Give It A Brake — Day Two

Tags

divorce, family, fatherhood

I am glad that I thought through this situation this morning.  Even more, I am glad that I prayed about it.  Of all that has happened the past year or so, my relationship with God has changed.  I am a whole lot more aware of how God is working in my life and in the lives of others, take a little more stock in that than I might have before, and it is showing in how I pray.  I pray purposefully, aware that God is right there with me, and it’s about as close to continuous prayer than ever in my life before.  It doesn’t mean that I am a spiritual genius, only that I am more aware of God’s involvement than I have ever allowed myself before.  Believe me, I am thankful that I am.  It changes my perspective, puts optimism in a day that would have dragged me into oblivion in years past.  I would like to think that I am a different person now.. and that is a very good thing.

Divorce has changed things as well.  Ironically, that too is a reason for optimism.

My son is still on break from college.  What does that mean?  It means that he is a typical 18 year old college boy — he sleeps until noon or later.  I know that I need to be intentional with him, know what I need from him, be persistent with him.  My son lives with his mother, not me, so I can’t just demand his attention.  In some ways, I need to respect his way of doing things, understand him, remember how I was at his stage in life.  Oddly, I have his mother’s ear more now than when I did while we were living in the same house and married.  Knowing that, I took advantage of it today.

I texted my ex wife, let her know what I needed.  To her credit, she asked me exactly what I needed for her to do.  What was my plan?  I let her know that I wanted our son to contact me, let me know his availability and come to me at my office.. today.  I would then go with him to the mechanic, help him with the paperwork and communication, then go back to my office while my son waited for the news on the costs and extent of the repair.  It would teach him, I knew, and was much better than me doing it for him.

That is what happened.  My ex wife roused our son, he called me,  I told him the plan.  He came to my office, I checked out his car, then he followed me to the mechanic.  He waited while I worked.  The mechanic gave the estimate (exorbitant — nearly $900 for what should have been a simple brake pad and rotor job).  My son called me, asked me what to do.  He was panicking.  I told him that we would pay the small inspection fee, I would contact the person we bought the car from, take it to him.

I called the guy we bought the car from.  His business is buying cars, rehabbing them, then selling them to dealers.  He assured me that he would fix my son’s car for far less.

To my son’s credit, he paid the inspection fee at the mechanic, came back to my office on his own.  We talked it over.  We actually talked it over.  None of this would have happened the same way a year ago.  I told him what I could afford and why I couldn’t afford doing everything the mechanic had suggested.  I explained what my own money situation is (strained, using money saved for other purposes).  He agreed to meet me tomorrow morning, when we would take his car back to where it was purchased, where it would be fixed.

His mother texted me when I got home from work.  Call me, she requested.  I did.  She offered to help.  After I picked myself up off of the floor, I thanked her.

There are reasons to be optimistic.

Give It A Brake

Tags

family, fatherhood

My phone rang around 4 PM this past Saturday, just as I was about to climb on my bike for an indoor spin.  It was my son with a question about his car.

“Dad, what does it mean when there is a constant squeak while I am driving?  I remember it happening on our car before.”

His question was an easy one to answer and I am glad that he has no problems asking me.  I explained to him that is the noise that brake pads make when they have worn out.  The next thing to happen will be a metal on metal crunching sound when he applies the brakes.  I told him to not drive his car, get the car to me on Sunday.  I would let him have my car while I either replace the pads myself or take them somewhere to be fixed.

Worn brake pads was a lesson that I learned when I was his age, when I had my first car.  I ignored the squeak of the worn pads, hoped the brakes would last until I could afford to fix them, ended up rear ending a car when my car wouldn’t stop.  We all learn lessons with our first car.  That was just one of the lessons that I had to learn the hard way.

I still have lessons to learn as a parent.  My son called me because he knows that I will pay to have his car fixed or will fix it myself.  That is not a bad thing.  I want him to trust me enough to call when he needs help.  What I am seeing right now is that I need to teach him to take responsibility for himself.  Instead of me taking care of this car repair completely for him, I need to guide him through it.  Will I pay for it?  Yes, although I am gritting my teeth as I say that — it has been a tough month financially.  I have learned to grit my teeth, remember that the Lord has always provided.  My parents provided that example for me, teaching me not only to take responsibility for myself but also to recognize what God provides.

So what do I do?  My son did not show up yesterday, of course, even after I reminded him.  Last night I called him, left him a voice message and asked him to get his car to a mechanic today.  I will come and pay for the repair.  He texted me back, said that his mom told him that he couldn’t come to me because his mom said it was too icy yesterday (it was icy).  This morning, I texted him back and asked him what his class schedule is today.  I told him that I want those brakes fixed today, so he is going to come by my office and I will go with him to get the car fixed.

I have an idea of how bad the brakes are, by the way.  An encouraging thing happened yesterday — my son came to church and brought friends with him.  I was out in the church parking lot directing traffic (I do that regularly) when he drove past.  I heard him coming since the loud squeak of the worn out brake pads preceded him.  He talked to me when I came inside, agreed to come by my place that afternoon.

He is a kid.  Of course he didn’t come by.

Fear the Teen

Tags

family, fatherhood, Humour

Curious as to what I listen to while I write or while I pluck my nose hairs?  Probably not, but I am going to share it any hoo —

My neck hurts.  I have definitely been rubbernecking.  Don’t get that confused with necking, if any one who reads this is old enough to get the term.  I am.  And old enough that it hasn’t applied for some time now.

17 year old males are frightening.  I know there are plenty of fathers who agree with me.  We understand them, remember what we were like at that age, which frightens us even more and possibly even causes us to wet our adult diapers.  Even when I know what is coming, I am more edgy than Richard Simmons in a haunted house.

Of course, he would probably soil his running shorts.  How’s that for a visual?  You’re welcome.

You may be asking, Steve, what frightens you the most about having a 17 year old son?  Dealing with the girl question?  (No)

Zits?  (Nope, although that was a rough one)

Driving privileges?  (Nada, although that one is a source of high anxiety and so close that you’re HOT)

Video games?  (Ha, I laugh in your general direction.. while I fart, of course)

Enough questions.  If you ask more questions, I will have to marry you.

Garbage.  I swear, my son drives to the corner and back in my car and it comes back filled with enough fast food bags, candy wrappers, burrito foil, shake cups, plastic bottles, and other assorted junk food associated detritus to fill a landfill.  My son is a trash master.

I was not prepared for this condition.  When I was a teenager, I was fastidious, a lawn mower and so possessed with keeping my own car clean (and my parents’ cars) that I was hired to detail cars by neighbors and relatives.  How in the world did I spawn a refuse master?

A bit of that emerged from my gene pool when I was in my twenties, affecting me temporarily before I came back to my senses.  My bedroom for a short period of time became a bomb zone, with the rest of the house/apartment a pristine showcase that all single women adored.

I let my son drive my car last weekend, a four hour trek to Indiana for a visit to his sister at her college.  Was I frightened about him driving?  Yes.  A bit.  But not too much.  When he got home, the digital clocks in the car were messed up.  I questioned him about it.  As I suspected, he left the lights on and had to have my car jump started.  That kind of stuff does frighten me.  What shocked me more was when I entered my vehicle after he returned home.  His mother had given him too much spending money and it showed.  I cleared a path so that I could sit in the driver’s seat.  There was so much garbage, I can’t even estimate how much had to be removed.  Even worse, when I got in my car on Monday morning to go to work, more giggling bottles frolicked from under the passenger seat.

My advice to anyone with sons who are about to get their license — murder them now.  It will be worth the jail sentence.

---

On another note, I am ready for tonight’s game 7 of the World Series.

No Cardinal Sin

Tags

baseball, fatherhood

The Cardinals beat the Cubs today, 10-4 at Wrigley.  To say that witnessing the rout was glorious is an understatement.  With today’s win, the Cardinals moved back into a tie for the second National league wild card spot and stayed in contention for the rapidly approaching playoffs.  They also avoided the pain of witnessing the Cubs celebrate their 100th win of the season, stuck at 98 wins with only more game to play against the Cardinals this season (tomorrow night).  It’s also the Cubs last home series of the season, meaning that they won’t be able to celebrate before their home crowd.

This may seem cruel and selfish, but…. YEAH!!!!!!

Don’t get me wrong.  As a resident of the Chicago area, even though I am a Cardinal fan for life, I am glad that the Cubs are having their best season ever.  They seem to be poised to go all the way to the World Series this year.  I just don’t want them to celebrate in front of my Cardinals.

And it would be so sweet if the Cardinals get to play spoiler in the playoffs.  For once, the Cardinals are not the first place team, not expected to be the contender.  Usually it is me listening to Cub fans taunting me, jealous of my good fortune as a baseball fan.

I took Nate to Wrigley today to watch the game, our once a year splurge, I in my Cardinal jersey and Nate in his Cub jersey.  People get a kick out of seeing the father/son rivalry.  We had great seats today, right behind the Cardinal bull pen in right field.  Today’s first pitch was at noon, overcast with the stadium lights on, comfortably cool.  The sun came out by the third inning, our seats out in the sun.  Wonderful.

Days like today are when Nate and I get along best.  Oh, he still acts like a 17 year old with his dad, but he also forgets to act that way as he relaxes in the moment.  We don’t get into deep discussions, but it’s nice to just have time with him for a day.

You won’t see any pictures of me with him here.  There is no way he would allow that.  He also was mortified as I photo bombed three women Cub fans as they posed for a picture.  We were walking up to our seats and I just stepped in.  The women laughed and allowed me in the picture.  Nate was also mortified when they sat directly behind us.

The Cardinals led off with four runs in the top of the first.  The Cubs answered with two runs of their own.  But the Cardinals kept scoring each inning, the Cubs did not.

Good day.  I was in a good mood on the way home after a Cardinal win, bought Italian beef (Buona) for Nate, his first experience with the delicacy.

I also wore my Cub kryptonite today.  No Cub fan gives me any guff when I wear one of my Cardinal World Series hats!

Trust

Tags

anger, family, fatherhood, life, marriage issues, Nate, parenting

Parenthood must mean being able to accept that you are a complete and total fool.  I am over qualified.

Remember my last blog, the one where I talked about my son taking a trip to Lake Geneva to meet a friend, then go watch girls they know from summer camp play in a volleyball tournament?

I forget that every teenager at one time or another is going to lie to their parent(s).  Am I wrong or am I right?  All I know is that there might have just been a time or two that I deceived my own parents when I was a teenager.

Paybacks are a… BITCH.

Late Saturday night, Nate called me to ask if he could stay overnight with his friend in Lake Geneva.  It was 9:30, late enough that I thought it best that he did not drive home in the dark, so I reminded him that I did not want to go all weekend without my car and I wanted him home early the next morning.  Bedtime came for me and I rested peacefully knowing that my son was safe.

I was roused from my sleep around 1:30 in the morning by a frantic wife, babbling about how I had made a mistake by restricting our son’s phone so he would not be able to place a call after midnight.  She yelled at me to give her the phone number for our cell carrier so she could change that.

Oh, and then she told me that Nate was calling her from a Walmart parking lot in Grinnell, Iowa, nearly 5 hours away from our home in the western Chicago suburbs.  He was calling from the Walmart manager’s phone.

She kept yelling at me as I stumbled downstairs to get my PC and check the status of his phone via our cell phone carrier’s website.  Nate was telling a fib.  He was not restricted on the weekend.  Truth was, he had ignored my admonition to take his phone charging cord with him.  His phone battery was nearly dead.

His plan was to sleep overnight in the Walmart parking lot.  He needed money.. because he actually had not saved his money as he had told us.  He needed gas because the gas tank was nearly empty.

The girl from camp lives in Grinnell, Iowa.  The things we boys do for love.

Do I need to say that I was angry?  I grabbed the keys to Miriam’s car, muttering threats that the boy would never ever drive my car again.  I also had muttered something not too kind when my wife was yelling from the top of the stairs, something I had to apologize for before I left to go find the prodigal.  It was 2 AM.

I arrived in Grinnell a little before 7 AM on Sunday.  Good thing it was a long drive because I had time to think about things, decide that being angry would only hurt me.  So I found Nate at the Walmart, knocked on the window to get his attention, asked him how he was doing and what he planned on doing.

“I’m going to church with her in a few hours, then head home.  Are you going to make me come home?”

“No, you’re here and even though I probably should, I am not going to ruin this for you.  I am going to go with you to a gas station, fill this car with gas, then give you some cash for food and in case you need more gas to get home.  We’ll talk about this when you get home.”

And that’s what I did.  I was angry, did my best to control the anger, may have even been a bit too nice to him.  We got the gas and the money, I said good bye, and turned back to Chicagoland in Miriam’s car.  I got home at 1 PM, headed up to bed, slept 2 hours.  Miriam was gone when I woke, didn’t get home until Nate got home — at 10:30 that night.

Yesterday I spent some time talking to my parents about it, then talked to Miriam.  We decided on a punishment, then had the talk with Nate last night.  No car privileges until October and future trips will be limited.

OK, looks like I call him my boy, not my young man, for a while longer.

On a positive note — he lied, but wasn’t getting into trouble.  I tried to give him credit for that when I talked to him.

Until next time….

First close shave

Tags

family, fatherhood, life, parenting

My boy is 17, started his senior year of high school last week.  Nate is a big boy, 6’2″ tall and roughly 210 pounds.  I still have to describe him as a boy, not a young man, because he still has a ton of growing up to do, a bit of catch up maturity wise.  Instead of giving reasons why I think that, I will skip the explanation.  A lot of his maturity is a product of this day and age, video games and skimpy responsibility.  That’s enough.

Last year, our daughter Alyssa was a live in camp counselor at a bible camp located on Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.  Living there was heaven for her, a job well suited to her nurturing personality, a chance to deal one on one with kids in varying age groups from ages 8 to 17.  Her last week of camp last summer was as counselor for the coed high school group.  Somehow she helped us convince her pessimistic brother to attend that week of camp.

Camp weeks start on Sunday afternoon and finish the following Saturday morning.  The day before that week of camp was to start was difficult to say the least, a fight with a waffling boy who changed his mind.. with a fight… many times that day.  Sunday morning came, his suitcase packed in our car, and more cajoling ensued.  The whole 90 minute drive found me wishing that I had noise cancelling ear plugs, what with the constant fighting between Nate and his mother, as well as his insistence that I turn the car around.  We got to the camp with more struggle.  Registration ended at 2 PM.  We registered him, but he fought us so hard to take him home that I finally just said OK, let’s go home.  We loaded him back in the car and started driving him back towards Illinois.

Eventually his mother won the fight.  Nate not only stayed for the week of camp, but he thoroughly enjoyed it.  The guys in his cabin were athletic and big, like Nate, the same types of personalities.  He made great friends, enough that he stayed in contact with them all year after camp was over.

I also saw pictures of him, pictures I am not sure he wanted me to see, of him with a cute little petite girl, his arm around her and a big smile on his face.  Hmmmmm.

A few weeks ago, he went to camp again.  There was no fight this time.  He made sure that he got in the same cabin with his friends from last year.  After camp, he has borrowed my car several times to go see those friends.

Today, he borrowed my car to drive to Lake Geneva.  It took some persistence to get information out of him of who he was going to see and why I couldn’t just drive him.  He coughed up the information after I told him that he was not getting my car until he told me.

He and one of his friends were going to watch their camp girlfriends play in a volleyball tournament.  OK.  Good enough reason.  I wouldn’t want my dad around either.

Nate is a fair skinned blue eyed curly haired blonde.  He has never shaved until this morning.  I showed him how, helped him finish the shave after he shaved with my supervision.  The blonde fuzz cooperated fairly well, a bit more there than I realized.  But he cleaned up well.

Miracle of all miracles.. he called a few minutes ago to let me know that he got there OK.  He also asked how much money that I thought he was going to have to spend on gas.  One of the stipulations of my agreeing to let him go was that he had to use his own money for the trip, a source of much conflict the past few days.  For possibly the first time ever, he was expected to conserve his resources and not blow his money on fast food or video games.  It was tough, but he did it.

It’s a start.  Maybe, just maybe, “young man” might be coming from my lips some time soon.  I hope so.  Honestly, I was skeptical until now.  We’ll see!

She’s Back

Tags

alyssa, daughter, family, fatherhood, life, parenting, relationships

This is that time of the year where nearly every college age student tells their parent(s) —

“OK WOULD YOU JUST LEAVE!!!!”

It wasn’t quite that dramatic with our daughter, but that sentiment repeated itself many times over the course of the day yesterday in one form or another.  It was really obvious that Alyssa was ready to get to task, a task that did not include her parents.  My guess is that even the most dependent child stretches their wings of independence on college move in day, smelling the sweet odor of freedom (or whatever that leftover stench is left in the dorm).  Alyssa is no exception, her independence already an admirable trait, but I have to admit that my daughter takes on an even stronger stance when it comes to the day for Mom and Dad to GO AWAY.

Have I said how much I love my girl?  Yes.  I know.  Many times.  Dang, do I love how much her life needs to be hers, yet how much she lets belong to her mother.  It is such a delicate balance that she performs so well.  All summer, perhaps the last summer we will have our daughter living in our house, Alyssa has shared intimate moments with her mother —  watching videos while snuggled on her bed, shopping, getting coffee, giggling around the kitchen table.  My daughter expresses her desire to be independent in a stern yet loving way.. and when I say that she is MY daughter.  Yet she clings to her mother in the way that Miriam needs.. and Miriam reaaaaaaallly needs her daughter.  That is fodder for another blog, so let’s leave that one right here.  Plop.  OK?

Alyssa starts her junior year of college in about a week and a half.  As resident assistant for her dorm floor and a leadership scholar, she had to report over a week early in preparation for incoming students.  When we moved her in yesterday, she was the only one on her dorm floor to move in.. a little creepy in some ways.  I am pretty sure that she slept in the same room last night with another floor’s RA.  My fastidious daughter carefully unpacked the boxes and bags stored all summer in our garage and her bedroom, reorganized what needed to return to school with her, then placed them outside the garage door for me to pack into my car.. and her car.  Yes, this year is a first.

My daughter has her own car, a red 2007 Nissan Versa that Miriam purchased from her sister.  The car has over 173K miles on it, but my favorite mechanic did close to $3000 of repairs on the car to return it to like new status.  Miriam purchased the car for the price of the repair, a notion that I balked at, a little because of the mileage on the car and the uncertainty that comes with that.  I also was not happy with the purchase because it didn’t happen the way I had hoped.  I hoped that we would plan the purchase of a car for our daughter together, save the money and then find a vehicle that would be safe for our daughter to drive.  Once again, another blog to write so let’s leave that one right here.  Plop.  OK?

I do need to say that it feels very strange to have a daughter at college, with her own vehicle, another step up along the rungs of independence.  I like it, yet don’t like it.  It’s a double edged sword.

We left at 6 AM for the four hour trek to Upland, Indiana.  6 AM, on the dot.  Normally Miriam would drag her feet and we would leave later, but Alyssa didn’t allow that.  My car and her car was packed the night before.  All I had to do was add the two bicycles she needed to the rack on the back of my VW before we left, easily accomplished since I was out of bed, washed and ready before 5 AM.  A trip to Dunkin and the gas station to fill up Alyssa’s car, and we were zipping happily along the Chicago tollway system.

Another brag — my daughter drives AWESOME.  She needed to follow me through Chicago into Indiana since I know the way very well, but she led the west to east trek across Indiana (at my insistence) in a very expeditious manner.  Alyssa is definitely my daughter.  We arrived at Taylor University also in a very expeditious manner.

Hold on for a second.. I need to crank it like a chainsaw (thank you, Family Force Five).  Fresh flannel shirt, country bumpkin.

Let me say inform you of this — I am a gimp right now.  That sucks, especially since that means that I can’t ride a bicycle right now.  Last Thursday night, I popped a calf muscle in a softball tournament.  As my father reminded me, maybe it’s time to hang up the softball glove.  However, I am milking the injury, my right calf wrapped in a compression bandage, a slight limp as I pitifully march along.  Alyssa’s dorm room is on the third floor, without an elevator.

No, I did not beg out of carrying her stuff up the stairs.  The pity factor did help, making both Miriam and Alyssa check up on me periodically to make sure that I was OK.  Truthfully, it was more difficult.  I am moving slow, more carefully, but I was able to do my fair share of the transfer from cars to dorm room.  At one point, though, it became my job to perform a very essential task.

Negotiate.

Before anything could be moved into the dorm room, the dorm room had to be arranged properly.  Taylor University provides stackable and moveable furniture, which means that the occupant of each dorm room can decide on how the beds, dressers, desks, and book shelves can be arranged.  Alyssa wanted to stack the beds on top of the desks, dressers, and bookshelves, much to the consternation of mother superior.  Many times I had to be the intercessor, reminding Miriam that this was her daughter’s domain.  As the father (I know the roles are interchangeable), my job is to be the calm one, the one with a calm maner that reminds the mother that this is the daughter’s decision, a decision that she can change as she wants.

“It’s her room.  Let her do what she wants.  She can change it if it doesn’t work.”

I have to admit that there was a bit of smug satisfaction, a superiority of sorts, as I made that pronouncement.

My smug manner was challenged as I undertook the assembly of the futon that Alyssa and her roomie had purchased together.  That sucker was too big for the dorm room.

(heh heh heh) “She will just have to deal with it.”  I reminded Miriam.

Alyssa was in a bit of a hurry.  A 5:15 there was a staff meeting with the college president, more than likely an introductory to the college leadership staff, a cookout at his on campus house yet very important.  By 3 PM, I had just finished the futon assembly and only her clothes were moved into the closet.  All else was waiting outside the dorm suite to be moved in.  But we still had a supply run to make to the local Walmart.  Alyssa was nervous as she drove us to the store, plotting how we would accomplish the shopping tasks together.  Alyssa and I went together to find our portion of the list, Miriam the other.  We bought the majority of the items (my debit card is still screaming), filled the gas tank of Alyssa’s Nissan, and made it back to campus with 15 minutes to spare.  We said a quick good bye in the dorm parking lot.

And.  That.  Was. It.

Oddly enough, Miriam and I had a very relaxed dinner together at Cracker Barrel (or Crackle Barrel if you so prefer), then a quiet trip back to Chicagoland.

Did I mention that the boy child started his senior year of high school yesterday……

(in the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey)

 

 

 

No Crying In Bicycling

Tags

bicycle, family, fatherhood, life, mountain biking

Tonight’s ride ended with a bit of drama — broken spoke drama.  Drat.  Drat.  Double drat.  Double broken spokes.  But, as it is in baseball, there is no crying in bicycling.  There may  be wailing and screaming, especially if blood or broken bones are involved, but there is no crying.  I only was able to ride 30 minutes or so.

It could have been worse.  How, you might say, especially if you’re a cyclist?

The spokes could have popped some time in the last eleven days.  My days of freedom, of temporary free balling bachelor hood, as in riding almost every glorious day with nothing and no one to worry about.  On June 1, coincidentally my birthday, I emerged from my bed very early in the morning, loaded my car with enormously overstuffed suitcases, and motored my wife and children to O’Hare airport to meet their morning flight to lovely, scenic Anchorage, Alaska.  I couldn’t go due to lack of money and a boss who strongly urged me to avoid spending the whole eleven days in Alaska.

Besides, the first four days were filled with wedding festivities.  My daughter was a bridesmaid for her cousin, Inga the bride, a sight I sorely wished I could see — Alyssa in her bridesmaid beauty and Inga, almost like a daughter to me, in her bridely beamery.  I wanted to be there, I really did, but I couldn’t justify the expense.  Some might say that I should have bit the bullet, forget the expense to go, but now I am looking at trying to pay for a new roof and school expenses for my children in the next month.  There is no possible way that we could have afforded it had I gone.  I am going to keep telling myself that.

There is something to be said about the therapeutic benefits of having a full ten days to one’s self.  My family would not be returning until June 12.  That seems like a long time.

Dang, did it go fast.

Contrary to what might be expected, I did not roam the house in my birthday suit, even on my birthday.  My nights were not spent in a drunken stupor.  I do not require alcohol for a stupor.  However, I did buy beer to keep in the refrigerator, enjoyed a cold one inside my house without fear for the first time in many, many, many years.  Temporary as they were, my days in my briefs as a brief bachelor were very tame.

Besides, I am not kidding about being broke.  My paycheck was awarded to me the night before my family flew for father’s freedom, but my paycheck also flew to pay the mortgage, car insurance premium, cable/internet payment, electric bill, and a few other small responsibilities.  A surprise family cell phone bill a few weeks ago, a bill of $524 that I had not planned for, had also drained my checking account.  There was no money for me to play.  A few months ago, I had hoped to venture off to Wisconsin for a weekend of mountain biking, but my bank account said nada nicht no way.  I made lemonade out of the lemons, though, had fun riding close to home.

Last Tuesday night, I paid a rare week day visit to Palos Forest Preserve to ride the excellent singletrack trails there.  There was a mountain bike skills clinic there that evening, so I also attended the clinic.  That may have been a mistake — I learned how many bad habits that I have developed during the last three years on a mountain bike!  However, I learned the proper way to manual (i.e. lift the front wheel of the bicycle over obstacles), adjusted my riding position to a more neutral position that utilizes my hips to negotiate turns, and a better method of turning.  One particular bad habit that I had was covering each brake lever with 2 or 3 fingers.  The best method is one finger, with more fingers on the grips the best idea.  On top of learning, I made new friends with some of the regulars who ride at Palos.  They not only invited me to ride their Wednesday night group rides, but they also asked me to go to their post ride hang out, a place called the Imperial Oak Brewery.  On a normal night, I would have had to decline, but I didn’t need to rush home.  I went there, had a real good time.

My family provided me with plenty of pictures while they were in Alaska, thanks to the wonder of smart phones (something I had been cursing just a few weeks before when paying that huge bill).  Alaska truly is a beautiful place and there were many times during the last two weeks when I wished I was there.  After the wedding was over, my family travelled through the mountains with Miriam’s relatives to spend a few days in Homer, Alaska at a vacation home they rented together.  Nate went with a few uncles on a deep sea fishing trip, caught at least ten halibut.  He got to keep a 35 pound and 38 pound halibut.  We will be grilling those fish when they arrive here.

I was glad to pick my family up at the airport yesterday morning.  The quiet had been great for me, but I was ready for a little bit of noise in my house.  Besides, the dog and cat were beginning to plot against me.  I am pretty sure that Nick the Sheltie was going to lock me in the bathroom and steal all the food in the fridge.  Nick had been a source of frustration for me, especially with his endless begging, but also because his digestive system did not agree with the pieces of steak that I had shared with him.  The bonding time went bad.  Nick pooped in the living room every night for three days as well as when I was away at work.  Our living room still smells like a toilet.  I used a $50 gift card that my coworkers gave to me for my birthday, to buy a spot carpet cleaner.  The stains are gone but, well, the ghosts of Nick’s turds will live on in our living room for a while.

My family is back.  By last night, I was ready to ship my son back to Alaska.

OK, time to replace some spokes.

 

May the Fourth be with you

Tags

alyssa, daughter, fatherhood, life

I sent a text to daughter this morning — “May the fourth be with you “.

Her response was a picture that put a smile on my face.

 

No, The Cat Did Not Poop In The Sink

Tags

family, fatherhood, life

“This is really good!”  My 16 year old son stuffed another bite of lasagna into his mouth, then popped out of his chair and filled his plate with more.  Before he was finished with his dinner, half of the pan of lasagna was gone.

Miracles never cease.  The kid is more finicky than Morris the cat.  More often than not, he snubs his nose at whatever I have cooked for dinner, instead bawling for fast food.  He isn’t accustomed to having regular meals cooked for dinner, at least not until this year.  At the beginning of this year, I decided that I would cook more, do the grocery shopping more often with the hope of saving some money.  While that plan has not been a total win, it’s beginning to succeed more often.  I have figured out meals that my boy likes, such as chicken parmesan.  He is eating more often, with less of a fight.

And tonight’s compliment was a first.  The only other time I have heard something similar is when I make the cheese potato casserole for our family get togethers.

Of course, even when he likes something he is still finicky.  When I looked in the sink, I thought the cat had decided the sink would be a good litter box substitute.  The boy decided that he didn’t want so much sausage in his lasagna.

Next meal is a crustless quiche.  We’ll see if he says the same thing about that meal….