Yo La Tengo

I don't remember what old Joe (meaning: hooker with a heart of gold) thought 'married with children' would be like, but I know he wanted it so much he looked foolish by talking all the time about going on great adventures--working on Alaskan fishing boat, for instance--but never going on them because he thought it would take him further from his domestic dream.

I satisfied myself with smaller jaunts, pursued on vacations, rather than upheavals. Had I not chosen that path, I would not be where I am--enjoying at least one daily excursion into the dark heart and giggly chewy center of wife and kids. There I was, there I was, there I was.....in the Congo!

I'm haunted by the likelihood that I will never again absorb the all-senses, hammer-on-the-funnybone rush of playing goaltender during quality late-night pick-up games of ice hockey at Center Ice, Seven Bridges, All Seasons (even outside, once, in Elmhurst!) in the 1990s. However, solo-supervising three darlings whose ages add up to 7 at a playground that has big- and little-kids' equipment easily and partly fills that aching void. Oh, the bruises a puck can cause on the inside of a thigh....sigh.

It's entirely understandable if those who knew me before 2002, when I met Carrie, would be surprised that I'm happily hitched and had a part in creating rather than ruining a life. I caused a lot of pain in the process of stopping and starting the wedding march, that tug-o-war between the repetitive thrill of the unknown and the monogamy I knew held such promise. Someone stop me before I go again.

All I can say is that Carrie did and has, and if I was ever scared of leaving after marriage rather than just before, I shouldn't have been. The switch from selfish to unselfish is not what I'm referring to; maybe I will never write about that, at least in the first person. No, it's the seamless, joyous transition--in my view--from having one person to look out for to having five others.

Perhaps it was the baby-steps, so to speak.
*First, Carrie and Connor--he was my first diaper change and kid on my shoulders.
*Two years later, add Maggie--she was my first Finger Terrifyingly Caught in Wipes Container, You Know The Upright Ones That Have Teeth, That Are Only Sold Abroad, Bought By Your Mother And Sent In The Mail.
*Fifteen months on, the twinny twin twins--Gavin was my first reason to buy something called a Whiz Kid; Darcy remains my last baby (by three minutes).

I'm not implying it's rare, or that I have earned commendation, but I'm proud that the old Joe (meaning: number of dependents--two cats) wanted this so much that when it happened, he evolved overnight--well, I did drop Maggie down some stairs when she was six months--has come through and always will. I am so happy to be so confident.

A memory stays with me of times in bleachers at wrestling meets or basketball games (not many of the latter--to paraphrase a wrestling t-shirt: The best use for a basketball court is to hold up wrestling mats) when a toddler going up or coming down would use me and other adults for footholds or handholds.

It was amusing, their assumption that that was what grown-ups are for, but it was also endearing as hell, like you were in their club. I had no idea then the difference in feeling between someone else's and mine, and my favorite spot is now no longer in the stands, but on the mat, losing a tag team.