Christmas is the Time to say I Love You

The Tooth Fairy isn't the only one effected by the tough economy. My Lovely Bride made the command decision that we'd skip a Holiday card this year. Do something else with that money. Which is why she asked me to do a Holiday card we can send out via email. Which I didn't do. Instead I compiled photos from Christmas past and made a video. The Boy(s) even helped me pick the photos and selected the song.

My Lovely Bride will probably still want (read: make) me do a card thing. But you can still enjoy this. Seven years condensed into two minutes. Which for me is apropos. Time flies, Dear Reader, so do your best to stop, just for a moment, and truly enjoy.

Until I BLOG again...So when spirits grow lighter, And hopes are shinin' brighter, Then you know that Christmas time is here.

Money Changes Everything

"I don't want to be a vampire."

"What?!?"

"Is this my blood?" Ethan asked holding up a napkin that was pink from a combination of his blood and spit.

"Yeah." I said. "That's your blood."

"I don't want to be a vampire." he repeated.

"You can't be a vampire by drinking your own blood." In hindsight this wasn't the smartest thing to say since it implies you can be a vampire.

"Look." Ethan said pushing his loose tooth north toward his uvula. "Feel it."

"Dude!" I said shuddering. "I can't do it, that freaks me out, bad. Leave it alone."

"I can't. It bugs me. It feels funny."

He couldn't either. Leave it alone. Because it did feel funny. Which is why, after 25 minutes of pushing the tooth north and then pulling it back south the Boy extracted his second baby tooth damn near a year to the day after his brother helped him lose his first.

"Here," he said handing me the tooth. "Mom will be surprised."

He was right of course, My Lovely Bride would be surprised, but not until the following morning because it was the third Wednesday of the month which meant B(Dr)unco.

"Let me put it into a ziplock bag so we don't lose it." I said walking into the kitchen with his small tooth in the palm of my hand.

After I sequestered the tooth I walked back into the den where the Boy(s) were watching Scooby Doo. "Here you go," I said.

"Thanks Dad," he said looking at his small tooth in the ziplock bag.

"Let me see!" Wy shouted.

"Be careful Wyatt," Ethan instructed as he handed him the bag, "Don't lose it ---- the tooth fairy will come tonight."

The Tooth Fairy.
Fuck me.

You see Dear Reader, as usual, I didn't have any money. Or at least enough to meet the Tooth Fairy pay scale precedent that we had set with the Elder Boy's first tooth. I had one one dollar bill.

This wouldn't have been a big deal had My Love Bride been at home, but since it was B(Dr)unco I knew she wouldn't be home until late and more than likely she'd be drunk (it's called B(Dr)unco for a reason.)

I did have a bunch of loose change, but putting that under his pillow was a bad idea because he thrashed about in his sleep. I could only imagine how much fun it would be to have the entire house woken at 3am as 100 pennies crashed onto his bedroom (hardwood) floor.

I stressed about the damn Tooth Fairy for the next thirty minutes. An entire episode of Scooby Doo. I ran different scenarios in my head. Tried to deduce if the Boy would catch on if he only netted a single dollar bill from the Tooth Fairy.

In the end I decided to slip the single dollar under his pillow after he fell asleep and hope that I would be awake when My Lovely Bride rolled in to see if she had any cash. If that failed I figured I'd be up before the Boy and could grab some cash from My Lovely Bride and slide under his pillow before him or the dog awoke.

I made it until 11:00pm or so that night, but eventually my tiredness beat my monkey brain into submission and I fell asleep. Hard. So hard, I never heard my Lovely Bride roll in from B(Dr)unco.

The next thing I heard was this, "Daddy! Daddy!"

"Can I get out!" Wy shouted from his bedroom.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Ethan shouted again.

"Can I get out!!!" Wyatt shouted again.

Fuck me.

Thirty minutes later, while drinking my second cup of coffee, I realized what I had not the night before. I should have left My Lovely Bride a note explaining the Tooth Fairy situation. That would have solved everything. I'm such an idiot in real time.

"Daddy," Ethan said giving me a strange, I'm reading your mind kind of a look.

"Yeah."

"Is the Tooth Fairy real?"

"Why do you ask that?" I answered.

"Because, well," he stuttered looking at the single dollar bill in his hand, "I was just curious if it was really you."

Nice. The Boy knows me well enough to realize that if he only got one dollar it was because I was the one who had given it to him. My cheapness is legendary.

"Is it you?" he asked again expectantly.

I'm a strange man. And one of my more curious traits is this: I cannot lie to the Boy(s). It doesn't matter if they ask me if their granny is going to die of cancer or if there is a tooth fairy ---- there is something in my make-up that will not allow me to look them in the eye and lie. Even to protect them.

I think this has a lot to do with my elephantine memory and the fact that I can remember when I was a kid and someone told me a lie. Even if it was to protect my innocence, I still look back and feel a slight sense of betrayal. It's a black and white thing for me and one of my worst (in my opinion) personality traits. Still, I can't or won't lie to the Boy(s) for this reason so I said, "You believe in the tooth fairy, don't you?"

Nothing but his penetrating stare. My eyes looking back at me. Waiting for a real answer.

"Don't you?" I asked again.

Nothing.

"Son," I said looking at him trying very hard to not suck in real time. "You believe in Santa Clause."

"Yeah." he answered.

"Well, the tooth fairy is like Santa Clause."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The Tooth Fairy and Santa Clause are alike." I added waiting for him to put it together in his own head and come to the right truth for him.

"Oh." he said smiling. "I get it. It's like magic."

I smiled saying nothing as he looked at his single dollar bill.

"But only a dollar?" he said.

"Well Boy," I said, "You know times are tough right now, like we've seen on the new."

"Yeah."

"I guess the recession has even effected the Tooth Fairy."

Until I BLOG again...We think we know what were doin'.

I'm walking in the street

I'm not big on contemplating my own navel on this here BLOG. It is, and always has been about my love of writing and my goofy ass attempt at a chronicle for the Buck Rogers future. That is why I do what I do, or write what I write.

But then I read a post about Team Tinsley over at Martin Randomness that shocked me. The nicest things were said about my goofy ass chronicle. It was rewarding yet strange to read. But read I did and after I was done, I decided to revisit the Hope Springs Eternal post to see if it was as funny as described. This led to me wasting a bunch of time looking through the archives at Team Tinsley which was interesting in a very staring at your navel sort of a way. This exercise along with a couple of recent comments and emails from newer Team Tinsley readers got me to thinking that I needed to compile a list of favorite posts. Which is what I did. Ten to be exact. In no particular order. I think they are pretty representational of this BLOG overall. Some are funny. Others are sad. Most are uncomfortably personal. Enjoy.

Hope springs eternal
My classic onanistic near miss in a public restroom in our quest to put the Team in Tinsley. Martin Randomness BLOG entry regarding the TT Blog and this post in particular is what led to this list. So funny some have questioned if it is real. Sadly. Yes. Read>

Living in perfect symmetry
A gut wrenching post about watching my Mom die a horrific death from cancer. Fuck me. Fuck cancer. Read>

I have no more than I did before
A routine Mr. Mom trip spins out of control with The Litter Warrior choking on a lifesaver and then vomiting all over me and a conference room at one of Tulsa's top law firms. Read>

Time knows your done
This is my last post that specifically deals with the demise of my Mom. Written six months after her death, it tells a very personal story of her telling me she has six months to live. Of all my Mom Died Fuck Cancer posts, this is the one that hurts me the most. Read>

If you smile through your fear and sorrow
A rare POST that has nothing to do with Team Tinsley and tells a funny story about me shitting in a public park. Seriously. Read>

Let me take a long last look, before we say good-bye
The story of a Turtle named Tula, and my issues with letting go. Read>

The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight
Can reading Walter the Farting Dog at kindergarten story time put you on red? Read>

Escalators aren't scary
Unless you are a crazy Colombian named Juan. Read>

And Liberty She Pirouette
The story of how we ended up with Gretchen (who was rechristened Ruby) the dog. Read>

I need to remember this...
These are the little moments that led me to create this crazy BLOG in the first place. The whole blink you eyes nature of time and how fast things change. Rereading it the other day I was struck by how much has changed in four short years. Read>

Until I BLOG again...And the hair that makes the people stop and stare.

I can't change the world

"Was Ethan born first?" Wy asked.

"What do you think?" I said clearly annoyed. "You know the answer to this question. It doesn't change."

"Yes." he said giving me the same mean look I would have given him if the tables were turned.

"Yes." I said. "Ethan is older than you. Ethan was born first."

"I want to be born first." Wy cried.
--------------------
"Its not fair." E complained. "Wyatt doesn't have to go to school as long as me."

"If you want fair, you'll have to wait until September." I quipped. "That's when the State Fair comes back to town, which is your only guarantee at fair in this life."

"Its not fair." Ethan said, ignoring the joke (he's like his Mom --- my comedy stylings are sorely unappreciated at home.)

"Dude," I said. "You went to school there and had the same day as him. You've been there, done that. When he's your age he'll be doing what you are doing now. But you'll be doing something else. That's just the way it is. He's younger than you."

"Its not fair!" E cried.
--------------------
Sibling rivalry is voodoo to me. Probably because I'm an only child. Which has, and continues to define my personality. The same way the Boy('s) personalities are being shaped because they have a younger/older brother.

My Dad, who hailed from a family that included four brothers and two sisters often told me and my Mom, who was also an only child, "You choose your friends, not your family."

Which I can certainly understand when I watch the Boy(s) morph into their stereotypical brotherly roles. Wy playing the pesky and gregarious little brother, to E's physically superior, overly cautious, big brother. I wouldn't classify E a bully with Wy, but he does use his size and strength at times. Wy handles the physical threat by waging complete mental warfare on E.

This is what was happening at E's end of Fall Soccer picnic at Breckinridge Park. Wy was doing the annoying, I'm going to co-opt one of E's teammates, make his friend my friend, and then rub it into E's face by ganging up on E with this kid. Normally E freaks out hard when this happens, but on this beautiful Indian Summer day he let go and teamed up with another teammate for a convoluted playground chase game against Wy and his friend.

Eventually they grew bored with the game and decided to go explore the park with me and a pair of twins from the team. Breckinridge Park is a heavily wooded area. There are smaller creeks that feed into a large creek. Typical of this part of Texas, the little creeks have limestone beds which often have fossils as well as shelfs and ledges where the limestone has shifted and or broke off. It was a creek such as this, that we spent thirty minutes exploring.

When I decided it was time to bug out, I headed up the hill to check in with the rest of the team and their parents at the playground. The creek is in a valley, and being an adult, with a much longer stride, I was soon 100 yards up the hill from the kids when I heard Wy cry out behind me.

Looking down the hill I noted that Wy had made a bad choice when we crossed the creek and had ended up stranded on a ledge on the opposite side. The closet person to him was the kid he had teamed up with against Ethan, who was standing on our side of the bank. Up the hill a few yards were the twins. Followed by E's buddy and then E who was the closet to me.

I could see from where I stood that Wy had three options. He could back track and fall further behind. He could forge ahead on his side through a swampy area and try to ford the creek downstream. Or he could jump off the ledge into the creek and wade across to where his friend was standing. It wasn't that big of a creek to be honest. The ledge was only three feet above the creek which was only two feet deep.

Still Wy was clearly scared and upset.

My high ground offered me the vantage point of being a fly on the wall to their very Lord of the Flies moment. I watched this non-verbal communication chain, as E looked to his friend, who looked to the twins, who looked to Wy's friend who then looked to Wy. Nothing was said, but all the boys except Wy and Ethan shrugged in a way that implied that Wy was on his own.

Wy got their non-verbal cue and became more upset, eventually pleading across the creek for his co-opted friend to help him. The kid shrugged again, looked down at his feet and mumbled what I think was, 'sorry.'

I was about to head back down the hill to rescue the Younger Boy when Ethan, who as I said, was farther up the hill than the rest of the pack, pushed his way through their group, to the edge of the creek and stopped.

He looked across the creek at Wy, who was crying at this point, and said, "It's OK Wyatt," and jumped into the creek and waded across.

When he got to Wy's side, the height difference between the ledge and the creek was such that Ethan had to reach up and grab Wy around his knees, picking him up, and then putting him down in the creek. He then grabbed Wy by the hand, said, "Come on Wyatt," and led him across the creek to where the other boys were standing.

For a few seconds my Boy(s) stood in front of the other boys, dripping wet, on the bank of that little creek.

E realized at some point that he was still holding Wy's hand in front of his friends and dropped it like a hot rock and said to the kid he had been playing with, "Let's go," and ran up the hill toward me. The twins took off next, quickly followed by Wy's co-opted friend and then Wy Wy.

When E reached me on the hill he stopped, probably because of the look on my face. After a moment, he gave me a slight shrug as if to say, what else could I do, and then smiled at me, and ran off toward the playground with his friend.

A few seconds later, the twins ran by me quickly followed by Wy's co-opted friend and then Wy Wy, who still had a tear on his cheek.

Like Ethan, Wy noted the look on my face and stopped in front of me.

"That was nice what Ethan did for you." I said.

Wy gave me this sheepish half grin he does when he's been busted doing something he probably should not be doing.

"You should remember it Wy Wy." I said, "E had your back. The other boys. They didn't help you. Ethan helped you."

Wy nodded his head in agreement and shrugged and then smiled in a manner that was a carbon copy of his big brother.

"Go play." I said as Wy ran off toward the playground.

Until I BLOG again...But I can change the world in me.

I'm not running anymore - Part 2 - Viva La Vida

You can read Part 1 of I'm not running anymore by poking that magic finger here.

"Daddy, are you going to buy beer?" Ethan asked as we walked into Kroger.

"Yes." I said as Wy Wy climbed up onto the shopping cart.

"Wy Wy. Do you have to hang onto the cart like that?" I said pointing at the warning label thing on the cart. "Everyone will give me dirty looks for being a bad father. It's dangerous to ride like that."

"He can sleep in my room." Wy answered.

The Younger Boy was a broken record regarding the lost bandana wearing dog we had saved from becoming road kill a few hours in the rearview.

"She can sleep in your room --- if the owner doesn't turn up by night night time." I explained. "I think they will though, because Daddy got a hold of someone that knows a lot of people in our neighborhood and she sent out an email describing the dog with all of our contact information."

"Daddy, is he going to be ok?" Ethan asked as he climbed up onto the other side of the shopping cart.

"Yes. She's in the backyard with Ruby." I said "They were getting along fine. Ruby's in charge. We'll be cool."

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"She can sleep in your room if the owner doesn't call or email me by tonight." I explained again. "Do you guys have to ride on the cart like that? Seriously, all the moms are going to give me dirty looks."

"Daddy, are you going to buy beer?" Ethan asked again.

"Yes, bub, Daddy is going to buy beer. Daddy is going to buy a lot of beer." I said as I steered the cart with the Boy(s) hanging onto the sides into the store, careful to dodge the dirty looks from the moms in our path.

I should note here, before I get much further into our story, that the Elder Boy is into collecting things. His latest collectable item is bottle caps. Namely beer bottle caps. Thus he is always asking or requesting that I buy or drink beer so he can acquire new bottle caps for this collection (he keeps them all, and he has many, in a hat box My Lovely Bride gave him.)

This hobby is innocent enough, but often comes off as odd, especially when the Boy asks me at say, breakfast, if I'll drink a beer. Or when we enter a store. Or when he asks me to ask the bartender or waitress to dig through the trash for bottle caps.

As we neared the beer cooler area of Kroger, Ethan de-carted and ran over to the the beer display.

"Daddy!" Ethan yelled. "How about this one?"

Thankfully there wasn't any moms around the cooler area to give me a dirty look. The store was pretty dead that Sunday afternoon since the Cowboys were playing.

"Son," I said. "Not so loud. And no."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because that's not beer. That's a wine cooler." I said. "Daddy doesn't drink wine coolers."

"How about that one, Ethan?" Wy said hanging from the shopping cart.

"This one Wyatt?" Ethan said grabbing a Rolling Rock bottle out of a six pack container.

"Dude!" I said grabbing the bottle out of his hand, "Be careful, that's glass, let me show you the cap."

"Where is it from Daddy?" he asked.

"Pennsylvania." I answered. " I don't want to buy Rolling Rock though. I get veto power, remember."

"Oh. Ok." Ethan answered grabbing a Leinenkugel out of a six pack holder. "How about this one?"

"Sorry. That's a wheat beer that has berry in it." I said. "It's chick beer. Veto."

"It's got an indian on it." Ethan said.

"Let me see Ethan." Wy said from his dangerous perch on the shopping cart.

"It's Leinenkugel. From Minnesota or Wisconsin." I said. "Some of their beer is good. But that's a chick beer. Look the Indian is even a chick."

"Oh." Ethan said.

Ethan walked up and down the beer aisle, shouting out requests for the various beers. He handled even more. As I watched him, I noted from time to time, a head poking around the end cap of the cooler. Checking us out. After the fourth poke I started to walk around the end to see what was what when Ethan said, "Daddy, I want to get this one."

"No way." I said. "That's an Ultra. It doesn't even have carbs. There's no way I'm drinking that crap. Beer should have carbs."

"Cars?" Ethan asked.

"No. C A R B S." I explained as that head poked around yet again. "Some people don't like to drink carbs because of their diet which is silly. If you don't want carbs, don't drink beer. Drink something else."

"Oh." he said.

"You guys stay here, I'll be right back." I said walking around the end cap to explore the poking head.

Only I didn't make it. I was stopped cold because the end cap cooler had a special beer display where you could buy single bottles of beer to make up your own variety six pack.

It was/is nirvana for a beer nerd and his bottle cap obsessed progeny.

"Sweet mother of all that is good!" I said.

"What!?!?" Ethan and Wy Wy asked in unison. "What is it Daddy?"

"Boys, come here. This is what I was telling you about the other day." I said.

Ethan walked around the end and looked at the cooler expectantly. Wy blew me off and stayed perched, dangerously, on the cart.

"What?" Ethan asked.

"See all those beers." I said.

"Yeah," he said.

"Ethan! What is it?" Wy yelled from the cart.

"I don't know Wyatt." Ethan said.

"Listen," I said.

"See all these bottles. They are here so you can pick one of each and make your own six pack."

"Oh." Ethan said, not truly getting it.

"Boy." I said. "We can pick six different bottles of beer which will get you six different bottle caps."

Ethan laughed. A strange, kind of crazy, mildly obsessive, but happy, laugh.

"What is it Ethan?" Wy yelled, curious enough to jump off the cart and run over to the end cap.

Ethan stopped laughing and looked at me, with a quizzical, are you messing with me look.

"Really?" he said.

"Really." I said. "I wouldn't joke about beer. But remember..."

"What?" he asked.

"I still get veto power." I said.

The Boy went nuts, running up to the cooler, grabbing single bottles of beer.

"Daddy! Daddy! I want this beer! And this beer! And this beer!" Ethan shouted.

Not to be out done Wy grabbed a Tecate and shouted, "Daddy, I want this beer!"

"Guys! Guys!" I said. "Slow down. You can both get beer. We'll all get what we want."

Which is when Dear Reader, the head poker revealed himself. If memory serves correct, the name badge on the goofy Kroger vest said Doyle, and Doyle was Assistant Manager.

"Can I help you sir?" Doyle asked in a not very friendly way.

"No." I said. "I think we're good."

"Oh." Doyle said giving me a skeptical look.

Fuck me! I thought. Doyle must have seen the Boy(s) riding free style on the shopping cart and be even more pissed than the moms who usually glare at me.

"We're cool." I said.

"Daddy?" Ethan said. "I want this beer."

And that Dear Reader is when I finally got why Doyle thought that I needed help.

Ever the dip shit in real time, I had not realized, until that very moment, our innocent hobby sounded criminal to a casual listener, like Doyle, who must have thought that I was shopping for beer we were all going to imbibe.

"Oh." I said.

"The Boy collects bottle caps. He likes for me to buy different beers, so he gets different caps." I explained.

Doyle said nothing. He just gave me this, I'm calling CPS on your ass look.

"It's a hobby for him." I said.

"Daddy," Ethan said.

"What." I said, scared that he'd say something else to incriminate me.

"I don't have this bottle cap, do I?"

"No," I said smiling at Doyle in a I told you sort of a way, "You don't have that bottle cap. I'll get that beer."

"Have a nice day, sir." Doyle said as he walked back from whence he came (whence being the chip aisle.)

"Daddy," Wy said climbing back onto the cart.

"Wy!" I said. "Don't ride on the cart like that. I'm going to get arrested, or lose my Kroger reward card."

Fast forward an hour, me with a variety 12 pack trying to push my way into our backyard to open the back door.

"Get back, Ruby." I said as I pushed her aside and made my across the patio. I was about to put the key in our backdoor when I realized (again, I'm slow in real time) that something was amiss.

"Holy shit!" I said, putting the beers down.

"What? What? What?" the Boy(s) asked in unison.

"Where's the bandana wearing dog?" I asked, running to the side of the house to see if she was over there.

Nothing.

"Daddy?" Ethan asked as I ran by him into the garage to see if the bandana wearing dog was in there.

Nothing.

"Daddy!?!?!" Ethan asked. "Where is he?"

"Where is he!?!!?" Wy asked.

"Fuck me." I said.

"What!?!!?" the Boy(s) asked.

"Guys," I admitted. " I think she's gone."

"Where? Where!" Ethan said running around like a chicken with his head cut off, "Here boy, here boy, here boy!"

"BOY!" Wy shouted. "BOY!!!!"

"Guys," I said looking out the back gate into our alley. "I think she's gone."

"How?" Ethan asked.

"BOY!" Wy shouted. "HERE BOY!"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe Ruby ate her?"

Sweet mother of all that is good. That was not the joke we needed to lighten the situation. The Boy(s) freaked. Hard. Father of the year. That's me.

"NO!!!" Ethan screamed running over to grab Ruby.

"Ruby!!!" Wy shouted. "Ruby! Bad dog! Bad dog!!!"

"Guys! Guys!" I said. "I'm kidding. It was a joke. Ruby couldn't, Ruby wouldn't, eat that dog. She must have got out under the fence. If Ruby wanted to get out, she probably could now that I think about it. Maybe that dog heard it's owners calling for it, or realized it needed to go home."

The Boy(s) gave me a skeptical look.

"Guys," I pleaded. "I'm sorry, it was just a joke. Ruby wouldn't eat her. I promise."

Then thinking logic would help my case, "and besides, if Ruby ate her, we could tell, there'd be blood all over the back yard and patio, oh, and that goofy bandana."

Maybe I should be reported to CPS?

I spent the rest of the evening checking email to see if anyone had found the bandana wearing dog and trying to quell the Boy(s) anxiety over losing a lost dog.

Near night night time, Wy was in his bedroom playing a bug game on his new (old) computer.

As if I didn't have enough on my plate, being Mr. Mom, earlier in the day I had rearranged some major pieces of furniture and changed the Boy(s) rooms considerable. Wy had netted E's new (old) computer.

"Daddy," Wy asked.

"Yeah bub," I said.

"I'm so worried about that dog. If he's going to be ok." he said clearly troubled.

"I know." I said.

"I wanted him to sleep in my room." he said.

"I know." I said.

"I'm so worried." he said again.

"Son," I said. "That dog is going to be ok."

"Did he go home?" Wy asked expectantly.

What a loaded question. It would have been easy to lie to the Boy. Tell him yes. That dog was ok. Everything was just fine, and right in the world. That I had got an email from the owner saying (insert fake bandana wearing dog name) was happy and back home. That the owner thanked us for saving her from being hit by a car.

This lie would have assuaged Wy's fears. And made my life easier.

I couldn't do it. I can't lie to the Boy(s).

"I don't know Wy Wy." I said. "I think she might have found her way home, or Daddy would have gotten more emails on her, or we would have seen fliers up around the neighborhood. But in the end I really don't know. I hope she's ok. I'm glad we saved her from being hit by a car."

"Oh." he said and went back to killing ants in his new (old) bug computer game.

I was about to walk out of his room and check on the other Boy who was equally worried about the lost dog we had lost when Wy said, "Daddy,"

"Yeah." I said.

"We saved him didn't we."

"Yeah, we did save her from getting hit by a car." I said. "Then we lost her. Which is kind of funny. I didn't know you could lose a lost dog."

"Daddy," he said.

"Yeah." I said.

"Will Mommy watch me play my game on my new computer when she comes home?"

"If you ask her, I'm sure she'll be happy to watch." I said.

A day later My Lovely Bride was back. My Mr. Mom tour was coming to an end. And as crazy as it had been, I was a little sad about going back to my normal routine as I packed all my crap for work and thought about the past four days.

In the other room I heard Wy ask his Mom to watch him play his new (old) computer game.

"Sure, for a little bit." she said.

"Wy Wy," I asked walking into the room, happy that I had made the changes that netted him the new (old) computer and game. "Which of your new games are you going to show Mom?"

"The bug game," he said. "Where you fight the ants."

"Nice." I said feeling what amounted to pride for holding down the fort and keeping the Boy(s), Ruby the Dog (we'll forget the bandana wearing one, she screws my record) and the house in one piece.

Go me. Mr. Mom. I rock.

Wy smiled at me, nodding his head in agreement that the bug game was in fact nice, and looked at his Mom and said, I shit you not, "I'm going to kill those bastards."

Until I BLOG again...That was when I ruled the world.

All you zombies

Weeks ago Wyatt saw a zombie costume in a Halloween catalog and asked if he could get it. The costume was pretty expensive and included a mask. Masks suck, especially in Texas. It usually is warm and the mask makes the trick or treater hot. Then there is the issue of visibility. The trick or treater can't see, it is dark, they trip, and fall, spill all their candy. Then you have to try and find said candy in the dark. Or worse, if you are trick or treating in a busy area, all the other trick or treaters descend on the fallen candy like locusts. Or piranhas.

That is why we told the Boy no.

He was not pleased.

"Dude," I said. "I can totally make you a zombie outfit."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, really. It will be way better than that one." I said.

"Cool."

So that is what I did. I made Wy a zombie outfit. I wanted him to wear it to his dayschool Halloween thing, but My Lovely Bride said No. That it would scare the little kids. Wy agreed.

He'd be Obi Wan by day.


A zombie by night.


As you can see My Lovely Bride was probably right. All the little kids parading around in their cute Halloween costumes. Star Wars. Superheros. Princesses.

Picture The Little Warrior as a Zombie in that mix. Staggering around (his Zombie walk.) Asking for brains.

It would have been awesome.

And if the Boy wasn't asked to leave or been expelled from the dayschool/church, his Night of the Living Wy outfit would have certainly scared some of the little kids.

Until I BLOG again...You don't have to hide anymore.

I'm not running anymore - Part 1

While My Lovely Bride was in Georgia for her Uncle Jimmy's funeral, I played Mr. Mom for four whole days. As regular readers of this here BLOG know, me solo with the Boy(s) equals hilarity in some shape or form. I'm not sure what it is, but seriously, they need to strap a video camera to my head and make a freaking sitcom. Hollywood. I'm ready.

Here's a scene. Me and Boy(s) driving back from helping Uncle Beau Beau fix a leak in his radiator. As we approached a stop sign near our house, we all noted, simultaneously, that a small dog was about to get hit by a car.

"Daddy!!!" the Boy(s) screamed in unison.

"I see!" I said as I slammed My Lovely Bride's minivan into park, leaving it on, and jumped out the door, running, with my arms waving madly in the air, toward the oncoming car.

The driver must have thought I was nuts, but nonetheless the ploy worked, and he slowed down enough to miss the dog who turned and ran toward me on the sidewalk.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy." the Boy(s) yelled from inside the van.

"What?" I replied.

"That dog is wearing a bandana." Ethan said.

"No shit." I thought, annoyed as always when anyone, including my firstborn, states the obvious.

I looked at the dog, who as Ethan pointed out, was wearing a stupid fall print bandana, and noted that it had two tags on it's collar. When I reached for them, the dog bolted back into the street where our van, sat idling, with the front driver's side door open.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy." the Boy(s) yelled from inside the van. "He's going to get hit by a car!"

Realizing that they were probably right, I chased the bandana wearing dog, who ran away from me. After our third lap around the van I realized that me and the dumbass dog with the fall print bandana were doing what amounted to a Chinese fire drill.

"Fuck me!" I thought, "Someone cue the Benny Hill theme song."

After the sixth lap, I gave up, stopping in front of the van's front passenger door. The bandana wearing dog stopped too, noted that the front driver's door was open and promptly hopped up into our van.

The crowd, and by crowd I mean Boy(s) went wild.

A couple of seconds later, the bandana wearing dog hopped over the console thingy and perched itself in the front passenger seat where it sat, staring at me through the window.

"Fuck me." I said, walking around the van.

I guess if my life were really a sitcom, the bandana wearing dog would have closed the door when it jumped in and locked me out of my idling van.

As soon as I climbed into the driver's seat and closed the door, the Boy(s) hit me, hard. "Daddy. Daddy!! Daddy!!!" they screamed.

"Yes." I said.

"He wants to go home with us." Ethan said.

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"Is he a boy or a girl?" Ethan asked.

"He can sleep in my room" Wy said.

"Is he lost?" Ethan asked.

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"What kind of dog is he?" Ethan asked.

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"Wait. Wait. Wait. WAIT! W A I T!!!" I shouted. "SLOW DOWN! This dog belongs to someone."

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"Look at the nice haircut. The goofy-ass bandana." I explained, "This dog belongs to someone. We need to find it's owner. I'm sure they are looking for it. It was running around like it was confused. Like it was lost."

The bandana wearing dog was oblivious. It sat there looking from me to the Boy(s) and back again. It didn't even flinch when I grabbed it's collar to get a better look at the two tags. It just licked my hand.

"He likes you Daddy." Ethan said.

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"Who does he belong too?" Ethan asked.

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"I don't know bub, these are just rabies tags," I said.

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"What do we do?" Ethan asked.

"He can sleep in my room." Wy said.

"I'm not sure," I said. "I guess we take it home for now. We can't leave it out here. It will get hit by a car or something." I said.

"Yeah!" the Boy(s) screamed.

"Daddy," Wy asked.

"Yes Wy Wy." I answered, putting the van into drive.

"He can sleep in my room."

Next: Can you lose a lost dog?

Until I BLOG again...But I'm on my way.

Hurt

"Are they going to burn him?"

Not a question you'd expect from your garden variety 6.5 year old boy about his Mimi's (My Lovely Bride's Mom for those playing along at home) brother's funeral arrangements. But for the Elder Boy, who's first question to me after my Mom died was, "Where's her head?" not so unusual.

"No" I said. "They aren't going to burn, errr...cremate your Uncle Jimmy. They're going to bury him."

"Oh." Ethan said, looking thoughtful. "I think I want to be buried."

"Really...? What about all the bugs and ants?" I said, proving yet again why I'm father of the year. My certificate must have got lost in the mail.

"Oh." he said looking nervous. "I didn't think about that."

"Your Uncle Jimmy is going to have a military burial." I said trying to steer the conversation away from my asinine comment about bugs.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Uncle Jimmy was in the military. I think he was in the Air Force." I explained. "When you serve your country, you earn the right of having a military funeral. They bury you in a special place. Put a flag on the coffin that they give to the family during the ceremony. They have an honor guard there."

"Oh." he said. "What's a honor guard?"

"It's a special group of military guys that come to the graveside and do special things for people who were in the military." I said. "People who request or want a military burial."

"Oh." he said.

Life is funny.

Which is why I found myself standing at the stove making macaroni and cheese while thinking about the conversation Ethan and I had the day before about his Uncle Jimmy and the rituals surrounding death. What people want when they die. As the clock hit 1:26pm on Saturday, October 18, 2008 I realized that on the 2nd anniversary of my Mom's death My Lovely Bride and her Mom were at Jim's memorial knee deep in their own grief while 750 miles away I was knee deep mine. Two years removed of course. But still hurts. Bad enough for me to shed a tear, which rolled down my cheek and into the macaroni and cheese.

"Daddy?" Ethan asked the day before.

"Yes son." I said.

"Mommy wants to be burned." he said.

"Yes," I answered. "Mommy wants to be cremated."

"Daddy." he said.

"Yes, Bub." I said.

"What do you want to be?" he asked.

Death like life is funny. Even though we all know we're going to die, it's not something we like to think about. Consider. It's messy. We want to sweep it away. Change the proverbial channel.

"What Daddy?" he asked again. Confused by my silence.

"I'm not sure son." I answered truthfully.

"I guess what ever is the the least expensive."

Until I BLOG again...But I remember everything.

Learning To Fly

Does it bother you?" My Lovely Bride asked.

You being me. It being talking about my Mom who died on October 18, 2006.

"No. Not really." I said as I took a sip of beer and stabbed a sugar coated Wing Stop french fry into a side of atomic sauce.

"We're going to see the other Granny, not Old Granny" Wy said. "The one who didn't die."

"Yes...when we go to Oklahoma, we'll see Old Granny, not your Granny. She was my Mom. "Do you remember her?" I asked.

"Yes." he said. Although I'm not 100% sure Wy Wy was telling the truth. He has this little half smile thing he does when he is being what I call windy (less than truthful, though not fully lying.) If he does that, along with this little head shake thing, he's usually embellishing the truth.

My Lovely Bride smiled at me. A sad, knowing smile since she was the one who had started the conversation about Mom over lunch at Wing Stop and said to no one in particular, "She was a lot of fun."

Fast forward to what is now and My Lovely Bride is working which put me on Boy(s) patrol. For the first time ever, I walked Ethan to school with both Ruby and Wy Wy. As usual, The Little Warrior brought a whole new perspective to this simple act. From running ahead and grabbing a neighbor's newspaper and putting it on their front porch, to trying to sneak up on Mr. Chambers our crossing guard. In fact, I once wrote on this here BLOG that I had never seen Mr. Chambers smile until the day Molly the Dog returned. Yet today, with Wyatt, who Mr. Chambers clearly likes, I think I saw him smile more than I have the entirety of my walking Ethan to school career.

Wy Wy is a cool little guy which is why on days like today, I'm especially sad that my Mom missed getting to know him. This older version of him. Ethan too. She's missing (missed) so much. Which sucks, hard, because she was the one that enjoyed this type of stuff the most. She realized this of course. In fact when she told me she was terminal, she said missing seeing the Boy(s) grow up was one of her biggest regrets for a life of smoking. That would make a sexy smoking advert, don't you think. A wasted 64 year old women telling the camera she wouldn't live to see her youngest grandson turn 3 fucking years old.

Today would have been (or is, I'm still unclear on what is the correct way to state this) my Mom's 67th birthday. And next Saturday will be the two year anniversary of her death.

Two years.

Fuck me. And Fuck Cancer, hard.

Until I BLOG again...I guess I'll know when I get there.

20th Century Boy(s)

"It's diarrhea poop, Dad." Wy yelled from the fetid stall at the Tushka truck stop and casino.

"Don't touch anything." I said.

"I'm touching my penis." Wy answered.

"Don't touch anything else, son, this bathroom is filthy." I said.

"Can I go out into the mingo store?" Ethan asked.

"No." I said, "I want you in here with me."

"Dad." Wy yelled.

"Yes." I said as a trucker walked into the bathroom giving us a wary eye.

"My poop is orange." Wy yelled.

Smiling at the trucker, who was not smiling back, I said, "Nice."

"It's because of the Dr. Pepper." Wy said.

"Ok." I said. "Are you done yet?"

"No. I still got more poop." Wy said.

"Daddy, is he an indian." Ethan asked as he pointed at the trucker at the urinal.

"I don't know son, just because this is an Indian mingo store, doesn't mean that everyone who comes in is an Indian." I said.

"Oh." he said.

Thankfully the trucker was ignoring us, but not for long, because Ethan then asked, "Daddy, what's that."

"What's what son," I said, as I followed his pointing finger to the wall by the door which housed a gargantuan condom machine. Not just any condom machine either. One that has pictures of foxy women in lingerie looking excited about the french tickler and glow in the dark rubbers that are inside.

"Oh." I said. "Never mind that. Wy are you done?"

Ethan sensing something was amiss, pounced on my refusal to answer.

"What is it Daddy?" He said. "What is it?"

The trucker was now smiling at me in the mirror as he washed his hands. Only now I didn't smile back.

"Son, just forget about that. It's nothing. Wy are you done yet!?!" I said.

"No." Wy yelled. "I still have poop."

"What is it Daddy. What's it for?" Ethan asked again.

"Nothing." I said.

"What is it Ethan?" Wy yelled from the stall.

The trucker walked by me, chuckling to himself, as he exited the bathroom.

"I don't know Wyatt." Ethan called back.

"It's a condom machine." I said.

"Condom machine!?!?!" Ethan repeated.

"Yes. It is a condom machine." I said.

"What's a condom?" Ethan asked.

"Forget it son, not now. I'll explain later," I pleaded.

"Dad." Wy yelled from the stall.

"Yes." I said.

"What's a comma-done?" he asked.

"Guys," I shouted, "Let's forget it for now."

"Why." Ethan asked. "Is it bad?"

Is it bad, I thought, Yes, it's bad ---- being forced to have a birds and bees type conversation in a gross shitter in Tushka fucking Oklahoma.

But instead I lied, and said, "No. It's not bad."

"What is it for, Daddy?" Ethan asked.

"It's for men, son." I said. "You put a condom on your penis."

"Oh..." he said, "Why?"

"It's for safety." I said, praying this would answer his question enough for him to stop this line of questioning.

"Oh." he said. "Why are there girls on it if it's for boys?"

"Because the boys that buy condoms at a Tushka mingo store think that these condoms will impress those type of girls. I guess. It's advertising." I said. "It's all bullshit."

"Oh." he said.

"Wy are you done yet?" I asked.

"Daddy." Ethan asked. "It's kind of like the gumball and toy machines at Chuck's."

"Kind of, son, I guess." I said.

"It takes quarters." Ethan said.

"Yes. It takes quarters." I said.

"Like the gumball and toy machines at Chuck's." he pronounced.

"Dad." Wy yelled from the stall.

"Yes." I said.

"My poop is green now." he said.

Until I BLOG again...Ev'rybody says it's just like rock'n'roll.

Roll with the changes

---

"Know what's weird? Day by day, nothing seems to change, but pretty soon...everything's different." Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes

---

Saturday morning coming down, I was in the midst of watching weather porn (hurricane coverage) when the Little Warrior ran into the room and shouted, "Today is today."

"Excuse me?" I said.

"You said we'd go Saturday, and today is today." he explained.

"Yes, today is the day I promised we'd go and find you some colored hair gel." I said.

"When?" he asked.

"A couple of hours. We have to wait until the stores open up. They open at 10am." I explained.

"Yeah!!!" Wy screamed, and tore ass out of the room, back from whence he came.

Fast forward a couple of hours and we were knee deep in our quest for colored hair gel. Only our quest wasn't fruitful.

Finally, ready to admit defeat, and bracing for a possible melt down at Super Target I said, "Boy, I don't think they sell color hair gel. I'm sorry. I don't see any."

"Oh, man!" Wy said, in what amounts to a calm manner for him.

Impressed with his big boy attitude, I said, "That's cool, we can go to where you get your hair cut and buy some from them. It's close to Super Target. And if they don't have it, we'll go to a beauty supply store. Follow me first though, I want to get a shoe shine kit."

"Thanks Dad."

Sweet mother of all that is good, Thanks Dad. What a mature response from the Little Warrior. Perhaps me and My Lovely Bride aren't abject failures in the parental department.

Fast forward a few moments later and we were standing in front of a display of Spongebob Squarepants house slippers. The kind that look like the actual character, if you killed and gutted him so you could stick your foot inside.

"Look at those," I said pointing at the display, "Spongebob."

"Those are cool." Wy said. "Monty has a pair of Ninja Turtle shoes like that."

"What?" I said, wondering what happened to Jinjin Turtle.

"Monty has a pair of Ninja Turtle shoes like that." he repeated.

"Ninja, huh?" I said.

"Yeah Dad, Ninja Turtle shoes," he said, looking at me as if I were daft.

Fast forward 8 hours and I was standing in the bathroom for what had been rub-a-dub-dub time. Only now, instead of watching and washing the Boy(s) as they took their tandem bath, I'm relegated to policing their showers. Making sure they don't flood (which is a pretty loose term in our casa) the bathroom as well as helping dispense soap and reminding them to wash their parts, both public and private.

What a day. A trifecta of change, which for me, as always is hard to accept Dear Reader, as it is a recurring theme on this here BLOG.

Perhaps these entries are nothing more than notes to myself. To not take any of it for granted, which alas I often do. Silly as it may sound, I'm sad that I don't remember the last bath I gave the Boy(s) which is yet one more reminder that even the things that can at times by tough, soon pass, and I'm left wistfully remembering something I once bitched about.

"Dad." Wy said pulling back the shower curtain to get a better view of me.

"Wy!?! Don't open it up that much, you'll get water everywhere." I said.

"Sorry." he said.

"It's ok Bub, I'm sorry, what did you want?" I said.

"Thank you for getting me green hair gel." he said. "It's cool."

"You're welcome bub." I said. "And it is cool."

"Dad." he said. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yes son?" I said.

"I love you." he said.

"I love you too, son." I said as I watched the green run out of his hair, down his body, and into the drain.

Until I BLOG again...So if youre tired of the same old story turn some pages.

Staring At The Sun

Another goofy ass attempt at an epilogue (one 3 1/2 years in the making,) as I stare down the end game strategy on this here BLOG. The BLOG was always intended as a chronicle for the Boy(s). My remember when, for then. The operative word being my. As the Boy(s) get older, the need for this chronicle lessens. I don't want my memories to overwrite their memories, or turn into a Team Tinsley does Rashomon thing. There's also that line in the sands of cool that I don't want to cross. Writing about the Boy(s) as babies, toddlers or small kids is fine. Writing about them when they are older and their MySpaceFaceBook generation friends can read about their (mis)adventures, not so fine. We're not there yet. But we are getting close. Back story might help. Poke your magic finger here to read Fear Factor.

---

"Nothing is in vain. You don't go anywhere in life Eliza, you just keep walking." Isabel Allende, Daughter of Fortune.

---

You'd think, as many times as I've recounted the universe is trippy with divenely tinged synchronistic shit on this here BLOG, that I'd be on the street preaching. Or holding up a John 3:16 sign for tv screen time at major sporting events. Or at least this super devout, reverent, God-fearing cat.

Truth is. I'm not. Far from it in fact.

I struggle hard with matters of faith. This is never more apparent than when one of the Boy(s), usually the Elder, ask if something, or someone, is good or bad. Good or bad. Fuck me. If only it were that easy.

Which is why when the Elder Boy asked, during Indiana Jones And the Last Crusade if the German Nazis (as he calls them) were the bad guys, I caught myself spouting some middle of the road bullshit.

If the Elder Boy wanted a definitive answer he needed to hop in a time machine and find a younger version of me. Back in the day, I could call black or white, in a heartbeat.

I lost my penchant for that type of thinking roughly seven months after writing Fear Factor when My Lovely Bride and I worked up the courage to attend church. September 11, 2005 to be exact. After that first visit we attended church regularly, even going to, what I dubbed, Methodists for Dummies (a newcomers class.) After seven months of attending church, we (which was me to be honest) were stuck. To join we had to go up in front of the congregation and do a profession of faith. I also needed to be baptized.

Since I had faced my fear in regard to organized religion, even getting to the point of enjoying the church experience, and reading the Bible, I decided to cut to the chase and discuss my issues with Alice, who was then, the Associate Pastor of the church. This meeting took place, coincidentally on Ash Wednesday.

Alice and I talked in circles for a long time. I explained my fears of religion. My upbringing. The fact that I felt my Mom was dying, and that I had a hang-up about my joining church being some goofy ass attempt at absolution for Mom's cancer. Alice listened kindly to all my crap and then cut me to the bone by saying, "Maybe you are afraid to ask God to help because of what you feel it will mean to you in your journey of faith if you Mom doesn't get well. If she does die."

As I digested that statement, trying hard to come up with a reply, Alice smiled at me and apropos of nothing, said, "Have you ever seen Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade?"

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Have you ever seen Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade?" She repeated.

"Yes..." I said.

"Do you remember the part, toward the end, when Indiana's Dad has been injured, and to save him, Indy has to get the Grail which is across a great chasm."

"Yeah, I remember that scene." I said.

"Eventually he has to step off into the void." She said. "There's a path there. But he can't see it."

"Yeah..." I said.

"He had to take that leap of faith. The path was there all along. He just couldn't see it. It didn't mean that it wasn't there though. He had to have faith."

"Yeah..." I said.

"Stuart, we all have to take that leap of faith at some point."

Three weeks later, on March 26, 2006, we joined the church after I was baptized at the age of 39.

Which brings us back to what was then, now, a few months in the rear view. The Boy(s) and I watching Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade.

After I spouted my middle of the road bullshit answer, I told the Boy(s), who have been very into Indiana Jones movies (and the Legos toys and game) this Summer that it was possible that I would have never joined our church or been baptized if not for the very movie we were watching.

The Boy(s) being boys gave me their standard strange, who gives a shit, because you are probably messing with us, look. A few minutes later the Elder Boy again asked, are the German Nazis the bad guys?

To which I spouted more middle of the road bullshit answers, about how the German Nazis were just doing what they thought they had to do for their country, their families. That they were doing their job.

Which is when I realized that the younger version of me would have said, without a doubt, yes, the Nazis are bad, even evil. Even though the basic foot soldiers more than likely were not. This is ironic considering how anti-organized religion that younger version of me was...how my thinking was a lot like those that preached the hellfire and brimstone dualistic rhetoric that at first terrified me, and later irked me.

Today, I struggle with matters of faith daily. But overall, I feel I'm a lot more religious. Know a lot more about the Bible. No longer scared by it. Yet my thinking is as such, that I can't even tell the Boy(s) that the Nazis are the bad guys in an Indiana Jones movie that convinced me to take that leap of faith and be baptized.

Fuck me.

I guess I had to find religion to lose it. To realize that life is never either/or. Black or white. Good or bad. Heaven or hell. Decisions are complex, and there are always competing factors. It's human nature to look for simple explanations, but that doesn't correspond to reality. Nothing is ever as straightforward as it appears. Even religion.

I'm amazed that it took me so long to take that first step. So long to even get to this goofy ass BLOG entry. But in the end, the destination isn't really that important. The journey is.

Until I BLOG again...Not the only one, Who's happy to go blind.

Living easy, living free

Until I BLOG again...Season ticket on a one-way ride.

Boulder to Birmingham

There wasn't any Memorial Day when I was young. I had Decoration Day, which is what we called Memorial Day, which made sense since that was the day we drove to Vernon Cemetery to decorate my maternal Grandmother's grave.

The fact that there was this whole three day orgy of fun to kick of the summer going on with everyone else was lost on me. I don't remember going to the lake. Or swimming pool. Having a cook-out, or party.

I remember loading up a floral arrangement into the back of our silver Grand Prix (which a kid at school told me meant penis in French) and driving all the way to Coweta, Oklahoma. That drive seemed so long. At the cemetery my Dad, with Mom at his side would pay their respects at his Mother's grave while I wandered around Vernon Cemetery reading grave markers. I've always loved dates, history, and I was especially interested in the grave markers of soldiers. There were a lot too. Many fresh. Vietnam. Oklahoma. The Dead Kennedys were spot on.

At that point in our story my Grandma had been dead for less than a decade. I never met her. She died the year before I was born. All I knew came from Dad's stories and our annual Decoration Day trip to Coweta.

When I was 7 or 8, Decoration Day stopped. I'm not sure why. All I know is that we started having Memorial Day, and like most Americans, it was a more about that three day orgy of fun to kick off summer instead of remembering the dead.

Grief is funny.

And apparently has no statute of limitations.

I'm fine. Or so I think. I can easily skirt something major like Mother's Day. In fact, I can make that cup half full and relish the fact that I don't have to sweat the gift worry stress funk since my Mom is dead. Something good from the bad. Which might sound sick, but fuck me, I feel entitled.

Then, something as innocent as my Lovely Bride unwittingly saying, "Joyce would have gotten the biggest kick out of Wyatt playing Guitar Hero." fells me. Bad.

As usual My Lovely Bride is right. Mom would have loved to have seen Wy rock out to Guitar Hero. I can see her laughing until she quite literally cried, from the joy of it all. She would have loved it...embraced it, dare I say, more than about anyone else. Which is what pisses me off. Wyatt doesn't get to appreciate it first hand. He's already intertwining Granny with Old Granny. Confusing the two because he was two when Mom died. Actually two and a half. Fuck me. Even the Elder Boy's special bond to his Granny grows more tenuous each and every day.

I was in Oklahoma on Father's Day. Visiting Old Granny first and then Pops. On Saturday morning, sitting in the courtyard of his new house I asked my Dad, why we stop going to Vernon Cemetery when I was a kid. How I remembered going every Memorial Day, or Decoration Day when I was little. Then we stopped?

Dad didn't say anything at first. Thinking I guess. It was a strange and random question, so I said, "When did we stop going?" Trying to place the date in my head so I could figure out how long my Grandma had been dead during the years we visited.

"I don't know." Dad said. "You were probably 8, I guess."

We sat in silence for a few minutes as I tried to do the math in my head.

"Why did we stop going?" I asked.

"Because, I don't know, it was expected? What you did." Dad said. "After awhile I realized that it doesn't really matter. You don't have to do it just because you are supposed to. All you do is make the florist rich."

"I understand that." I said. "Like Father's Day, or Mother's Day. It can turn into a Hallmark Holiday."'

"Yes." he replied.

"I was just wondering. Been thinking about it for a while." I said.

We sat in silence again, with me thinking about grief and if there was a statue of limitations, and if that had anything to do with Dad's changing Decoration Day into Memorial Day for our family.

I was about to ask when he said, "I've been wanting to tell you something."

Even though he was sitting in a chair, he leaned forward and put his arms and elbows on his legs, to close the distance between us, when he said, "I asked My Special Lady Friend to marry me."

He used her real name of course, but I don't yet feel comfortable using it here.

"Really." I said.

"Yes." he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

"How long ago did you ask her?" I asked.

"Two weeks."

"And you're just now telling me."

"Yes. I wanted to tell you when I could look you in the eyes." he said.

"I can appreciate that. Congratulations." I said.

"Thank you."

"I'm happy for you Dad." I said, "I am. Glad you found someone, and I still feel the same way I did when I was up her in March and had that big talk. I don't begrudge you any happiness. You were married to Mom for a long time. You took care of her, stood by her when she was so sick. Still. It's weird. You got to appreciate that."

"I do." he said. "Do me a favor and congratulate My Special Lady Friend later when you see her. We've been worried. About telling you."

"Ok." I said. "But why? I doesn't matter what I think?"

"It important to her, she wants you guys to be ok with this. Doesn't want to move to fast." he said. "It's important to me, too."

"I appreciate you wanting my approval Dad," I said, "but you, and your Special Lady Friend don't need it. You do what you guys need to do. I'm a grown man with my own family. I don't care about your money. or any of that. I just want you to be happy."

"I know." he said. "But I do care what you think."

I told the Boy(s) later that day that Pops was going to marry his Special Lady Friend. That afternoon, we all went swimming and the Special Lady Friend swam with Wy and Ethan. It actually reminded me a lot of my Mom, the playing with them, although Mom would have never swam in the pool.

The next morning, Father's Day, everyone got up before me. I was in the guest bedroom of Pops new house while the rest of the Team was in the courtyard. The Boy(s) were in the hot tub. I could hear them talking about stuff, Pops and his Special Lady Friend, the marriage, etc. when Ruby the dog came and nudged my arm so I would get up and take her out front to use the bathroom.

I snuck out front without anyone seeing me, or so I thought, until Ethan came out and said, "Dad."

"Yes Bub." I said.

"You're going to have a step mom."

I smiled. My deep thinker who was worried about me.

"Is that a question or a statement." I asked. "But yes. I'm going to have a step mom. When Pops marries his Special Lady Friend, she'll be my step mom."

"And you'll have a brother and sister." he said.

"Yes, I will." I said, "Pops Special Lady Friend has kids and when they get married that will make them my step brother and sister. Like Mommy has Uncle Marc and Uncle Beau Beau as step brothers. But they grew up with each other. This will be different because Daddy is older."

"Dad?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Will Pops and his Special Lady Friend have a baby."

Laughing, I said, "I don't think so, son. They are to old for that."

Grief is funny.

It doesn't make sense.

It makes you.

Until I BLOG again...I watched it burn.

Such Great Heights

This is my goofy ass attempt at an epilogue for the Barracuda and Swallowed in the Sea posts. It would help to read them first, if you are new, or want a refresher. Point that magic finger here (Barracuda: Part 1,) and there (Swallowed in the Sea: Part 2.)

I'm slow. Which is why it took two days of Ruby and me walking E to school before I realized what I immediately sensed was wrong that first day. Molly was gone.

On the third day I decided to ask Mr. Chambers, the crossing guard who works the intersection of our route if he knew anything about Molly. His corner is near her yard, and from his vantage point he can see and hear everything that Molly does.

"The city took her away because she bit some kid." Mr. Chambers said. "The kid stuck his fingers through the fence. He was giving her a treat. Molly's old and I don't think she can see all that good which is why she nipped him."

"And they took her away for that?" I asked. "That sounds more like an accident than a dog bite...and the kid stuck his hand into her yard!?!"

"Yes sir." Mr. Chambers said shaking his head. "They come and took her away for that. It's sad. She's not a mean dog. I've been working this corner for a long time and I've seen her with the kids. With people. She's not mean. She sounds mean when she gets after another dog walking by her yard. But she don't do that with people. Just dogs, like your dog."

"I know." I said shaking my head sadly thinking how criminal it was that a parent would allow Molly to be taken away for a nip on the finger when it was their dumbass kid who stuck their hand (with a treat) through the fence in the first place. And that the city has the power or authority to take a dog like that, for that.

Fuck me and our litigate crazy country.

"It's sad," Mr Chambers said again shaking his head. "She'll miss the kids."

"I know." I said. "Molly loves (loved?) the kids and school."

After saying our good-byes to Mr. Chambers we walked by Molly's yard. Even though Molly was long gone to dog jail or worse Ruby moved away from the fence to the far side of the sidewalk. She did it again the next day. And again the following day. Ruby seemed as oblivious to the fact that Molly was gone as she was when Molly was there.

The day before the last day of school, Mr. Chambers told us that he had heard from the neighbor that Molly's owner had taken her to live with his brother.

"I guess that's better than the city putting her down." I said.

"Yes sir." Mr. Chambers said. "But she really will miss all of these kids."

"I know we'll miss her Mr. Chambers." I said. "Well not all of us, Ruby doesn't even realize she's gone."

"I know," Mr. Chambers said, "Your dog still gets on over to the parkway to get away from Molly's fence."

"Force of habit." I said.

"Yes sir." Mr. Chambers said. "You all have a nice day."

The next day, our last day of kindergarten walk to school, something amazing happened. As we approached Mr. Chambers I noticed he was smiling. Although Mr. Chambers is a nice and friendly man I had never seen him smile over the course of the school year.

It didn't take long to realize why he was smiling though. I heard. Molly was back, barking her ass off at some dog who had the audacity to walk past her yard and fence.

"Molly's back." Mr. Chamber said.

"Molly's back." Ethan and I said in unison.

"That's awesome." I said. "Just in time for the last day of school."

"Yes sir." Mr. Chambers agreed.

"Mr. Chambers," I said. "You have a good summer, sir."

"You two do the same. I'll see you all in the fall."

Molly was at the opposite end of her yard, watching the kids in the school yard as we approached her strip of the sidewalk. Being away hadn't caused Molly to lose her form though, because she quickly spun around and charged toward us, actually Ruby, barking and growling and doing her usual thing.

Only on this day, for the first time, Ruby didn't move to the far side of the sidewalk.

Instead Ruby ran right up to the fence, and Molly, wagging her tail, and hopped around in that special Ruby way of saying she's really excited and happy about something.

This reunion dance of sorts, Molly barking and growling as Ruby hopped around wagging her tail went on for twenty to thirty seconds. Finally, Ruby stopped, as suddenly as she started, and it was business as usual. Ruby went to the far side of the sidewalk and ignored Molly the rest of the walk past her yard. Molly barked and growled all the way down the fence until we were beyond her yard at which point she stopped and resumed watching the kids in front of the school.

"It's cool that Molly made it back for the last day of school." I said to Ethan as we stood together at the drop off point. "This is it Boy. Your last day of kindergarten."

"Yeah." he said.

"Have a good day son. I love you. I'll see you tonight." I said.

I often walk home a different route after I drop off Ethan. This allows Ruby a bit more freedom to run amok because this way takes us through two of the school's playgrounds. Ethan practiced Soccer in one of them. The other is where the smaller kids, like Ethan have recess. It was at this playground that I snapped a picture of my Mom playing with Ethan in December 2003. The reason I can recall that is because of this --- that photo was the center piece of a photo collage that hung in a prominent place in Mom's house.

That photo became seared in my mind because of the dichotomy between that image of my Mom versus the Mom I saw the final months of her life. It hung on a wall that was outside the guest bedroom were I usually stayed when I visited. I walked by it countless times over those last months of Mom's life. Each and every damn time I would pause and think how did we get from what was then there, to what was then here, in two and half years. How could Mom go from that full of life and fun Granny chasing the Elder Boy to that poor black mouthed (from the morphine drops) wretch who was bedridden in the fucking living room.

That photo hurt me. That photo still hurts me which is problematic considering the playgrounds location.

It's weird. Ethan sat in a desk near a window that looks out at that playground. When we dropped him off that very first day of school and helped him get settled into his room and desk, I couldn't help but look out at the playground and think of that photo. I even took a photograph of the playground from E's desk because of my memory. I never posted it. Mainly because the deeper meaning would have been lost on anyone but me. This is the first time I've shared this story with anyone. Actually the complete story. If you read the description of the pic on Flickr you'll see a piece of it.

I was extremely uptight when I was younger. So uptight that I had an old almost flame who I reconnected with via email sum it up like this: "You were so intense in High School that it was a bit scary. You (I) can appreciate that trait now, but back then, I was intimidating." I'm paraphrasing of course, so if you read this old almost flame, and I dinked it up, comments are on and ready.

But the point is this...I was so uptight that when I turned 16 years old and got my driver's license my Mom got me a special gold key chain. One one side, she engraved my Name, the date (of my 16th Birthday) and phone number. On the other side it simply said this: Keep Smilin'.

The key chain was Mom's gentle reminder for me to remember to lighten up. To not take everything so seriously. Not to be so black and white. So absolute.

I carried that key chain like a talisman for years. I still have it. In fact, when I realized that Mom was dying I dug it out of an old tin can and put my keys on it. So I had it with me. That is where it stayed through those dark, dark months that led up to her death. I actually remember holding it tightly in my hand when my Mom told me she was terminal. I remember fiddling with it as I drove the longs drives from Dallas to Houston alone. After she died, I had it for the aftermath. I only took it off in November 2007 because I was planning to throw it into the sea when I did my goofy ass closure thing. But I couldn't do it.

The curious thing about all of that Dear Reader, is this. The school has a sign that is near the playground in the photograph. Ethan can see it from his desk. That sign has a changeable marquee type sign where the school lists children's birthdays. School activities. Events. That sort of thing.

As I walked toward that playground deep in bittersweet thought about E's last day of kindergarten. The Ralph issue. The ups and downs of his first year of public school and how sad I had been after those first few weeks of E's school year. Thinking about my Mom. I stopped, because Ruby was trying to eat an acorn. Standing there waiting for her I looked over at the marquee sign and the message that was on it which, I shit you not, was this: Keep Smilin'.


Last Day of Kindergarten

First Day of Kindergarten

Until I BLOG again...True, it may seem like a stretch, but
Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled head when you're away when I am missing you to death.

Little Saint Nick

Earlier this week, after a not-so-fun day at work, I drug my weary ass into Casa Tinsley and did the usual status update thing with My Lovely Bride as I stowed all my shit. At some point the Little Warrior tore ass into the room to tell me about his fun filled school's out for summer (for him at least) day. A day that included swimming and some hot tub action at his Mimi and Papa's pad. Somewhere in the middle of his story, he stopped, and with a serious look said, "Dad."

"Yeah, Bub?" I replied.

"You need to get a hot tub." he said.

"I know. I'd love a hot tub like Papa's...but they are expensive." I explained.

Sweet Mother of all that is good. Where was the camera? It was a Kodak moment if ever there were. The Boy looked at me in stunned silence as if I were daft. Or nuts.

Finally Wy said, "Dad."

"Yeah, Bub?" I replied.

"Just ask Santa." he said.

Laughing I said, "Ok Wy. I'll do it. That's a good idea."

"I know." he said.

"Thanks." I replied.

"You're welcome." he said.

And then, as an afterthought and right before he tore ass out of the room he said, "Just put it on your list. Ok Dad?"

Until I BLOG again...Christmas comes this time each year.

Swallowed in the Sea

We have friends who, even though Roman Catholic, send their children, a boy and girl, to the day school at our church . A United Methodist Church. That's not unusual. Many of the families that send their children to the day school do not belong to the church in which it resides.

What is unusual though is this. Their boy thought our senior pastor was God.

Not a god. Capital G God.

His parents missed this at first, because the boy said things like, "We talked to God today in the sanctuary." Or, "God visited my class today." You can see how they'd miss it, since the day school is inside an actual church. They thought their devout Roman Catholic son was being spiritual within the context of his United Methodist Day School education.

One day, as the story goes, the mom was walking the boy to class when the senior pastor, Pastor Jack, approached them in the hallway.

Right about the time that Jack was passing them both, the boy pointed at him and said, loudly, "Look Mom! It's God!"

This made everyone freeze.

As you can imagine, the mom was speechless, confused and embarrassed. Realizing that her boy thought that the Pastor was God.

The boy's comment had made Jack stop as well, and he stood there looking at them both.

The boy. He was a deer in headlights, standing next to God, who was staring at him and his Mom, as he shook his head slowly from side to side.

After what must have seemed an eternity, Jack finally said, "No," shaking his head, "No. No. I'm not God."

Then smiling he said, "I'm God's friend." and walked on down the hall.

This is why, after a bitter verbal attack, followed by my censure, Ethan suggested that we talk to Pastor Jack about the Ralph situation.

Which is why on a Wednesday afternoon before lunch, Judy x5 led Ethan and I into Jack's office for the meeting.

I wish I could share the conversation in rich detail, because it was amazing to see Jack relate to Ethan, but to be honest, I was distracted. Bad. Jack's office has to be one of the coolest spaces I've ever been inside. It's like a cave. I could live in there. Full of books, photos, and mementos from his years of being a Pastor. The walls are nothing more than floor to ceiling book shelves with all that stuff. Stuff I couldn't take my eyes of the entire meeting. On the one wall that isn't a book shelf, Jack has a salt water aquarium which is a nod to his love of scuba diving. That tank is filled with all sorts of coral reef type sea creatures. In fact, our friend Judyx5 and Ethan were pointing out a fish in that tank when Jack came into his office from another room and started our meeting.

After Jack had exhausted the subject of how Ethan's anger and resentment regarding the Ralph situation was hurting him a lot more than Ralph. And had offered up a few techniques to deal with the situation it was time for us to take our leave. Apropos of Jack's fish tank, and the little fish swimming around the reef I told Jack that Ethan and I were going to go eat sushi for lunch. I knew, from many of his sermons, that Jack loved sushi as much as E, and this gave the two of them a chance to talk of their love of raw fish, as well as the live ones that swam around the tank in that wonderful office.

Ethan was a different kid when we left Jack's office. He was lighter. It was amazing. Jack's counsel. Suggestions. It wiped away his worry and anxiety regarding Ralph. In fact, Ethan was so taken with the advice, that he practiced some of the techniques Jack had told him to do on the ride to lunch. Then at lunch. Eventually he got me to pose different Ralph scenarios that he could practice Jack's techniques which involved setting boundaries with Ralph, but in a loving and/or kind way. We practiced for days, until finally Monday Monday rolled around and it was go time for the Elder Boy.

Only. It didn't work.

Ethan had a hard time replicating what he practiced in a real time situation at school. Ralph also seems to be oblivious to the loving and or kind boundaries, which I can see, having seen Ralph in action.

We were back to square one the next morning as Ethan and I walked to school with Ruby the dog. For some reason, when we walk to school, Ethan is more open at discussing things like the Ralph situation. By now, I knew that Jack's advice, although good, wasn't going to work for Ethan.

Since I needed something else, and since I'm a dipship, I decided to do the best I could with finding a solution to the Ralph problem.

My solution.

Star Wars.

"E," I said, "You like Star Wars...right?"

"Yeah."

"Who are the main guys in Star Wars. Not your favorite, Boba Fett, but the other main guys?"

"I don't know?"

"Yes you do. Think about it. Who are the main guys, that do all the cool stuff?"

"Oh! Jedi!!!"

"Exactly. And what do they do?"

"Fight!"

"Yes they do, but only when they have to fight. As a last resort, against the bad guys."

"Yeah."

"What about Anakin. What happens to him?"

"He gets burned up?"

"He does, and becomes Darth Vadar. But what causes all of that?"

"Obi-Wan beats him on that volcano planet."

"Yes, but why does Obi-Wan have to fight him?"

"Because he's a bad guy?"

"Yes. But why did he become a bad guy?"

"Oh. The Emperor made him one."

"Yes, the Emperor does play a big part in Anakin becoming Darth Vadar, but the thing that he uses is Anakin's fear and anger. His resentment. He uses all of this to get Anakin to come over to the dark side of the force."

"Yeah. But he becomes a good guy again at the end, on that planet with the furry things."

"Ewoks. Yes, he does. He saves his son, Luke, which in turn saves him."

"Yeah."

"But the thing is Boy, this is kind of like what Pastor Jack talked to us about last week, how anger and resentment hurts you more than the person you are angry or mad at...I know that's hard to understand, but when you feel anger at Ralph, it is hurting you a lot more than him. Does that make sense?"

"It doesn't hurt me! I'll hurt Ralph!!! I'll punch his teeth out! I hate him!!!!!!!"

"Ok. What does Obi-Wan do with Annakin when he's younger and then with Luke? And what does Yoda do with Luke on the swamp planet in The Empire Strikes Back?"

"I don't know?"

"Yes you do."

"Shows them stuff?"

"Yes. He trains them. A lot of that training is using their mind. Jedi mind trick. Did you know you can do that to fight Ralph?"

"I can?"

"Yes you can. You should try it. The next time Ralph makes you really mad I want you to stop thinking about Ralph and what he's doing that is making you so angry and think about something that makes you happy. Something you love. Like sushi. Or Ruby."

"I don't get it."

"The next time you feel yourself getting mad at Ralph, stop thinking about him and think about something you love like Ruby. That's like a Jedi mind trick. If you think about something you love, it is hard to be mad. It makes it hard for Ralph to bother you. Because you're happy. You can do it. You should try it today at school."

"Oh."

"In fact, Ruby is sort of like a Jedi. Did you know that?"

"Really?!?!"

"Yes. What does Ruby do when we walk by Molly's yard? (Molly is a dog. A white german shepherd. Molly's yard backs up against the school. Molly is sweet with children and adults, but hates it when a dog walks past her yard. She seems to especially hate Ruby. Probably as much, if not more, than Ethan hates Ralph.) When Molly comes charging out to the fence and barks at her, growls, shows her teeth. Does all that stuff. What does Ruby do?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly. Ruby just moves to the other side of the sidewalk, away from Molly growling and barking, and ignores her."

"Yeah."

"We can learn a lot from Ruby. She doesn't let Molly upset her, or ruin her walk to school. Molly is the one that is all upset. Making the fuss. Mad. Ruby is fine. Enjoying walking to school with you and me. That's what you should do when Ralph is bugging you. Ignore him. Jedi mind trick."

"Daddy, what does Ruby think about?"

"I don't know? Probably you, or sleeping with you every night."

"Yeah..."

"Or eating Buster's (Buster is a neighbor's cat) shit!"

We were laughing about Ruby eating Buster's shit, which she loves, as we rounded the corner and approached Molly's yard. As usual, Molly came charging up to the fence, snarling, growling, barking and making a huge commotion at Ruby.

Ruby simply moved to the other side of the sidewalk, on the parkway, and continued to enjoy her walk to school. She didn't even look a Molly.

"See, Ruby's a Jedi." I said.

"Yeah. Ruby's a Jedi." Ethan said.

"If Ruby can do it, you can do it too, son. If you try."

"Do you want me to walk you to the door, or stop here?" I said, since we had walked to the drop off point at school.

"Here." Ethan said looking past me, nervously, as if he was embarrassed by my walking him to school. He's getting to the age where he is embarrassed by his parents. Especially me. Go figure!?!?

"Ok. Bye Boy. I love you. Have a good day." I said, not wanting to antagonize him before school.

"Ok. Bye. Dad." he said darting for the door. So fast, in fact, that he didn't say good bye to the dog which I thought was curious until I heard someone shout, "HI MR. TINSLEY!"

It was Ralph.

He had just climbed out of his car. Ethan had seen Ralph as we stood there saying good bye and had wisely made his escape so as to not have to deal with him first thing in the morning.

"Hi Ralph." I said, "What's shaking?"

Nothing. He was standing on the sidewalk, in the way, with a shit eating grin on his face, wrestling with his coat. His backpack and lunch box were strewn about his feet.

"Dude," I said. "Your sleeves are inside out, you're not going to get your coat on like that."

Nothing. That same shit eating grin as he put his coat on backwards, like you would a hospital gown and started walking, backwards, toward the front door of the school.

"Dude," I yelled. "You're forgetting your backpack and lunch on the sidewalk."

Ralph stopped, then started walking forward, to where his backpack and lunch box were at on the sidewalk. He picked them both up, but still kept his coat on backwards.

"Be cool Ralph." I said.

He just laughed, this crazy, yet sweet laugh, as he started walking, albeit backwards, to the front door of the school.

Ruby and I made our way, slowly back toward the house. Slowly because Ruby is famous at the school and pretty much every kid who sees her, wants to come over and say hello. After she had received her fans, and tried to eat an acorn (Ruby likes to eat nuts. Seriously,) I drug her away from the school and back past Molly's yard. Only this time, Molly wasn't waiting in ambush, as usual, for Ruby.

She was at the far end of her yard, wagging her tail, as a boy and mom on their way to school, stopped to give her a treat. We walked right by Molly, and she did nothing but wag her big white tail. Happy and content, for the attention and the treat. Ruby as usual was oblivious. It didn't matter if Molly was happy or mad, Ruby simply doesn't let Molly's mood affect her walk.

Walking home, I thought to myself, maybe Ruby really is a jedi. Or a saint. If a dog can be a saint. I'm not sure. I'm a dipshit. All I could think about was the fact that dog is god backwards. And that I had recently read, "Life's metaphors are God's instructions." Which is when it hit me. Hard.

A week before, in Jack's super bad (in the good way) office with Ethan. Looking at all of his kick-ass stuff. And his tank. The fish in the tank. The one that Judyx5 and Ethan had pointed out to me as Jack walked into the office. The same fish that had made me think about sushi.

That fish.

Was a clown fish.

That fish, Dear Reader, was Marlin.

Until I BLOG again...That's where I belong, and you belong with me.

The devil went down to Georgia

Until I BLOG again...But if you'll sit down in that chair, right there, and let me show you how its done.

You are here with me

Last Mother's Day, my first sans Mother, was a motherfucker. Bad.

This year, fast approaching my second Motherless Mother's Day, not so much. I don't feel the same pain. Or hurt. It's there of course, whenever I think about my Mom, and what I consider her untimely death. But this year, my thoughts of her through that filter of anger and pain, quickly segue into something else, and that something else the past three weeks has been shoes. Really. Shoes.

You see Dear Reader, it took me a long time to learn how to tie my shoes. So long, that Mom and Dad joked that I was developmentally delayed. Only they didn't say that in the Oklahoma of my youth.

They said retarded. Seriously. My parents made retard jokes about me, their only son. Nice.

That might, depending on how politically correct you are, seem funny. But consider this. They didn't make shoes with velcro straps in place of shoe laces back in my day. You either had shoes with laces or slip on shoes. Thus, if couldn't tie your shoes, you were pretty much double screwed. You could admit that you were a dipshit who needed Mommy to tie your shoes, and suffer the ridicule of your friends. Or. You could wear slip on shoes and replace the scorn of being unable to tie your shoes, to that of a dork who wore goofy ass slip on shoes. Or. Dirty hippy sandal type shoes. Oh, how I miss Oklahoma, circa the early 1970s.

That is why I think Mom and Dad's humor, the retard joke amongst themselves, I overheard, were nothing more than them masking their fear and concern about my not being able to learn how to tie my shoes. I think most of us, joke about the things that bother us. You can either laugh or you can cry.

Eventually Dad figured out the problem. It wasn't so much me, as it was the way in which there were trying to teach me. My parents are right handed. I'm left. They had been trying to teach me how to tie my shoes with the emphasis of the right hand. That was something my young brain and questionable motor skills simply could not mimic. After Dad realized their error, he showed me how to tie my shoes with the emphasis on my dominant hand, the left. I nailed it the first time.

That happened on Mother's Day weekend.

On Mother's Day we played golf as a family at Sand Springs Golf Course. Number 11. This memory is why I can recall all of the above so well. We were near the green, with the Tulsa skyline as our backdrop. Blue sky. It was a chamber of commerce type beautiful late spring day in Oklahoma.

At some point, for reasons I can't recall, Mom told me that the best Mother's Day present I ever gave her, or could give her, was learning how to tie my shoes.

Then she laughed. Cackled really. She was laughing at herself. At Dad. At me. At the whole silly situation and drama that we'd been through over me learning to tie my shoes. She was 32 or 33 years old at that point in our story.

So, again, as I approach Mother's Day this year, it is not with the same motherfucker feeling of last. A better description would be how amputees describe the phantom limb phenomenon.

I'll hear a mention of Mother's Day. Usually in an ad. An ad that is trying to whip us all into a shopping frenzy to find that perfect gift that honors our Moms. Then, for the briefest of moments, I'll get sucked into it. I'll think, fuck me, I better get off my country ass and figure out what I should get Mom for Mother's Day. What $XX or under gift will personify everything that Mom means to me.

Then, in a flash, I'll remember, she's dead. I don't have to worry about buying a $4 card. Or flowers. Or worry whether or not we should try and carve out a few days so we can visit her. Or where we should eat dinner. Those options, or choices for me are gone. Like my Mom.

It's funny, in a very sick sort of a way, that one benefit of Mom's death is my being able to say fuck Hallmark. I've never been a fan of Hallmark created holidays. I don't think Mother's Day should be about retail relief for businesses.

But there lies the rub. You see, I only get that, because my Mom died. I got sucked into it before, and I'd be first in line to buy a $25 card if I could get her back.

Alas, I can't.

Which is why I end up thinking about shoes. I can't even begin to tell you what kind of shoes they were. What brand. The shoes are just stuff. And stuff goes away. Your body included. What's left, for the living, are the memories.

Until I BLOG again...You have been here and you are everything.