Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Orleans

This is a long-overdue piece about Carrie, my lovely and pliable wife.

There would be no Senyor Madre without a Senyora Madre, especially this particular one. We have so many children because I just had to lay with her more than twice. Had to.

She's The Catch in this relationship, so many things that I'm not: beautiful, volatile, smart smart smart, forgiving, energetic, sociable. Ok, I am some of those things.

Let me try again: computer whiz, industrious, female, emotional, human, great mom, employed, nurturing, and cooking from scratch. Also, she's fun and has many friends because she likes people. Mostly though, she's who I envisioned marrying when I was single--ponytailed, serious, girly, argumentative, and above all....fertile as the old woman who lived in the shoe!!

I kid because I love, but only about the last part. We have so many kids, too, but we do know what to do, mainly because she's ambitious about planning and wants the best for them. When she was home and I was working, their days were full with her women's group (Newcomers shout-out!) playgroups and walks and trips to the gym and I'm sure some dancing and singing and water-hose play.

I do that stuff, too, but not as much. What I do, though, is because of her example.

We're approaching our fifth anniversary, and thankfully, the official gift of fifth anniversaries is wood. I can give her that, easy.

Ahem, moving on, she's a great spackler and does not wait for me to take care of home projects. She loves to garden and make messes with water. She probably could install ceiling fans and light fixtures, but she lets me, because she knows it's the sort of thing I wanted to do when I became a husband.

She laughs and I like it a lot, particularly if it's me who made her laugh. I will tell Connor and Gavin that if they can make women laugh, they'll do alright (unless they turn out to prefer men; then I guess they should make men laugh). They could snag a babe like their Mom (unless they turn out to prefer men; then they could snag a....I can't finish that).

I like that people like her, because I know it makes her feel good. I've seen her go all Momma Bear on folks, too. We have one well-defended litter, to take an analogy too far.

I try to remember to tell her nice things, and say thank you, and clean the house more, and not call her Momma even when the kids are in the room, but I don't as much as I should. Carrie does so much to make our lives better and happier, and I take her for granted.

Doesn't mean I'll stop, but now it's out in the open, so we can deal with it. Communication like that will get us another five years, and after that, we'll just grab onto the romance rocket and blast through another 40 years.

I'll be 88 then, and she'll be younger than me still. And we will be that old couple holding hands and shuffling down the middle of the bike trail, wondering where our house is.

I love you, Carrie

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Mick Jagger

The cliche for parental sacrifice for the good of the family is Dad and Mom working two or three jobs just so Junior can have a personal trainer for traveling-team baseball and Princess can follow her ballet dreams with private lessons 300 miles away three times a week.

Well, I've made a couple sacrifices this week, I'm here to write ya.

My kids will reminisce that Dad stopped sports gambling so they could eat, and stopped the family gym membership so Maggie could go to a more-challenging preschool. Sentimental? For me, you bet (pun alert!).

I already miss gambling, which I'm good at until I bet too many games because it's fun to have action, and any half-assed gambler will tell you you have to be patient and disciplined so you can do the opposite of what I do. I have less than half an ass, apparently. For me, it's fun, but the winners, the guys in the black, make it more like work.

I win, say Yipeee, then bet three more games, and lose more than I won. No need to know how much I've lost this time, but suffice to say that unemployed people shouldn't lose anything. Another reason I need a job. You can see that I'm finally getting it, yes?

As far as the gym, we've been members of Lifetime Fitness since 2003. Great place, well worth the expense. Maggie's been a member of our family since 2005, and unfortunately, as has been recorded in this space before, her birthday is at the end of September, meaning she'll be the towering kindergartner who steals lunch money and understands algebra because she'll be almost six when she starts.

That is bad enough, but the main problem is that Carrie and I have somehow produced a child who could read at age 3. Her park district preschool is boring her, which isn't as ugly as you might conjure---Daddy, I'm so bored, I want a new school and a squirrel, now! She only admitted it under interrogation, and I believe her. Her class is mixed 3- and 4-year-olds, and the descriptions of what the class will be covering this winter is pretty fundamental. Wow, there's no way to type this stuff without seeming like a real butt hole.

Anyway, I've been slowly looking around for where we can send her for more challenge, yet knowing that the right place would cost more. And knowing that if and when we found a place, the gym would be the first to go. Jefferson Preschool came highly recommended and is part of our school district, so Maggie and I went to register her for next fall, but got lucky that there was space in a 4-year-old class that she could join in February. We're all excited.

Four days a week, 2.5 hours each class, comes with a screening, and is twice what we're paying now, but also more hours. When I get a job, all the wee ones will go to Kindercare, but for now, January 30 will be my/our last day at Lifetime. So I will either become a runner or a lard-ass, because my metabolism is slow and slowing, and I will not diet.

Push-ups; maybe some jump-roping because we have lots of 1st-floor hardwood space; we have a nice-sized and steep staircase to run; I can do that personal-trainer favorite where you run with your butt in the air and hands on a towel, sliding it across a slick floor (did it once, it's uneasy, you might say). Yes, all those things I can do. But, will I?

Hmmmmm, better get the kids trained on what to do when Daddy (or Joe, for Connor) grabs his chest and screams "Kelly Clarkson!!" just before landing with a squelch on his blubbery belly and coughing up a half-eaten double cheeseburger. No, don't eat the rest! Call 9-1-1!

I had other thoughts for today, but let's stop there. Ciao

Monday, January 11, 2010

Danny Elfman

So, let's do this thing. Ok, you start....

I'm going to warm up, ease back in, with a few randomosities from the past six weeks. See if you can spot the jokes.

*I've finally gotten the little ones to flinch when I enter the room.

*Potty training in earnest the past two days, with no-diaper shock treatment. There have been messes and successes. I think they will be trained when the latter outweighs the former. I have said "Who needs to go poopy-pee-pee" at least 12 times per hour.

*I thought the biting stage was over. I was wrong. Today, Gavin bit Darcy at the gym playroom, and per house rules, we had to go home. I said to the girl, because I was only halfway done with my mega-muscle-building workout, "Look at my triceps." No, I said, "Do we have to go, even if it's his sister?" I realized as I was saying it that it was silly. They're all meat to him.

*Not sure how it started, but I've been able to combine two loves of mine in the past month: air guitar and my kids, at least the ones small enough for me to lift and hold in the air.

There was dancing and iPodding one afternoon, and next thing I know I'm drumming on someone's head and playing piano on another's. Eureka! I picked up Darcy sideways and played her like a guitar. Instead of stinging, acid-scratched solos, there was tickling and laughing as one hand was on the "neck" and the other strummed.

Creativity was at a peak, and I lifted Maggie, with her facing away from me, raised one arm and blew on her hand like it was a saxophone and tickled her tummy like it was the holes on the reed (or whatever the terminology). More tickling and laughing.

They ask for it by name now. I think Connor would be a tuba, with me having to sit.

Oh, I'm exhausted. My blogging muscles are slack and I find myself short of breath. Must...slow...down....get....a....secretary....to....take...dic