I would love nothing more to have a story I could tell our daughter one day about *where* she was tastefully conceived. "We-ah made-ah the sweet-ah love-ah in-ah Venice-ah, and-ah ya mama had her belleh blessed by the Pope-ah when at-ah the Vatican-o..beepa boppa boopa..."
As it stands, my version of "How I Met Your Mother" is definitely not a story I can tell her until she's at least...well, I think I'll just let my wife tell her the sanitized version.
Anyway, I love travel. I love traveling overseas. And gods, I was stupid excited to spend a week treading the streets of Rome/Florence/Venice for just the historicity of it all. I thought that if a week in Paris had my head spinning with joy a few years ago, this was going to blow my mind: Collosseums, Huge Statues of Naked Dudes, Canals...
And then my wife promptly proceeded to throw up all over it.
Chapter 5
"Drinking for 2?"
I think having a healthy and calm mind is important when you're trying to make a baby. Time was passing and we were starting to return mentally to the baseline of normalcy, and resume our efforts earnestly in trying to make a tiny human. The trip to Italy was quickly coming up (right after Labor Day, 2018), and while we were doing that last minute travel fretting of getting house and pet-sitters in order, reviewing itineraries, checking passports...2 weeks before we left...we...oh heck...I'd love it if you guys heard my wife tell it: (Transcribed with permission)
So on August 26th my best friend was in town from Milwaukee. We decided on lunch and a shopping trip to Marshall's, and as we were perusing discounted fitness-wear I said "I JUST need to say this out loud to someone: I'm three days late and my boobs hurt".
So, my best friend being my best friend said what you need your best friend to say in these instances when you're in the far away suburbs of Blaine, and she said "OK. Let's go next door to Wal-Mart, go to their pharmacy section, and get you a pregnancy test." (My wife, knowing what they're about to do adds) "We need to make sure to find a check-out lane with the most awkward teenage cashier there is". To which her BFF said:
"OK. Then let's make sure we do it RIGHT in the Wal-Mart bathroom to complete this high-class circle"
So it was on this fateful day, that I peed on a pregnancy stick in the Wal-Mart Bathroom- while at the same time in the stall next to me some mom was wiping the butt of her screaming child. I don't know why that seemed funny to me at the time, but you can write that down too.
Anyway, the test was a "Positive", but the *control* line never showed up. So I told my BFF who then said we were going head over to Brick's Restaurant and have a big glass of wine and then pee on the other stick.
And this turned out to be the last glass of wine I would have for 9 months..."
And that, my dearest daughter, is the story of you.
She came home with the test(s), which for some weird reason (surprise) I put in my nightstand and asked if she'd take another one the next day. (Which meant three plastic pee strips in my nightstand and don't judge me) Having gone through that last bout of hope and heartache earlier in the year left me a over-cautious and not wanting to take chances. (Also, is this it? Are we ready?) At that point, part of my own re-balancing was getting back to the "just the two of us" mentality...plus plus...we were going to a country that is famous for wine, and you don't just up and get pregnant right before international travel! It wasn't lost on either of us that our first attempt at child-growing coincided with her dry South Padre Spring Break vacation earlier that year.
Hence the joke "drinking for two". Yay, we're pregnant, AND on an overseas adventure!
To conclude this chapter, I want to mention that Costco travel is fantastic. Part of our hotel package was a full continental breakfast. We anticipated this would mean coffee, juice, and a couple of pastries to tide us over until lunch, but our concierge brought us back into a room where we were greeted by what can only be described as "First Hogwart's Meal in the Sorcerer's Stone" sized breakfast buffet. Me, being a Hippo McBoom-Boom was in Heeeeavan- We had fruit, eggs, thick bacon, sausages... they even had amazing smelling vegetarian food (CHANA MASALA FOR BREAKFAST? DON'T MIND IF I DO!) toast, chocolates...it's like your mind says "Yes, you're on vacation and screw your diet because you are going to be horsefooting all over Saint Peter's relics in 2 hours and seeing the Sistine Chapel with your own eyes so it's time to fuel up, mo-fo..."
Oh crap...
Most mornings my wife would wake up a shade of palish green. She would generally start her morning sucking down Preggie Pops* and just praying to hold down a bowl of dry corn flakes. This is in addition to the shift into pregnancy that demands you dial back the caffeine intake- so she was nauseous, *and* had some low-grade headaches.
In the subsequent re-tellings of our trip, my wife will tell you she liked France much better than Italy. If you have a social media subscription and look through our pictures from Italy and see my wife? You're looking at a beautiful woman who is fighting morning sickness on the daily, followed by ravenous hunger by about 11am. In short, it was still a dream trip. Albeit one where a developing human had a marked effect on our individual enjoyment.
**Preggie Pops are a thing. They're these citrusy, sour hard candies that my wife told me about after we learned she was pregnant. She tried picking some up at Target before we left- but couldn't find them. But I hunted them down. And thankfully, they helped get her through some of the worst mornings of our trip. Just not the shitty risotto at that one place. Ugh.
Sunday, May 05, 2019
Friday, May 03, 2019
In which we talk about the missing carriage.
(Content warning/Trigger Warning. I'm gonna talk about miscarrying. I've read that the world is still demystifying it, and even having had the extraordinary misfortune to have been present when family has lost children very late during a pregnancy I don't feel like I'm overtly qualified to throw any new commentary on the matter- but something I learned was that there are a lot of different levels of what it means to miscarry. Here's what happened to us.)
Chapter 4..."Honey? I Think We're Pregnant!!!"
On February 10th, 2018 my wife woke me up to say she was pregnant.
On March 26th, I got a phone call while I was at work that said that it wasn't going to happen.
Dates become very important during a pregnancy. I learned that it wasn't just the developmental milestones (You've probably seen new parents do the whole "gauging their pregnancy based on what kind of produce the kid is" pictures) but after you pee on the stick and the initial euphoria (Or terror? I seem to remember a cautious fugue state setting in. I asked if my wife was sure, as she was crying holding a piece of plastic that had only recently had engaged in water sports.) after all of that you start to consider things first on the 9 month timeline- but there are many other important dates to consider as well.
Developmentally, you get the initial exam/meeting with an Ob/Gyn to tell them you're pregnant where they have you pee on your hand again (Just go with it. Feigning disgust as my wife waved the pregnancy exam was something we did for a giggle.) and then see if you like them enough to be the one prodding your spouses nethers during subsequent visits. Each of the follow up appointments (6 weeks and onward) and ultra sound visits are going to give you a fetal heartbeat, and generally how your kid is looking until it gets down to the 36 weeks and the visits become more frequent until you're finally admitted for delivery. Basically, I learned that you don't get a hello and handshake at month one, then one terrible black and white ultrasound where your kid looks like an awful blend of Skeletor and a Rorschach test to post on social media and give to your family before you finally meet them in the screaming crying flesh 9 months later.
But the big thing is that 1st infant heartbeat. It's usually after that appointment when you are able to more or less safely say to friends and family that yes: a bambino/bambina is on their way.
Impatient and more than a little excited, naturally we told mom and dad more or less right away. Her brother and sister in law followed suit somewhere around my wife's birthday. (Having been trying for their own kids for many, many years meant steeling ourselves to tell them. To paint a picture, I was holding my crying wife before her birthday brunch outside of the restaurant telling her that we just had to take the band-aid off and tell them. Little did we know they had an announcement to make of their own shortly after, and hey... We've been loving up my niece now for the last five months as I type this. Things were just that crazy.)
We even had a hilarious Spring Break trip to South Padre Island where my wife lightly kvetched that she wasn't able to drink the entire time. That's one...I mean, that's not relevant to this story, but we'll tell you about it sometime because the trip was a hilarious cautionary tale. TL:DR, I'm old and people need to cover up their naked buns.
In spite of mentally committing to being dry for the duration of her pregnancy, I got tipsy at a party and before I knew it we were telling our entire friend group of our upcoming pampie party, along with a lot of "WOO!!!" and hugs and telling people that I have the BEST support group and the most AMAZING group of friends to raise our kid around... I mean, I'm a superstitious fella by nature, and even though we were a little premature in announcing it, this was my friend framily- many of whom had kids of their own and we love them and wanted to share. Ok?
Ironically, it was at the follow-up visit when we chatted with the weird, heavily-accented German Ob.Gyn that we had previously met at our 1st appointment (Who *I* thought was hilarious and my wife didn't really care for much.) who also acted like... she... had... never met us? Not like we're perfect, hilarious, and memorable....not even a big deal, but then she started asking the same questions as our initial visit like we had just found out we were pregnant and we're like "Noooooooo, we were here a few weeks ago" and she's like "Huh, and what are you here for again?" My wife was squeezing my hand as if to say this is the most absent-minded doc around, but we finally told her:
"We're here to hear her heartbeat".
Oh yeah. We were positive it was a girl. The name we picked out almost effortlessly, and figured if we were wrong about the sex, we'd burn that bridge when we came to it. New parents are weird. And after reading the last few of these chapters- you might've gotten the impression I didn't want kids and was fist-pumping any time my wife menstruated, but at this point mentally? I was committed to seeing it happen. We were going to have a girl. She was prrrrrobably going to be born on my late mother's birthday in an ironic twist of fate. She was going to smash the patriarchy and take names. My wife- who wasn't even showing yet- was already doing that mom-tummy caress. And as soon as Doctor German-Funny Lady started acting perplexed, my Spider-Sense started going off the chain the same way you just know a phone call is going to let you know some bad news.
The wand ultra-sound didn't show anything. So they scheduled a follow up with my wife with an actual "ultra-sound ultra-sound" at another clinic. My job being my job, meant I couldn't take the time off to be with my wife for that one, but she assured me she'd call as soon as it was over. And like I said- mentally, I was already preparing myself for not great news but decided to keep that to myself in the hope that I'm wrong. And the shitty impotent feeling as I stood in a meeting room taking a phone call from my wife made me wish I was home right then and there.
I held my wife all night long that night. After we finally went to sleep and after she told me she needed me here to help her through this, I called work and said I wouldn't be in the rest of the week- almost guaranteeing I'd be out of the job. In order to make sure my wife had a clean slate to attempt having a kid, we had to go in for something I had never heard of called a D & C procedure.
So-
If you have a faint memory of your biology classes from high school, you know that once insemination occurs it's a matter of attachment to the uterine lining and then magical mitosis starts the process of all those microscopic cells dividing and sub-dividing before becoming an infant. A presumption is that miscarriage means being farther along/closer to full term and something goes terribly wrong. In our case, the cells just...stopped changing. And their hanging out and not doing anything is bad for you. And they have to be removed before you resume follow up attempts. And to give a lot of credit where it's due, I just want to point out that the incredibly kind and sensitive manner with which the Ob/Gyn who performed the procedure that explained it to us- who (I may add) even asked if we wanted to have a "service" for the cells... made her our Ob/Gyn for (SPOILER ALERT!) my wife's pregnancy later .
So it was on a really beautiful and sunny day, March 28th, that my wife was placed in a Bear warming gown which she comically said made her look like Grimace, then placed under general sedation as I held her hand and joked with the doctor's about their colorful footwear, and was then led out into the waiting room for what I anticipated was going to be a insufferably long and anxiety-riddled affair as my wife had surgery for her miscarriage...only to have the doctor come out before I could even put my ear buds in to tell me the procedure was wholly unremarkable and fine, and led me back to a recovery room while my wife came out from general anesthesia.
I helped her get dressed as she started rousing, realizing that I found myself moving sort of mechanically and dispassionately the whole time- taking in details like the overhead ceiling light having a tropical picture superimposed on it to help people as the woke up. I found myself dressing my wife, the object of my affection, the one who I love and whose body I adore, in the most clinical but gentle way I can.
Before you leave, they give you a prescription and some instructions. You need to wait several weeks before making any attempt at procreation, and to wait until after you've had a full menstrual cycle so that you know your body is ready to try again. Any attempt at intercourse within 3 weeks is not-advised, and you should wear a condom. (A condom. A CONDOM? It's weird, right? Just hearing them say you need to wrap it up. Suddenly I'm 14 and back in health class.)
This all meant more time constraints. And doing the math, after a year of trying it'd be another 2-3 months before biologically she was prepared to become a sacred vessel. No more Mommy/Granddaughter matching birthday. Tick tock. Would I be fifty before I had a kid?
Mentally, the hurdles were more challenging than even the surgical procedure. For what felt like many months, my wife struggled to even get up and go to work and in spite of having a crappy job*, I found myself being the one to get her up and going in. The self-blame she experienced was exhausting for her, and there were many nights where I would just hold her while she cried before she went to sleep. Surprise...I didn't have the same issue, but still felt awful not only because my wife was suffering but because in the big picture- what had happened didn't feel like it was even real. Like...was she ever even "really" pregnant? Like the pee stick lied, and our baby didn't even make it out of the gate, much less have a chance to be "proven" (to crib a line from the "Great British Baking Show".)
In her grief, and having admitted these feelings to her- my wise wife reminded me that it was "real to her". I was 43 years old, and still getting schooled on sensitivity.
There was one night shortly after the D & C where we tucked into a magnum of wine, and fueled by tears and emotion we tore the TV room apart and slurred on about making changes and fresh starts. What ended up happening was waking up with a Costco membership, and a vacation to Rome for our 3 year anniversary. We figured if we don't have a kid, then we'd spend our money on a little culture and travel.
Also, in spite of doctor's orders and emotionally not feeling like we were ready yet- we disregarded the post-surgery instructions and risked intimacy sooner rather than later.
*I did have a meeting with my boss after I came back to work, btw. They forgave any and all missed work. At that point, and feeling how I did, I was skeptical and almost angry that I wasn't fired for having missed so many days. Moreover, having struggled with my role there, I was even angrier that they showed that much sensitivity toward what I was going through. Like I said, things were really weird.
Chapter 4..."Honey? I Think We're Pregnant!!!"
On February 10th, 2018 my wife woke me up to say she was pregnant.
On March 26th, I got a phone call while I was at work that said that it wasn't going to happen.
Dates become very important during a pregnancy. I learned that it wasn't just the developmental milestones (You've probably seen new parents do the whole "gauging their pregnancy based on what kind of produce the kid is" pictures) but after you pee on the stick and the initial euphoria (Or terror? I seem to remember a cautious fugue state setting in. I asked if my wife was sure, as she was crying holding a piece of plastic that had only recently had engaged in water sports.) after all of that you start to consider things first on the 9 month timeline- but there are many other important dates to consider as well.
Developmentally, you get the initial exam/meeting with an Ob/Gyn to tell them you're pregnant where they have you pee on your hand again (Just go with it. Feigning disgust as my wife waved the pregnancy exam was something we did for a giggle.) and then see if you like them enough to be the one prodding your spouses nethers during subsequent visits. Each of the follow up appointments (6 weeks and onward) and ultra sound visits are going to give you a fetal heartbeat, and generally how your kid is looking until it gets down to the 36 weeks and the visits become more frequent until you're finally admitted for delivery. Basically, I learned that you don't get a hello and handshake at month one, then one terrible black and white ultrasound where your kid looks like an awful blend of Skeletor and a Rorschach test to post on social media and give to your family before you finally meet them in the screaming crying flesh 9 months later.
But the big thing is that 1st infant heartbeat. It's usually after that appointment when you are able to more or less safely say to friends and family that yes: a bambino/bambina is on their way.
Impatient and more than a little excited, naturally we told mom and dad more or less right away. Her brother and sister in law followed suit somewhere around my wife's birthday. (Having been trying for their own kids for many, many years meant steeling ourselves to tell them. To paint a picture, I was holding my crying wife before her birthday brunch outside of the restaurant telling her that we just had to take the band-aid off and tell them. Little did we know they had an announcement to make of their own shortly after, and hey... We've been loving up my niece now for the last five months as I type this. Things were just that crazy.)
We even had a hilarious Spring Break trip to South Padre Island where my wife lightly kvetched that she wasn't able to drink the entire time. That's one...I mean, that's not relevant to this story, but we'll tell you about it sometime because the trip was a hilarious cautionary tale. TL:DR, I'm old and people need to cover up their naked buns.
In spite of mentally committing to being dry for the duration of her pregnancy, I got tipsy at a party and before I knew it we were telling our entire friend group of our upcoming pampie party, along with a lot of "WOO!!!" and hugs and telling people that I have the BEST support group and the most AMAZING group of friends to raise our kid around... I mean, I'm a superstitious fella by nature, and even though we were a little premature in announcing it, this was my friend framily- many of whom had kids of their own and we love them and wanted to share. Ok?
Ironically, it was at the follow-up visit when we chatted with the weird, heavily-accented German Ob.Gyn that we had previously met at our 1st appointment (Who *I* thought was hilarious and my wife didn't really care for much.) who also acted like... she... had... never met us? Not like we're perfect, hilarious, and memorable....not even a big deal, but then she started asking the same questions as our initial visit like we had just found out we were pregnant and we're like "Noooooooo, we were here a few weeks ago" and she's like "Huh, and what are you here for again?" My wife was squeezing my hand as if to say this is the most absent-minded doc around, but we finally told her:
"We're here to hear her heartbeat".
Oh yeah. We were positive it was a girl. The name we picked out almost effortlessly, and figured if we were wrong about the sex, we'd burn that bridge when we came to it. New parents are weird. And after reading the last few of these chapters- you might've gotten the impression I didn't want kids and was fist-pumping any time my wife menstruated, but at this point mentally? I was committed to seeing it happen. We were going to have a girl. She was prrrrrobably going to be born on my late mother's birthday in an ironic twist of fate. She was going to smash the patriarchy and take names. My wife- who wasn't even showing yet- was already doing that mom-tummy caress. And as soon as Doctor German-Funny Lady started acting perplexed, my Spider-Sense started going off the chain the same way you just know a phone call is going to let you know some bad news.
The wand ultra-sound didn't show anything. So they scheduled a follow up with my wife with an actual "ultra-sound ultra-sound" at another clinic. My job being my job, meant I couldn't take the time off to be with my wife for that one, but she assured me she'd call as soon as it was over. And like I said- mentally, I was already preparing myself for not great news but decided to keep that to myself in the hope that I'm wrong. And the shitty impotent feeling as I stood in a meeting room taking a phone call from my wife made me wish I was home right then and there.
I held my wife all night long that night. After we finally went to sleep and after she told me she needed me here to help her through this, I called work and said I wouldn't be in the rest of the week- almost guaranteeing I'd be out of the job. In order to make sure my wife had a clean slate to attempt having a kid, we had to go in for something I had never heard of called a D & C procedure.
So-
If you have a faint memory of your biology classes from high school, you know that once insemination occurs it's a matter of attachment to the uterine lining and then magical mitosis starts the process of all those microscopic cells dividing and sub-dividing before becoming an infant. A presumption is that miscarriage means being farther along/closer to full term and something goes terribly wrong. In our case, the cells just...stopped changing. And their hanging out and not doing anything is bad for you. And they have to be removed before you resume follow up attempts. And to give a lot of credit where it's due, I just want to point out that the incredibly kind and sensitive manner with which the Ob/Gyn who performed the procedure that explained it to us- who (I may add) even asked if we wanted to have a "service" for the cells... made her our Ob/Gyn for (SPOILER ALERT!) my wife's pregnancy later .
So it was on a really beautiful and sunny day, March 28th, that my wife was placed in a Bear warming gown which she comically said made her look like Grimace, then placed under general sedation as I held her hand and joked with the doctor's about their colorful footwear, and was then led out into the waiting room for what I anticipated was going to be a insufferably long and anxiety-riddled affair as my wife had surgery for her miscarriage...only to have the doctor come out before I could even put my ear buds in to tell me the procedure was wholly unremarkable and fine, and led me back to a recovery room while my wife came out from general anesthesia.
I helped her get dressed as she started rousing, realizing that I found myself moving sort of mechanically and dispassionately the whole time- taking in details like the overhead ceiling light having a tropical picture superimposed on it to help people as the woke up. I found myself dressing my wife, the object of my affection, the one who I love and whose body I adore, in the most clinical but gentle way I can.
Before you leave, they give you a prescription and some instructions. You need to wait several weeks before making any attempt at procreation, and to wait until after you've had a full menstrual cycle so that you know your body is ready to try again. Any attempt at intercourse within 3 weeks is not-advised, and you should wear a condom. (A condom. A CONDOM? It's weird, right? Just hearing them say you need to wrap it up. Suddenly I'm 14 and back in health class.)
This all meant more time constraints. And doing the math, after a year of trying it'd be another 2-3 months before biologically she was prepared to become a sacred vessel. No more Mommy/Granddaughter matching birthday. Tick tock. Would I be fifty before I had a kid?
Mentally, the hurdles were more challenging than even the surgical procedure. For what felt like many months, my wife struggled to even get up and go to work and in spite of having a crappy job*, I found myself being the one to get her up and going in. The self-blame she experienced was exhausting for her, and there were many nights where I would just hold her while she cried before she went to sleep. Surprise...I didn't have the same issue, but still felt awful not only because my wife was suffering but because in the big picture- what had happened didn't feel like it was even real. Like...was she ever even "really" pregnant? Like the pee stick lied, and our baby didn't even make it out of the gate, much less have a chance to be "proven" (to crib a line from the "Great British Baking Show".)
In her grief, and having admitted these feelings to her- my wise wife reminded me that it was "real to her". I was 43 years old, and still getting schooled on sensitivity.
There was one night shortly after the D & C where we tucked into a magnum of wine, and fueled by tears and emotion we tore the TV room apart and slurred on about making changes and fresh starts. What ended up happening was waking up with a Costco membership, and a vacation to Rome for our 3 year anniversary. We figured if we don't have a kid, then we'd spend our money on a little culture and travel.
Also, in spite of doctor's orders and emotionally not feeling like we were ready yet- we disregarded the post-surgery instructions and risked intimacy sooner rather than later.
*I did have a meeting with my boss after I came back to work, btw. They forgave any and all missed work. At that point, and feeling how I did, I was skeptical and almost angry that I wasn't fired for having missed so many days. Moreover, having struggled with my role there, I was even angrier that they showed that much sensitivity toward what I was going through. Like I said, things were really weird.
Thursday, May 02, 2019
The trying is the hardest part
"Do you want to know what sex is for women? Poke Poke POKE and then you're done! Where's the satisfaction for HER?!?!*"
"Kiddo, they used to tell us that we could get pregnant eating cabbage or straddling a fence**"
- *My mom's unsolicited advice, circa 1993 when I was in high school hanging out with a bunch of my friends. I may have attempted to will myself out of existence in the moment, and "Poke Poke Poke" became the tease-du jour the rest of the year.
- **Mom, again...telling me the kind of sex education bullshit they were told back in the late 50's.
Chapter 3
(Content warning- boners n' stuff)
In case you are wondering, sex ed wasn't anything we shied away from in my family. Mom, being mom and being a nurse, meant we had a pretty open door policy when it came to the birds and the bees. She LOVED telling everyone the story of watching a child birth documentary with me when I was 5 years old, and when the baby was being delivered apparently I screamed and cried and told her that the "mommy was pooping a baby!!!" There was also the time she checked out "Where Do I Come From" via our local library. Ever read that one? A detailed cartoon look at procreation, albeit where they all look like characters from "The Family Guy"? Horrifying.
Even in middle school/high school the instructors were fairly candid about sex. (Eff you, abstinence-only teachers) In the late 80's, topics were covered such as AIDS, teen pregnancy, and safe sex. (Even though we seem to be living in regressive times, there was an era where people imagined they'd contract HIV by public toilet seats and a host of other bullshit we now know to be false.) I'm sure many have endured the awkward giggle-inducing lectures and sex-ed videos which included an actual (internal camera) point of insemination, which one kid in our class called "Live eye in the pie."
The funny thing was what we learned was that getting pregnant? Was, like, suuuuuuuper easy.
I've joked about how my dad had a very strict set of rules when I was a kid about dating which amounted to: "Don't embarrass me" (He was a cop, and he said if I did anything illegal he'd know by morning) and "Don't get a girl pregnant". If you can remember any of those scary after school specials like 'Too young to be a Dad" or Madonna videos like "Papa Don't Preach"...basically the idea was that if you even...fucking...hugged someone of the opposite sex too tightly? Spontaneous reproduction was inevitable. (Versus, say, educating kids of the fact that that consensual sex? Can be really, really awesome, enjoyable, and fun.)
Also important to note, and I hope my high school classmates reading this will get a laugh, but starting my sophomore/junior year- my mom staretd put condoms in my Christmas stocking. (STOCKING STUFFER JOKE) Honestly, it's probably the best thing she did to get me over the stigma of buying prophylactics, but there was still that burning awful embarrassment of taking out candy bars, socks, fruit, and gift certificates on my birthday only to find a small black box with an oily muscular man's torso pulling on a rope that touted 3 spermicidally lubricated rubbers while my father videotaped the whole mess. I mean, yeah- we were a fairly sex/consent positive family, but the message from my parents was pretty clear: We know you're going to be getting frisky, and we'd like it if you didn't graduate from Park Center with an infant.
ANYWAY,
Absolutely nothing happened in 2017 of note, baby-wise. Sure, we had started telling folks we were trying. My wife started taking pre-natal gummies. (GUMMIES FOR BABIES). When she apprised her lady doctor that she was trying, she was told to anticipate a "Geriatric Pregnancy". (The fuck? Suddenly the stupid joke from "When Harry Met Sally"-remember? "Charlie Chaplin had kids when he was 73!" had a whoooole new meaning). We tried adopting healthier habits like drinking less and exercising more. People gave a lot of advice on the matter ("You have to make her orgasm. A lot." Done and done.) I mean, the trying bit? That's the fun part. Sorry to chuck the rubbers, ma. But see the last entry to my first comment about having unprotected sex with the goal of making a tiny human.
Still... I didn't really feel a massive hurry. I was sort of convinced, as a guy who was sexually active since high school and avoided any scares or mis-haps* that I might just be...too old. Sure, I was 42 years old and still feeling, y'know... active and virile. And yet, month after month in 2017, my wife would get her period and I'd hold and console her as she cried- while mentally breathing a sigh of relief that parental responsibility was off of my plate. However, I attended a fertility consultation with my wife, and before I left I was handed a cup and told that if it didn't happen this month, that maybe it was my turn to have the swimmers inspected. Suddenly you start to notice more friends getting pregnant. And as much I can/could joke about masturbating in a cup and rushing off to deliver it in 45 minutes to the University Ave Sperm Clinic like a pizza delivery driver's hot and ready guarantee? (DOUBLE DOWN ENTENDRE!)
The idea that it was my fault some how really hooked under my skin. More anxiety. More worry. And then what happened just before Summer 2017 was a whole new kick in the dingus:
I was laid off .
And if we talk of stressors, distractions, and excuses? How about "How the fuck do I try or even want to have a kid when I don't even have an income?"
* Yeah, I know. I've also driven after having maybe one too many and played those stupid odds, too. Basically, Imma PSA here and say: Have and enjoy safe and consensual sex. Don't play make-believe and raw dog and pretend that you're sterile or infertile just so you can avoid wearing a condom, males and male-identifiers. Again. Consent. Condoms. I've had the privilege to be in long-term monogamous relationships since 2000, and my partners and I have candid conversations about comfortable levels of safety. Rather, I should say that I think talking about your privates and the naughty acts you engage in with them can and should be a hot conversation that's part of the experience. Ok? I also think I missed my calling being an educator on sexuality.
"Kiddo, they used to tell us that we could get pregnant eating cabbage or straddling a fence**"
- *My mom's unsolicited advice, circa 1993 when I was in high school hanging out with a bunch of my friends. I may have attempted to will myself out of existence in the moment, and "Poke Poke Poke" became the tease-du jour the rest of the year.
- **Mom, again...telling me the kind of sex education bullshit they were told back in the late 50's.
Chapter 3
(Content warning- boners n' stuff)
In case you are wondering, sex ed wasn't anything we shied away from in my family. Mom, being mom and being a nurse, meant we had a pretty open door policy when it came to the birds and the bees. She LOVED telling everyone the story of watching a child birth documentary with me when I was 5 years old, and when the baby was being delivered apparently I screamed and cried and told her that the "mommy was pooping a baby!!!" There was also the time she checked out "Where Do I Come From" via our local library. Ever read that one? A detailed cartoon look at procreation, albeit where they all look like characters from "The Family Guy"? Horrifying.
Even in middle school/high school the instructors were fairly candid about sex. (Eff you, abstinence-only teachers) In the late 80's, topics were covered such as AIDS, teen pregnancy, and safe sex. (Even though we seem to be living in regressive times, there was an era where people imagined they'd contract HIV by public toilet seats and a host of other bullshit we now know to be false.) I'm sure many have endured the awkward giggle-inducing lectures and sex-ed videos which included an actual (internal camera) point of insemination, which one kid in our class called "Live eye in the pie."
The funny thing was what we learned was that getting pregnant? Was, like, suuuuuuuper easy.
I've joked about how my dad had a very strict set of rules when I was a kid about dating which amounted to: "Don't embarrass me" (He was a cop, and he said if I did anything illegal he'd know by morning) and "Don't get a girl pregnant". If you can remember any of those scary after school specials like 'Too young to be a Dad" or Madonna videos like "Papa Don't Preach"...basically the idea was that if you even...fucking...hugged someone of the opposite sex too tightly? Spontaneous reproduction was inevitable. (Versus, say, educating kids of the fact that that consensual sex? Can be really, really awesome, enjoyable, and fun.)
Also important to note, and I hope my high school classmates reading this will get a laugh, but starting my sophomore/junior year- my mom staretd put condoms in my Christmas stocking. (STOCKING STUFFER JOKE) Honestly, it's probably the best thing she did to get me over the stigma of buying prophylactics, but there was still that burning awful embarrassment of taking out candy bars, socks, fruit, and gift certificates on my birthday only to find a small black box with an oily muscular man's torso pulling on a rope that touted 3 spermicidally lubricated rubbers while my father videotaped the whole mess. I mean, yeah- we were a fairly sex/consent positive family, but the message from my parents was pretty clear: We know you're going to be getting frisky, and we'd like it if you didn't graduate from Park Center with an infant.
ANYWAY,
Absolutely nothing happened in 2017 of note, baby-wise. Sure, we had started telling folks we were trying. My wife started taking pre-natal gummies. (GUMMIES FOR BABIES). When she apprised her lady doctor that she was trying, she was told to anticipate a "Geriatric Pregnancy". (The fuck? Suddenly the stupid joke from "When Harry Met Sally"-remember? "Charlie Chaplin had kids when he was 73!" had a whoooole new meaning). We tried adopting healthier habits like drinking less and exercising more. People gave a lot of advice on the matter ("You have to make her orgasm. A lot." Done and done.) I mean, the trying bit? That's the fun part. Sorry to chuck the rubbers, ma. But see the last entry to my first comment about having unprotected sex with the goal of making a tiny human.
Still... I didn't really feel a massive hurry. I was sort of convinced, as a guy who was sexually active since high school and avoided any scares or mis-haps* that I might just be...too old. Sure, I was 42 years old and still feeling, y'know... active and virile. And yet, month after month in 2017, my wife would get her period and I'd hold and console her as she cried- while mentally breathing a sigh of relief that parental responsibility was off of my plate. However, I attended a fertility consultation with my wife, and before I left I was handed a cup and told that if it didn't happen this month, that maybe it was my turn to have the swimmers inspected. Suddenly you start to notice more friends getting pregnant. And as much I can/could joke about masturbating in a cup and rushing off to deliver it in 45 minutes to the University Ave Sperm Clinic like a pizza delivery driver's hot and ready guarantee? (DOUBLE DOWN ENTENDRE!)
The idea that it was my fault some how really hooked under my skin. More anxiety. More worry. And then what happened just before Summer 2017 was a whole new kick in the dingus:
I was laid off .
And if we talk of stressors, distractions, and excuses? How about "How the fuck do I try or even want to have a kid when I don't even have an income?"
* Yeah, I know. I've also driven after having maybe one too many and played those stupid odds, too. Basically, Imma PSA here and say: Have and enjoy safe and consensual sex. Don't play make-believe and raw dog and pretend that you're sterile or infertile just so you can avoid wearing a condom, males and male-identifiers. Again. Consent. Condoms. I've had the privilege to be in long-term monogamous relationships since 2000, and my partners and I have candid conversations about comfortable levels of safety. Rather, I should say that I think talking about your privates and the naughty acts you engage in with them can and should be a hot conversation that's part of the experience. Ok? I also think I missed my calling being an educator on sexuality.
Wednesday, May 01, 2019
The part where we make the decision
"Sorry folks, the pterodactyl ride is only for children or an adult plus one child!!!"
Chapter 2
I hope if you're on chapter 2, you know I'm hoping not to be cruel with subjecting you to the minutiae of my memory. Overarchingly, the world landscape had just as much of an effect on our decision to have kids as did anything personal, financial, or...wanting to foster pets? I don't know...
Distractions are my nemesis.
One of my least favorite traits I can acknowledge I inherited from my mom and dad, besides the procrastination, is the inability to think in a linear fashion. Although we had had the conversation about what having kids meant to each other when we began the next phase of our relationship, the distractions- like stressors- contributed no small part. Ever read about stressors? Learning about stress in a college psych class opened my mind as to how even innocuous things can affect us. Stress isn't always just, y'know, stress. It's the amount of energy that can be invested in an activity or anticipation of an activity. Moving can be stressful. First dates. Falling in love. Going to a BBQ. Watching TV. My point being, even positive things can be stressful. So when you factor all that in, and you've been practicing avoidance for most of your adult life, the accumulation of it all has an affect.
There is comfort in not having to think about raising a family. About having it just be my wife and I for a change. After all, so much had happened in a very small span of time. Losing mom. Karate. Marriage. Traveling abroad. Work changes. The intervening years between my wife moving in and the point where we decided to have kids was in no way organic, and moreover it wasn't one where we had even a chance to sit down in talk about how each of us felt about it. Life had just been life. And when you feel like someone put a brick on your accelerator and you feel like things are out of your control, the last thing *I* wanted was to talk about family planning. I felt pretty devalued. Like other people, dad's, family's...like they all had their shit together and I didn't. And if I didn't have my shit together, what kind of life was I supposed to afford a kid?
I woke up with one of the worst hangovers of my life on January 1st, 2017 and of course that day my wife asked if this was the year we wanted to start trying for children, even though all I wanted to do that day was either drink ice water, vomit, or sleep. I literally...hadn't even thought about it in a long time. 2016 was such a kick in the crotch in so many ways, I felt numb to the possibility. Except traveling was something we still loved doing together, and gave us something to look forward to. And so when it was suggested that we make a trip to the happiest place on earth, I welcomed that particular distraction. Welcomed it bigly.
Oh, did you think I meant Mouses, and tea cups and Space Mountains? Oh no no no no. No, the vacation we went on where we began attempting to pro-create in earnest? Was to Harry Potter World!!!* And in spite of that cloudy inexplicable fug that follows you when you have anxiety and depression- that can cloud up your day even when the bright sun is out and you're floating in an outdoor pool in March? We decided to go for it**...
...even though I didn't think anything would come of it at the time? And even then, I was hoping a little that it wouldn't happen at all.
Expecto Familia!
*It's...it's fucking Universal Studios Orlando, okay? And she keeps, no...stop...she keeps saying it's Harry Potter World like it's its own park, and I had to explain that it was the "Wizarding World of Harry Potter" and it was just one part of the larger park, and she admitted that she only does it to see me get so fired up. Fired up? I didn't think we'd spend 7 days at *one* park, and I thought we'd get Disney and the beach and Epcot and FUCK!!!
It was great though and I wouldn't trade my wife's joy for anything, although I'm able to comment that if we head back down we are, in no uncertain terms, going to by the expensive ride pass and get on the Millennium Falcon when the Star Wars park opens. Sorry. I meant to say STAR WARS WORLD!!! HA! TAKE THAT, HONEY!!!
The employee at the Jursassic Park section can suck it, tho. That Pterodactyl Ride looked dope as all get out, and it was for kids only? Lame-biscuit.
**I promise I won't go into sordid details with my readers. This isn't a Penthouse Forum letter, but as I was bouncing the idea of writing this off of my wife, she started laughing and told me it was okay to add what I said after that first try. (She actually remembers what I said. And that, friends, is both weird and why I love her so much.)
"I don't know if I was ready for that".
Chapter 2
I hope if you're on chapter 2, you know I'm hoping not to be cruel with subjecting you to the minutiae of my memory. Overarchingly, the world landscape had just as much of an effect on our decision to have kids as did anything personal, financial, or...wanting to foster pets? I don't know...
Distractions are my nemesis.
One of my least favorite traits I can acknowledge I inherited from my mom and dad, besides the procrastination, is the inability to think in a linear fashion. Although we had had the conversation about what having kids meant to each other when we began the next phase of our relationship, the distractions- like stressors- contributed no small part. Ever read about stressors? Learning about stress in a college psych class opened my mind as to how even innocuous things can affect us. Stress isn't always just, y'know, stress. It's the amount of energy that can be invested in an activity or anticipation of an activity. Moving can be stressful. First dates. Falling in love. Going to a BBQ. Watching TV. My point being, even positive things can be stressful. So when you factor all that in, and you've been practicing avoidance for most of your adult life, the accumulation of it all has an affect.
There is comfort in not having to think about raising a family. About having it just be my wife and I for a change. After all, so much had happened in a very small span of time. Losing mom. Karate. Marriage. Traveling abroad. Work changes. The intervening years between my wife moving in and the point where we decided to have kids was in no way organic, and moreover it wasn't one where we had even a chance to sit down in talk about how each of us felt about it. Life had just been life. And when you feel like someone put a brick on your accelerator and you feel like things are out of your control, the last thing *I* wanted was to talk about family planning. I felt pretty devalued. Like other people, dad's, family's...like they all had their shit together and I didn't. And if I didn't have my shit together, what kind of life was I supposed to afford a kid?
I woke up with one of the worst hangovers of my life on January 1st, 2017 and of course that day my wife asked if this was the year we wanted to start trying for children, even though all I wanted to do that day was either drink ice water, vomit, or sleep. I literally...hadn't even thought about it in a long time. 2016 was such a kick in the crotch in so many ways, I felt numb to the possibility. Except traveling was something we still loved doing together, and gave us something to look forward to. And so when it was suggested that we make a trip to the happiest place on earth, I welcomed that particular distraction. Welcomed it bigly.
Oh, did you think I meant Mouses, and tea cups and Space Mountains? Oh no no no no. No, the vacation we went on where we began attempting to pro-create in earnest? Was to Harry Potter World!!!* And in spite of that cloudy inexplicable fug that follows you when you have anxiety and depression- that can cloud up your day even when the bright sun is out and you're floating in an outdoor pool in March? We decided to go for it**...
...even though I didn't think anything would come of it at the time? And even then, I was hoping a little that it wouldn't happen at all.
Expecto Familia!
*It's...it's fucking Universal Studios Orlando, okay? And she keeps, no...stop...she keeps saying it's Harry Potter World like it's its own park, and I had to explain that it was the "Wizarding World of Harry Potter" and it was just one part of the larger park, and she admitted that she only does it to see me get so fired up. Fired up? I didn't think we'd spend 7 days at *one* park, and I thought we'd get Disney and the beach and Epcot and FUCK!!!
It was great though and I wouldn't trade my wife's joy for anything, although I'm able to comment that if we head back down we are, in no uncertain terms, going to by the expensive ride pass and get on the Millennium Falcon when the Star Wars park opens. Sorry. I meant to say STAR WARS WORLD!!! HA! TAKE THAT, HONEY!!!
The employee at the Jursassic Park section can suck it, tho. That Pterodactyl Ride looked dope as all get out, and it was for kids only? Lame-biscuit.
**I promise I won't go into sordid details with my readers. This isn't a Penthouse Forum letter, but as I was bouncing the idea of writing this off of my wife, she started laughing and told me it was okay to add what I said after that first try. (She actually remembers what I said. And that, friends, is both weird and why I love her so much.)
"I don't know if I was ready for that".
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
Did you wanna hear some stuff about my kid?
(Note: All of the past stuff from my blog has fallen into disuse and disrepair,. I just wasn't keeping up on it, and if you really had a hankering to go back in time between 2004-2010 or so when I was regular, it's a pretty good snapshot of how my poor scattered brain functions on the regular- like a super ball on a trampoline. In the interest of keeping things brief, or brief-to-me, and maybe seeming more like "real writing" and not abstract ditherings, I wanted to change the name of my blog and start talking openly about our experience with going through child birth in all it's gory glory. I don't think we'll have much in terms of super new content, but it's not every day you wind up having a kid in your mid-forties either. Hope you enjoy!)
"All I'm asking, is that you don't rule it out entirely. Is that okay?"
Chapter 1
Entering the Summer of 2014 was more or less the start of a lot of high level changes in my life. Mom's cancer came back and along with it a terminal diagnosis. I'd lost an uncle, had parts of my house fall into pricey disrepair, came off of one of the coldest Minnesota Winter's in history which created the experience of the kind of climate that does not bode well for lake levels (ALGAE BLOOM!?) nor blooming garden projects. Still, we were way off of the world at large going to hell in a handbasket that we've been experiencing since the election. I was still gainfully employed and enjoying my job. I was getting ready to head up North to do Summer Stock for the second year in a row- which is always a hot ticket. We had a lake house in the metro area, and my girlfriend's serene family cabin to enjoy. OH, along that last point- my roommate of the previous 8 years was going to move out, and the woman who would be my future wife was going to be moving in.
We had joked about marriage et.al. It was going to be my first time cohabiting with a partner in nearly a decade, and while it was less of a big deal than it was when I was younger, it still had the air of permanence. I would be turning 40 by the end of the year, and while I didn't *feel* 40, and having lived my life kind of moment to moment up until then (and without the kind of worry and anxiety I'd face in the coming years), I came to accept my love as being the only one for me. Writing this makes it seem harsh, but coming from the places we were when we entered our relationship a few years prior (I had somehow imagined my last bout of bachelorhood was going to be full of excitement and intrigue and RAGING, but here I ended up finding my love and falling for her.)
And here we are. Also, raging in your late thirties is exxxxxhausting.
Anyway, a lot of our close friend group were cohabiting or married already. Even as a worrisome procrastinator, I still didn't feel too pressing a need to settle down and start a family. If my friends did have babies, it was always nice to visit and return said infant to mom and dad at the end of the night. But I could tell, like you can, that my wife *loved* holding the pampalonies. She'd visit with family and friends and snuggle their beebs so they could get a shower or a nap. She changed diapies, played peek-a-boo, and basically demonstrated qualities that said "I want to be a mom".
And I loved seeing her joy, I just...wasn't there. I had a niece and nephew I adored, and at the time they were my favorite audience in the world. Babies were just...delicate. And I'm a bull.
SO, we attended a friend's birthday party before I was to shuffle off to Bemidji for theater camp, and the remarkable thing was that I was in a room full of gentlemen who had all recently had a vasectomy. (record scratch) Once I got all of my crass jokes out of the way ("So, when you orgasm does it come out like a fine powder? Like dusting a bundt cake?") I sort of marveled at their commitment . Because for all the friends expanding their families? There were nearly an equal amount of my dear friends who choose not to. Which is kind of a cool way of saying I have a well rounded group of friends who defy what it means to have a nuclear family. I digress. And brag.
Heading home, my wife and I had a conversation that ended with the opening statement of this story. And of course I wasn't about to say no. Over the coming months, it'd be a contentious conversation with some of my other friends ("How can you say you'll marry her, she wants kids and you don't...and say it's 'OK'?!!?") I guess... because how am I supposed to know who I was going to be after we moved in together? After we got married? I literally didn't and still don't, really, know who I was.
So Uncertainty + Laziness ='s X when it came to fatherhood. After years of making a lame joke that I was sterile (Reeeeeelax. I never used it as an excuse to avoid using protection.) or that "I can barely take care of myself, how can I be expected to take care of a tiny human?!?!" I just sort of figured it either wasn't in the cards, or at some point in the future if my (wife) wanted to discuss it- I wouldn't coldly close the door on the issue.
There was just this little thing called "we should get married first".
And my mom's health (and eventual passing.).
And my credit card debt. (Which I already didn't want my future wife to absorb)
And lastly...what I attributed to be a complete and utter black hole when it came to what paternal responsibility was...outside of being able to make fart jokes and be silly.
In short, I was unprepared. So I just dropped it and didn't bother to bring it up again.
"All I'm asking, is that you don't rule it out entirely. Is that okay?"
Chapter 1
Entering the Summer of 2014 was more or less the start of a lot of high level changes in my life. Mom's cancer came back and along with it a terminal diagnosis. I'd lost an uncle, had parts of my house fall into pricey disrepair, came off of one of the coldest Minnesota Winter's in history which created the experience of the kind of climate that does not bode well for lake levels (ALGAE BLOOM!?) nor blooming garden projects. Still, we were way off of the world at large going to hell in a handbasket that we've been experiencing since the election. I was still gainfully employed and enjoying my job. I was getting ready to head up North to do Summer Stock for the second year in a row- which is always a hot ticket. We had a lake house in the metro area, and my girlfriend's serene family cabin to enjoy. OH, along that last point- my roommate of the previous 8 years was going to move out, and the woman who would be my future wife was going to be moving in.
We had joked about marriage et.al. It was going to be my first time cohabiting with a partner in nearly a decade, and while it was less of a big deal than it was when I was younger, it still had the air of permanence. I would be turning 40 by the end of the year, and while I didn't *feel* 40, and having lived my life kind of moment to moment up until then (and without the kind of worry and anxiety I'd face in the coming years), I came to accept my love as being the only one for me. Writing this makes it seem harsh, but coming from the places we were when we entered our relationship a few years prior (I had somehow imagined my last bout of bachelorhood was going to be full of excitement and intrigue and RAGING, but here I ended up finding my love and falling for her.)
And here we are. Also, raging in your late thirties is exxxxxhausting.
Anyway, a lot of our close friend group were cohabiting or married already. Even as a worrisome procrastinator, I still didn't feel too pressing a need to settle down and start a family. If my friends did have babies, it was always nice to visit and return said infant to mom and dad at the end of the night. But I could tell, like you can, that my wife *loved* holding the pampalonies. She'd visit with family and friends and snuggle their beebs so they could get a shower or a nap. She changed diapies, played peek-a-boo, and basically demonstrated qualities that said "I want to be a mom".
And I loved seeing her joy, I just...wasn't there. I had a niece and nephew I adored, and at the time they were my favorite audience in the world. Babies were just...delicate. And I'm a bull.
SO, we attended a friend's birthday party before I was to shuffle off to Bemidji for theater camp, and the remarkable thing was that I was in a room full of gentlemen who had all recently had a vasectomy. (record scratch) Once I got all of my crass jokes out of the way ("So, when you orgasm does it come out like a fine powder? Like dusting a bundt cake?") I sort of marveled at their commitment . Because for all the friends expanding their families? There were nearly an equal amount of my dear friends who choose not to. Which is kind of a cool way of saying I have a well rounded group of friends who defy what it means to have a nuclear family. I digress. And brag.
Heading home, my wife and I had a conversation that ended with the opening statement of this story. And of course I wasn't about to say no. Over the coming months, it'd be a contentious conversation with some of my other friends ("How can you say you'll marry her, she wants kids and you don't...and say it's 'OK'?!!?") I guess... because how am I supposed to know who I was going to be after we moved in together? After we got married? I literally didn't and still don't, really, know who I was.
So Uncertainty + Laziness ='s X when it came to fatherhood. After years of making a lame joke that I was sterile (Reeeeeelax. I never used it as an excuse to avoid using protection.) or that "I can barely take care of myself, how can I be expected to take care of a tiny human?!?!" I just sort of figured it either wasn't in the cards, or at some point in the future if my (wife) wanted to discuss it- I wouldn't coldly close the door on the issue.
There was just this little thing called "we should get married first".
And my mom's health (and eventual passing.).
And my credit card debt. (Which I already didn't want my future wife to absorb)
And lastly...what I attributed to be a complete and utter black hole when it came to what paternal responsibility was...outside of being able to make fart jokes and be silly.
In short, I was unprepared. So I just dropped it and didn't bother to bring it up again.
Saturday, November 03, 2018
End of year review, aka "When was the last time you posted again?"
Delete Delete Delete...That...friends, is how I started this entry. My non-existent "only-have-2-or-three-consistent-reader"/"who the frass blogs any more?" year end entry. Because holy shit it was super duper negative.
I love and hate the Faceburg feature "On This Day". Big surprise, I've loved and hated Faceburg over the last 12 months. But honestly, 2014...15...16...*Every* year it's been "Well, this last year has been a challenge and I'm putting it behind me!" Or, "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out, 20--". Right? It's me. And it's not me. I try to project an air of positivity, but I'm not acknowledging the blind spot which is how I mindlessly add to the toxic nature of the world at large without thinking. Boo on me.
This blaug was started ages ago when blaugs were a thing, and I wanted to talk about the house, my relationship, my family. Everything in an anonymous abstract. The rambled. They roamed. They changed. And so has the world and how I interact with it. So I wanted to, for a change, talk about a few things that happened in 2017 that meant a great deal to me and I found immense joy in. You can find lists of positive things all over the interweb (Probably on Buzzfeed. Shit like "Hey, the snow leopards are off the endangered species list!"), and I'd like to add some goodness to the world. Wanna hear about it? Here it goes:
So...we got a dog...
Blu. Mr. Blutarsky. Manjammer. Dogbeef. Mr. Farts. I agreed to my wife's request that we consider a dog, after we get the back 40 fenced in, and after a few visits we made this guy come to his forever home. He's been a joy. Frustrating. Expensive (hello, heartworms). But there's been nothing like the loving I get when I come home and he hep hep heps up on the couch waiting for scritches. He is literally my heart, and I'm not ashamed to be one of those people who say "He rescued me..." Metaphorically speaking.
Catbeef remains underwhelmed, but they get along just fine.
After the cockfloppery which was the election, we decided to take part of the first wave of action. And I can't begin to tell you how good it felt...
This would continue our attempts at activism in whatever way we could. We gave to ACLU, SPLC, Planned Parenthood. We spoke up. And we're still trying to make sense of the world. Meanwhile, being part of it was an amazing experience that only required the purchase of a light rail pass.
We traveled...
Oh, Orlando. I had wanted to go park to park to park to the beach, but I won't discount the joy we had being in the bright sunshine in March, and visiting a place I hadn't been in over 20 years. My wif'e's reaction at seeing Hogwart's castle for the first time was worth the trip 1000 times over.
Yeah. Terrible time.
Oh...you probably all don't remember my desire to get out of my comfort zone? I did. Big time...
1st, was getting into a musical. A MUSICAL YOU SAY? Yep. It was challenging, in a lot of ways. But my favorite part of theater is building up my framily. And look at these guys. I lost my job during this show, but it was literally (next to the mrs.) the one big thing that kept me afloat in early Spring.
Ok, so that last one is from an unrelated production on a website that makes fun of terrible theater PR photos. But it cracks me up.
Spring gave way to Summer, and the terror I felt at not having a job (in spite of getting severance) was also lightened a bit by scoring a pretty well paying gig. I'm somehow "winning" at playing fat farmers. Shut it. And watch. "Ayyyyy".
I also engaged in a bit of self-care. Last time I lost my job, I found my way into remorse and day drinking. I actively made a self-pledge to (not) do that and to (not) beat myself up if I cocktailed now and again. My stomach thanked me. I ran my 5th "Get in Gear" Rite of Spring with buddies, and even though it was a 5K, I felt pretty good about continuing the streak.
And lest you think I traded in my tough guy cred (I had tough guy cred?), I still went to train at Karate, saw my instructor and fellow black belt get promoted to "master", and somehow managed to escape the year injury-free, as well as help up and coming future black belts of America train for their test.
My wife has been doubling down her work outs this year in a display that can only be considered inspirational. And while I would go the the gym while funemployed, we really tried working on the self-care thing we started the year with. And while I'm not down in weight, taking a break from drinking helped sort of set my reset, so when I went in for my physical I found out that I wasn't the terrible cirrhotic mess I thought I would be. Yeah, they said I could lose 20 lbs (what?!?) and my BP was still elevated, but cholesterol looked manageable sans drugs. Beat that.
I was able to play at the family cabin this Summer. My in-laws got a pontoon boat they christened "The Black Pearl", and the first time out my FIL threw me behind the wheel and had me take her out. My own dad didn't even let me take our boat out without his supervision, and there I was pirating my way around Balsam Lake.
I ended up finding work at the end of the year as a contract employee for an educational testing company, setting up another scary Halloween diorama, *not* hosting Thanksgiving at my home for a change, and really- really ramping up the Christmas joy and spirit for my wife and my 2nd Christmas together as a married couple. I also managed to find myself cast in a Christmas show and made some new friends...
Ok. So I really messed up the year end round up by not posting this in January of this year. Here we are in November of 2018...TWENTY EIGHTEEN! And I'm putting on the full stop brakes to change up the format and the direction. I'll probably wind up archiving all of the inane drivel seen here for the last decade..the wandering and meandering prose, the nonsense and frass. And hopefully find something more meaningful in the months ahead.
May's coming sooner rather than later.
Yours always, The Happy Christmas Baby
I love and hate the Faceburg feature "On This Day". Big surprise, I've loved and hated Faceburg over the last 12 months. But honestly, 2014...15...16...*Every* year it's been "Well, this last year has been a challenge and I'm putting it behind me!" Or, "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out, 20--". Right? It's me. And it's not me. I try to project an air of positivity, but I'm not acknowledging the blind spot which is how I mindlessly add to the toxic nature of the world at large without thinking. Boo on me.
This blaug was started ages ago when blaugs were a thing, and I wanted to talk about the house, my relationship, my family. Everything in an anonymous abstract. The rambled. They roamed. They changed. And so has the world and how I interact with it. So I wanted to, for a change, talk about a few things that happened in 2017 that meant a great deal to me and I found immense joy in. You can find lists of positive things all over the interweb (Probably on Buzzfeed. Shit like "Hey, the snow leopards are off the endangered species list!"), and I'd like to add some goodness to the world. Wanna hear about it? Here it goes:
So...we got a dog...
Catbeef remains underwhelmed, but they get along just fine.
After the cockfloppery which was the election, we decided to take part of the first wave of action. And I can't begin to tell you how good it felt...
This would continue our attempts at activism in whatever way we could. We gave to ACLU, SPLC, Planned Parenthood. We spoke up. And we're still trying to make sense of the world. Meanwhile, being part of it was an amazing experience that only required the purchase of a light rail pass.
We traveled...
Oh, Orlando. I had wanted to go park to park to park to the beach, but I won't discount the joy we had being in the bright sunshine in March, and visiting a place I hadn't been in over 20 years. My wif'e's reaction at seeing Hogwart's castle for the first time was worth the trip 1000 times over.
Yeah. Terrible time.
Oh...you probably all don't remember my desire to get out of my comfort zone? I did. Big time...
1st, was getting into a musical. A MUSICAL YOU SAY? Yep. It was challenging, in a lot of ways. But my favorite part of theater is building up my framily. And look at these guys. I lost my job during this show, but it was literally (next to the mrs.) the one big thing that kept me afloat in early Spring.
Spring gave way to Summer, and the terror I felt at not having a job (in spite of getting severance) was also lightened a bit by scoring a pretty well paying gig. I'm somehow "winning" at playing fat farmers. Shut it. And watch. "Ayyyyy".
I also engaged in a bit of self-care. Last time I lost my job, I found my way into remorse and day drinking. I actively made a self-pledge to (not) do that and to (not) beat myself up if I cocktailed now and again. My stomach thanked me. I ran my 5th "Get in Gear" Rite of Spring with buddies, and even though it was a 5K, I felt pretty good about continuing the streak.
And lest you think I traded in my tough guy cred (I had tough guy cred?), I still went to train at Karate, saw my instructor and fellow black belt get promoted to "master", and somehow managed to escape the year injury-free, as well as help up and coming future black belts of America train for their test.
My wife has been doubling down her work outs this year in a display that can only be considered inspirational. And while I would go the the gym while funemployed, we really tried working on the self-care thing we started the year with. And while I'm not down in weight, taking a break from drinking helped sort of set my reset, so when I went in for my physical I found out that I wasn't the terrible cirrhotic mess I thought I would be. Yeah, they said I could lose 20 lbs (what?!?) and my BP was still elevated, but cholesterol looked manageable sans drugs. Beat that.
 |
| Lookit these nerds. Christmas day, before Mikeymas, making use of the Hyatt Downtown's facilities. We had it to ourselves, so I sort of felt like Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson with our own private gym |
I was able to play at the family cabin this Summer. My in-laws got a pontoon boat they christened "The Black Pearl", and the first time out my FIL threw me behind the wheel and had me take her out. My own dad didn't even let me take our boat out without his supervision, and there I was pirating my way around Balsam Lake.
 |
| Blu. Great as a passenger. Useless as a co-pilot. |
I ended up finding work at the end of the year as a contract employee for an educational testing company, setting up another scary Halloween diorama, *not* hosting Thanksgiving at my home for a change, and really- really ramping up the Christmas joy and spirit for my wife and my 2nd Christmas together as a married couple. I also managed to find myself cast in a Christmas show and made some new friends...
 |
| Spoiler alert!!! It's the final scene, suckers!!! |
Ok. So I really messed up the year end round up by not posting this in January of this year. Here we are in November of 2018...TWENTY EIGHTEEN! And I'm putting on the full stop brakes to change up the format and the direction. I'll probably wind up archiving all of the inane drivel seen here for the last decade..the wandering and meandering prose, the nonsense and frass. And hopefully find something more meaningful in the months ahead.
May's coming sooner rather than later.
Yours always, The Happy Christmas Baby
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Happy Birthday, Mom...
By the time I post this, the service will be done or we'll be on our way. And that'll be one of the last-er steps in what's been a pretty challenging year. It was respectful. It was moving. And it's still one of the hardest thing's Roman and I have had to do in our entire lives. On your birthday, we finally get to put you and dad to rest.
Hiya.
It's your birthday. In my planner, that I always buy year after year, and love and use as my journal of sorts -I had "Mom- 74" written in for 10/17 like I have the last 20 or so years of planner-journaling. As was with dad, and since your poorly timed departure a week before Mother's Day, we've been dealing with these milestones as they come. I just thought it was time that maybe I filled you in on what's been going on with us so that the blog-o-sphere remembers my existence (read: my 2 followers), and let you know how much we miss you. And maybe hash out some online honesty.
Facebook drives me crazy on the best days. What with the onslaught of information that I can barely process, it being an election year (I'm with her, Ma. I think I remember you being frassy about the other fella, and I'd like to believe deep down you were mildly progressive enough to think he's the chode he is and we'll leave it at that. )- the worst part LATELY is the "On This Day" and "Timehop" feature. See, it's occasionally fun to see what you were posting last year, 3 years ago, etc. (And, for a forgetful flibbertigibbet like me- keeps me from blabbering about the same food/super hero/weather/shitty driver related posts I usually blab about.) Of course, TODAY on your birthday I've got birthday well wishes, restaurant check ins (last year we had Indian food. The year before Macaroni Grill, etc etc. As a side note, I'd like to remind you, that we USED to do Mother's Day at the Bonfire Grill which would get my all you can eat bacon fix out of the way for a year, so bacon is SEVERELY underrepresented in my diet. Harrumph)
Another problem, is that you were always "liking" shit. Or commenting. Or saying how you don't understand what I'm posting...So as long as I have that feature, I'll be bombarded with recipes that were terrible for you that you would post with a message "Mom needs"...
Like with our old 10am "wake-up" phone calls, seeing those stream of recipes you'd ask me to make for you, or October Halloween Diorama ideas for the upcoming year, it's a big painful reminder of the void that's there. I don't wanna bitch about my weight or body-image, but I confess that getting outside to go for my daily constitutionals is still a struggle when you're not there on the other end of the line.
Enough about that. Let's see...Housekeeping...
To your eternal chagrin, your house is empty and on the market. It took us a very long while. we were able to muster some fun stuff over the Summer- trips to the lake, Claire's birthday, a trip to Wisconsin for my in-law's birthday. Most of the time, though, we were cramming in to empty your place out. It's an interesting progression- how much I started wanting to (try) to honor your wishes, or preserve our family legacy. In the end, it was three semi-trailer sized dumpsters and the realization that I would only be transferring the mess over to my place and never be done with it. It's just stuff. And there was a lot. And we did out best. Case in point, I spent an *entire* weekend organizing family documents and photos between your family, dad's, and miscellany. It was exhausting. And dirty. And we were grateful from the help and support of our relations on both sides of the family. And it's inspired me to start to discard a ton of crap here...my 8th grade report card, for example. Who needs to remember when my econ teacher said "Please contact for tutoring immediately"? Not me!
In going through old letters and cards, I also learned some stuff.
It's not necessary to get into on a blaug. It's not juicy, or dirty laundry. It's basically a lot of history that's helped me get to know you as a person better. Less a "mom", and who you were as a person, all around. From that, I realized that maintaining an air of transparency and a line of open-communication with my wife, my friend's, and my family is actually not a bad thing. (What with the suffering in silence or weird stoicism that older generations seem to think we need to maintain) I used to think that hiding our problems or matting them down, sweeping them under the bed so people could always see the best side isn't necessarily the best course of action. Not asking for help. Not acknowledging that you might have a problem or *need* help.
But some people do. And it's important to remain empathetic to that. Sensitive towards the needs of people we care about. About when we sense there's something wrong. No need to badger, but ask. An intervention...might have saved our backs and a few months of manual labor, sure. However, that's in the past. It's almost done. And the big thing is that we always knew there was a lot of love in your heart, and how you showed it was by saving every last piece of ephemera from our lives.
On to more important things-
Rachel and I made it through one year of happy marriage. You, miss, were a BIG part of that year (THANKS, Timehop!), and it's weird to be entering my 1st Halloween without you. I'm...I'm kind of stuck. Yeah, I know "You can still have a diorama without her." Or "She'd have wanted you to"...but the wind is sort of out of my sails. It was a year ago that you had your big Halloween fall and didn't tell me. A little after that, you were in your brace. Then prohibited from driving. Then Thanksgiving. A pretty tired Christmas. Making sure you were able to get to your New Year's Eve game night. And then...into sort of the last few months that took us by surprise. Even with advance warning. It was a terrible surprise. Sorry. Happier stuff.
Ray and I managed to finally go on our honeymoon! It was a glorious week in Paris. I know you'd have loved the Lourve more than anything- we saw Hammurabi's codex, and drunk in all the wonderful art we could. (To be honest- you'd have been pained to know we only managed to sprint through the Egyptian artifacts. It makes the British Museum look like the Science Museum...and they weren't super friendly to people with wheelchairs or canes, so your trick of playing the "Old Lady Card" might not've flown.) Also, my BIL and SIL were FINALLY matched for adoption! Yay! Yay for TWINS! Right? They are IN trouble.
I'm pretty busy now- We're building a garage, finally, planning and saving for our future- the possibility of new pets (Lord. Rach has to stay away from the Second-Hand Hounds website or Grouch will have a hairy younger brother/sister) I've had the pleasure of being asked to join the Mystery Cafe', which is steady and gratifying work. I'm doing a show for the Twin Cities Horror Festival- another 1st. (Think "Fringe Festival" but more skeery stuff. Probably up your alley, and I'd have to tie you down so you didn't comb Savers for props and stuff.) So that means I'm either performing or rehearsing on top of work- constantly. I miss the crap out of karate, which I can start hitting soon (hopefully after the aches and pains and injuries from cleaning your place subside. SORRY! Both Roman AND I are OLD DOT COM and hurt ourselves.)- but I guess that brings me to the last bittersweet part...
I realize that I'd been adhering to a fairly self-censoring policy when it comes to social media. Granted, I did way back when I started this blog...going so far as using aliases and nicknames etc. Now that I'm about 12 years in, and since you and dad are gone- I've been stripping that veneer. I don't want you to panic. No no. I'm not going to be talkymeat word-vomiter...which...is sort of par for the course. I don't plan on oversharing, or being *more* crass and vulgar than usual...puns and double entendres...bad ones...are my jam. But I plan on engaging a bit more honestly. More-More honestly, if that makes sense. I'll probably butt heads with some folks eventually. I'll lose some Facebook friends. I might draw the ire of some extended family. But at the end of the day, I think there are some pretty common sense values we can all adhere to. And I'd like to think that if I have any sense of justice or fairness- whatever that means- or need to protect or defend the "little guy" (remember when dad did that for me?)...or in today's climate...to sniff out the assholes that are in it for themselves. To make sure that people of color aren't having their rights infringed...or women...or immigrants...or ancestral...or the geeeeaaaaaaayys...You used to tell folks you didn't raise us that way. Or at least tell me you didn't. So I hope that going forward, you're going to be okay with me being more engaged. I'm getting too fat to have my Spider-Man suit under my dress clothes.
Ok.
It's been something, having you and dad together in my hutch. (And Rocky on the front porch as our guard dog in his "Attack urn") I think part of saying good bye,and part of the roller coaster of emotions that has been marked with sadness, avoidance, resentment, and nostalgia is going to be having a place where we can visit you on the regular. Fort Snelling is a pretty sacred place for that. And we'll not be leaving you guys alone. I miss you. 5 months to you, and 7 years for dad. I don't like having that head and heartspace feel so empty where you once stayed, but I'm keeping you close in other ways.
I love you, ma. We miss you. And down there...That was you. Our anchor.
Hiya.
It's your birthday. In my planner, that I always buy year after year, and love and use as my journal of sorts -I had "Mom- 74" written in for 10/17 like I have the last 20 or so years of planner-journaling. As was with dad, and since your poorly timed departure a week before Mother's Day, we've been dealing with these milestones as they come. I just thought it was time that maybe I filled you in on what's been going on with us so that the blog-o-sphere remembers my existence (read: my 2 followers), and let you know how much we miss you. And maybe hash out some online honesty.
Facebook drives me crazy on the best days. What with the onslaught of information that I can barely process, it being an election year (I'm with her, Ma. I think I remember you being frassy about the other fella, and I'd like to believe deep down you were mildly progressive enough to think he's the chode he is and we'll leave it at that. )- the worst part LATELY is the "On This Day" and "Timehop" feature. See, it's occasionally fun to see what you were posting last year, 3 years ago, etc. (And, for a forgetful flibbertigibbet like me- keeps me from blabbering about the same food/super hero/weather/shitty driver related posts I usually blab about.) Of course, TODAY on your birthday I've got birthday well wishes, restaurant check ins (last year we had Indian food. The year before Macaroni Grill, etc etc. As a side note, I'd like to remind you, that we USED to do Mother's Day at the Bonfire Grill which would get my all you can eat bacon fix out of the way for a year, so bacon is SEVERELY underrepresented in my diet. Harrumph)
Another problem, is that you were always "liking" shit. Or commenting. Or saying how you don't understand what I'm posting...So as long as I have that feature, I'll be bombarded with recipes that were terrible for you that you would post with a message "Mom needs"...
Like with our old 10am "wake-up" phone calls, seeing those stream of recipes you'd ask me to make for you, or October Halloween Diorama ideas for the upcoming year, it's a big painful reminder of the void that's there. I don't wanna bitch about my weight or body-image, but I confess that getting outside to go for my daily constitutionals is still a struggle when you're not there on the other end of the line.
Enough about that. Let's see...Housekeeping...
To your eternal chagrin, your house is empty and on the market. It took us a very long while. we were able to muster some fun stuff over the Summer- trips to the lake, Claire's birthday, a trip to Wisconsin for my in-law's birthday. Most of the time, though, we were cramming in to empty your place out. It's an interesting progression- how much I started wanting to (try) to honor your wishes, or preserve our family legacy. In the end, it was three semi-trailer sized dumpsters and the realization that I would only be transferring the mess over to my place and never be done with it. It's just stuff. And there was a lot. And we did out best. Case in point, I spent an *entire* weekend organizing family documents and photos between your family, dad's, and miscellany. It was exhausting. And dirty. And we were grateful from the help and support of our relations on both sides of the family. And it's inspired me to start to discard a ton of crap here...my 8th grade report card, for example. Who needs to remember when my econ teacher said "Please contact for tutoring immediately"? Not me!
In going through old letters and cards, I also learned some stuff.
It's not necessary to get into on a blaug. It's not juicy, or dirty laundry. It's basically a lot of history that's helped me get to know you as a person better. Less a "mom", and who you were as a person, all around. From that, I realized that maintaining an air of transparency and a line of open-communication with my wife, my friend's, and my family is actually not a bad thing. (What with the suffering in silence or weird stoicism that older generations seem to think we need to maintain) I used to think that hiding our problems or matting them down, sweeping them under the bed so people could always see the best side isn't necessarily the best course of action. Not asking for help. Not acknowledging that you might have a problem or *need* help.
But some people do. And it's important to remain empathetic to that. Sensitive towards the needs of people we care about. About when we sense there's something wrong. No need to badger, but ask. An intervention...might have saved our backs and a few months of manual labor, sure. However, that's in the past. It's almost done. And the big thing is that we always knew there was a lot of love in your heart, and how you showed it was by saving every last piece of ephemera from our lives.
On to more important things-
Rachel and I made it through one year of happy marriage. You, miss, were a BIG part of that year (THANKS, Timehop!), and it's weird to be entering my 1st Halloween without you. I'm...I'm kind of stuck. Yeah, I know "You can still have a diorama without her." Or "She'd have wanted you to"...but the wind is sort of out of my sails. It was a year ago that you had your big Halloween fall and didn't tell me. A little after that, you were in your brace. Then prohibited from driving. Then Thanksgiving. A pretty tired Christmas. Making sure you were able to get to your New Year's Eve game night. And then...into sort of the last few months that took us by surprise. Even with advance warning. It was a terrible surprise. Sorry. Happier stuff.
Ray and I managed to finally go on our honeymoon! It was a glorious week in Paris. I know you'd have loved the Lourve more than anything- we saw Hammurabi's codex, and drunk in all the wonderful art we could. (To be honest- you'd have been pained to know we only managed to sprint through the Egyptian artifacts. It makes the British Museum look like the Science Museum...and they weren't super friendly to people with wheelchairs or canes, so your trick of playing the "Old Lady Card" might not've flown.) Also, my BIL and SIL were FINALLY matched for adoption! Yay! Yay for TWINS! Right? They are IN trouble.
I'm pretty busy now- We're building a garage, finally, planning and saving for our future- the possibility of new pets (Lord. Rach has to stay away from the Second-Hand Hounds website or Grouch will have a hairy younger brother/sister) I've had the pleasure of being asked to join the Mystery Cafe', which is steady and gratifying work. I'm doing a show for the Twin Cities Horror Festival- another 1st. (Think "Fringe Festival" but more skeery stuff. Probably up your alley, and I'd have to tie you down so you didn't comb Savers for props and stuff.) So that means I'm either performing or rehearsing on top of work- constantly. I miss the crap out of karate, which I can start hitting soon (hopefully after the aches and pains and injuries from cleaning your place subside. SORRY! Both Roman AND I are OLD DOT COM and hurt ourselves.)- but I guess that brings me to the last bittersweet part...
I realize that I'd been adhering to a fairly self-censoring policy when it comes to social media. Granted, I did way back when I started this blog...going so far as using aliases and nicknames etc. Now that I'm about 12 years in, and since you and dad are gone- I've been stripping that veneer. I don't want you to panic. No no. I'm not going to be talkymeat word-vomiter...which...is sort of par for the course. I don't plan on oversharing, or being *more* crass and vulgar than usual...puns and double entendres...bad ones...are my jam. But I plan on engaging a bit more honestly. More-More honestly, if that makes sense. I'll probably butt heads with some folks eventually. I'll lose some Facebook friends. I might draw the ire of some extended family. But at the end of the day, I think there are some pretty common sense values we can all adhere to. And I'd like to think that if I have any sense of justice or fairness- whatever that means- or need to protect or defend the "little guy" (remember when dad did that for me?)...or in today's climate...to sniff out the assholes that are in it for themselves. To make sure that people of color aren't having their rights infringed...or women...or immigrants...or ancestral...or the geeeeaaaaaaayys...You used to tell folks you didn't raise us that way. Or at least tell me you didn't. So I hope that going forward, you're going to be okay with me being more engaged. I'm getting too fat to have my Spider-Man suit under my dress clothes.
Ok.
It's been something, having you and dad together in my hutch. (And Rocky on the front porch as our guard dog in his "Attack urn") I think part of saying good bye,and part of the roller coaster of emotions that has been marked with sadness, avoidance, resentment, and nostalgia is going to be having a place where we can visit you on the regular. Fort Snelling is a pretty sacred place for that. And we'll not be leaving you guys alone. I miss you. 5 months to you, and 7 years for dad. I don't like having that head and heartspace feel so empty where you once stayed, but I'm keeping you close in other ways.
I love you, ma. We miss you. And down there...That was you. Our anchor.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
End of...a very long year.
I'm finding it hard to sum up 2015 concisely, since the primary focus (which I'm naturally, quite happy about.) for approximately 2/3rds of it was:
I proposed back in January, and from there it was a whirlwind of planning, trips to see dear friends on the West Coast, another stay in Vegas, another St. Patty's 7K, more wedding planning, seeing some theater and some great movies, more work, more podcasting, more work at the Caves, more more KARATE! By late June, I had my black belt.
So that was a long time coming. Meanwhile, there were cabin trips, road trips to visit my girl when it was her turn to be up in the Midge at the PBP, re-acquainting with old friends, bachelor parties, MOAR trips to Vegas (for work, no less.), my first BIG GAY MARRIAGE of my best friend, work stress, Halloween madness, Thanksgiving at my in-laws, out of town trips with buddies, visits from out of town guests, a little movie about the War in the Stars, the in-laws adopting a doggie, annnnnnnnd the Holidays.
But with all that, came a lot of stress-balling. With stress comes exhaustion- we slept through a majority of our honeymoon, I ended up with some boo-too neck and back problems along with my general aches and pains from so much kung-fu'ing. Mom's still illin', to the point where the big C is almost on the back burner as her body heals. There've been some terrible, terrible losses this year, seeing some dear friends depart who were just too, too young. We've had other close friends move away, other friends who are in pain or struggling a lot, and some pretty turrible tragedies throughout the world and the nation that can break your heart.
And good Gods...the talking political heads...I'm not naming names, but the normal shit show has turned into something frightdiculous to hear and behold.
So...I'm not gonna talk about that stuff, aka my bullshit resolutions that I never follow, or my silly plans for the upcoming year...all that I'm gonna try to keep loose so I don't feel disappointed. Yes, there'll be races and karate and a full honeymoon overseas, and helping mom, and projects and visits to Camp Awesome and the Finch Nest in 'Sconnie and new friends in the neighborhood and all that.
But if you're a regular reader of this here blog, or a new reader, or just someone who doesn't mind seeing another regular Joe's take on naivety/wishful thinking...take heart:
I have a big wish for the people in my sphere. Worldwide or nationwide, really. But I'd be just as happy if this happened on a smaller scale and rippled outward. 2016 is an election year, and since I tend to be an anticipater of vertain events, I don't think that it's too far-fetched to believe this year is also going to be a pretty rough/less unifying one along with more and more hurtful division. (Yes. The present GOP and NRA are big fucking problems.)
Within the last few weeks, I've heard some people on social media as well as here at work say they don't like talking to their neighbors or avoid it outright. So my wish is for kindness. I wish for thoughtfulness. I wish for people to reach out to people. Engage. The cashier. The stranger. The neighbor. The family. Without pause or question. Make yourself available to the world. Don't turn your back on others, which is like turning your back on life. Don't worry. Be amazed at people being shocked by being forward and bold and generous with it.
Allow yourself to find new opportunities and not lament what you don't have- because you probably have more than you think. Which is probably impossible. Because I'd be asking for people to log off Facebook and turn off the TV. But I think that's an optimistic wish. And after a pretty hectic year, I think people can get back in touch with being kind again.
THE WEDDING!!!
 |
| You're hearing this guy in your head, aren't you |
I proposed back in January, and from there it was a whirlwind of planning, trips to see dear friends on the West Coast, another stay in Vegas, another St. Patty's 7K, more wedding planning, seeing some theater and some great movies, more work, more podcasting, more work at the Caves, more more KARATE! By late June, I had my black belt.
 |
| Pictured: The self-defense portion of my test. |
So that was a long time coming. Meanwhile, there were cabin trips, road trips to visit my girl when it was her turn to be up in the Midge at the PBP, re-acquainting with old friends, bachelor parties, MOAR trips to Vegas (for work, no less.), my first BIG GAY MARRIAGE of my best friend, work stress, Halloween madness, Thanksgiving at my in-laws, out of town trips with buddies, visits from out of town guests, a little movie about the War in the Stars, the in-laws adopting a doggie, annnnnnnnd the Holidays.
But with all that, came a lot of stress-balling. With stress comes exhaustion- we slept through a majority of our honeymoon, I ended up with some boo-too neck and back problems along with my general aches and pains from so much kung-fu'ing. Mom's still illin', to the point where the big C is almost on the back burner as her body heals. There've been some terrible, terrible losses this year, seeing some dear friends depart who were just too, too young. We've had other close friends move away, other friends who are in pain or struggling a lot, and some pretty turrible tragedies throughout the world and the nation that can break your heart.
And good Gods...the talking political heads...I'm not naming names, but the normal shit show has turned into something frightdiculous to hear and behold.
 |
| Seriously. Between the Pyramid grain silos, Xenophobia/Racism, and playground antics...I'm shutting down, kids. |
So...I'm not gonna talk about that stuff, aka my bullshit resolutions that I never follow, or my silly plans for the upcoming year...all that I'm gonna try to keep loose so I don't feel disappointed. Yes, there'll be races and karate and a full honeymoon overseas, and helping mom, and projects and visits to Camp Awesome and the Finch Nest in 'Sconnie and new friends in the neighborhood and all that.
But if you're a regular reader of this here blog, or a new reader, or just someone who doesn't mind seeing another regular Joe's take on naivety/wishful thinking...take heart:
I have a big wish for the people in my sphere. Worldwide or nationwide, really. But I'd be just as happy if this happened on a smaller scale and rippled outward. 2016 is an election year, and since I tend to be an anticipater of vertain events, I don't think that it's too far-fetched to believe this year is also going to be a pretty rough/less unifying one along with more and more hurtful division. (Yes. The present GOP and NRA are big fucking problems.)
Within the last few weeks, I've heard some people on social media as well as here at work say they don't like talking to their neighbors or avoid it outright. So my wish is for kindness. I wish for thoughtfulness. I wish for people to reach out to people. Engage. The cashier. The stranger. The neighbor. The family. Without pause or question. Make yourself available to the world. Don't turn your back on others, which is like turning your back on life. Don't worry. Be amazed at people being shocked by being forward and bold and generous with it.
Allow yourself to find new opportunities and not lament what you don't have- because you probably have more than you think. Which is probably impossible. Because I'd be asking for people to log off Facebook and turn off the TV. But I think that's an optimistic wish. And after a pretty hectic year, I think people can get back in touch with being kind again.
 |
| Bring it, 2016. I'm in martial spirits, chauffeuring my mom for New Year's, have gigs and travel plans, and a supportive and loving spouse. Let's just get that blood pressure and cholesterol down and we're solid. |
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Star...Mers...something...
Today, social media has been choc-a-bloc full of stories about people's 1st experience seeing Star Wars. I feel like I've told *everyone* who will listen to my experiences with the universe Lucas spun out (and his wife loomed into a cohesive story, natch.). 3. I was nearly 4 when we went to the old Brookdale Cinema (which became a Kohl's) and, if my folks recollection is to be believed, sat through it. Twice.*
From there, we gobbled up everything Star Wars. The accompanying picture-book and reel-to-reels from the Hennepin County Library with the images of Luke's best friend who didn't make it in the theatrical cut- and who eventually became the nick-namesake of my big brother. We had the over sized comic book, sheets, posters, glasses from Burger King, and naturally...lots and lots of action figures.
The chasm between the films seem massive, and as soon as we could we were saving proof-of-purchases from the boxes so we could send away for "Bossk", and the mystery figure who would become Boba Fett. (My god, the rumor that his jetpack could FIRE A MISSLE? Only to hear urban legends of choking hazards and stripping our fingers trying to get it out.) When the "Empire" magazine came out, we were treated to behind the scenes images from the new movie. Wintry landscapes? Luke uses his lightsaber? And our first word of the rumor...that you'd SEE Darth Vader with his MASK OFF...and the playground rumor mill was that it was SO GROSS that people were THROWING UP!!!
We waited in line for what felt like FOREVER outside of this theater in B.C.
And our minds were blown. From there, we started making playsets since the number of toys were getting to be prohibitive for my mom to keep up with...
Look, the point is- like EVERYONE the Star Wars films have been ingrained in my DNA. In our guts. It's why we have imagination- running around with flashlight/lightsabers...turning the 'Bago into the Falcon. It's where I first saw loss and the possibility of return, how irredeemable people can turn into your best friend, how bad guys are so much more complicated.
Even as a big kid. How *hasn't* being in karate, or kendo, or fencing, or anything been influenced by what we saw as kids. How it was important to be a *good* guy. How it's a bad idea to get stuck in a garbage chute with a dianoga? To have faith in something you can't see. I'm not entirely unsurprised our folks pulled us out of church not too long afterwards. (There were some extenuating circumstances, but it's fun to think it's because The Force was strong in our family.)
So I've been going to midnight showings of Star Wars since about 1980 or so. And the last time was in 2005 (where I blogged about it) with a group of like minded geeks who all cheered as soon as "A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far, Far Away..." came on screen. And tonight, I'll be going early early with one of the members of that group. And am hoping the nostalgia will make me feel a fraction of my age.
May the Force be with all 4 of my readers. And enjoy your first screenings. I'm betting I'mma go back and see it again.
*During Father's Day, many years ago, I was having lunch at my brother's house where he was hosting with his wife and we all (Mom, Ro, his weef, and I) matriculated into the TV room since there was a showing of "Star Wars" on channel 9. Dad meandered in while we were all zombie-ing out, and he muttered: "God dammit. I should have NEVER taken you boys to see that movie..."
From there, we gobbled up everything Star Wars. The accompanying picture-book and reel-to-reels from the Hennepin County Library with the images of Luke's best friend who didn't make it in the theatrical cut- and who eventually became the nick-namesake of my big brother. We had the over sized comic book, sheets, posters, glasses from Burger King, and naturally...lots and lots of action figures.
The chasm between the films seem massive, and as soon as we could we were saving proof-of-purchases from the boxes so we could send away for "Bossk", and the mystery figure who would become Boba Fett. (My god, the rumor that his jetpack could FIRE A MISSLE? Only to hear urban legends of choking hazards and stripping our fingers trying to get it out.) When the "Empire" magazine came out, we were treated to behind the scenes images from the new movie. Wintry landscapes? Luke uses his lightsaber? And our first word of the rumor...that you'd SEE Darth Vader with his MASK OFF...and the playground rumor mill was that it was SO GROSS that people were THROWING UP!!!
We waited in line for what felt like FOREVER outside of this theater in B.C.
And our minds were blown. From there, we started making playsets since the number of toys were getting to be prohibitive for my mom to keep up with...
Look, the point is- like EVERYONE the Star Wars films have been ingrained in my DNA. In our guts. It's why we have imagination- running around with flashlight/lightsabers...turning the 'Bago into the Falcon. It's where I first saw loss and the possibility of return, how irredeemable people can turn into your best friend, how bad guys are so much more complicated.
Even as a big kid. How *hasn't* being in karate, or kendo, or fencing, or anything been influenced by what we saw as kids. How it was important to be a *good* guy. How it's a bad idea to get stuck in a garbage chute with a dianoga? To have faith in something you can't see. I'm not entirely unsurprised our folks pulled us out of church not too long afterwards. (There were some extenuating circumstances, but it's fun to think it's because The Force was strong in our family.)
So I've been going to midnight showings of Star Wars since about 1980 or so. And the last time was in 2005 (where I blogged about it) with a group of like minded geeks who all cheered as soon as "A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far, Far Away..." came on screen. And tonight, I'll be going early early with one of the members of that group. And am hoping the nostalgia will make me feel a fraction of my age.
May the Force be with all 4 of my readers. And enjoy your first screenings. I'm betting I'mma go back and see it again.
*During Father's Day, many years ago, I was having lunch at my brother's house where he was hosting with his wife and we all (Mom, Ro, his weef, and I) matriculated into the TV room since there was a showing of "Star Wars" on channel 9. Dad meandered in while we were all zombie-ing out, and he muttered: "God dammit. I should have NEVER taken you boys to see that movie..."
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Well THAT happened...(TLDR- Check out the bottom for my vows)
So, okay. I suck. Right? 6 months since my last post? What's up with thaaaaat? Well...I've had some...things...come up.
Ok....black belt? Check...what else?
Whatever. My BFF was trying to steal our thunder. What else is new? Um...clever gif time...
Yasssssss, Gaga, yassssss... Postle the Younger, 2nd of his name, had an ring placed upon it.
September 12th, we done did it. In 11 years of blaugging I hadn't clue one this was ever going to be in store for me, but life's little surprises are what makes it fun. Gorgeous day. Surrounded by friends and family. Couldn't have asked for a better day. Or exhausting. I've learned a few things- 1) is that the 8 months between the proposal and actual day flew by incredibly fast. 2) MORE people seemed to care about THIS life event than my BIRTHDAY (I'll find them. All of them) and lastly 3) Next to moving from one place to another without actual movers, childbirth, and watching more than 2 minutes of Fox News with the sound off...it was really tiresome. You think all lah-de-dah honeymoon is going to be HOT, when we actually slept through 60% of it. Hashtag necessary. And I came back home only to turn around and abandon my wife for an overdue work trip.
So now, it's all key parties and pot pies (the former is a joke that I know will/has worn out faster than my joking that I'd like a threesome with an open-minded girlfriend for my birthday. I digress.)...but lest you think this isn't going to be about me, I did want to let you know the final tally (as of now) was about a total loss of bodyweight at around 30 lbs. Nothing to scoff at, but I'd been hoping to get down past Cruiserweight and to about Light-Heavyweight. There's still time. Pressure's off. However, by way of comparison and showing WHY exactly I was overweight and not fitting into any of my nice clothes...well...here's the tape:
Neat? Oh, we wrote our own vows. I probably talked myself through 28 versions before hitting the deadline with our pastor, and even then I re-wrote it at the last minute:
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| I probably should have blogged about this, but after 17 years I found I was at a loss for words. Also, after the test was over I found myself at a loss for breath. Because Old Dot Com. |
Ok....black belt? Check...what else?
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| "And then the gays got married...and the seas boiled, and the sky fell, the dead rose from the...that didn't happen. Just a whole lot of blubbering from yours truly and his other BFF who never cries. |
Whatever. My BFF was trying to steal our thunder. What else is new? Um...clever gif time...
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| That's right. As soon as that ring goes on, I disappear...Ladies... |
Yasssssss, Gaga, yassssss... Postle the Younger, 2nd of his name, had an ring placed upon it.
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| "MY WIFE!!!"- ("I don't think anyone remembers the Borat reference"- My actual wife.) |
September 12th, we done did it. In 11 years of blaugging I hadn't clue one this was ever going to be in store for me, but life's little surprises are what makes it fun. Gorgeous day. Surrounded by friends and family. Couldn't have asked for a better day. Or exhausting. I've learned a few things- 1) is that the 8 months between the proposal and actual day flew by incredibly fast. 2) MORE people seemed to care about THIS life event than my BIRTHDAY (I'll find them. All of them) and lastly 3) Next to moving from one place to another without actual movers, childbirth, and watching more than 2 minutes of Fox News with the sound off...it was really tiresome. You think all lah-de-dah honeymoon is going to be HOT, when we actually slept through 60% of it. Hashtag necessary. And I came back home only to turn around and abandon my wife for an overdue work trip.
So now, it's all key parties and pot pies (the former is a joke that I know will/has worn out faster than my joking that I'd like a threesome with an open-minded girlfriend for my birthday. I digress.)...but lest you think this isn't going to be about me, I did want to let you know the final tally (as of now) was about a total loss of bodyweight at around 30 lbs. Nothing to scoff at, but I'd been hoping to get down past Cruiserweight and to about Light-Heavyweight. There's still time. Pressure's off. However, by way of comparison and showing WHY exactly I was overweight and not fitting into any of my nice clothes...well...here's the tape:
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| Yeeeeeeah...I was busy with Fringe Festival or something in 2014...yeaaaaaah. Not visiting Chipotle for the umpteenth time or anything. |
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| If you're wondering, a lot of that was walking. And no, I didn't watch a lot of TV or binge watch Netflix like I had hoped. |
Mikey’s Vows (9/12/2015)
Today, I marry my best friend. Wait.
No I won’t. Because that’d mean
even though it’s currently legal in MN it’d be one of you guys, (Gesture to Adam, Steve, Ryan, and Ro) and I’m sorry
but you’d probably drive me crazy within 2 days or less.
Brevity isn’t my strong suit. So I’ll try and keep this brief- (You a-holes better laugh)
From when we first started dating, I think there was an
established frustration at what you probably thought was me dragging my feet. I know that I didn’t really do much to help to
alleviate that image- but the truth of the matter is that your deep well of
patience has led us here. To me, that’s
the most important. Because when you
have something seems that’s too good to be true, I would sometimes worry that
the other shoe will drop or that I need to hold on as tight as you I can so
that magic never leaves me. I stalled a
little. And it’s with that, that I’m
gonna make some quick promises to you:
-I promise your family that I will care for their firstborn,
their big sister, the granddaughter/niece and best friend(s) for now through
always. In good times, and not so great times. (Check to see if you made Amy or any of R's family cry)
-I promise you that I will treat you with the love,
sensitivity, loyalty, and respect I learned from my family and friends standing
up for me today. (Most of my relations won't be crying. We're not Amish, but c'mon. Emote. Don't leave me hanging up here.)
-I PROMISE that I’ll make mistakes. I’ll say the wrong thing. (I always do) I’ll leave the seat up. (Edit: SHE always does and I worry the cat'll fall in, but if you forget to say anything you won't regret it.) But I will always try and learn and remember to
be better for you the next time.
-I promise I won’t call Groucho “Your Cat” when his litter
box is full and I won’t get upset when you re-fold the laundry I had just
folded “correctly”. (Pause. Are they breathing? Is mom giving me the "hurry up" look yet?)
-I promise I’ll always try to do my best. (Too Boy-Scouty?)
Last big promise, Rachel Mary, and this is the easy
one- I promise to hold you up, to make you laugh almost every day and even
through your tears, and to love you as deeply as you have loved me: To the moon
and back- and from the bottom of my heart.
I love you, Ranch. My
loving pancake bride.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Fit Bit for a Batty Fatty
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| "You have huge fingers"- Big Brother Ro |
So let's see...
In the last six point five months, I've switched my position on going for walks on my breaks and lunches versus staying stationary for 8+ hours a day. I've stopped eating out/dining at buffets 2-3 x's a week and am eating fruits and veggies and keeping my calories down and counted via MyFitnesspal. I'm at karate and fighting 3-4 x's a week and on track to get my black belt in June. And I've recently (after my last weigh-in which...uh...didn't go so great.) started getting my running miles and resistance/weight work up again. (Seriously. After not having worked out my chest/back outside of push-ups for 6 months, I'm terrified at the lactic acid pain to come.)
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| Seriously. I haven't been on a bench since I rejoined my gym last October. |
And so now I have a FitBit. The same device I had previously made fun of other friends (and my fiancée') about. (To my friends: "Have you ever wore it while having sex to count the steps/calories?" To my fiancée: "Can you wear it while we have sex to count the steps/calories?!"...hey. Everyone has their kinks.) Now, I am one of the unwashed smug masses with their rubbery wristbands with Cylon-like blinky light gauge.
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| My face, whenever people used to talk about Fit Bits, Power-walking, CrossFit, Kale, Organics, Mixed-Martial Arts, Fasting, etc etc...see where I'm going? |
For those who don't know, basically the Fit Bit tracks your steps during the day. (So it's a pedometer? Yes. And no.) When you hit a "steps" landmark, a light blinks on. When you surpass 10,000 steps it buzzes. And...look, here's what's what: It holds you accountable. That's important.
Like I learned last Fall, sitting on your ass all day then going for a run isn't going to cut it in the long term. Why 10,000 steps? Well, scientifically that was an arbitrary figure. The CDC et.al recommends 7,000-8,000 of brisk walking (150 minutes of moderate aerobic activity a week) and the bottom line it's to make sure you don't remain sedentary for extended periods- which leads to circulatory/coronary issues. Gotta pump the bellows or the fire goes out, dig?
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| Ring my beeelllllllll...ring my bell. |
"But Mikey? Doesn't your Iphone (prounced like "Hyphen") come with a built in device that does the same thing?" The app with the little heart? Well, what I've learned since my fiancée surprised me with the Bit is that it does measure steps, while I'm pretty sure the metrics measured on my phone is more in tune with stride. (I tried it jogging in place and pacing around my Kitchen/Dining/Living Room. The Fat Bat caught every step.) Anyway, I was all "I'm walking 5 miles a day at work!" and it's more like 3 plus change. And trust me, I make it a point to walk a lot.
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| Look, I've at least stopped posting ad nauseum about running and shit. I'm walking at work now, walking's cool. |
It also gauges sleep (a fellow co-worker finds that to be horseshit, but based on the past few night's I've wore it to bed I'd probably agree) and the app/website let's you set weight loss goals, track activities, track food/calories...Look, I already ditched Dailymile so I think I'm sticking with MapMyRun to gauge activity and MyFitnessPal for my foods. So, all that being said...why did you feel like you were stuck? Wellllll...that's the last hurdle for buddies. See, I? I, am a man who drinks.
Without getting into the particulars that you already know, I've been saying it for months and I just need to chillax and do it. I'm gonna give up the booze for a minute. Meaning I'mma try going through the Summer without having my daily "pop". (I can drain a lot of pinot noir, kids. And with a bottle being over 400 calories? Yeah. Don't need it.) AND I have engagement pictures coming up and that'll just give me a puffy face. AND doctor visits. AND it helps you sleep better!
AND really? I won't beat myself up. It's Summer, and camp Awesome is where folks go to have fun. So, y'know, for those late Summer nights of skinny dipping? Hopefully there'll be a lot less of me to see. A lot. Less.
In short, Fit Bit. It's fun for buddies and makes you feel guilty for not moving your butt. Let's go streaking.
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| You're welcome |
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