You ever had somebody lean into you so that they're pressing into one of your bones? Like the middle of your arm? And they don't really have to press into you very hard for the pressing to really hurt. And then you wanna move, you know, so that the pain stops. But you can't move because they're pressing into you really hard now and you're stuck.
Or how about somebody that pulls on your arm so that your elbow is hyper-extended. I hate that one. It sucks so hard. Like a Shriner Circus or the music of Santana, hyper-extending your elbow should be shot in the face and buried behind the barn where the pig shits. And don't try to change the subject by saying that you like Santana, because you don't.
Two days ago I was sitting on my couch with my 9 year-old. We were watching something on the ol' picture box, let's say it was a Santana video. So as we're watching, he pulls my arm around him so that we're now snuggling. I love it when he does that. But this time, he put my arm around his shoulders and leaned the back of his head into my arm. His skull started pressing into my arm-- right in the middle of my arm-- and it really started to hurt. Lemme tell you right now, 9 year-olds have really sharp skulls. Don't kid yourselves... they're weapons. And even though it was painful, I wanted to keep my arm there, because I really like this kid. He's really great.
And then my 13 year-old and I are talking a few minutes later, and he says something funny, which he does a lot, and I start laughing. And as he and I laugh together, he grabs my arm and hugs me and tells me that he loves me. And he's pulling my arm into him and hyper-extending my elbow as he tells me that he loves me. And even though it hurt, I loved him hugging me so much that I didn't pull away. And as he was hugging me, he said, "I so don't want to go back to dad's house," and just broke my heart. And he kept hugging me, so he was also breaking my arm. But I didn't want to pull away. And I didn't want him to go back to dad's house. And I didn't know what to do, except continue to hug him.
I love those boys. They're pretty remarkable. Especially considering their father. And I can't say that to them, at least not now. Probably not ever. It's really hard loving somebody else's kids.
Sure wish I could end this with a joke so that you could go to bed laughing, or at least smiling. Maybe tomorrow. I'm too tired and moody right now. Good night.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Bar Hopping
My wife and I went bar-hopping tonight. It was her first time. It was my second time. We had a blast. Here's what happened.
First stop, The Other Place. Apparently, this dive is notorious for needing cops to come by and break up fights late at night. This one-room bar was complete with three electronic dart boards, three pool tables, free bar peanuts, and ice-cold bottles of beer. The limes in our Corona's were delicious, and even though there were no draft beers and poor ventilation from the smoke, it wasn't a bad little place.
Next, we hit Henry Hudson's pub. They had draft beers, but anything that you might want was over $3. Why is it that Bud, Coors and Miller are so popular? It's like drinking shame in a glass. Anywho, wife and I had a couple of LaBatt in bottles, and that was tasty. Just to see what their draft was like, I ordered a Miller Light. It came in a frosted mug, which kept it nice and cold. The mug was nicely shaped and a good weight. However, the mug was small and the shit inside the mug tasted like shit. But the ventilation was good and we were able to sit there more comfortably than in the previous place.
O'Connell's was next. With the biggest selection of draft beers of any of our stops tonight, O'Connell's ranked as our second favorite stop. We treated ourselves to Blue Moon, garnished with an orange slice. The pint glasses weren't chilled, but they were wet, and the beer, though not very tasty, was better than Miller Light. We also had some cheese fries to help with our hunger and to prevent us from becoming too fuzzy. Those were quite tasty, as well.
Old #9 was going to be our last stop. We walked in and it resembled The Other Place, except the country music blaring from the jukebox wasn't loud enough to drown out the teenage girls at the bar gossiping about how their friend had ended up being a (whispered) black baby momma. And she wasn't just momma to one (whispered) black baby, but many (whispered) black babies came from this baby momma. Noticing that there was no tap, I told the bar tender that we were going to have a couple of beers and what kinds did he have. He rattled off the extensive selection: Bud, Bud Light, Coors, Coors Light, Miller, Miller Light, Miller Genuine Draft, Select 55-- I told him we would have two of those. I had never had a Select 55, and I thought that it would be better to try something new that resign myself to drinking something that I knew was shit. So he served us two Select 55s, and I realized immediately that this was the beer being sold as the lightest light beer on the planet. With only 55 calories per bottle, you can bet that this particular ale is 100% fecal matter in a glass. Then I noticed the wall: a picture of G.W. Bush waving above a caption, "Miss Me Yet?", which was hung over a picture of Barack Obama upside-down with his nose growing long, a la Pinocchio, which was hung over a sign saying, "Socialism Is Just Un-American" and the "O" in "Socialism" was in the style of the "O" that our President used in his campaign. Then the jukebox played my favorite song, "Drinking Whiskey For God". That's when I told my wife to hurry up, we were leaving. The bartender was nice. When they lose him, Old #9 will have nothing going for it.
I didn't want to finish our night with that as our last stop, so we went to Bison Witches, which we've been to before and really enjoy. The service there is always nice and the atmosphere is good. Our draft beers were sunset wheat, and even though they were really bad, they were better than Select 55.
Then we went home, and my wife's back seized up again and I felt helpless again as I sat by and watched her scream in pain, unable to help relieve her agony. But I gotta keep myself focused on the bar-hopping with my best friend. My best lady. My best bride. My very best. When she's hurting, she's my best. When she's good, she's my best. She's my absolute best and I love her more and more everyday. And if this stupid pain in her back doesn't go away yesterday, I'm going to punch a kitten!
First stop, The Other Place. Apparently, this dive is notorious for needing cops to come by and break up fights late at night. This one-room bar was complete with three electronic dart boards, three pool tables, free bar peanuts, and ice-cold bottles of beer. The limes in our Corona's were delicious, and even though there were no draft beers and poor ventilation from the smoke, it wasn't a bad little place.
Next, we hit Henry Hudson's pub. They had draft beers, but anything that you might want was over $3. Why is it that Bud, Coors and Miller are so popular? It's like drinking shame in a glass. Anywho, wife and I had a couple of LaBatt in bottles, and that was tasty. Just to see what their draft was like, I ordered a Miller Light. It came in a frosted mug, which kept it nice and cold. The mug was nicely shaped and a good weight. However, the mug was small and the shit inside the mug tasted like shit. But the ventilation was good and we were able to sit there more comfortably than in the previous place.
O'Connell's was next. With the biggest selection of draft beers of any of our stops tonight, O'Connell's ranked as our second favorite stop. We treated ourselves to Blue Moon, garnished with an orange slice. The pint glasses weren't chilled, but they were wet, and the beer, though not very tasty, was better than Miller Light. We also had some cheese fries to help with our hunger and to prevent us from becoming too fuzzy. Those were quite tasty, as well.
Old #9 was going to be our last stop. We walked in and it resembled The Other Place, except the country music blaring from the jukebox wasn't loud enough to drown out the teenage girls at the bar gossiping about how their friend had ended up being a (whispered) black baby momma. And she wasn't just momma to one (whispered) black baby, but many (whispered) black babies came from this baby momma. Noticing that there was no tap, I told the bar tender that we were going to have a couple of beers and what kinds did he have. He rattled off the extensive selection: Bud, Bud Light, Coors, Coors Light, Miller, Miller Light, Miller Genuine Draft, Select 55-- I told him we would have two of those. I had never had a Select 55, and I thought that it would be better to try something new that resign myself to drinking something that I knew was shit. So he served us two Select 55s, and I realized immediately that this was the beer being sold as the lightest light beer on the planet. With only 55 calories per bottle, you can bet that this particular ale is 100% fecal matter in a glass. Then I noticed the wall: a picture of G.W. Bush waving above a caption, "Miss Me Yet?", which was hung over a picture of Barack Obama upside-down with his nose growing long, a la Pinocchio, which was hung over a sign saying, "Socialism Is Just Un-American" and the "O" in "Socialism" was in the style of the "O" that our President used in his campaign. Then the jukebox played my favorite song, "Drinking Whiskey For God". That's when I told my wife to hurry up, we were leaving. The bartender was nice. When they lose him, Old #9 will have nothing going for it.
I didn't want to finish our night with that as our last stop, so we went to Bison Witches, which we've been to before and really enjoy. The service there is always nice and the atmosphere is good. Our draft beers were sunset wheat, and even though they were really bad, they were better than Select 55.
Then we went home, and my wife's back seized up again and I felt helpless again as I sat by and watched her scream in pain, unable to help relieve her agony. But I gotta keep myself focused on the bar-hopping with my best friend. My best lady. My best bride. My very best. When she's hurting, she's my best. When she's good, she's my best. She's my absolute best and I love her more and more everyday. And if this stupid pain in her back doesn't go away yesterday, I'm going to punch a kitten!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Driving The Kids To School
I got to drive the kids to school today. My wife's back has gotten better, but my job told me that I should take a couple of days to help her get around and do the stuff that she needs to do-- you know, like pee-- so I took those days off (my job is pretty cool). So I'm helping my wife today, and part of that is taking the boys to school.
My 9 year-old goes to school before 8 and my 13 year-old goes to a different school on the other side of town before 9. My wife figured out that driving the 9 year-old to school, then driving home, then driving the 13 year-old to school and then driving home again was something ridiculous like, oh, I don't remember... let's say it's 173 miles. It's a lot.
But something cool about it is that you get to spend one-on-one time with the boys, and that's something we don't get much of in our family of four + next door neighbor + cat - at dad's more than half the time (sometime I'll tell you why the joint custody isn't really a joint venture, but more of a Dad's-Being-A-Vindictive-And-Spiteful-Asshole-And-Hurting-The-Boys-In-The-Process venture). So driving the kids to school is really cool for everyone.
Today I got to hear about my 9 year-old's newest obsession: Warhammer 40,000. It's kinda a role-playing game, but not really. You make models of your armies-- their weapons, their vehicles, the little people themselves-- and they're all really intricate and detailed, and you can paint them if you want to or put decals on them, and then you "fight" another dude who's got another army. And you role dice to figure out blast radii of cannon shells and how far your men can move and who gets hit when you fire stuff. And the lovable geeks at the game shop gather on the weekends to play and we go and watch them and it's a lot of fun. And my 9 year-old loves it, so he's all about saving his money until he can buy just one more tank or Army Leader Dude from the Futuristic-Sounding Army Faction. So he told me about this new book that he's getting that tells him stats on another faction that he's thinking about playing. And he told me about how excited he is to get it. And he's all smiley and energetic and ready to face his day with a grin and a positive heart.
I take my 13 year-old to school and he's all about this computer that he found on Craig's List for $40 and how it's going to be his first computer and how it's going to totally revolutionize his life. I tell him that it might not be able to get on the Internet, and he doesn't care. I tell him that he won't be able to play video games on it, and he doesn't care. It's a computer and it's gonna be awesome! Somehow this little bit of electronic gadgetry which is over 11 years old is making him happy and he's excited and jumps out of the car, telling me that he loves me, and heads into school.
I like giving them the freedom to spend their money on whatever they like. I like seeing them happy when they figure out how to make it do what they want it to do. And even though I don't like seeing them unhappy when they run out of money, I like knowing that they're figuring out how to save it and work for it and they're doing it at a time when it's relatively safe to completely run out of money. I'd rather have them learn these lessons now rather than when they are on their own and run out of money and lose their home because they can't pay rent. That would be just like driving with your eyes closed. I totally made it fit at the end. I'm super cool like that.
My 9 year-old goes to school before 8 and my 13 year-old goes to a different school on the other side of town before 9. My wife figured out that driving the 9 year-old to school, then driving home, then driving the 13 year-old to school and then driving home again was something ridiculous like, oh, I don't remember... let's say it's 173 miles. It's a lot.
But something cool about it is that you get to spend one-on-one time with the boys, and that's something we don't get much of in our family of four + next door neighbor + cat - at dad's more than half the time (sometime I'll tell you why the joint custody isn't really a joint venture, but more of a Dad's-Being-A-Vindictive-And-Spiteful-Asshole-And-Hurting-The-Boys-In-The-Process venture). So driving the kids to school is really cool for everyone.
Today I got to hear about my 9 year-old's newest obsession: Warhammer 40,000. It's kinda a role-playing game, but not really. You make models of your armies-- their weapons, their vehicles, the little people themselves-- and they're all really intricate and detailed, and you can paint them if you want to or put decals on them, and then you "fight" another dude who's got another army. And you role dice to figure out blast radii of cannon shells and how far your men can move and who gets hit when you fire stuff. And the lovable geeks at the game shop gather on the weekends to play and we go and watch them and it's a lot of fun. And my 9 year-old loves it, so he's all about saving his money until he can buy just one more tank or Army Leader Dude from the Futuristic-Sounding Army Faction. So he told me about this new book that he's getting that tells him stats on another faction that he's thinking about playing. And he told me about how excited he is to get it. And he's all smiley and energetic and ready to face his day with a grin and a positive heart.
I take my 13 year-old to school and he's all about this computer that he found on Craig's List for $40 and how it's going to be his first computer and how it's going to totally revolutionize his life. I tell him that it might not be able to get on the Internet, and he doesn't care. I tell him that he won't be able to play video games on it, and he doesn't care. It's a computer and it's gonna be awesome! Somehow this little bit of electronic gadgetry which is over 11 years old is making him happy and he's excited and jumps out of the car, telling me that he loves me, and heads into school.
I like giving them the freedom to spend their money on whatever they like. I like seeing them happy when they figure out how to make it do what they want it to do. And even though I don't like seeing them unhappy when they run out of money, I like knowing that they're figuring out how to save it and work for it and they're doing it at a time when it's relatively safe to completely run out of money. I'd rather have them learn these lessons now rather than when they are on their own and run out of money and lose their home because they can't pay rent. That would be just like driving with your eyes closed. I totally made it fit at the end. I'm super cool like that.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Let's Play in the Swim Pool
I went swimming with my 9 year-old this evening, along with our neighbor friend. I watched the two of them as they splashed and enjoyed each other and the water, and I joined in on much of the fun.
Here's the part that I don't get, though. They would go off and play grab-ass, and everything would be fun and giggles and ha-ha's. Then, my 9 year-old would suddenly be pissed off at the friend. I knew this because he grabbed him and put him in a headlock, slamming his face underwater with an intense look that I hadn't seen before. What the hell is that about?
I think he's going through some daddy issues. Maybe some divorce issues. My wife and I just talked about it, and maybe there are some social growing pains tossed in there with a dash of body image issues. It would be really nice to blame it all on daddy. After all, daddy is a pretty horrible person. Some day I'll gather the strength to tell you about him. But I'm too tired now. It's 10:30 at night and I just finished a really long day at work followed by Little Caesar's and an hour and a half in the swimming pool. I'm ready to pass out in my own vomitus. But I think my 9 year-old suffers from more than just daddy. I think he's suffering from being a human. And sometimes it really sucks to be a human. You gotta wade through all the other jerk-offs telling you that you're fat and you don't listen to the right kind of music and your clothes aren't the latest fashions, then you watch movies that tell you to just be yourself and you're parents tell you "If everybody else jumped off a cliff, would you?" But your friends don't know, and your parents don't know, and the television commercials and movies and models certainly don't know about your situation. Because life doesn't come with instructions. You gotta figure it out. And as a parent, you gotta LET YOUR KIDS FIGURE IT OUT. Otherwise they're gonna listen to all the other nutjobs out there who have absolutely no clue about what they're talking about either. It's like driving with your eyes closed. **Time out. Incidentally, that's my new favorite saying-- "it's like driving with your eyes closed." I feel that it works in many different situations. I tried using it when I wrote a letter to the President recently, but it ended up on the cutting room floor. I'm gonna use it a lot in the future. And if you hear anyone else use it, it's because they're reading me. Time in.**
Point is, it sucks being a human sometimes, sharing your space with other humans who are equally sucked that they have to share their space with you. And it sucks that you can't fix everything for the people that you love. But then, you get to see your 9 year-old blowing bubbles into his swim suit and laughing because he has "bulgy pants", and if you're lucky, you forget about how much it sucks and you giggle at a 9 year-old saying "bulgy pants". Bulgy pants-- I dare you to keep a straight face.
Here's the part that I don't get, though. They would go off and play grab-ass, and everything would be fun and giggles and ha-ha's. Then, my 9 year-old would suddenly be pissed off at the friend. I knew this because he grabbed him and put him in a headlock, slamming his face underwater with an intense look that I hadn't seen before. What the hell is that about?
I think he's going through some daddy issues. Maybe some divorce issues. My wife and I just talked about it, and maybe there are some social growing pains tossed in there with a dash of body image issues. It would be really nice to blame it all on daddy. After all, daddy is a pretty horrible person. Some day I'll gather the strength to tell you about him. But I'm too tired now. It's 10:30 at night and I just finished a really long day at work followed by Little Caesar's and an hour and a half in the swimming pool. I'm ready to pass out in my own vomitus. But I think my 9 year-old suffers from more than just daddy. I think he's suffering from being a human. And sometimes it really sucks to be a human. You gotta wade through all the other jerk-offs telling you that you're fat and you don't listen to the right kind of music and your clothes aren't the latest fashions, then you watch movies that tell you to just be yourself and you're parents tell you "If everybody else jumped off a cliff, would you?" But your friends don't know, and your parents don't know, and the television commercials and movies and models certainly don't know about your situation. Because life doesn't come with instructions. You gotta figure it out. And as a parent, you gotta LET YOUR KIDS FIGURE IT OUT. Otherwise they're gonna listen to all the other nutjobs out there who have absolutely no clue about what they're talking about either. It's like driving with your eyes closed. **Time out. Incidentally, that's my new favorite saying-- "it's like driving with your eyes closed." I feel that it works in many different situations. I tried using it when I wrote a letter to the President recently, but it ended up on the cutting room floor. I'm gonna use it a lot in the future. And if you hear anyone else use it, it's because they're reading me. Time in.**
Point is, it sucks being a human sometimes, sharing your space with other humans who are equally sucked that they have to share their space with you. And it sucks that you can't fix everything for the people that you love. But then, you get to see your 9 year-old blowing bubbles into his swim suit and laughing because he has "bulgy pants", and if you're lucky, you forget about how much it sucks and you giggle at a 9 year-old saying "bulgy pants". Bulgy pants-- I dare you to keep a straight face.
My Wife's Back Has Gone Out
My wife can't move because her back has gone out. I don't know what that means medically, but what it means to me is that she falls to the floor screaming and crying in pain and I can't touch her or do anything to help her. Yeah, it totally blows all around.
When it first started this afternoon, my two step sons didn't do much. My wife screamed, I came running, and my 13 year-old followed me. My 9 year old was, I dunno, let's say he was making farts. But after about 10 seconds, both of them were back to playing grab-ass. Meanwhile, my wife-- their mother-- is screaming Loudly. It's no secret that something isn't right with her. And they're trying to see if they can actually stick the 9 year-old's head up the 13 year-old's ass. Fun stuff.
I think I was about 6 when I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up: a super hero. I wanted to be Spider-Man. O wanted to fight super villains and help people. I didn't even care if I got paid. I just wanted to help.
I love my step sons. Seriously, love them like they were my own. And I don't think we could get any closer to each other even if they did have half of me swimming around in them. We're pretty tight, the three of us. I'm really lucky to have this kind of relationship.
And even as I say that, I think about them running around the house, giggling about punching each other in the dick while their mother and I are trying to figure out how to get her off the floor. Then the 13 year-old says to me, "Are you going to play with us soon or what?" At which point I have to EXPLAIN to him that the reason I'm standing over their mother who is curled into a fetal position is because she's in a lot of pain. And I just want to shake them both and tell them that the world doesn't revolve around them and they need to start paying attention to what's going on around them so they don't end up entering the Working World as Complete Assholes. I wanna shake them like a Dairy Queen.
My wife is asleep right now. Both our boys are asleep right now. They both watched me take care of their mother and they became increasingly aware that something was wrong and that actions and words needed to happen. They helped her, which made her feel good and made me feel good.
I guess this is what being a parent is all about: you wanna beat your children until their balls explode, but then in the midst of feeling emotions you think up some lame-ass way to express yourself using words so that they learn something and are able to model your good behavior instead of visiting you in prison for breaking a child in half.
Someday I'll tell you about their father.
When it first started this afternoon, my two step sons didn't do much. My wife screamed, I came running, and my 13 year-old followed me. My 9 year old was, I dunno, let's say he was making farts. But after about 10 seconds, both of them were back to playing grab-ass. Meanwhile, my wife-- their mother-- is screaming Loudly. It's no secret that something isn't right with her. And they're trying to see if they can actually stick the 9 year-old's head up the 13 year-old's ass. Fun stuff.
I think I was about 6 when I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up: a super hero. I wanted to be Spider-Man. O wanted to fight super villains and help people. I didn't even care if I got paid. I just wanted to help.
I love my step sons. Seriously, love them like they were my own. And I don't think we could get any closer to each other even if they did have half of me swimming around in them. We're pretty tight, the three of us. I'm really lucky to have this kind of relationship.
And even as I say that, I think about them running around the house, giggling about punching each other in the dick while their mother and I are trying to figure out how to get her off the floor. Then the 13 year-old says to me, "Are you going to play with us soon or what?" At which point I have to EXPLAIN to him that the reason I'm standing over their mother who is curled into a fetal position is because she's in a lot of pain. And I just want to shake them both and tell them that the world doesn't revolve around them and they need to start paying attention to what's going on around them so they don't end up entering the Working World as Complete Assholes. I wanna shake them like a Dairy Queen.
My wife is asleep right now. Both our boys are asleep right now. They both watched me take care of their mother and they became increasingly aware that something was wrong and that actions and words needed to happen. They helped her, which made her feel good and made me feel good.
I guess this is what being a parent is all about: you wanna beat your children until their balls explode, but then in the midst of feeling emotions you think up some lame-ass way to express yourself using words so that they learn something and are able to model your good behavior instead of visiting you in prison for breaking a child in half.
Someday I'll tell you about their father.