Real Date

Today is my (our) 10 year wedding anniversary. As I sit here, trying to think of what to say, write, type...words fail me. I could tell you the meaning of 'real date' - which is engraved inside my wedding ring along with the date we said, I do. I could tell you of our first meeting. It is actually pretty comical, and I should tell it sometime, but not today. Ten years seems worthy of more than a funny anecdote.

Since I can't find the words, I'll go with my standard modus operandi (a reheated pop culture reference.)

In the words of the late, great, Dicky Fox.
"I have failed as much as I have succeeded. But I love my life. I love my wife. And I wish you my kind of success."

Amen.

I also offer up this. Hopefully it will work/play. Might take a second to download (depending on your connection speed.)

Until I BLOG again...I do.

Picture this...

Shutterfly action for July in case
you missed the group email thing, and want to take a look see.

Until I BLOG again...The Little Warrior is 7 Months today. Stu.

Da da da

Yesterday was my birthday. 37 for those keeping score at home. Hard for me to believe that I'm 37...but I won't bore you with my thoughts on that. Not today. No sir.

Yesterday, damn near at my official 37 BDay mark (I was born at 6:01pm) The Little Warrior gave me a cool present...he babbled for the very first time. He's been doing the coo, screech, scream thing for months, but yesterday was the first time he's ever babbled (ba ba ba ba and da da da sounds.). He hasn't even tried before. Out of nowhere he starts busting out the da da da sound. Sounded like that old song by Trio - the one in that Volkswagen commercial a few years back - if you dig that reference.

It was a weekend of firsts for the Younger Boy - two of which fell on my Birthday. The before mentioned babbling, and the first time in a high chair in a restaurant (for my BDay dinner - for posterity, Manuel's Mexican Restaurant in Humble, Texas.) He also had his first trip to the Beach the day before my BDay. A weekend of firsts, which made a great weekend (spent in Houston Town with Team Tinsley - and visiting my Mom and Pop) even better.

Until I BLOG again...What you will and what you won't!

Be careful what you wish for...

Over a lovely dinner of chicken with wild rice my lovely bride says.
"I want to get up early tomorrow morning and go work-out. That ok with you?"

I did the quick computation of Boy #1 and #2's normal wake-up time(s) in relation to my getting ready for work/leaving time.
"Fine. What time are you thinking of going?"

She did her own ciphering.
"5:30 - that would get me back around 6:30."

That sounded right to me - the math worked out, and although it might cramp my early AM private time (read: watching History Channel and drinking coffee), I could handle it. I'm a Team (Tinsley) player.
"Cool."

We finished our dinner. Cleared the plates. Wrangled Boy(s). Bath. Lights out, night night.

(until something went bump in the night)

"...ddy where are you?"

I bolted up in the pitch black - confused - disoriented - coming out of a dream. What time was it? Who was calling my name. Wait, not my name, they said - "Daddy." Boy #2 can't talk yet, must be Boy #1...
"Daddy...where are you?"

I blindly tried to make out the time on the cable box - red blur.

"Daddy...Mommy...where are you?"

Struggling to wake up, I slide sideway and see that it is 4:40am. Still not sure what day it is, when my lovely Bride hits her bedside light and hits the floor to get Boy #1 who is in the hall. I fall back into bed.
"Hang on Son, Mommy's coming."

Next thing I know my Eldest Boy comes walking into the bedroom with his Mom close behind, in his hands are three good size construction toys (bulldozer, dump truck, and crane) piloted by Sesame Street denizens (Ernie, Elmo, and Cookie Monster.) Carter goes to pick Ethan up to put him in the bed only to discover that he is WET. Diaper failure. Urine soaked PJ bottoms, ceiling fan, the Boy was cold and it woke him up. My Lovely Bride heads back to his room to get a fresh diaper, and PJ bottoms, while the Boy climbs up on the bed and slides in next to me.

"Assume the position, please."

I quickly shuck his PJ bottoms and strip off his diaper (F Bomb to Huggies - No leaks my ass!) and snuggle up to him to try and warm him a bit. I should note that I'm sleeping in shorts, no shirt.

"Daddy need shirt."

Ethan appraises my bare chest and again asks...
"Daddy need shirt."

I should give you Dear Reader, some backstory on this quirk. I have a theory. Ethan never sleeps with us. The few times that he has, has generally been when we were traveling. Last time for our trip to Oklahoma where we slept together in a bed. I tried to sleep shirtless there too, and he wouldn't go for it. He doesn't disapprove of me not having a shirt on at the pool, or beach, in the yard, even around the house. Just in bed and when he wants to snuggle up next to me. Why?

When he was 2 or 3 months old, on a particularly grueling night, with me pacing the floors with him...I shirtless, tried to readjust his position in my arms and on my chest. In doing so he dipped down below my breast area, wait a minute, I'm a guy, MY PECS! Anyway - on the way back up, in my arms, he grazed my left nipple and being 2 to 3 months old, he did what came natural...he latched on for a snack. Creepy is the first word that comes to my mind now, same as then. I have no issues with breast feeding, think it is completely natural, etc. But when he started sucking on my nipple, it creeped me out real hard! I unlatched him seconds later, and we went back to walking the floor. So, it is my opinion that he also remembers that early moment in his life - and it might have creeped him out too - thus...
"Daddy need shirt."

I hop our of bed and grab my shirt that is laying on a chair by the dresser. I note that it is now 4:44 and Carter is coming back with diaper and PJ bottoms, which she throws on the bed as she goes to the bathroom.
"Ok Son." Pulling on my shirt. "Assume the position."

I quickly diaper him, put on dry PJ bottoms, and climb back into bed as Carter comes back, she sneezes.

Cue Wyatt who starts crying in his room.

Ethan oblivious to the fact that we're trying to keep him quiet so as to not wake-up Wyatt asks...
"Watch TV. Watch TV, please."

Carter growing agitated by the possibility of Wyatt waking up, as well as Ethan not going back to sleep cuts him off at the pass.
"No. It is still dark outside, you need to go back to sleep."
"Watch TV."
"Ethan. It's time to go back to sleep."
"Watch TV."

At this point, I get up out of bed figuring it is a lost cause. Might as well get up. Nearing 5am. What the hey. Then I notice that the Little Warrior is slowly winding down in the other room. Maybe, we can salvage this sleep thing. So I decide to get back into bed and see if I can't yank the Elder Boy on top of me and get him to sleep a little longer. But, before I get back into bed I look at my lovely Bride and say...
"You said you wanted to get up early to go work-out."

Until I BLOG again...Go Work-Out!

Instant Karma

The Little Warrior has the curious habit of turning his head (a non-verbal no if you will) from side to side. Starting at about, four and a half months, he would turn his head to the right, then left, then back again, over and over. He obviously dug doing it - and I started mirroring him. At the six month mark, developmentally, he started getting cause and effect. Those that have had kids, dig this. Baby drops a spoon. You pick it up, and hand it back. Baby drops it again. They aren't trying to annoy you, or be a pain the ass, just experimenting with the nature of things. I guess some would call this karma at the most basic level. But, this here BLOG isn't an Eastern Religion course, you can think about that on your own time. This is about me and Wyatt. At six months, when I started repeating his head turn from side to side trick, he got that I was doing it because he had just done it. Totally jazzed him that I was doing it. As he got it, he would break out in the biggest smile, giggle, coo, and then repeat. I'd do it, over and over (it beats the spoon drop game - trust me on that one.)

The way it goes down at Team Tinsley, is that when I'm home I'm usually wrangling Boy #1. At first the Elder Boy was jealous of his little Brother, and wanted me to spend time with him - "MY Daddy" was often heard in our house whenever I tried to hold Wyatt, or do something with him. Now that he's used to the reality of having a brother, its more about his activity level. He's just into a lot more stuff - active - running amok - which requires me to step in when I get home, etc. Remember, his Mom has been dealing with him and his brother ALL day long. I also want to point out that it's not like I never handle the Younger Boy, but in all honestly, I don't get to handle him as much as I did Ethan at the same age. I have to admit, this was disconcerting at first. I was concerned that me and Wyatt wouldnt' have as strong of a bond as Ethan and I. Add that to the fact that most of my one-on-one time with Wyatt was carved out at strange times. Early AM. Late at night. Generally when Boy #1 was out of the picture, Mommy was up to something else. It seemed that I had Wyatt at times, when there was little left of me to give, that's my point. Again, deep down, unspoken, this concerned me. I worried. I always worry. But as the song goes - I could spend my days worrying and wishing. Time passed. And one fine day, the head side to side clicked. Wyatt got that I was doing it, after he did it, because he was doing it.

It became ourgame. I'd do it while I fed him. Changing him. Random times. Eventually I started beating him to the punch and did it first. I especially enjoy doing it if I'm doing something with Ethan and Wyatt is watching. Say, Wyatt is in the saucer watching Ethan and I (something he does a lot.) I'm reading a truck book to Ethan. Without Ethan even knowing, I'll look up, make eye contact with the Little Warrior and do my head side to side....and then watch him break into the biggest grin, because he knows that I'm doing this just for him. It is our thing. Unspoken bond. It's a silly little thing that we do...but in the end, most of the good things in life are the silly little things.

As Dino Paul Crocetti once sang:
You're nobody till somebody loves you
You're nobody till somebody cares

You may be king
You may posses the world and its gold
But gold wont bring you happiness when you're growing old

Until I BLOG again...Find somebody to love.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet."

Boy #1 has trouble with the "T" sound. Considering his name is Ethan Tinsley, I hope he can get a handle on this problem. Actually, it is certain "T" sounds. He can say Trucks all day long, but can't say Autumn (the Boy(s) number one gal pal), he pronounces her name: Auburn. I think the infernal PLUG (read: pacifier) is the cause of his problems with the sharp "T" sound. The wife is the expert here, Education degree and all - I won't go into that side of this story. I'm actually wanting to BLOG about what my Shakespearian title refers: names.

I asked my lovely Bride what Autumn thinks about being called Auburn by Ethan - does she notice? Not at all, in fact, per my Bride, Autumn calls Wyatt, Quiet (actually Baby Quiet - talk about oxymorons!) Ethan can say Wyatt, but mainly calls him Baby. Last night, I was on dos ninos duty - while Carter went to exercise. We're sitting in the recliner. Watching Sinbad on cable. Ethan is sitting next to me - we're side by side, Wyatt is on my lap. Ethan, out of nowhere says:

"Baby poo poo on my head."

My first thought, Did I miss a memo? Surely Carter would have told me if Wyatt had shit on Ethan's head. Hell, we'd probably be sending out a few snap shots on Shutterfly for all to witness. After a few seconds, it dawned on me, that Ethan was using poo poo as a catch all for excrement. As I've BLOGGED before, he calls urine, poo poo, and in this instance, he was calling vomit, poo poo. Wyatt pukes often. Ethan never spit up as a baby, Wyatt does daily. Just something he does. We're pretty used to it by this point. Usually have a towel on the ready. In this instance, Ethan was sitting next to his Mom and Wyatt after the Younger Boy had eaten. They were all playing in the recliner (we all like the recliner if you can't tell - its pole position in our casa.) Ethan likes for Wyatt to be on his head, grabbing his hair. Wyatt likes it too. They were doing this and Wyatt puked. Gravity being what it is, Ethan's head was below - and - "baby poo poo on my (Ethan's) head."

So, back to now, or then. Sitting with Ethan...watching Sinbad...out of nowhere.
Ethan: "Baby poo poo on my head."
short pause as the above ran thru my head...
Me: "At least it wasn't the chair."

Until I BLOG again... Don't puke.

You're Killing Me...

The Elder Boy has been using his first catch phrase. He is a big fan of Daddy Day Care, where he heard - "You're killing me" - which he has started saying around the house. He does it as such:

Ethan: Daddy.
Me: Yes.
Ethan: You're killing me.

He says it at random times and not always in context. Just standing around, at the dinner table, etc. Not, for instance, when I'm trying to change a diaper (which would be pretty funny - to me at least.) Not to say that the Elder Boy doesn't have a good sense of humor. At least for a two year old. Dig this.

Scene: Casa Tinsley. Dinner Time. Dinner Table. We're eating. All around. Ethan has moved on to dessert while Carter and I are still eating dinner dinner. Dessert is jello. Ethan keeps grabbing it with his hands vs. his spoon and is making a mess. This is annoying his Mom something fierce. She keeps reminding him to use his spoon. He doesn't. She tells him if he does it one more time (using the hands) she'll take it away from him. He does it one more time, so up and away goes the Jello. Ethan complains and starts negotiating to get it back. He gets it back (parental note: he didn't use his hands again after it was taken away) after a few tense minutes and the promise that he won't use his hands, only his spoon. Carter is tense from the episode and sets the Jello down in front of him. Clearly frustrated that such a lengthy negotiation had to occur over jello. Conflicted Mommy emotions of being a hard liner, but also being annoyed by his behavior.

Mom: Ethan I don't like yellin' at you over jello. (voices were raised in the incident.)
Ethan: It's Orange, No yellin' (meaning the jello of course.)
(Cue Wyatt monster noise instead of laugh track - and you just peeked inside Casa Tinsley at 6:30 Monday, July 12, 2004.)

Probably one of those you had to be there kind of things - but I found it quite humourous.

Until I BLOG Again...Use your spoon.

A Sort Of Homecoming

Independence Day generally finds Team Tinsley in Oklahoma. Sand Springs, Oklahoma to be exact. My maternal Grandmother (my last living Grandparent for those keeping score at home) still lives in Sand Springs. Her birthday is July 3. This year we made the pilgrimage to mark her 81st lap around el sol on mother earth. It was also her first face to face meeting with the the Little Warrior (someone asked me why I always call him that - was it because of his war cry I'm always talking about - actually, if you look Wyatt up in a name database or name book, you'll see that it is of French origin and does in fact mean Little Warrior - one of those what came first, the chicken or egg thingies - would he do the war cry if he had in fact been named Luke - which was the runner up name choice - Luke is greek in origin, and means bringer of light if you care.)

Back to the topic Stubie...

Even though its only a few hundred miles to Sand Springs from Dallas - this was our first time in 2004 that we've had a chance to travel North of the Rio Rojo. Grandma, for whatever reason (there are various theories in the family - I won't bore you with them) hasn't been down to visit us in Texas since Christmas 2002. Her not coming down, coupled with us being busy increasing Team Tinsley's roster make it tough for us to get up and see her. We only went up twice in 2003. Twice in 2002 for that matter. Since I'm all about honesty, even to the point of painting myself an ass - I have to say that I don't really enjoy going back home. Don't confuse that with not wanting to see my Grandma. That's not the case. I love her. I don't enjoy going back because it depresses me. I'm almost always thrown into a funk after I return from Oklahoma (where the wind comes sweepin' down the plains...)

Why? Pull up a chair, let me try and explain.

I haven't been a card carrying Okie (read: resident) since 1990 when I moved from Norman, Oklahoma to the Stressoplex. June 1990 for those that care. 14 years. Time flies. So on, so forth. I haven't lived full time in Sand Springs since I graduated Charles Page High School Class of 1985. I did come home from college a few summers after moving to Norman, but for the most part, I haven't been a card carrying Sandite (some would say, once a Sandite, always a Sandite - but you're probalby wondering what the hell a Sandite is!?!?!)

since 1988, the year my Mom and Pop moved away for good. Ever since my folks sold the house on Greenview Circle (where I spent a good chunk of my youth) my only tangible family connection to Sand Springs has been Grandma's house, and that has grown more tenuous with the passing of each year.

My Grandma has lived in that house, in what is known as the Hall Edition of Sand Springs for most of her 81 years. In fact, she lives in the same house that she has always lived in, for me at least, since I was knee high to a grasshopper (or something like that.) When I was growing up, Hall Edition was this simple blue collar community, small, in a strange slice of land that was bordered by some major Sand Springs Industry, major East / West Highway and the Arkansas River. For some reason, it fell outside of the city limits (even though you can drive to downtown Sand Springs in five minutes if you hit every red light!) which allowed the dozen or so families to live in a somewhat rural mode - you could have animals, burn your trash, that sort of thing. As late as 1985, the year I graduated Charles Page High School, and the year my Grandpa died, Hall Edition was in pretty good shape. Nothing fancy, but good, solid, hard working families. As I've written above, starting with my graduation, my time spent in Sand Springs was less and less each and every year, so to quote Johnny Cougar - oh yeah, Live goes on...and here we are in 2004. My Grandpa has been dead for 19 years - which floors me! But like him, many of the other residents of the edition have died and or are in declining health. That coupled with fixed incomes the people that are still left can't keep their homes as nice as in the past. You then have the attrition of those that have passed on - those homes becoming either rental property, and or being sold cheap. All this came crashing home for me on Grandma's 81st Birthday as Ethan and I walked around her block chasing Guineas that freely roam the neighborhood. As we chased the Guinea Pigs (that's what E kept calling them) I was sickened by the neighborhood. I always joke about being one step up from white trash...kidding...I come from good stock...but this neighborhood is nothing but white trash. Sad, how an area can slip. My warm memories of the place, clouded by the reality of it. As we walked around the block chasing the Guinea hens I couldn't get the "Cops" theme song out of my head (Bad boys, bad boys - Watcha gonna do, watcha gonna do when they come for you.) I could honestly see, at any minute a scene from that goofy show, some meth house bust, or crack den. That bad. If the state of the neighborhood wasn't bad enough - I was smacked with another startling change. Wal-Mart. Actually SUPER Wal-Mart built on a piece of land that begins, literally 300 or so yards from my Grandma's house. It resides on open land that once was the home of a Smelter. My twisted sense of humor being what it is - I find it quite funny that Wal-Mart would place a store, that sells groceries mind you, on land where heavy metals were once melted. Sadly, Wal-Mart is the best thing to happen to that neighborhood in a long, long time. Open 24 hours, the light pollution from the parking lot at least casts an eerie glow over Hall Edition, making it feel somewhat safer. Hopefully it keeps the crack heads in their homes and away from Grandma who is shut tight in her little house. A squatter refusing to give up the place she calls home, has always called home, regardless of the neighborhoods decline, family exodus, Wal-Mart, and her increasing feebleness.

So, dear reader, you can see why I would find this all a bit depressing. Funny, the thing that cut me the deepest was seeing the Boy(s) inside Grandma's house. Unlike the neighborhood, LITTLE (we're talking Time Warp Little) has changed in the past 20 years, hell 40 years. Most of the furnishings are the same, decorative items, pictures, books, etc. The house on the inside looks the same as it did in 1977. Probably looks the same as it did in 1970 - when I was running amok in it, just like Ethan. That's what got me. Seeing him running around in the last place where I have such deep, old memories. Its the last place I have like that - which ain't here or there, but I realize that once my Grandma is gone - that the old place will be sold (hopefully not turning into a crack den), and I'll probably seldom, if ever return. And even if I do return to Sand Springs, I'll never be able to return to that little house on Short Street...but what I discovered this last trip, was that place is already pretty much gone, except in my minds eye.

Until I BLOG again...Go Sandites!

Got Milk?

Last night, Boy(s) both down for the night - Carter was trying to get the remote control to the cable box to work. Wouldn't. Boy #1 is hell on the remote controls. The current one, that wasn't working, is missing a red piece on top. This allows you to look inside the remote. The back battery cover has been abused so often that I took shipping tape and sealed it so we wouldn't have to go scurrying after Ax3 batteries every time it was hurled on our tile floors. My point is that it is not that uncommon for our remote to not work properly for the above reasons. So, we didn't think that much about it not working. Did the normal, bang it against a hard object, trying to fix it, trick...when a white liquid started oozing out of it? What the hell...it was like Ash in Alien if you dig that reference. Strange. Then it dawned on us, The Elder Boy, in a bit of unsupervised merriment must have poured his milk into the top half that is open. Ethan 1. Remote 0.

This morning I asked him if he had, in fact, poured milk into the remote control. He looked at me, and gave me, what I'm sure is the first of many, shit eating grins, that clearly incriminated him in the deed. I then asked him...Why he had done it, only to be reminded by my lovely Bride, he's two, why doesn't figure into it.

Indeed.

Until I BLOG again, rent Alien.

Regrets, I’ve had a few;

The Elder Boy is a nice mixture between me and his Mom. One of the traits he shares with me is a strong memory. This is one of those double edges - on one hand its great to remember where you were at when X happened. What song was playing. Who that actor was in that movie, etc. etc. etc. On the other, it is not great when the memory continually dredges up negative events in your life. Not so much in the cautionary sense, more in the beat yourself up, why did I do that, sense.

Case in point.

We (Team Tinsley) often walk after dinner. Family thing. The habit was formed when we used to walk our dear, but now departed, dog dog, Sophie. To this day, Ethan will often say "Walk Dog Dog" or "Walk Sophie" vs. saying "Go for a walk." After Sophie was put to sleep, we started extending these walks (Sophie was so old she couldn't go beyond our block) a few blocks to a bridge that overlooks a creek in our hood. This creek is full of wild ducks (meaning they won't accept human hand-outs) as well as turtles (love our hand-outs - generally bread.) Ethan loves to go to the creek to feed the turtles. Let me rewind a bit. Ethan often has to be convinced to go on the walk. Even though he always has fun when we do it - he needs a gentle push to get him into walk mode. Generally by the time dinner dishes are done, he's into something else. Usually trucks. He has a hard time extricating himself from playing so he doesn't want to go on the walk at first. Wyatt loves the walks. The walks are such a part of his routine that he has a hard time with the transition to bath and night night time unless he goes on the walk. The point!!! Ethan having a hard time quitting whatever it is he is doing, will often ask to take whatever it is he is playing with at the time. Thus, on this fateful trip, before we knew better, Ethan took a toy truck on the walk, and said truck now sleeps with the fishes, er turtles in the creek.

The funny thing in hindsite is that Ethan didn't freak out when he dropped the truck (by accident) in the creek. He wanted it back of course, but there wasn't anyway to get it which we explained. It was gone. For good. Final. He accepted it, and we moved on with the walk, heading back home, wishing the turtles a good night (Ethan will often wave and tell the Turtles hello when we drive over this bridge.)

Ethan has a lot of toy cars and trucks. I'd guest close to 100. We have a tub thingy full of them. Thus, you would think that the truck in the creek would soon by forgotten. Wrong. Later that very night after he lost his truck, he started talking about this truck. "Gotta get it" or "Gotta find it" quickly faded to resignation that it was indeed, gone for good. But he still remembered it, or more importantly that moment when it slipped from his hands and went into the creek.

Like sand through the hour glass of time...fast forward...

The other night on our walk, we met one of our older neighbors walking his Jack Russell Terrier. Carter made small talk about the weather to him - she was in front with Wyatt in the jog stroller - Ethan and I were in the rear, me pulling him in his big red wagon (the new rule learned from the loss of the truck is that if he takes something on the walk, he has to ride in the wagon, where the stuff has a 'safe' home vs. riding 'up high' which means on my shoulders.)

Carter finished the chit-chat and we start up again. I say Bye to the old neighbor. Ethan turns around and starts telling him about the truck he dropped in the creek. We're talking at least 6 weeks in the rearview at this point. Yet, he's acting like it was yesterday. The old neighbor, looked at us blankly as Ethan kept talkng about 'lost truck - drop creek - gone - sad - Ethan sad." This isn't the first time he's done it. Ever since lost the truck, he'll bring it up at the strangest times, usually with strangers. Sharing this story vividly with them - as they smile and undoubtly think, what is this kid talking about?

Sounds sort of funny and cute when typed as such...but...it is one of those mirror things - where see yourself in your child - and the reflection isn't necessarily nice...

Case in point.

We (Carter and Me) went to Richmond, VA in early June for a family wedding. We a had a wonderful time actually. One hiccup was that we were lost a lot. I'm generally a tracker in the driving directions station, so it adds insult to injury for me to be lost. We were lost from when we landed and then most of the weekend. The worst being Saturday night after the wedding. Late, and very tired, we got so lost I think we damn near drove to West Virginia. Next day, time to go, running late for the Airport, we got lost (inside the airport which was under construction.) Add the fact that we'd been lost all weekend, we're running late for the flight (another pet peeve of mine) and the fact that I'm scared of flying - I lost it. Incredible Hulk. Stu's Temper 1, Stu 0. I put my fist into the windshield and broke it. Idiot. Bad. Glass splinters in my knuckles, looks like we hit a deer going 50 mph. Bad. As soon as I did it, I was sick with remorse, which is normal for me. I lose it, then feel such guilt for losing it, I punish myself for days/weeks/months/years. Dredging up the memory over and over at the strangest times. I don't bring up this incident with complete strangers like the truck in the creek - Unlike Ethan's incident - mine was not an accident, I should have been able to control my temper - but the same trait to relive the event over and over is one in the same. Both are long gone in the rearview - neither of us can take back what happened.

Until I BLOG again...Thanks for listening.