I don't know where I'm going

Omphaloskepsis, 2005 style. I got away from the dear diary vibe of 2004. Experimented with content outside the realm of Team Tinsley. And penned what is probably one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me (Hope Springs Eternal.) Actually two (If you smile through...) I also started using the term Mr. Mom (something I still do.) And penned what I consider my first truly good blog post about a Turtle named Tula. Not bad for a dipshit from Oklahoma. I didn't know it then, but 2005 were my salad days on this here BLOG. Storm clouds were gathering though, and 2006 would end up being dark and hard for this Boy named Stu.

2005

Fear Factor
February 15, 2005
Four and half years later and I am actually allowed to teach Sunday School at our church. A post that shows anyone can change, and everyone should face their fears, if only to make them less scary, and take away their power.

Goodbye to All That
February 17, 2005
The plug. How I hated thee, yet, when it was time for you to leave the Elder Boy via the Plug Fairy, I lamented your inevitable passing as I'm apt to do.

Let me take a long last look, before we say good-bye
March 04, 2005
I recently (in my end is nigh post) referenced and linked to this entry. I'm extremely fond of it. Consider it my first good post. Probably because it moves me. It captures a time and place in a way that lets me remember when, fondly. And if that isn't enough to get you to chase the link. Dig this. I make a strip club lap dance joke while referencing a hand puppet named Tula.

220...221 Whatever it takes
April 08, 2005
The birth of me calling any time I'm with the Boy(s) solo, a Mr. Mom moment (after the great early 80's movie by John Hughes, the title being a line from that movie.) Lately I've been doing these little Mr. Mom snips on Facebook. Many don't get my true meaning. They think My Lovely Bride is AWOL. Or in rehab. Or I'm being bitter by posting these moments. None of the above Dear Reader. I cherish all Mr. Mom moments, even though the wheels often come off during them.

Hope Springs Eternal
May 17, 2005
The prequel to Beat It, and maybe the most infamous Team Tinsley post ever. The absurdity is such, you might think that I embellished the story for comic effect. Alas, the answer is no. Good read for anyone who is or has ever suffered infertility issues (or simply wants a good laugh at a guy who was asked to masturbate in a public restroom.)

If you smile through your fear and sorrow...
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
A post that has nothing to do with Team Tinsley, but instead tells a funny, and sick, story of me shitting in a public park. Early on I experimented somewhat with telling other stories on this here BLOG. Ultimately I decided it should only be about Team Tinsley. As I look toward the end, I'm considering starting another BLOG where I write whatever is on my mind (which is scary, actually.) Stay tuned (if you give a shit.)

How do you do this?
July 25, 2005
Mr. Mom moment at Braums as I struggle with how to wrangle two young Boy(s), made more poignant by the fact that the old Braums is now closed (in fact we ate at the new Braums last night. It is one of Wy's favorite places to eat.)

The freaks come out at night
August 24, 2005
Another post that isn't really about the Team (again, I was experimenting with content back in 2005.) I wish yelp would have been around when this went down. I could have given Floory an excellent rating. Five stars for anyone who leaves a digital camera full of compromising photos at my casa.

I'm wide awake
October 06, 2005
Father of the year might have been born here, Dear Reader. A story where my bad, or you might say, inappropriate sense of humor rears it's ugly head, troubling those around me.

Help Me
November 28, 2005
Expanding on the Mr. Mom concept, only this time with substantial dialogue thrown in to fully capture the moment. Might also be the first time I call a convenience store, a Mingo store, since I'm doing dialogue (and that is what E called them when he was younger.)

Until I BLOG again...But, I sure know where I've been.

Sick Of Myself

Omphaloskepsis. Better known as navel gazing. That's what I've been doing lately. Looking back over 263 entries on this here BLOG. Getting ready for that final post (I do have my final song selected for anyone out there that gives a shit.) But back to now, I'm sick of myself, quite literally, after reading so many Team Tinsley posts. Some are good. Many bad. Some funny. Others sad.

It's a copious amount of Team Tinsley. That is for sure. And in my efforts to make some sense of it all, I've compiled a Top of the Pops type of list (chronologically by year of course) with some of my favorite posts. I've even went as far as to note why they are my favorite posts (again, for anyone that gives a shit.)

Here's the 2004 list. The year the BLOG started. It's odd to read some of these posts, stylistically. They have a very dear diary sort of a vibe. Still, you can see the start of what was to become (as well as my proclivity for certain goofy sayings and cursing.) Navel gazing indeed.

2004

Holy Crap: Once, Twice, Three Times A Turd
March 17, 2004
Beware the ides of March, indeed, in this early, kid shits, hilarity ensues kind of a story.

Beat It
April 25, 2004
Honesty came earlier on this here BLOG in this here entry about how I quite literally beat it, which is why I know the exact day of the Elder Boy's conception and the beginning of what was to become Team Tinsley.

The Revenge of Matt Pogue
May 14, 2004
My first foray into my back story while talking about a sad event that was happening in what was then, now. Oddly enough this entry is one of the top ones to bring people to the Team Tinsley BLOG via search engines.

Stop that noise
June 11, 2004
A short entry that illustrates the raison d'être of this here BLOG, telling the story of a simple moment that I would without a doubt, forget, if not captured here. It is also one of the first times I use dialogue in a post (for those keeping score at home.)

Lionel Richie is full of shit
October 25, 2004
Best early BLOG title (before I started using song titles or lyrics) EVER.

They say it's your birthday
November 05, 2004
The story of how I met the women who would become My Lovely Bride, and how she thought I was funny (read gay.)

Incredibles
November 17, 2004
The simple story of my first movie with the Elder Boy and how amazed I was by how fast it was all going. Fast forward five years into what was then the future, but is now, now, and all I can say is this: amen.

This is it
December 26, 2004
An entry dealing with my feelings on corporal punishment. Which is something I still struggle with as well as my thoughts on the end of the first year of the Team Tinsley BlOG. The best part of the post is the great quote from William Martin's, The Parents Tao Te Ching. These would be apt final words for that final entry.

My words are over.
I wrote them for myself,
that I might hear them often enough
to begin to understand them.
And as I begin to understand them,
may I begin to live them.
If looking over my shoulder
has brought you some pleasure,
I am content.

Until I BLOG again...You don't know how you move me, Deconstruct me, And consume me.

Science and Progress

I've never enjoyed connect the dot games because my monkey brain does nothing but connect dots. Like the other night. My Lovely Bride had (D)runco at our casa which meant no penises on the premises. I took the Boy(s) to the dollar (fifty) movie to see Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs. Sitting across the aisle from our seats was a young mom and her small boy who laughed, hard, every time the Scrat did his thing.

Since we were pretty much the only ones in the theatre, after one outburst I pointed at the kid and said to the Boy(s), "Ethan loved the Scrat when he was that age. He called Ice Age the pecan movie because that is what he called the Scrat and his acorn."

"Really?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah. The only part you wanted to watch were the parts with the Scrat. You'd say, 'Where pecan?!?!' over and over and over. We had that movie on tape. The old VCR. I had to rewind and forward. You had no patience. I didn't either. It was funny. Not so much then. But now."

"Where was I at?" Wy asked.

"You weren't born yet."

"You were still in his junk," Ethan interjected.

"Nice." I was impressed with the Elder Boy's Simpsons reference.

The Younger Boy was feeling left out though so I said, "Actually Wy, you were born now that I think about it. But you were an infant. Really little."

"What's junk mean?" E asked.

"Penis and nuts." I answered. "It's slang."

"NUTS!" Wy shouted. "LIKE A PECAN!"

We all laughed at Wy's bad joke when the toddler across the aisle laughed at the Scrat again. Such a sweet sound. It made me wistful sitting there trading junk jokes with my two big Boy(s).

"You know what else Wy," I asked. "You saw your first movie theatre movie here. Chicken Little. You were the same age as that kid over there."

I got nothing. Both Boy(s) went back to eating their candy, so I said to myself, "That seems like yesterday."

The rest of the movie I sat there thinking about my recent decision to end this here BLOG and the weird coincidence that I had re-read the 'Where pecan?!?!' post about Ice Age a few days before.

Odder still was the realization that the first entry on this here BLOG, way back on January 11, 2004, was a goofy test post with a photo of Scott Baio and Erin Moran. Granted, my predilection for Joanie and Chachi is strange, but it pales in comparison to this. I made the decision to pull the plug at the same time that I saw Scott Baio on bad late night TV telling his celebrity ghost story.

This is where it gets tricky. Unless you are in my head.

At what was then, now, however, I had yet to look back at the Team Tinsley archives. I only realized that my first post was a photo of Scott Baio and Erin Moran when I looked back while writing the beginning of the end entry on Friday, October 16 and Saturday, October 17. That's an important detail. Even though I posted the beginning of the end post on Monday, I wrote it earlier.

Another important detail is that Ruby the Dog's plastic container of dog food we keep in the casa ran dry on Saturday, October 17. It happened when I was messing around with the beginning of the end entry that I posted on Monday. Which is when I realized that the first post on Team Tinsley was that Scott Baio and Erin Moran photo. Which made me think of that Scott Baio ghost story. I also re-read the 'Where pecan?!?!' post even though at that point I had no idea the Boy(s) and I would end up going to see the latest Ice Age movie on Wednesday, October 21. At that point in our story we were planning on seeing 9.

This is where it gets spooky, In a connect the dot orgy of coincidence.

Refilling Ruby the Dog's plastic food container is a beating. We buy her dog food at Sam's, which means the main bag we keep in the garage is colossal. It being Saturday, and that I was in the middle of BLOGGING the last thing I wanted to do was drag my ass out to the garage and wrestle with the ginormous bag of dog food. Which is why I ignored My Lovely Bride's subtle hint to fill it up (she sat the empty container on our bar which is tantamount to putting it in front of the front door) until Sunday Morning coming down (which if you've been paying attention and/or chasing the links you know was the very first thing I ever typed on the Team Tinsley BLOG.)

I was half way through the tedious job of filling up Ruby the Dog's plastic container, bent over and struggling with that colossal bag, when out of nowhere something hit me on the top of the head.

"SHIT!" I exclaimed, dropping the bag on the ground. I looked around, thinking it was the Boy(s) messing with me. But I was alone. After I realized that I was by myself in the garage, I looked around more closely to see what hit me.

I didn't see it at first, since it had ended up behind me. I only saw it out of the corner of my eye when I went back to grab the gargantuan bag of food.

"What the..." I said jumping back as if it were a snake.

I couldn't believe it.

After what felt like a minute I reached down and picked up the thing that had hit me on the head, one of the surfboards Mom had bought the Boy(s) in Galveston.

"Fuck me," was the only thing I could think to say since that surfboard had hit me on the third anniversary of Mom's death.

Later that morning I told the Team about my experience on the way to the Texas State Fair. I told the story as it happened and then went through things that could have caused it. Like the wind. I did have the garage door open, even though it wasn't really windy. It could also have been that My Lovely Bride had placed a few bottles of wine from Sam's on the shelf below the boards the previous day. And in doing that maybe she caused the surfboards to shift enough to fall on my head the following morning. That sounded plausible. Even though those boards haven't moved an inch to my knowledge since late August.

What I didn't tell the Team was the Scott Baio dead Dad ghost experience part of my story. Or my decision to end the blog. I didn't mention that first Scott Baio and Erin Moran post. All of that had played out in my head and I didn't want to influence their reactions since I was curious what they'd think.

Before I even finished telling all of the story, E let out this moan, which meant he was scared or freaked out which pissed me off.

"Dude!" I said. "If it were a ghost, it was the ghost of your Granny. Do you think she's going to do anything to hurt you?"

He shook his head no.

Wy on the other hand wasn't scared. He looked at me and started this little head shake thing he does these days and rattled off all the reasons why it wasn't Granny.

My Lovely Bride was split. More on Wy's side of the fence, thinking it was an odd coincidence. But that I was connecting dots that only existed in my mind. She must have been somewhat unnerved by it though, since she told a co-worker the story a few days later (that co-worker as an aside, had no doubt, she said it was Mom.)

After hearing Wy and My Lovely Bride's point of view, E opined that it was odd and probably a coincidence, but he didn't know one way or the other. He also still looked freaked out even though he was trying very hard not to.

As for me. It depends. Some days I sound exactly like Wyatt who sounded a lot like me when he rattled off the reasons why it wasn't Granny. Especially the, 'She's dead.' part. Then there are times when I'm more open like Ethan. Not quite sure what to believe and creeped out by it all.

Later that afternoon we all sat at a bench eating our respective Texas State Fair lunches. Quesadillas for my Lovely Bride. A Henry the VIII turkey leg for the Elder Boy. Wy had a caramel apple. And me with my overpriced cup of swill beer.

I was taking that final, slightly warm drink of beer when my phone went off in my pocket. Fishing it out I heard the customized ring tone I have for my Dad so I answered, "Hi Pop."

"Hi Bub. What do you know?"

"We're at the fair." I said.

"Oh, I don't want to keep you then, I'll talk to you..."

"It's ok. We're sitting around eating lunch."

"Oh," he replied.

There was a slight pause as he took a deep breath and in that instance I knew what he would say seconds before he said, "You know what today is..."

"Yes. I know what today is." I answered brusquely. "It happened three years ago at 1:26 which was just a few minutes ago."

"Oh. Yeah. That's right," he said. "I guess you'll probably never forget."

"Probably is about right." I thought.

A few minutes before that call Wy and I were walking back with his caramel apple to the Food Pavilion to meet My Lovely Bride and E.

"Is it good?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said as he took a toothy bite.

After a big drink of my over priced shit beer I said: "We're having an awesome lunch, you and me. I wonder what Mom and E are getting to eat?"

Nothing. Just a blank look as he took another toothy bite.

"You know what else?" I asked looking at the time on my cell phone.

"What?" Wy's curiosity was enough that he actually took his attention off of the caramel apple and looked me in the eye. I held the moment until finally he implored, "Dad!!! What?!?!?"

"It's 1:26 right about now."

"Oh." He said.

I smiled a sad smile at him. Sad enough to make him uncomfortable so he returned his gaze back to the caramel apple and took a small bite.

We walked a few more feet until Wy stopped and turned to me with a serious expression and said: "Dad. It wasn't her. It wasn't Granny."

"I know," I said.

"It just fell." He said.

"I know."

"It wasn't a ghost."

"I know."

"She's dead."

I know.

Three years ago I wrote about watching my Mom die in a post titled Living in Perfect Symmetry. Like most of my titles it comes from the lyrics of a song. That particular lyric, from Coldplay's Low, were stuck in my head because I kept coming back to the fact that I saw the person that give me life, die. And I was amazed and troubled by the symmetry of it all.

The same way I'm both amazed and troubled by the rambling orgy of coincidence written above.

It's weird. And like so many other coincidental experiences I've documented in this here BLOG over the years I still don't know what it means. That's the thing. You never have all the answers. Not when you are young. Not when you are old. But that's ok. Because often what you know isn't nearly as important as what you believe. And you Dear Reader can always believe in this: I love you.

Until I BLOG again...Must speak as loud as my heart.

Ain't necessarily so

The beginning of the end starts now Dear Reader. My first in a series of posts that will culminate in what will be the final Team Tinsley BLOG entry. It's hard for me to believe I've been at this since 2004. When I started the Elder Boy was just shy of the two year mark. And Wy Wy. He wasn't even two weeks old!

Back then this BLOG was intended to be a way to keep the growing Team Tinsley connected with family and friends that didn't live in the messoplex. A few months in, I had my a-ha moment and realized that what I was writing could serve a greater purpose. It could be saved for posterity. This goofy ass BLOG could be a chronicle for the Boy(s), who short of some serious therapy, wouldn't be able to remember these stories from when they were so young. Like Neil Gaiman said, "You forget the things you were certain you would always remember, especially the tiny things, and all too often they're the things that matter." That quote in many ways beget the Team Tinsley BLOG which is simply: my remember when, for then, then being the Buck Rogers future.

Since 2004 the style and format of this here BLOG has changed considerably, as have the readers. I'm amazed by everyone who has taken time out of their day(s) to read anything here. It's nice to hear you've touched people with what you've written. Especially when much of it is very personal. But that's the wild part for me. Even though I love that people have read this here BLOG, the two people who it has been written for have yet to read a single word. I most often refer to them simply as Dear Reader. Because I'm both goofy and supersticious. But make no mistake. Dear Reader has always been, Ethan and Wyatt.

So today, I sit here, staring down the endgame, and navel gazing as it were. Trying to make sense of it all. Only ending it is harder than I would have ever imagined. The Team Tinsley BLOG has taken on a life of it's own. Which is why I've been procrastinating the inevitable. Putting off this post. Because it makes me sad. Partly because I enjoy writing. It is cathartic. Then there is my ego. I love the fact that I've touched readers with our stories.

But those reasons are small in comparison to the real reason that it makes me sad. That can be traced back to what I consider my first good post. For those that don't want to chase that link, let me cut to the chase. Change. And the cold hard fact that my pulling the plug is a tangible admission that the Boy(s) are growing up fast.

It is time. Wy will be six soon. Ethan will be eight. They are old enough to remember their own stories, and have their own memories, and the last thing I want of this BLOG is for it to turn into some crazy-ass Rashoman sort of a thing. For my memories to overwrite their memories. I also don't want to write anything that would embarrass them as they get older. Which with me, is a very real possibility.

Which brings us to the end.

I'm not exactly sure when it will come. I have a few more stories I'd like to tell. And I'm toying with listing some of my favorite entries as a way of organizing the glut of posts (261 to be exact.)

And then there's the greater issue of that final post. What I'll write. How I will end all of this (picture me gesturing toward the archives on the right of your screen?) Not to mention what song I'll end it with in my goofy Until I BLOG again...link thing I always do. Navel gazing I know. But when you've invested as much time as I have, and recorded the kind of stories I've put down here, it has to be a fitting ending. Which is why I'm writing this entry. Laying it out there. I hope those that follow us will stick around for the final posts. I welcome anyone (including those that lurk) to shout out, in comments, which are on and ready. You can also email me if you are shy. Have a favorite post? Want to say something? Don't be bashful. Now is the time, for the end is nigh.

Until I BLOG again...I laugh when I can and I live with the rest, I've learned that holding on means letting go.

One

Another half-ass epilogue. It might help to read 42 first.

"Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so you apologize for truth." Benjamin Disraeli

Death smells like curry.

That was literally the first thing I thought as I walked into my parents house for what ended up being Mom's death watch.

The scent of multiple Reunzit Adjustable Air Fresheners mixed with the smell of decay.

Pungent. Spicy. Floral. Curry.

Those air fresheners were everywhere. All part of Dad's vain attempt to cover up the smell of death. Which stinks. Literally and figuratively.

Three years later and the slightest whiff of a Renuzit Air Freshener produces a flashback akin to Proust jumping out of a bush and kicking me in the nuts, hard.

After my epiphany I contacted Dad to see if he could corroborate my theory about Mom. That she knew (or thought) she was dying when she bought the Boy(s) those surfboards.

The question, out of the blue as it were, got one of Dad's typical forthright answers.

Dad said, "I believe your mom had a feeling she wasn't doing very well in early 2005. She tried to keep her cancer as private as she could, even from me sometimes. We scheduled the cruise in the summer of 2005 and the minute we got back she went to the hospital for surgery on her lungs for the second time. So your time line is about right, but also your mom did things that had far reaching aspects to them. So if Wyatt is enjoying the gift from your mother that's great, and somewhere up there she is probably watching and enjoying both of your sons. Knowing they are enjoying the gifts. With a smile!"

Five minutes before the conversation that would lead to the epiphany Wyatt said, "Ethan and me are different. I like to surf. He likes to play in the sand."

"You guys are flip side of the same coin," I said.

"Coin?" Wyatt asked, arching his eyebrows in a way that made him look even more like me. "Can I get a gum ball?"

I laughed. "Not that kind of coin."

"Oh," he said.

"I mean that you guys are basically the same, even though you are different. Your essence. Because you both come from Mommy and Daddy."

Wyatt gave me a strange look, probably thinking, what is he talking about, grabbed his board and ran out into the surf. Five minutes later he asked, "Why did Granny buy me this?" which is where this all began.

Labor Day weekend marked the third anniversary of Mom telling me she was dying. Granted I suck in real time, but the fact that it took me nearly three years to realize she knew she was dying long before she told me has had a profound effect on how I remember her final months. Things culminated that Labor Day weekend because the outcome was no longer in question. Before that weekend, Dad would always call me after Mom had a treatment or doctor appointment. Giving me his version of what happened (or was happening.) After he finished he almost always passed the phone over to Mom who would give me her interpretation of the same events.

Their stories never matched. At times it even appeared that they were talking about completely different events.

There were common themes in the stories.

Dad was always positive and upbeat. His glass was half full.

Mom's glass was missing. She would give a perfunctory recap at best, and then commandeer the conversation toward the Boy(s) and me and My Lovely Bride. The last thing she wanted to talk about was cancer which makes sense considering she knew she was dying.

On the occasions when I would press her for more information, trying to get a sense of what was really going on, because their stories didn't jive, she would grow angry. Not at me. At Dad. She'd go off on what she called his dream world interpretations of what was happening. Usually peppering her language with some strategically placed "F" bombs which always bothered Dad when they came out of her mouth.

As she got sicker, and her body failed her in the most basic of ways, her attacks on Dad grew more vicious. Even then I got that her attacks were an outlet for her frustration and anger. At the time I thought it was of being sick. Not getting that it was because she knew she was dying.

As for Dad. He took it all in stride. And although he never fought back or defended himself, he did keep his positive attitude up until the bitter end. He didn't even bring in a hospice nurse until Mom had roughly two weeks to live. Taking care of her as he took her fury over dying a horrible death.

Yes. I am king of the dipshits. And I do suck in real time. But really? Three years to realize Mom wasn't honest with me about her cancer and how long she had left to live. Three years to realize that my personality is a curious amalgam between my parents and that I am the flip side of their coin which means the traits I deplore in myself are often the ones I like the least in them. Three years to realize that those same traits are often the ones that frustrate and anger me the the most in the Boy(s). Three years to finally admit for the very first time that I thought that death smells like curry.

Three years. Fuck me.

Until I BLOG again...but we're not the same.