And you say, just be here now...

Laughing like a mad man by myself in the dark at 6:30 in the am. Why? Only moments before I'd been crying. Well, not really crying crying, tears in the eyes, wipe them away, touched in an emotional way crying. Laughter and tears are opposite sides of the same coin, to me anyway, if that even makes sense. Still, I felt oddly self conscious, even though no one (until now) knew what I was up to at that early hour. You would probably laugh too. Hell, you have my permission to laugh now. Go ahead, out loud in front of your computer. Shit, I laughed myself, and I'm talking about at myself, not with myself, laughter. Why? I was brought to tears by "Who's The Boss?"

One of my curious habits, since we got our DVR, is to Tivo (it's not really Tivo, Comcast's bastard version - which as far as I can tell isn't as good - but that's another BLOG entry - Tivo = DVR in my lexicon) Northern Exposure every night (it airs on Hallmark from 12-1am) as well as "Who's The Boss?" on Nick@Nite (airs from 2-2:30am) Then, the next morning, at the crick of the crack, 5:30am to be exact, I get up and watch these programs by my lonesome as I drink coffee.

The rest of Team Tinsley usually get up after I've finished watching "Who's The Boss?" which is around 7am if you're keeping score at home.

This is my alone time. I enjoy it. Look forward to it. Savor it. This is why I was in the dark crying and then laughing. I had finished Northern Exposure and was midway through "Who's The Boss?", We're talking third season "WTB?", the episode was #62, first aired in 1987, Marie's Secret (you might be laughing at me now with all this "WTB?" minutia.) Anyway, in this particular episode, Tony suspects his late wife might have cheated on him. This being the most saccharine of sitcoms (anyone think it weird that I watch these two divergent shows - says something about my contradictory nature I guess), she didn't cheat on him. But, he did learn that there were things he didn't know about her. Missed. He was feeling low.

But, that's not what made me cry/laugh.

Toward the end, as our pulpy little story was coming full circle to a neat closure, Sam (Tony's daughter for those not familiar with the show) tells him that her Mom used to tell her, how lucky they were to have him. He was a good Dad, husband, and man. Sitting there drinking coffee, watching all of this, I felt low too. Because we had lowered Wyatt's crib the night before. The Little Warrior was starting to pull-up, and My Lovely Bride thought (and by the way, was correct, less than a week later, he did in fact pull up) feared he would soon pull up in his crib and fall out if we didn't lower it a few notches. So, with that in my head, watching the syrupy lovefest of "WTB?" it all hit me, and, well I cried. Bittersweet tears, as our baby is growing up, and, since it is our plan to stop procreating, the milestones such as pulling up, and everything else are hitting me a bit harder than they did with Ethan. I'm paying more attention to them, or, I'm trying to pay more attention. But that is hard at times, in our crazy ass, two under three, Team Tinsley hacienda. It is hard to slow down, when we're constantly on go, which is why I was sitting by myself in the early morning crying (and later laughing) while watching "Who's The Boss?"

Until I BLOG again...There’s a time for love and a time for living.

Change

Warning. The following BLOG entry is in the gross category.

Reading books with Ethan the other night. I farted. It stunk. Bad. After a few moments, Ethan looked a me, and said.

"Daddy did you poo poo?"

I laughed. Hard. At myself, a 37 year old man, busted by his 2 1/2 year old son. Ethan just watched me with a curious look on his face as I thought about trying to cover my tracks. Make a joke. I could blame it on the dog, but we lost Dog Dog in May, so that wouldnt be funny. In the end, I decide honesty was the best policy.

"No, Daddy let a fart."

He considered this a few seconds and then made a decision.

"Daddy, change clothes. Daddy, change clothes please."

I tried to explain to him that the fart's noxious odor would soon dissipate. That I had not crapped in my pants. Everything was A-OK down there, a bit smelly, but that soon would pass. He wasn't convinced, and he gave me this stern look of disapproval and informed me.

"Daddy, change clothes. Now. Daddy, change clothes now please."

It was his room. His story time. My faux pas. So, that Dear Readers is just what I did. I went to my room and changed.

Funny, this gross, and goofy little story is evident of how Boy #1 is growing up - turning corners - changing before our very eyes - hard to explain. So, I'll leave it at that.

Until I BLOG again...Excuse me.

I am your father.

Friday night. Casa Tinsley. One of our accordion style doors to the washing machine and dryer area was busted. I was trying to fix it - and doing my usual bang-up job (I'm a horrific handy-man.) It being Friday night, Boy #1 was wanting my undivded attention. I was engrossed in the project, and becoming quite frustrated by my ineptness at fixing what you would think would be a simple thing to fix.

Ethan was dancing around my feet as I tried to get the door back in its track. My Lovely Bride sensing that I was close to turning into the Incredible Hulk, said to Ethan.
"Give your father some space, he's trying to fix the door."

Ethan stopped the dancing, turned around and looked at his mom, and in a serious voice replied.
"That's not my father, that's my Daddy!

Until I BLOG again...(In your best Darth Vader voice) Luke...

I shouldn't bring up what I can't put down

You ever get that not so fresh feeling? That's how I feel. My last BLOG, the mellifluous (ka-ching - using that college education with that fifty cent word) I need to remember this..., wasn't 100% honest. I held back some info that was on my mind at the time. I had my reasons dear reader, if you must know - I didn't want my neurotic ramblings to effect what I hoped would be a sweet natured BLOG. As I've written before, the ultimate goal of this here BLOG is a record of sorts, for posterity. Thus, I surmised, neurotic thoughts must be kept to myself. In hindsight, I think it best to just be honest. The BLOG is supposed to be a slice of life - what I was thinking, or what we were doing on such and such date. A diary of sorts for the Boy(s) in the Buck Rogers future. So, holding back is against the spirit of this whole endeavor.

Can you dig it?

So, on Friday the 13th none the less (although posted later because of my wild ass work load), I can tell (in your best Paul Harvey voice please) the rest of the story.

The reason I felt that Ethan's comment about the hair and that his look was so peculiar is because it was apropos to what was on my mind. Hell, I might have been thinking (obsessing is more like it) about it when I was reading to him that very night?

I'm losing my hair.

I'm convinced that I'm starting to lose it. Up front. Thinning. Falling out. Strange, I've never had hair fall out before. I remember back in the day, living with guy room mates, being amazed at the amount of hair they would shed in the bathroom sink, bathtub, and comb. Then, domestic bliss with my Lovely Bride who also has a stray hair floating around from time to time. Perfectly natural for most I guess - but for me, my hair stayed put.

Then, about a month or so ago, I noticed that my hair was looking a bit 'thin' in front. It was growing out, hadn't been long in a long time. I thought, maybe, I forgot how it looked. Then, as usual, a pop culture fragment came bubbling up for me on the subject. Seinfeld. You remember the one where Elaine dates the cat who is bald. He was bald by choice - because he swam, so he just shaved his head. Elaine gets him to grow his hair back and when he does, well, he discovers he is balding. I thought of this, but shook it off...but then I started shedding. Not in clumps, but enough to notice. Now, anytime I run my hands through my hair, its like I'm molting. Part of me wonders if my obsession isn't playing a part in it. Mind over matter. You know. To give you a glimpse into my goofy ass world, I've been concerned enough about it to look up 'hair loss' on webmd.com. Seems there aren't any freakish diseases that can be causing it. Probably just normal male patterned - your getting old - hair loss.

Yes, I'm well aware I'm freak. Anyone that would dedicate this much time to BLOG about their possibly hair loss is a bit out of whack. If you saw my head of hair, it would only corroborate my freak status in your mind. By most standards I have a pretty thick head of hair compared to other 37 year old men.

There you have it - the rest of the story. Pretty silly. Indeed.

Until I BLOG again...Rogaine.

I need to remember this...

Last night, doing the pre-night-night ritual, books in bed with Ethan, while I was reading Road Builders he quit looking at the book and starting looking at me. Intently. I kept reading for a few seconds, but felt his stare lingering. I turned and looked at him.

"Daddy. Touch your hair. Touch hair please."

I smiled at this strange request, but went with it, by leaning my head down and toward him, not unlike a dog will do when it wants to be patted.

Ethan ran his hands through my hair. After a few moments, he quit, took back his hand and said.

"Very nice."

The comment made me smile which turned into a laugh at the absurdness of it during book time. I didn't want him to think I was laughing at him, so I quit, and said.

"Thank you, Son."

He replied, very seriously I might add.
"Very nice. Daddy, very nice."

I was about to joke that it was because of my shampoo, Suave, like me - it would probably be over his head (insert bad pun groan) though - so I decided against it. Anyway, he was continuing to stare at me. Even now, it is hard to explain the stare, it was almost unsettling, in its intensity. So for a second time, I said.

"Thank you, Son."

He then leaned toward me, putting his forehead to my lips. That might not sound like much to you dear reader, but that is is how the Elder Boy gives a kiss. He actually never gives kisses. If you try to get a kiss from him he'll do the forehead thing. If you want a more standard kiss on the lips you have to stipulate that you want a mouth kiss.

We read books nearly every night. 7 days a week. On the weekends I generally do two a days (nap time too.) So, last night was nothing out of the ordinary. That's my point. I'm not sure why he picked last night to have this little affectionate moment with me. I guess in the end it doesn't really matter - the why, only that he did it. I didn't have time to give it much thought, because as soon as his forehead hit my lips, he turned back to the book and said.

"Read book please."

Until I BLOG again...Remember this.

Do You Realize?

Emily: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?--every, every minute?
Stage Manager: No. Saints and poets, maybe--they do some.

You probably recognize those lines from Our Town...more useless trivia (I guess some would disgree with that, since many consider it a classic) bubbling up - usually early in the morning.

When I wake up, I have trouble going back to sleep. Stare at the clock. Fight the impulse to go and peek in on the Boy(s) to make sure they are sleeping peacefully. Still breathing. That everything is ok. One of those things most parents have done - or do. One of the things that you don't really consider when you think about being a parent. The amount of worry. Our Boy(s) are still pretty young, and bound to us and the home. I can only imagine what it is like, as the get older, and start going into the world on their own. Getting farther, and farther away from you - yet still needing your guidance, support and love - even thought they don't know they need it...probably don't even want it at times. Trying to protect them. These thoughts make me want to hold on and never let go...

We have a friend who had to let go - at least in the physical sense - he lost his 15 year old daughter this past Thursday. This has to be the worst thing you could ever imagine happening to someone. Death is always sad...but a parent burying a child is grievous, beyond words. In talking with people, when I tell them about this, they always ask How? Why? What Happened? I didn't think much about it at first, but the more I've been asked, I started to wonder why was that the first thing people always asked?? The how and why can't change the outcome. Make it less sad. Take it back. Why? How?

I think it is in our nature to ask these questions. I think we search for answers, hoping that those answers, reasons, can encapsulate the tragedy, and that the knowledge can somehow protect us. Someone said, Knowledge is power. But I wonder...is it really?

There is another quote bubbling up from my subconscious. Unlike the one from Our Town, I can't quite remember this one, who said it, where I heard it, if it is even a quote. I keep thinking of it...like an itch I can't scratch. Goes something like this: "but by the Grace of God that is me." If you know it, I'd appreciate a scratch in the form of an email. Be good to know what I'm thinking about when it wakes me up early in the morning, playing in the background as I remember this.

In March 2002, I went out after work for the first time since the Elder Boy had arrived. Grab a quick drink with a friend. Shop talk swung to family talk, and the conversation went to new fatherhood. The friend, father of three, been there done that. Diapers, bottles, no sleep, etc. Talk swung to other subjects and then, he brought up that someone he knew had recently lost a child, a baby. As soon as he had said it, I could sense that he realized he probably shouldn't have told a new father this story. He quickly tried to ease my fears, by going into how rare it was for this to happen, etc. In all honesty, his voice became like a parent (or teacher) in a Peanuts cartoon (if you dig that reference) as I considered what he told me, a cold chill running down my spine. Thinking the unthinkable. I quickly shook it off as I tuned back into what he was saying to me - in time to hear him say "...it is rare for a parent to lose a child."

Two and a half years later, on an early July morning, he lost a child. Died in his very arms - and no amount of holding on could prevent it.

Not your typical light, fluffy Team Tinsley post. Down right morbid I guess...but it is what is on my mind, and I just can't seem to shake it. I ache deeply for my friend. My heart breaks for his family's loss. I think a quote (yet another - but a very good one) from A River Runs Through it is fitting to end this here post.

Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing help, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding.

If you want to read my friends powerful eulogy for his daughter - you can find it here. He had the courage, the strength to stand in front of hundreds and read it at her funeral.

Until I BLOG again...Peace.

Update: As is often the case, my friend, the grandest DH of them all, DHdN (read: Brian) scratched my itch. Per the above quote that I was trying to get.

William Booth was a pawnbroker who felt the pain of poor people who had to pawn their treasured possessions to stay alive. He felt the call of God to help the poor and underprivileged. At a Quaker's meeting in a tent in an abandoned graveyard, he gave his testimony and began his ministry to down-and-outers, the Salvation Army. One night he and his son Bramwell were walking past the pub at Miles End Waste. The door flew open and they could see the carousing drunks inside. Booth said to his son, "There, but for the grace of God, go I." Thanks DH.