chance I am not married? You mean that I am single again. Woo hoo! Easy way to get rid of the ol' ball and chain. You know what I mea...I guess...uhmm you wouldn't....never mind."

He did not laugh and again suggested that me and Lauren to set up a time for a marriage blessing service.

We then got back to discussing dates for Jackson's baptism. We talked about the Godparents and requirements and whatnot and every time Father R mentioned Jackson's name I had to fight the urge to refer to Jackson as "that Little Bastard".

This may be chauvinistic...

...but it is my belief that if the manufacturers of washing machines intended for men to do laundry they would have made the machines with one switch with only two positions; on and off.

Torture

Recently the US government released some documents regarding the CIA interrogation techniques used on prisoners of war at Gitmo. I was a little disappointed with their list. Most of the techniques resemble some hazing stunts that fraternities would use on new pledges during rush week.

If they want to extract information from these enemy combatants I really think that CIA guys need to think outside the box. Doesn't anyone in the CIA have kids?

If I ran the prison here are a few techniques I would use.

Have the prisoner sit in a room with 5-year-old who is trying to learn to count to 1000. The 5 year old gets stuck and makes a mistake at about the 220 area. The five year old, since he messed up, then has to start over from the beginning. The prisoner cannot be released from the cell until the child reaches 1000.

The prisoner sits at a table with a two-year-old, a plate full of vegetables and an Easter basket filled with jelly beans and chocolate. The prisoner needs to convince the child to eat the vegetables.

I would put the prisoner in a room with a five-year-old and a two-year-old and huge box of Legos. I would force the prisoner to help the 5-year-old build some huge Lego truck or something. Just as the project is finished I would have the two-year-old step on it. I would repeat this 4 or 5 times. If the prisoner does not succumb to the frustration of having to rebuild the truck over and over again he most likely will break from the crying and the screaming from the 5-year-old every time the truck is smashed.

These are just a few of my suggestions. I am sure some of you may have an idea or two. Please share.

On the wall

I was cruising through Facebook stuff and I saw someone, a friend of a friend, more like a Facebook acquaintance (which I really think Facebook should add that as category) post on someone else's Wall about a family member that went something like this.

"Sally having a tumor in her stomach and having an operation and it not working. Sally was such a good girl and didn't deserve this and...." A very sad post.

I do not really know this Facebook acquaintance, nor do I know Sally, but I felt bad for them. I hate reading sad stories about sick kids and I logged out before reading any more of the posts about Sally. Sally's medical condition hung with me the rest of the day and I felt really sad for her and her family.

Later that night I wanted to find out the whole story about Sally and I surfed through Facebook trying to re-trace my steps from one friend to another trying to find Sally's story. After about 30 minutes of searching I found the person that posted about Sally and finally discovered that Sally was the family dog. I felt so much better. Then I got a little ticked that, throughout the day, I wasted so much emotional energy thinking about Sally.

A damn dog.

I know there are a lot of dog people out there who may not agree with my sentiments and who feel that dogs are part of the family and that we should worry and sympathize and empathize with animals. But you see, I am not one of those types of people.

I really think people need to rethink naming their pets the same names as people. Good dog names are like Shadow or Checkers or Moto or Biscuit. If I read a sad story about a name like Mugsy than I would kind of know it was about a pet of some kind and I could go about my day without feeling bad.

Just like when I write a story about Wyatt peeing on the rug or Max eating food off the floor you know that I am talking about humans right?

Q-Tip Study

So you are going to clean your ears and you grab a Q-tip, are you the type of person that turns on the faucet and wets the Q-tip end with the tap water?

Or are you the type of person that puts the Q-tip into your mouth and rolls it on your tongue to moisten the end before you insert it into your ear?

Natural High

If Wyatt had his way he would be naked all the time. I know wanting to be naked is normal for a kid his age. Wyatt is most happy when he is naked. What I find funny, and I can't post the video here, is the dance and song that goes along with him being naked. The song is more like a chant than any actual words.

The other day I called the house to talk to Lauren and I could hear Wyatt singing in the background.

"Is Wyatt naked?" I asked. "It sounds like he is singing his naked song."

"No. But he was just a few minutes ago."

Being naked is a like a drug to Wyatt. The freedom from clothes changes his disposition in seconds. If he is angry or sad or hurt or in the middle of a meltdown the promise of being naked "for a couple of minutes" instantly makes him happy.

Sometimes when we are out at the store or mall and Wyatt acts up and throws a temper tantrum I am always tempted to just let him "be naked for a couple of minutes" just to calm him down.

So if you see a naked toddler running through the super market...

Guns and the Tooth fairy

Maxfield has a friend, Johnny, who lives up the street. Johnny comes to our house to play and they are, for the most part, somewhat supervised. I say somewhat because sometimes the two five-years-olds will go to Max's room to play with cars or action figures and neither Lauren or I are actually in the room where they are playing. I know the boys are safe in Max's room and that there is really nothing upstairs that could harm anyone. I know because it is my upstairs.

Max has been spending more and more time playing at Johnny's house. Johnny's parents are always home when Max is there and I have to assume that the boys are somewhat supervised. Johnny's parents are real nice people and they seem to have good instincts when it comes to their three kids. I can only guess at the "good instincts" part because I am only recently really getting to know them, but my gut tells me they are good people.

I am always paranoid when Max is not home with us and my thoughts and fears get the best of me. One day, while Max was at Johnny's house, I asked Lauren if she thought that Johnny's parents would own a gun. I explained my fascination with guns when I was kid and that I think to some extent little boys are drawn to weapons. I worried Max would be the same as me and that there was potential for danger. When I read or hear about children and firearm accidents it makes me sick to my stomach. I see and understand why people may own firearms but I know that I am not comfortable around guns and I will not have one in my house. * One day, when I feel Max is old enough I will have my friend DC teach him about gun safety but until then Max will know very little about the danger of guns.

My favorite line I have ever heard anyone say about guns was said by a guy I knew named Croke. He worked security with me in the nightclub business and one night while we were patting down patrons and checking for weapons a club-goer said to him "Don't worry, there is no need to check me. I don't believe in guns."
Croke laughed and said, "Don't believe? Listen buddy, guns are not like the Easter Bunny or the Tooth fairy. Guns DO Exist. So you better believe I am going to check you."

So yes, I believe in guns. I believe they exist. I know they exist.

Lauren did her best to calm my fears but she did think, that maybe, I should ask Johnny's parents if they had a gun in the house. I told her I would ask them when I went to pick-up Max that afternoon. I told myself I had a right to know if they had a gun because my son was there a lot.

As I walked the 5 houses up to Johnny's house I had a change of position. I was not going to ask them about guns in their home. I had no right to ask them. Sure I could ease my own worry about Max's safety but in reality where would my questions stop. If they did or did not own a gun I am sure there were other things in their house that could harm Max. Was I then going to ask them if there were any prescription pills in the house that Max could mistakenly think were PEZ candy? Taking medication could kill him just like a gun could. Was I going to ask them how far from their kitchen counter's edge they kept their kitchen cutlery? Max could have a fatal accident with a sharp object. Or should I ask if they cut all of their blinds strings down to a size that could not strangle a young boy. Was I going to ask in the future how much alcohol the parents drank in the event that one of them may eventually take Max in their car to get ice cream and wrap their vehicle around a tree? Drunk Driving is another serious way of harming someone. The possibilities are endless.

I never did ask them about the gun. As much as it is my business, it is also none of my business. I have to trust my gut with the fact that Johnny's parents are good people and that if they do have a gun in their house, it is properly locked up and out of the way.

But the question...it still nags me in the back of mind...you know?

So Internet people, what would you do? Do you ask your children's friend's parents if they have a gun? OR do you let it go?

This is not a question about the right to own a gun, but more of a question is it a right to ask someone if they own a gun?


* Please note that since I have publicly stated that I do not have a gun and in case you are some creepy criminal who now realizes you can try and invade and rob my home...I may not be able to shoot you dead for breaking in my house, but I sure as hell would wrestle you and force my (generic non narcotic) prescription pills down your throat and then I would tie your neck up on the pull string to my(not a name brand or worht anything) blinds as I slug back about 8 shots of ( regular run of of the mill cheap stuff) tequila and get in my car (which is a KIA and not worth stealing) and run your ass over.

Better Life

I think most of today's parents want to provide a better life for their children than the life they perceived as having when they were kids.


They want to provide more opportunities than what they had. They want to give their own kids what they (today's parents) as children did not have.


On Friday I had reached my first successful moment regarding giving my kids something that I, as a kid, never had; we had Doritos for dinner.

I am feeling pretty good about myself at this moment.

Bathroom Begats

We started the re-do of our bathroom in October of 07. At that time we only fixed and completed the bath and shower side of the bathroom. A year later (December of 08) we finally got around to fixing the toilet and sink side of the project.

The above picture is the before picture. Friday December 26th I did the demo work to get the area prepared for the next morning. I had a plumber friend coming over early Saturday morning to to help with the pipes.

We took apart the old sink and cabinet and prepped the area for the new sink and cabinet. Lauren who was two weeks shy of giving birth to Jackson came in and did the Beadboard work.

We were on such a roll that the Beadboard and sink were installed by 2pm on Saturday. Why 2 PM? I think Lauren held us back a a little. She was perfectionist with her Beadboard and anytime she entered the small bathroom with her big belly I would have to step out so she could maneuver around. Otherwise I think we would have been done around noon.

Sunday morning December 28th was a glorious day. It was sunny and crisp outside. The kids were still on a high from their Christmas. Lauren was glowing and felt great. I was feeling good about completing that bathroom. The Philadelphia Eagles had a game that day against the Dallas Cowboys at 4pm. If the Eagles won (and other teams lost and won etc etc) then the Eagles would be going to the playoffs. I think I would lose some of my Eagles Fan credentials if I don't add this statement at this time: Cowboys suck. Anyway, I was excited to finish the bathroom and watch the game that evening.

Sunday Morning at 10 AM I called my brother Dan to ask his opinion on which type of molly bolt I should use. I told him I was going to be replacing my vanity/medicine cabinet/ light fixture. We chatted for a few minutes and then I went to Lowes to buy his recommended bolts. It was a beautiful day. There was no line at Lowes and everyone was friendly and helpful. I returned with the bolts and a few other needs and I quickly went to work. I explained to Lauren and the kids that I needed to turn off the circuit breaker for the bathroom which also included the entire upstairs. While I worked on replacing the vanity/medicine cabinet/light fixture they would not have Internet service or television since the routers and main cable box came into the house through the upstairs. Lauren quietly occupied the boys with their toys and everything was good.

Taking down the old fixture was a breeze. I used the molly bolts and prepped the wall for the new fixture and cabinet. I hung the new light. I connected black wire to black wire white wire to white wire and green wire to the electrical ground screw. At the rate I was going I was going to be done this entire project by 3 PM. It was a good day. I went down to the garage and turned on the breaker.

It is right after the above picture was taken when I started cursing mothers and asking God to send everything to hell. Every other word or phrase out my mouth was "Son of a bitch." or "God Dammit." The new light fixture would not go on. I double checked my work, the breaker and the switch. Everything was connected the right way. I must have bought a defective fixture.

I went into my bedroom to check to see if I had the receipt so I could return it to the store. I flipped on the light only to find that my bedroom lights did not work. In a slow motion panic I checked all the lights in all the bedrooms. None of them worked. The entire upstairs had no electricity. It was at this time that I started to utter every combination and variation of the word "Fuck".

After checking and rechecking and rechecking and rechecking my work I could not fathom why the entire upstairs had no power. I asked my neighbor for help and he came over and double checked my work. Two hours later and multiple trips to Lowes, replacing breakers and light switches I still did not have power. I called my brother Dan to get his opinion. His opinion was that I was screwed. I called my brother Dennis who knows more about electricity than anyone else I know. He told me he was going to be watching the Eagles game but he could hear the desperation my voice and I may have pulled the "Lauren is pregnant and could go at anytime card.". He came over at 3 PM.

Dennis double checked all my work with all his electrical gadgets. The light fixture was fine and my wiring was fine. He too could not understand why the power was out. At 5 PM we took a break from scratching our heads and had dinner. I checked my Blackberry and updated him on the Eagles game. Everything fell into place for the team and if the Eagles won they would be in the playoffs. I had no TV to watch.

At 6 PM we went back to work. It was starting to get dark outside and we had to hurry so we could still work by the light coming in from the window. We dismantled everything and started over. Black wire to black, white to white and green to ground. I am not sure what caused me to accidentally touch the green wire to the white wire but when I did the light flickered. Dennis gave me the "what in the hell was that" look. He used another electrical testing gadget and we found out that the green wire was also a hot live wire. This same green wire, which is supposed to ground out the circuit, was actually the wire that completed the circuit for the entire upstairs. We fixed the problem and I had power and lights just as the Eagles won the game. We missed the entire game.

Re-doing the bathroom, begat a new light fixture, which begat new light switches, which begat new breakers, which begat new wires, which begat new combination of many curse words. But in the end it all worked out.

Dennis deduced that electricians in the 1960s, who did the original wiring for the house got lazy when it came to the bathroom light and switch. Apparently all the power for the second floor of my house goes through my bathroom.

Now, every time I flush my toilet I am afraid that the lights will flicker.

Starting a List

I am starting a list of things that were invented by people who clearly do/did not have children because if they did have kids they would have realized the absolute insanity the items on this list can cause and they would have abandoned the invention in the first place.

Item 1--Coin operated kiddie rides/mechanical horses/race cars that sit outside of grocery stores.

Item 2-- Claw and Crane toy machines.


Please add your own items in the comments.

Losing My Powers

Two times over this past weekend, that's twice, my magical healing kisses had no effect on the minor injuries they were meant to cure.

Either Maxfield and Wyatt are getting too old for the "kiss and make it better" or there is some kind of kryptonite around my house.

Like radon or something.

I wonder if they make a kryptonite detector.


Also, today is my brother Anonymous' birthday. Please leave him a comment wishing him a happy day.

Sleep Deprivation

"Is he sleeping through the night?" is the most common question people ask me when they are asking about Jackson. My response is usually a nod or a "he's doing okay". Then I follow up with "Wyatt on the other hand..."

A few weeks before Jackson was born, we took Wyatt out of his crib, out of his room, into Maxfield's room and into a bottom bunk bed. It was little much for a two-and-half year old. Then we brought home a baby and all hell broke loose.

Wyatt already had some pretty odd sleep habits but now that he is an a bed adjusting to those habits is difficult. For instance Wyatt sleeps with whatever toy he was playing with earlier that afternoon. He has selpt with a basketball, a football, a number of cars, a string, a tool box filled with tools, an index card box filled with coupons, a golf club and many more various items. When he was in the crib and lost his toy in the middle of the night the toy stayed confined to the crib. He would wake up, realize his toy was gone, and feel around the crib to retrieve it. Now that he is in a bed the toys end up all over the place and when he wakes up and can't find it he calls for me. I have spent many nights in his room searching for the specific coupon that fell out of his box, or the shoelace that fell between the bed and the wall, just so he could back to sleep.

If I am not getting up in the middle of the night to search for a set of channell locks for Wyatt, I have been getting up up to comfort him because he is scared. He sees shadows and monsters in the closet. He has nightmares and recently he is claiming he is afraid of the dark. We now let him sleep with the light on. I know Wyatt is adjusting to the baby and to being the middle child. I know many middle children who are afraid of the dark so I don't mind the light on. Leaving the light on, however, has become a problem for Max. Max does not like going to sleep with any light on.

Lauren decided to help Maxfield by making him a sleep mask. He wears it most nights and it has helped the situation. Now when I go into their room, in the middle of the night, I can't help but laugh at the fact that Thurtson Howell the Third is sleeping in the top bunk.

What is this mythical sleeping through the night thing people speak of?

Hobby

The following is the 2nd assignment I did for my creative writing course. We were instructed to write about our hobby or passion.

The Puppet

“So, you are sticking to your story?” the man trying to be the good cop, Detective Darnell, asked in a much angrier tone than the last time he asked me the exact same question. I make a mental note that his brown suit, which matches the color of his skin, is too big for him. I can tell he is new to this process.

We have been through this three times already tonight. The lights shining in my face are hot. I can feel the dampness in my underarms and around my collar. I am nervous. I shouldn’t be, but, I am. I have to remember what Dave told me. I need to be more convincing. I need to use my nervousness.

I lean across the worn wooden table and stub out my cigarette into an overflowing ashtray. The hazy smoke lingers in the stale air. My palms are getting sticky. I rub them on my thighs hoping to dry them off. I try to swallow my nerves but my throat is dry.

“It is not a story. I am innocent.” I claim, hoping that the other people watching believe me.

“That’s bull!” barks Special Agent O’Malley from across the room. She is trying to be the bad cop in this scenario. She is dressed in a black cotton pantsuit. She continues “We have six dead citizens who have absolutely nothing in common except you. Can you explain that?”

“Coincidence?” I ask knowing my cue to piss off O’Malley.

“Don’t be cute.” She huffs. She has been doing this for a long time. She is good. “We know that you are a collector of sorts. We know you have a soft spot for paintings done by early nineteen hundred illustrators. We know that you attended estate sales of each victim, that’s right, victim, and purchased, at pennies on the dollar, rare paintings. We can now pin you to being in three of their homes prior to the so called sales. They are dead and you end up with their art collections and you want to say coincidence? I don’t think so. ”

She is an old pro and I am impressed. I let her bask in her moment. When Dave asked me to be involved with this project I did not know I would be facing someone as good as O’Malley. She has more to say. I need to stay focused on her.

With a dramatic flair O’Malley throws a docket of manila folders onto the table. Black and white crime scene photos slide from their casing. I can see a coffee stain on the corner of one of the folders. This is her moment. She takes a deep breath and continues with her evidence. “We can prove Mr. Rupert Cadell was strangled with a rope we found in your garage. We can prove Hal Carter was poisoned at a picnic. A picnic you attended. That Dexter Haven was drowned. We can prove that you killed each of these men.”

I can get out of this. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Yes I collect old prints.” I said. I then realize I was not supposed to say prints. I was supposed to say artwork. I try to fix my mistake. “Yes I purchased some of their artwork. But I had nothing to do with ....”

“We know you did not work alone.” blurts Detective Darnell a little too quickly. He cut me off. Now he needs to explain that he is my friend and that he is going to help me. “We can make a deal. I am sure that there is someone pulling your strings. If you are scared we can protect you. Just tell us who you are working for.”

Dave wants me to be very methodical with my explanation. I collect old art prints. I enjoy going to estate sales. I like to see the items that people leave behind. I want to guess at why people collect what they do and make guesses as to their motivation. I feel like an archeologist. I never realized that my hobby, my passion would take me away from my family for so long. My wife is going to be so mad at how late I am going to be getting home. She told me I was going to let this hobby of mine consume me. I am in trouble but I have more to worry about right now than being home on time for dinner or tucking the kids into bed. If I do this right I can get out of here soon. I have to remember what Dave told me.

I start slowly, “Detective Darnell. Can I really trust you? I am a collector. That is all.” I need to pause a moment for effect before I continue. “I have told you, I look up estate sales in the newspaper and on the web. The sales are posted a few weeks in advance. The web provides pictures of what’s for sale. On a few occasions I have gone to the houses asking for an early preview.”

I can feel my energy building. Dave wants me to remain calm. How did I ever let him talk me into this? That’s right; he knew I had a passion for this kind of stuff.

Darnell half-sits half-leans on the table facing me. His jacket is too big and covers his gun just inches from my hand. I can’t see it but I know it is there. I hope he did not snap the clasp on the holster. I hope he did not engage the safety. That will make what I am about to do more difficult.

Dave wanted me to stay put this entire time but I feel the need to get up. I feel the need to move. Panic starts to set in. I am hot. I am going to go to jail for this. Fear is bubbling up inside me. I quickly grab the gun from Darnell’s side and point it at O’Malley.

“Step back!” I shout as O’Malley reaches for her gun. Her weapon gets caught on the jacket of her suit. I pull the trigger. Nothing happens. I squeeze the trigger a second time, but again, nothing. With nothing else to lose I yell, “Bang! Bang!”

Darnell and O’Malley both crack up laughing. I start to chuckle myself.

“Cut!” booms a voice from the darkness. “House lights please.” Dave, the director, is clearly annoyed. He leaps onto the stage just as the house lights come up and the stage lights dim. He calls backstage “Who in props is responsible for loading the gun? We can’t have a dress rehearsal if the gun is not loaded.”

Dave gives us a few more directions and a couple of notes before returning to his spot in the audience. “Bill, I am getting the sense you are not fully into the character. Try to remember your characters inner monologue, not yours, but your characters.”

The thrill of performing in front of a live audience is intoxicating. I love theater, acting, being on stage. I love the hot lights and the smell of fresh paint and make-up. I love playing different characters. My wife was right; this hobby of mine does consume me.

Dave takes his seat and calls out one more time. “Someone needs to fix Darnell’s costume. He is practically swimming it. Okay, let’s run it again.”

I guess I am going to miss tucking the kids into bed tonight.

Competition

My parents never forced me to play any sport or into any activity. They encouraged me to play and to at least try different things. I estimate, by a quick calculation, that I played 5 seasons of Little League Baseball, 8 or more seasons of intramural basketball and 8 seasons of football. Out of the 21 various teams I was part of only one championship team. I was an average athlete. My definition of average is that I did not completely suck.


I think organized sports and competition is important for a kid to experience. I do not think that every kid on every team should get a trophy. I do think that if a kid is playing a sport where keeping score is part of the game then they should keep score. I think when it comes to competition there are winners and losers. Being a good winner and being a good loser are important lessons to learn. Sports also helps teach lessons on teamwork, encouragement, adversity, humility, character and limits.

My parent's encouraging me to try different activities helped me discover what skills I had and what skills I needed to develop to accomplish various goals. I learned what I enjoyed doing and what I did not. I learned about when to be a leader and when to allow someone else lead. I learned valuable lessons from sports and teams when I was kid and I want my kids to be able to learn some of those same lessons. I will not force them to the play but I will encourage them.

I asked Maxfield if he was interested in playing any sports in the upcoming months. I told him he could play soccer, football, basketball and baseball (the four main township organized sports). Max told me he wanted to play on a bowling team. It was not the response I was anticipating. Max has never bowled in his life and I did not know where he developed an interest in the sport. During our conversation I tried to encourage Max to think about the other main sports. I was hoping he would have some desire to do some type of athletics but he had no interest. I did not want to force any one sport on him and I figure he would let me know if and when he wants to join a team.

Saturday morning I took Max to his first swim lesson. It was very traumatic for him. It was also very traumatic to me. Parents were not allowed to be in the pool with their children. The lead instructor felt that since swimming is not only a sport but also about survival that parents can be a distraction to their kids. I agree with that philosophy and I watched Max from the deck. Out of the 25 or so kids in the class Maxfield was the only one screaming and crying. He was scared. He was cold. He swallowed some water and was coughing. He cried for me to come and save him. My heart ached for him as for the first time in his life I did not "rescue" him. He pleaded and begged to get out. I realized that Max may not be cut out for athletic type of activities, but since he needs to learn to swim for survival purposes I told him to tough it out. He was very upset and kept yelling that he was scared. The twenty five minutes he was in the pool seemed like forever.

The lead instructor approached me to talk about the possibility that Max may not be ready for these types of classes. We briefly discussed a refund of the fee I paid and the instructor asked if I had any questions. I asked her if she knew how much bowling shoes cost.

On the way home from swim class Max was adamant about not going back. I tried to encourage him by various tactics but none of them seemed to work. He was mad that I did not come in and save him. He was upset with me. I felt horrible and guilty. I asked him what could I do to make it up to him. He asked to bowling (he could have asked for a pony and I would have got one for him I felt so bad). We agreed and as a bribe I told him as long as he attended swim class I would take him bowling each week.



Max went bowling for the first time on Saturday. I think he may have found his sport.


He did bowl with bumpers but he beat me fair and square, which he reminded of the entire drive home. Now I need to get him on a team so he can learn about being a good winner.

Middle Finger

I just finished telling the kids a bed time story about Geo Trax trains and guys (Geo Trax trains and play sets by Fisher Price are Maxfield's favorite toys and I make up stories about the characters based on the DVD and by what Max tells me. Victor and Brutus are always the bad guys in all Geo Trax stories and all of the other trains and guys who make up Team Geo Trax are good guys) when I lifted my head above the top bunk to kiss Max goodnight.

"Dad?" He asked and I could tell he was concerned and had an important question.

"Yes pal."

"What does this mean? " He asked and he held up his middle finger. Yes, just his middle finger.

Lauren had told me that a few days before, Max was doing some kind of Spiderman web shooting dance. Instead of folding his middle finger into his palm, as Spiderman would do to shoot a web, Max got confused and was flipping the middle finger out while keeping all the other fingers closed. Basically he was dancing around the house flipping the bird. She explained to him that some people may misinterpret the middle finger as a bad gesture. That it was kind of like sign language for a bad word.

"It's just not a very nice thing to do Maxfield."

"Mommy said it means a bad word. What's the bad word?" He asked and he stared at his raised middle finger trying to figure out what it means.

"It is just a mean gesture. It is like teasing but in mean way."

"But what's the bad word?"

"It does not mean any specific word." I told him trying to avoid a long conversation about four letter words. "It means I don't like you very much. It is something you may direct at someone you don't like or who has been mean to you. But I don't want you to ever do that to someone."

He was quiet for a moment and I thought the conversation was going to end there. He put his middle finger down and I kissed him goodnight.

"Dad?"

"Yes pal."

"The next time you tell a Team Geo Trax story, maybe all the Team Geo Trax guys like Sir John and Bruno and Ethan can all surround Brutus and Victor and do this." Maxfield held up both his middle fingers.

Medical Story-Good Vibration

“Have a seat up here.” The nurse said as she pulled on roll of crinkly white paper covering the examination bed.

“Do you have any crayons?” I asked. “So I can draw pictures while I wait.” I pointed at the paper on the bed.

She ignored my joke and asked “What brings you here today?”

“Um….well…”I stuttered.

She glanced at my chart and her eyes widened as she realized the purpose of my visit. Not waiting for my answer, she mumbled something about the doctor seeing me in few moments and she quickly left the room. A few minutes later there was soft knock on the door and the doctor entered. He was a young guy, maybe late twenties, his name tag clearly showing that he was one of the doctors in training.

“What brings you in today, William?”

“My left testicle is vibrating.”

He kept his best poker face on as he asked me a series of questions regarding the symptoms. I explained all that had happened up that point. I answered--It is only the left one. About a week. Constant. No injuries. No pain. Just the left one. No other symptoms.

“Is it a twitch or a vibration?” he asked.

“Vibration. Like a cell phone is buzzing in there.”

“Can you feel it now?”

I laughed. “Is that a cell phone joke?” I asked. “Like the Verizon commercials?”

He smiled. “That’s funny, but no. Is it vibrating right now?”

“Yes.”

“Can you feel it with your hands?”

“No. Every time I reach down there to check. It stops.”

“It stops?”

“Yes. It’s like my ball knows that I am reaching for it and it stops. Like its hiding.”

He chuckled.

“I know ball is not the medical term but you know what I mean” I told him. “Feel free to laugh doc. Seriously; it may make this easier for both of us.”

“I just think it is funny that you gave it a personality.” He said.

“Well, don’t we all?”

He snapped on some rubber gloves and told me he was going to check me for any lumps or to see if he could feel anything. The examination was a little more than the typical turn your head and cough routine. He squeezed and poked and prodded.

“I think it was hiding from me as well.” He laughed when he finished the exam. “I do not feel anything abnormal. No lumps or anything that I would think could be the cause of it.”

“Basically you are telling me my balls feel fine.”

He was stunned. He then cracked up and in between chuckles he then said. “Yes. I guess that is what I am saying although I am not sure how to take that.”

The doctor told me he was going to have to look up some information and consult with the attending physician and he left the room. He returned a few minutes later with the attending physician who was a guy much older than me.

“What’s the verdict?” I asked.

“You’re nuts.” Said the young resident, followed up with a “Ba-dum dum.”

I laughed but the attending just gave us a stern look. The attending physician read off a list of possible causes of a vibrating testicle. He was very serious and talked about cancer of the prostate and testicles. He mentioned blood flow and nerve damage. The tone of the conversation started to concern me.

The attending doctor explained to me what he thought was the problem. “I think the most likely explanation is that you have some kind of groin injury that you are unaware of. There is a tendon that runs though that area that can cause the sensation you are feeling and it would explain why you are only have the vibration on the left side. I think if you should take it easy and see if the symptoms stop. I wouldn’t worry about.”

“Wait a minute.” I said. “What if it was your testicle that was vibrating? Would you worry about it?”

Both doctors noted my concern and explained that since it was only the left side that it was most likely not prostate related. They ruled out other causes based on my symptoms and the physical exam. They eased my concerns and I felt better. They decided I should have blood work done to be safe and rule out other possibilities.

The young resident explained. “The other cause could be that you are experiencing low testosterone levels and you 're working extra hard to produce more testosterone.”

I waited for it.

The young doctor then added. “No pun intended.”

We both laughed.

Epilogue-
The results of my blood work were fine. All levels were good. No evidence of any diseases, cancer or low testosterone. A few weeks after that visit the vibrating stopped. My testicles feel fine.

Medical Story

One morning, about a year ago, I was stirred awake by a strange sensation in my body. After sitting up for a few seconds the sensation ceased. I figured I must have been dreaming and I went back to sleep.

A day or two later, while I was driving, the same feeling from a few nights before started again. It lasted a few minutes. I knew I was not dreaming. I got out of the car and tried to walk off the odd way I was feeling. Everything returned to normal after a few minutes and I felt better.

The next day, while I was at work, my symptom returned. I took a walk around the building and I felt better. Through out the day my symptom returned again and again. Each time was longer than the last. I took several walks around the building in an effort to ease my uneasiness. The next day was the same. I mentioned the weirdness to Lauren and she suggested I call the doctor.

The fifth day, the symptom, the odd feeling, the strange sensation came back and it did not go away. I called the doctor.

The family medical practice that I go to is a facility where they train doctors. Basically there are one or two permanent physicians and all the others are just there to learn before they move on to their specialty or another practice. I do not think I have ever seen the same doctor twice. The practice is like a box of chocolates, when you make an appointment you never know what you are going to get.

The receptionist answered and I told her I wanted to make an appointment.

"Well sir, the first available appointment we have is three weeks from Thursday." She said.

"Do you have anything sooner?" I asked. " I think I should see someone sooner."

"Is it an emergency sir?" She asked in that condescending tone that all medical receptionists have.

"Well, no. Not really. I mean I would not go to an emergency room or anything, its just that I need something sooner."

"I could have you see Dr. Lingen at 7PM tonight. You would be her last appointment. What is your name and date of birth?"

"Great." I said and I gave her my name and birth date. "Wait. Did you say her? I would rather see another doctor."

"Well, sir, is this an emergency?" She asked again stressing the word emergency making it sound as if she doubted me.

"Is there a male doctor I could see in the next day or so? I mean, not a doctor who only studies males but A doctor who is a male."

She got defensive. "Sir, ALL of our doctors are qualified and each one of them is supervised by our attending physicians, male and FEMALE."

"I would just prefer a man." I said and I was about to get rude but I realized she already had my name and I did not want to get blacklisted.

"Sir, why don't you tell me what you need to come in for and I will see if I can schedule some one."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. " My testicle, its vibrating."

" Ex..ex..excuse me?" She blurted.

"My testicle. It is vibrating."

"What do you mean?" She asked and I could hear her stifling a chuckle.

"I mean exactly that." I could feel my face and ears get flush. I continued, "My left testicle is twitching like there is a cell phone on vibrate mode stuck in my sac and it won't stop."

"I will have Dr. Frank Smith see you tomorrow at 11 AM."

"Thank you." I said.

The receptionist verified my date of birth and my name and when she said my name she stressed every syllable. I swore I could her her writing it down in the appointment book really really big with three exclamation points next to it just so she would remember to tell the other ladies about me and my testicle and they could all chuckle the next day.

to be continued....

Crash

The following is what I wrote for my first assignment for a creative writing course. The guidelines for the assignment were "Write a story about your life, between 3 and 5 minutes long when read aloud."

I am not really looking for feedback or anything, I just did not have anything to post this week and figured I could cut and paste the original text. I tried to make the assignment interesting, not only for the reader but also for me. By putting this piece on the blog I get a chance to add some links, which on paper would just look like bold print or when read aloud would be, well, I don't know. Is there some kind of symbol that could be used for a link when doing an oral presentation of a writing. Like air finger quotes..but only different..like an air finger links? I need to trademark this finger link thing.

********

“Holy shit!” I yelled as I slammed on the brakes, probably 6 seconds and 10 feet too late. I watched from the corner of my eye as the driver in the fire engine red pick-up realized he blew the stop light and he too hit the brakes. Charcoal grey smoke spit from beneath the trucks rear tires as they desperately tried to grasp more macadam. The red pick-up was heading right for me when the physical world seemed to slow down 100 fold. My brain’s activity, with all the synapses firing seemed to increase 1000 fold. It was a matter of seconds. It was a matter of a life time.

Images from my past flooded the forefront of my mind. I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw two of my three sons, frozen in time, bracing for impact. I relived their births in reverse order. The memory of the birth of my youngest, Jackson, (who was not in the car) was the most vivid as he is only 4 weeks old. The image of him laying in the orange glow of a baby warmer quickly transformed to Wyatt, my two year old, lying in the same type of contraption but only in a different city and a different state. Maxfield’s birth, the first birth I ever witnessed, invaded my mind. My 5- year-olds first high pitched cry is a sound I equate to one of my most proud moments. I remember squealing for joy as he entered the world.

I heard the squeal of my tires, crying under the duress of the hard stop. My heart beating faster reminded me of when I first met my wife. Was it 10 years ago? No. It was 11. She told me her name was Lauren and I smiled because her first initial was an L. She did not realize the impact of having her name start with the letter L meant so much to a comic book fan. Superman was one of my favorite heroes and his main girl was Lois Lane. The letter L, for me, was love at first sound. As if someone hit the scene-forward button on the remote control to my brain, much like a DVD, images from my wedding engulfed me.

“Do you William take Lauren to be your wife?” the priest asked as we stood in the shadows of an enormous oak tree.

“Yes. I do.” I answered through tears of joy and over the giggles of my seven brothers who were standing behind me.

I felt proud that our wedding reception is still talked about by family and friends as the best wedding anyone ever attended. The perfect 80 degree sunny weather combined with the serene picnic setting made for a perfect romantic event, only to be out done by the laughter caused by my brothers dressing up as super heroes for the toast.

I jerked the steering wheel hard to the left hoping to turn away from the inevitable collision. I became amazed at how many turns my life had taken. I started working when I was thirteen, stocking various tan metallic shelves with tampons, cold medicine and snacks in the local pharmacy. Right after graduating high school I became a desk jockey at a major insurance company, pushing paper in the dim fluorescent lights of a cubicle farm. I left the confines of the office to explore the opportunities of acting at a shore side dinner theater where I performed on stage and served elderly patrons lukewarm coffee during intermission. I drifted from playing characters to greeting characters in a major nightclub in Philadelphia. The clientele ranged from bus boys and chefs, arriving after their shifts at the local restaurants, still dressed in their food stained whites and checkered pants, to athletes, gangsters and movie stars all decked out in their finest attire. The dark, fog-fumed dance floor, heavy doses of alcohol and drugs kept the crowds dancing to thump, thump, thump, of a heavy bass driven beat of popular songs.

My adrenaline kicked in and I could feel the thump, thump, thump of blood pulsing in my ears as I watched the car behind me, to avoid the accident, careen off the side of the road and splinter a mailbox. The driver leaned on her horn in frustration. She looked like my only sister Sharon. Sharon is oldest child the leader in our family. I remembered how she would walk the eight of her younger brothers to the playground in our middle class suburban neighborhood to play baseball. Each one of us fielding a position on the dirt diamond as my dad would hit pop-ups and grounders to us. The oldest had first dibs on their position of choice and since I was number six I usually ended up in the outfield. We would all scurry in the direction of the ball after hearing the pop of the bat.

Pop! My front left tire hissed and I could feel the tire rim grind into the street top surely creating a huge divot. I adjusted my grip on the wheel to compensate for a sudden lurch and turn, just like I adjusted my grip on my life, my family and my God when my father passed away. Feelings of happiness overwhelmed me as I recalled afternoons at the beach with my dad. I could see his face always smiling, enjoying the moment in the stands at my high school football games. I pictured him singing, off key, to the Beach Boys on lazy Sunday afternoons. I was grateful that he and my mom always taught me that I should do the right thing. I chuckled, in spite of my predicament, that I inherited their sense of humor and that I could laugh or make jokes in most situations. I felt in awe of their willingness to allow their children grow without too much of a tight grip.

I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Then, I let go.

My mind slowed. I felt at peace. I caught ghost images of my past. I was twelve years old riding my bike on dirt trails through a forest. The splashes of sunlight, fighting through the canopy of tree branches, danced with the shadows below. My ride would end at the stream for a quick skinny dip and a drink from my canteen. I watched the sunset from the dock on Brigantine Bay with a beer in my hand. The red sun reflected off the water and into the windows of Atlantic City hotels making them appear as if they were on fire. I saw my children sleeping. I counted each rise and fall of their little chests.

The world sped up. I held my breath and I braced for the impact. My tires stopped and the body of the car thrust forward with a final groan. The red pick-up ground to a halt just inches from the driver’s side window. Everything became quiet. I watched the smoke from the burning tires engulf the front of the truck giving it the appearance of a fire breathing dragon.

I exhaled a sigh of relief. I looked over my right shoulder to check on the kids. “Are you guys okay?” I asked.

Both were smiling and wide-eyed. I could tell they enjoyed the excitement. What to them was only a flash of a couple of seconds, to me was a flash of a lifetime.

Wyatt nodded.

Max laughed. “Daddy just said a bad word.”

Birthday Wishes

Do you remember, back in the day, when only close friends and family knew to wish you a happy birthday and they would either call or send a card?

Now a days, with modern technology like Facebook and Twitter and blogs, hundreds and hundreds of people find out you are year older.

It is like the electronic equivalent of putting 35 wooden cows on the front lawn with a giant sign that says "Holy Cow! Lauren is 35 today."

Happy Birthday Lauren.


Do you think sending her "pieces of flair" through Facebook is an adequate gift?