Bonding.....

Toby is thirteen and growing fast.  I'm all too aware that the days of hanging out with the old man will become fewer and fewer and farther in between as he gets older and starts to become more independent.  It sucks, but that's the way it has to be.  The chicks gotta start spreading their wings and preparing to leave the nest some time......

I have no idea where the time went....I could have sworn Karla just dropped him off for his first day of kindergarten just a few days ago.  Seemingly in no time at all he has grown to be just about at tall as his mother, his voice has gotten deeper, and that round, baby face has all but disappeared.  Wow......Where did the time go?

He's already starting to take an interest in girls; which will most certainly cut into the time the two of us spend together.  And when he get's his driver's license.....Well, that's it, man.

So I need to spend more time with him while I still can.  The great thing is we have a lot in common.  I see a lot of fishing trips in our future and, if he wants to bring a friend, that's okay.  Just knowing he's having a good time in enough for me.

The one thing that we definitely do not have in common is diving.  My first deep dive ended with me in the ER in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.  Being bull headed I tried again in Cozumel only to suffer a severe case of motion sickness on the rough and stormy ocean.  I finally got the hint and have since given up diving. Toby and the rest of my family can dive while I stay on the beach holding a drink in my hand with a little umbrella in it.

In the mean time we have done a father/son trade off of things we like to do.  I got to go first, so I got out the old horse shoes and took Toby out to the pits.

I love to pitch shoes.  I'm not very good at it, but there is something about pitching a shoe and hearing the clang it makes when it hit's the peg that's just music to my ears......Of course, more often than not, the shoe just lands with a dull "whump" into the dirt; and hopefully it's the dirt INSIDE the pit.

So now that you know I'm not that good at it, I just have to show off:

I may not ever throw two ringers in one turn again so I best brag while I can......I won that game by the way.....   :)

I know we had a good time when Toby asked for another game......and then another after that.  Life is good.

Now it was Toby's turn.  He grinned and said, "We are gonna play Black Ops."

"What?"

"You vs. Me on the X-Box."

"Oh, bloody Hell."

I love to play on the X-Box.  But the games I like to play are all single player.  Plus, I like the video games that have a good plot.  I'll set the game on 'easy' just so I can get through it fast enough to enjoy story.  I like to think of the video game I'm playing as an interactive movie.

What I don't like playing are games that pit me against someone else.  My reaction time sucks and I have a hard time remembering anything beyond the basic moves.  I know jump, run, hit, fire, duck....You know simple stuff.  Combination moves, or, any move dealing with more than one button is a losing effort.  While I'm getting my ass beat, I'm looking down at my controller trying to remember "X plus Y, plus RB."  By the time I figure it out, the person fighting me has already bludgeoned me into a bloody pulp and has moved on in search of new prey......Notice I didn't say easier.....As a form of opposition I don't get much easier.

This was going to be ugly.  Toby will pour through a game manual and work and work and work until he gets it right.  I look at an instruction manual for a video game no differently then I would look at a manual to assemble a grill......I chuck it over my shoulder and assume that I can figure it out along the way.  This logic may apply to a long of things, but not in regards to video games.  Especially when the person you're going up against happens to be a merciless little prick.

I don't even know what half the weapons we were fighting with were.....I just know I wasn't worth a crap using any of them.

The shotgun was by far my best weapon because I didn't really have to aim.....Point in a general direction and fire.  I can handle that.

The rest of the weapons had sights that I actually had to use to draw a bead on my target.  From that point on it was Toby vs. the incredible slow motion man.

It sucked.....I would see the enemy in front of me, pull up my scope, and immediately lose sight of him.  Where in the Hell did he go?  I would scan around and find my adversary; who is now standing right next to me with his survival knife out.....Slow Mo man goes down in a heap.

"Dammit.....This sucks."

It was bad enough to see Toby whizzing around and taking me out without even using his weapon.  Then from out of nowhere I got shredded by rapid fire from above.

"What in the Hell is that?'  I bellow.

"Air support"  Toby says calmly.

"What?!?  How come I don't get air support?"

"You haven't got enough kills."

"Dude, I haven't got any kills!!!!!!"  I'm starting to lose my grip.

What came next seemed to last an eternity.  With Toby's helicopter overhead, I did the dance step I not so affectionately dubbed the "Bloody two step".  It goes like this.....Take two steps, get shot to pieces.  Re-spawn, take two steps, get shot to pieces.

"Toby!!!! This sucks!!!  I can't do this anymore!!!"  (any one that knows me will read this comment and say, "Hmm..That sounds like a Tera tantrum)

A little side story on Tera.....She found a tactic that drives Toby up a wall --- button mashing.

I didn't know what button mashing was until I saw Toby and Tera playing Injustice, basically street fighter on steroids.

Tera's character is some overly huge, ugly looking being that I had never heard of.  Whoever he was, he was laying a serious beat down on the Batman, Toby's character.

Toby yells, "Tera, nobody like a button masher."

Tera, "What's a button masher?"

Toby spits out, "It's when you just hit a bunch of buttons......You don't even know what you're doing."

Tera giggles, "But I'm winning."

Adolescent rage is about to set in, "You're not winning.....You're cheating!!!!!"

And, of course, when Tera sees an opportunity to dig her claws into him, she takes full advantage, "Woo-Hoo!!!! Button Mash, Button Mash....Woo!"

Toby chucks his controller onto the couch and walks off in a huff, "I quit.....Nobody likes a button masher, Tera."

Tera makes a sign for victory and laughs, "I win!!!"

My Black Ops misery ended with a beautiful stat line --- Kills:  Toby 430, Dad 30 -  Deaths: Toby 30, Dad 128.  I was ready to throw the controller through the wall.

"Don't worry, Dad." Toby reassured, "I saved the best for last."

"Really.....What gruesome torture do you have lined up for me now?"

Toby smiles, "Zombies."

My eyes widen and I grin like an idiot....."Did you say zombies?"

"Yup...Survival mode.  See how many levels we can last."

I don't know where my sick fascination with zombies came from, but I just love zombie games.  I've watched The Walking Dead on Netflix and have a copy of The Brain Eaters Bible on my bedside table.....Yes, it's a sick fascination.

I love, love, love zombie games....I could be the worst player in the world and it wouldn't matter.  And in this game I was a special kind of terrible.  If a zombie knocked you to the ground your ally could revive you.  I think Toby spent half the game reviving me.  But it was a blast.

Toby was wise to set up his father/son Xbox day this way.......All ended well as we both left his room happy.

So what's next on the agenda?  I have no idea.....But I bet it will be a good time.

Progess

Today I weighed in at 177 lb.'s.  That's down from 183 lb.'s exactly four weeks ago, or, 1.5 lb.'s lost a week.

This recent success has put me on cloud nine because, at this point,  I don't feel that I have really worked all that hard to get to where I am.

I've made three changes to my eating habits since I started working out.

The first change I've made was getting back to eating fruits and vegetables;  bananas and spinach have become a regular part of my diet.  I make a Spinach protein smoothie after every workout and now feel like something is wrong if I don't have at least one a day.  (It helps that the smoothie has chocolate syrup and peanut butter in it...)

Later in the day I try to juice some apples and oranges.  It doesn't happen on a consistent basis, but I am getting better about it.

The second change I've made is to control my portions when I eat.  As opposed to eating three large meals a day I've switched to eating six smaller meals, and I feel a whole lot better because of it.  No more bloated feeling for me...  :)

One thing I haven't done yet is get back onto LiveStrong so I can start monitoring my caloric intake.  If for anything else, just to make sure I'm getting enough protein, fiber, etc, etc, into my diet.  I will have to get on that, and right soon.

The third change I think has been the most significant.  I have not eaten out or bought convenience food since I started staying at home.  I have cooked supper every day; no calling in for pizza, no boxes of Kraft mac and cheese, no frozen dinners.

No more dumping hundreds of dollars on fast food each month.  I am particularly proud of that.

I will say that, while it has gotten better, the cravings are still something to contend with.  As long as I'm at home it isn't a big deal.  However, when I'm out on the town and I can smell the greasy goodness emanating from the Spangles parking lot, it's still a challenge fighting off the temptation to pull in and order a burger and fries.  But so far I have not given in.

The cheat days I've started using have helped immensely. (Thanks for the advice Lisa and Courtney!!!)  Twice a week I allow myself a small treat as a reward for staying disciplined.

As I stated in an earlier blog, my daughter Tera and I are joined at the hip on this diet and exercise journey. And four weeks in I have seen a dramatic change in Tera.

Now, when we go to the grocery store, instead of asking for a candy bar or a soda, she asks for plums or strawberries.  When she first started asking for these things I was skeptical that she would actually eat what she was asking for.  But, to my great joy, she is not only eating them but wanting to go back for more.

Tera and I share our cheat days; Wednesdays and either Saturday or Sunday.  We might split a candy bar or get a small ice cream cone, or something along those lines.  It doesn't sound like much, but when you spend all your other days fighting off temptation that one little ice cream cone or half a candy bar suddenly becomes a huge treat.  It's been a great pick me up for the both of us.

Now what really has me excited is the little group Tera joined.  When she first brought home the flyer for "Girls on the Run" I nearly did a cartwheel.  Tera is determined to run a 5K -- although I don't think she really knows what that is.....Oh, well, we will cross that bridge when we get to it.

By the way, Girls on the Run is about a whole lot more than running......Check 'em out:       http://www.girlsontherun.org/

I'm very proud of my little girl.....She is making the effort and that is all I can ask.

As far as Toby is concerned there hasn't been a real transition to speak of.  He has always been a good eater, his only real weakness being Grape Soda and the occasional Little Debbie cake.  The Little Debbie cakes he hasn't missed at all since we got rid of them.  He does ask for grape soda occasionally, and I have no problem acquiescing to his request.

When it's available at school, Toby is a gym rat.  He loves lifting weights and he rides his bike constantly.  He also has been blessed with good genetics provided by my mom's family -- the Filipino side of the family.

I have two uncles in the Philippines that were former body builders.  They possess broad shoulders and narrow waists and, when they are bulked up, looked freaking huge.  Even if they do only stand about 5'7".

My little brother, Tim, is built the same way.  At one point, when he was lifting seriously, he packed muscle onto his wide shoulders and back, beefed up his legs.......and still had just a 27 inch waist.  He was low to the ground, quick, and by far the best athlete in our family....He was (and still is) a physically gifted freak.  Oddly, he had no interest in sports. Go figure.

So if Toby happens to follow along these lines he won't have a problem staying in shape.

That just leaves Karla, who.....is trying.

Karla hates to exercise.  As I had mentioned in an earlier blog I can only remember seeing Karla run twice the whole time we've been together.  It's not that she can't be an athlete.....She doesn't want to be.

Karla is a braniac.  She loves to read, work with numbers, talk about investing and retirement plans......in other words everything I can't stand dealing with.  So, in that regard, we make a good team in that we can both pass on our strongest traits to our kids, hopefully making them well rounded individuals.

But at least Karla is trying.  Every morning at 5:30 the alarm goes off and at 5:35 Karla groans and forces herself out of bed.  She hits the sit ups (I'd rather she do planks, but I digress) and does twenty minutes of Zumba.  But you can tell when you watch her that she would much rather be listening to a Dave Ramsey podcast as opposed to sweating and (her words) feeling gross.

I'm trying to talk her back into the swimming pool.  Karla used to be a life guard and is a very strong swimmer.  But, after work she feels she needs to be home with the kids, and I can't begrudge her that.  I want to be home with the kids, too.

Once Karla got really irritated with me about my insistence on exercising and blurted out, "You just want a trophy wife."
I grinned, despite the seriousness of the conversation....After all, that would be awesome.  :)

But then I told her that while that would be nice I would rather grow old with her.  I pointed out how expensive growing old can be if you are on high blood pressure or heart medication.  Being a money nerd, she quickly got the point.

But I also told her that there is still a lot of the world we haven't seen yet.  When I retire I want to hike and travel, not be stuck at home because my health won't allow me to leave my house.

She's trying.....God love her, she's trying.  I just know, now that our home life has improved, she will get there.  She has made every goal she has set for herself.  This one will be by far the toughest for her, but I know she can do it.

We are making progress........

Off to Ye Old Grocery Store

I was going to write about the perilous adventures of Captain Coupon and his trusty sidekick Bargain Boy.  (Tera wouldn't play along -- "You guys are stupid")  But I found couponing to be more of an undertaking than I really wanted to deal with.

My first problem was that I seriously didn't know what the value of anything was because Karla used to do all the shopping.  I knew how much a Mountain Dew, a Snickers bar, and a six pack of Guinness cost but, beyond that, I had no idea.

So when it comes to perusing through the sale ads, I wouldn't know a good deal if it smacked me in the face.

The second problem with couponing is that I simply don't have the patience to sift through all the ads in the Sunday paper; looking at a bunch of measly twenty five cent off coupons.

But to Karla it's an exhilarating and joyful game.  She loves cutting up coupons, going shopping, and, upon arriving home, giddily tell me  that she spent thirty four dollars but saved eighteen in the process.  I have no idea how she could find any of this fascinating.  I would almost rather sit through hours of chick flicks than sift through coupons......Almost.

Besides, who am I to deprive Karla of such joy?  I am content to let her dig through the CVS, Walgreens, and Target ads while I do.....do.....um......just about anything else.

So, for now, I am going to do my grocery shopping with a list and whatever coupons Karla happens to find.  Maybe, in time, I'll start to take an interest in it and do it myself......Maybe.

Anyway, thanks to an organized and throughly mapped out list, the grocery shopping hasn't been that bad; I've been able to get in and out of the store in a reasonable amount of time.  It also helps that I'm going to the store and 8:30 in the morning when there is hardly anyone there.

Not that I haven't gotten in people's way. For every guy shopper in the store there are, I would say, at least five women.  And they can all fly around the aisles with their eyes closed.

I don't know how many times I've turned around and seen a woman patiently waiting for me to fumble through my list, find what I need, and get the hell out of the way.

"Sorry, excuse me." I say seemingly a thousands time per shopping excursion.

"No rush....It's okay." The nice lady would smile and reassure.

But there is always that one person that has to be a jerk.

I'm standing in the meat aisle where I just grabbed a package of chicken drumsticks when this little old lady rockets in, slams her cart into mine, and then asks in a loud and haughty voice, "ARE YOU ALMOST DONE?!"

What I said:  "Yes, sorry ma'am.  Let me get out of your way."

What I thought: "You rotten, old hag.  I would just love to smack that crusty looking rouge off your wrinkly assed cheek."

I smiled politely and carted myself away.  Then I started to feel bad for thinking the way I did.  Maybe she just crashed into my cart because her eyes are bad...You know, like she has no depth perception.  Or maybe she was so loud when she spoke because her hearing aid broke.  Maybe she had just went through a major life altering event.

So let us review the emotional spectrum of my most recent social interaction.....Aggravation and rage followed immediately by guilt and remorse....That doesn't make me a little neurotic, does it?

Yeah....Moving on.

There are a couple of things I have learned about shopping.

1.  Don't ever mess with someone's brand loyalty.

In my mind peanut butter is peanut butter is peanut butter.  I have absolutely no preference at all; it could be Always Save peanut butter and I wouldn't see it as any different than any other name brand.  It all sticks to the roof of my mouth the same.

But Toby will vehemently beg to differ.  The first time I came home from shopping he grumbled about the Planters peanut butter.  The second time he went ape shit about Peter Pan.

"MOM......DOESN'T DAD KNOW WE'RE A JIF FAMILY????   AARRGH!!!"

Holy crap.....easy partner.  I'll hook you up on the next round.  So on my next trip I found the biggest freaking container of Jif I could possibly find.  My goodness.




I don't know what the big deal is.  Perhaps Toby can't handle the thought of a monocled peanut or a little boy in green tights selling peanut butter, and so, heaps his praise and loyalty to the mascot less Jif.  Beats me.......and I just don't taste any difference.

Oh, and one more thing....For the love of God, it has to be creamy Jif and not chunky.

2.  Recycled plastic bags suck.

I should have seen this one coming.  Not but a few days ago, a friend of mine (hi, Stephanie) was complaining about how weak the new bags at the grocery store were and how easily they rip.

But, without thinking I managed to wedge a gallon of milk, two glass jars of Prego (another product my family is very loyal to) a jar of red peppers and a package of hamburger into the thin, gray receptacle that was supposed to help me get my groceries home in an efficient and safe fashion.

When I got home I pulled the bag out of the trunk and saw it begin to stretch thin from the weight of the contents it held.  She was about to bust.

Now I could have just set it back down into the trunk, pulled the items out and made an extra trip to get every thing into the house without incident.  But did I?

Hell NO!!!  I made a run for it;  from the driveway, down a small flight of stairs, and onto the patio.  I was just a couple of feet away from the front door when the bag finally gave out.

What followed next was one of those slow motion moments everyone gets now and then in their lives.  I could see the jars of Prego slowly dropping out of the rip in the bag.

"NNNNOOOOOOOO!!!!!"  I lunge as I watched the jars of Prego descend to it's doom upon the brick patio.  Then, a miracle (okay, a small miracle) happened.  Both jars bounced and rolled harmlessly into the yard.  Today was my lucky day.

I breathed a sigh of relief and found that the jar of peppers had also survived the crash.

I unlocked the front door and hummed a happy tune.  All is right with the world.


Then I found out later that I forgot something on my list........Dammit, man.

Why, yes, I do wash dishes.

Dishes are like rabbits; they multiply and multiply and multiply.

Before I became a stay at home dad I had no idea we even owned as many dishes as I've washed;  thank God the dishwasher takes care of most of it.

The dishes that don't make it into the dish washer are the ones you have to wash with a scouring pad, chisel, hydrochloric acid, a hazmat suit, belt sander, and buffing machine with a steel wool attachment.  I've really grown to despise scrubbing pots and pans.

And even though I've burnt my fair share of food to the bottom of a pan, Karla seems to create piles of dishes in need elbow grease and sweat equity......And yet, unlike my culinary disasters, her food still tastes good.  Go figure.

A little side story on Karla and burnt food.  When Karla eats steak or a hamburger she asks for it "Very, very, very" well done.  I kid you not, she says very three times, every time, she orders.

The end result is a charred up hockey puck that looks totally inedible.  You'd swear she had asked the waitress to call in a napalm strike to cook her burger,  it looks that bad.  There are no references to a "juicy" burger in regards to Karla.

One time I asked her, "Why don't you save everyone the trouble and just warm up a lump of charcoal in the microwave?  That's basically what you're eating."  I don't think Karla was amused.

Anyway, back to the dishes......

I have dry skin to begin with, but all these dishes have really done a number on my hands.  I've never used so much hand lotion in all my life. At this point, I don't care how flowery and feminine the lotion smells either; my hands feel as if they are going to crack and fall off at the wrist.  Hell, I may consider taking a bath in a tub of rose scented lotion....I just don't care right now.

Come to think of it, I should go buy some good old Corn Huskers lotion.  That would make me feel a little more masculine and bring back some very fond memories of my granddad.

There are three things I distinctly remember about my granddad.  He always wore overalls and he smelled of Skoal and Corn Huskers lotion.  Ah, great memories.  Yep, I'm putting Corn Huskers lotion on the grocery list.

The dishwasher is on a list that I've made out and dubbed the "Nickel and Dime" project.  I've become obsessed with not only finding ways to save money but to also do it in a way that's better for the environment.  Naturally, cleaning supplies and all their harsh chemicals, made the top of the list of things to shy away from.

With the help of a friend (Thank you, Wendopolis!!!!) I found this great website for making my own cleaning supplies.  If you look on my list of favorite links you will find the site diyNatural......Check it out, it's awesome.

So I made my own dishwasher detergent -- it was a simple task to perform, and yet I couldn't helped being geeked up about it.  But after my first load of dishes I found that I needed to tweak the process a bit.  Everything looked good except for the glasses; they were clean, but covered in residue.

So I got on line and read that if I put a little vinegar in the rinse cycle it should help clear up the glasses and the problem......Nope.....Strike two.  Dammit, man.

Then I read that areas with really hard water tend to create "cloudy" glasses when using natural cleaners.  So, now what do I do?

I went and took a closer look at the dishwasher; whereupon I spied a "pots and pans" and "heated dry" setting......I wonder?

So with my next load of dishes, I put in my home made cleaner with vinegar and used the previously mentioned settings.  While waiting for the cycle to complete I went to scrub the bathroom.....I'm not talking about the bathroom.  It's a vile place....no one should ever have their head that close to a toilet seat.  Blech!

When the cycle finished I practically skipped over to the dishwasher.  You know that nerdy, science kid I spent my whole adolescent life trying not to be?  Waste of effort.  I now embrace my dorkiness.

In my excitement it never really registered in my head what "heated dry" really meant.  I opened the door and was consumed by a rush of burning hot steam.  For a moment I feared my face would melt right off of my skull, and I'm fairly certain I lost all of my nose hair.  Damn.

You know, for idiots like me, there should be some kind of buzzer or bright red light to let me know I'm in some kind of danger.  Better yet an automated voice warning me not to open the door.....Even better yet the voice should be Marilyn Monroe's.  As I reach for the door Marilyn should say, in her sexiest and most sultry voice, "Careful, big boy, the contents within are........hot"

I smile at the possibility.  Hell, I'd be inclined to do dishes more often then.  I can just hear my daughter now, "Dad, the washer is only half full."

"Ah, close enough.....Fire it up."

I'm sorry, I forgot where I was..........Anyway, the dishes were so hot I had to walk away and wait for them to cool down enough to touch.  But, it turned out to be worth the wait.  Everything was clean and the glasses looked outstanding.  Hooray!!!!  Mission accomplished.

So now that I know that I have a natural cleaner for the dishwasher, it's on to make laundry detergent and a spray cleaner using vinegar and orange peels.

At the end of this day I feel I've made significant progress......Life is Good....  :)

Dog Hair and Couch Covers

I can't wrap my head around it; how is it a long haired dog like my Shih Tzu, Mario, never sheds and my short haired beagle, Wrigley, leaves hair on everything he touches?  I honestly can't figure out how Wrigley has any hair left on his body.

Yes, Wrigley is named after Wrigley Field in Chicago.  I named him Wrigley because: 1. I'm a huge Cubs fan and,  2: When we adopted him is name was Wiggles.....There was no way in Hell I was calling any dog of mine Wiggles.

Anyway, today I set about the task of trying to rid all dog hair from my couch.  I can't remember the last time I actually sat in it because of all the damn hair.  Freaking gross.

It doesn't matter how many times you scold Wrigley and tell him to stay off the couch; as soon as you turn your back he hops right back on and takes a nap.  He's a stubborn old dog.  I may have to start stacking the dining room chairs on the couch before I leave the house.

Anyway, there was a short period of time when a laser pointer worked really well for getting Wrigley off the couch.  Toby would place the red dot on the floor and the old pooch would go nuts trying to catch it.  After a few minutes of chasing the red dot in circles and all around the house Wrigley would tire and just plop down where ever he happened to be a that moment in time.  It was great.

But then Tera ran Wrigley into the wall one too many times and that was the end of that.  Now Wrigley just looks at the little red dot on the floor, then looks at me as if to say, "Yeah, right......Go to Hell."

So, as I'm training Wrigley to stay off the couch (most likely an undertaking doomed to failure) I decided I would try to find and easy way to get the hair off the couch.  Karla says the vacuum doesn't work that well on the couch and a lint roller takes way entirely too long.  So I did what I always do when I'm stuck --- I surf the net.

Whereupon I found this article written by a young woman who raved about how simply taking a rubber glove to her couch took care of the hair problem.  She showed pictures of how the rubber glove, when ran across the couch, would ball up the hair, making it easier to pick up and dispose of.  Okay, simple enough....I'll give it a go.

By the way, I thought about pinning it on my Pinterest account but decided against it.  First, I thought I'd better make sure it actually worked and, Second, the picture of the woman sporting her rubber glove looked a little too excited in her photo.....Like she consumed a little too much happy dust or something.....She was kind of creepy looking.

So Karla grabbed me a pair of rubber gloves while she was out and I set about tackling the couch.

The end result was a boat load of frustration.  I couldn't get the couch cover to sit still when I ran my rubber glove across the couch.  The cover would stick to my glove and just follow it where ever it went.
"Dammit, this sucks!!!" I yelled.  I sat back, ripped off the glove and reflected upon my most recent failure.

Then a thought occurred to me; the woman in the article didn't have a couch cover.  So that would explain why it worked so well for her, the cushions would just stay where they were as the glove went over it.

Then, another thought hit me ---- a couch cover can be removed.  Why am I doing this?

"Shit."  I ripped the couch cover off the couch and threw it in the washer.

So now that that bout of stupidity is over with I may as well pull the cushions off of the couch and clean out what's underneath......Who knows, maybe I'll find a lot of loose change.  That would be awesome.

Nope.....It was not awesome.  This, in fact, is what I found:

Man, when was the last time we cleaned this thing?

When the couch cover had finished in the dryer I pulled it out and told Toby to put it back on the couch.  Here is the end result:

I gave Toby a load of crap...."Dude, that's the best you could do?"

"Yeah, I couldn't figure it out."

"Man, that's lame.......It can't be that hard."

I grabbed a couch cover for the love seat and gave it a shot:

Wow......That is kind of tough.  Let's try this again:

CRAP!!!!  Why can't I figure this out?

Of course, wouldn't you know it, Karla walks in the door after my second failed attempt.

"What are you doing?"
"Whaddya mean, what am I doing?  What's it look like I'm doing?"

"Here, give it to me."  Karla took the couch cover and just like that:

"There," Karla say with smug satisfaction, "It's all in how you line it up."

She made it look so simple......That aggravates the piss out of me.  Oh well, at least it's done.

Stupid couch cover........

The wandering mind

Who would have guessed that almost twenty years of factory work would prepare me to deal with the mundane tasks known as household chores.

Factory work, especially if you are part of a production line, is nothing more than the same repetitive motion for hours on end.  After a while, if you don't find a coping mechanism, it will drive you crazy.

I've been lucky in that I've always had a vivid imagination.  I can't explain it, but when I was working on the factory floor I had the ability to disconnect my mind and allow it to drift while letting my body go through the motions.  At work I came up with ideas for the books I wanted to write, the nifty little must-have gadget that I was going to draw up plans for, the color of the tights I would wear with my super hero costume.

Hey, whatever gets you through the day.

This wandering mind philosophy would work well with folding laundry.  Or, at least I thought it would.

I have since found is that the main difference in the wandering mind is when it's factory work, for example, it's just a box going down the conveyor.  There's no real connection to it;  so you can cut yourself off from the rest of the world.  Blue skies, sandy beaches, and buxom babes, here I come.

But with laundry you have a connection to everything.  There is no thinking of winning the lottery or being a movie star; it's all thoughts of your family.

As long as they are pleasant thoughts it's all good.  Today I was not so lucky.  I picked up and folded a pair of my daughter's underwear; with cute little monkeys on them.  (But the way, Tera doesn't say monkey, she bellows in a gravelly voice, "MUNG-KAYYY!")

I smile when I think that now I get to be home to watch my daughter grow up. She'll be in high school before I know it........Then I frown; that means she will be dating.  I shudder and think "Man, I'm so not ready for that shit."

I wonder who she will date?  Will he act like me when I was a kid?  God, I hope not.

Then the heinous thought ----- the ugly reality that some day she will be, be......um....you know. Active.  GOD, I cannot handle that.  Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll become a nun.  Although chances are better that she'll end up a goth chick and bring home a boy with a purple mohawk and a bolt in his nose.

Holy crap.  When did I got from hunter to protector?  Ah, hell, who am I kidding?  I never "hunted" any girls.  I'm not sure if I was more Beevis or Butthead in high school.  Perhaps I was a combination of the two.  Either way, looking back I think, "Man, If I had a time machine I'd go back and beat the shit out of myself."

Anyway, I quickly set down the underwear and reach into the dryer for the next article of clothing.  I pull out my sons sleeveless undershirts; popularly known by the unflattering term "wife beater".

I can't vouch for it's validity but I've heard that the phrase "wife beater" was named after the character Stanley (played by Marlon Brando) in the movie A Streetcar name Desire.  Apparently Stanley wore the sleeveless undershirt and beat his wife in the move.....I wouldn't know since I've never seen it.

My son will never refer to this under shirt by that name.  I will be sure of that.

Now my thoughts immediately go back to Tera.  It is folly for me to hope that she will be a celibate and quiet, unassuming, librarian.  Her rambunctious nature simply won't allow it.  I will simply have to do my best to be a supportive father.

Someday she will bring home her first boyfriend (gag).  And someday she will get engaged.....(excuse me, I need to brush my teeth.....I just threw up a little)

Okay, stop!!!!  I need off this ride now!


I think I'll go do the dishes; the laundry can wait.

My first gardening experience

In my zeal to attain a healthier diet I cleaned out an old flower bed in the hopes of turning it into a small fall garden.  This was also going to be my first father/daughter project; my continuing effort to get Tera out of the house more.

Before:

And:.....................I don't have an after picture because, um, I'm not finished yet.

The project started off great.  Well, aside from the branches of thorns that I didn't know about.  Nothing can get a high pitched, girly scream out of you like four or five undetected thorns digging into your hand.  I did the stupid man dance all across the yard.  If any of the neighbors happened to see my flailing moron imitation, I'm quite certain they were amused. But, I digress.

  Tera and I cut back low, over hanging branches from a nearby tree.  We cleaned out all of the weeds, discovered a freaking huge anthill, and hoed the ground up a little.  It was a wonderful afternoon that I got to spend with my daughter.

Since then, however, Tera and I have been taking oatmeal baths to alleviate the insanely aggravating itching we've been going through due to chigger bites and that patch of poison ivy that I overlooked:

Toby, the former boy scout, would have noticed the poison ivy right away.  He would have pointed and said, "Leaves of three, let it be."  Then, pleased that he had saved his family members from suffering a terrible fate,  he would have proceeded to go back into the house and play on his XBox.

But, most unfortunately for Tera and I, Toby was not there.

Tera got poison ivy all up and down both arms, her face, and her neck.  I got it on my neck, arms, and chest.

I firmly believe that chigger bites and poison ivy are by far the worst combination of itchy nastiness that a human being could possibly have.  Considering how incredibly rotten I feel, I find myself thinking how lucky I am that I didn't get either chiggers bites or poison ivy below my waistline.  That would have been, beyond a shadow of a doubt,  an immediate trip to the doctor and - Karla can vouch for me - I have to be feeling really bad to go to the Dr.

The oatmeal baths aren't all they are cracked up to be.  It does offer some relief, but not nearly enough.  I have found that if I chase my oatmeal bath with a Benadryl it helps to take the edge off.  Although still not nearly as well as I would like. (Karla's Note:  That's not all he wanted to chase the oatmeal bath with!)

One thing an oatmeal bath does do is give you time to lie back and reflect.  I let out a laughing snort as I think about all those home improvement commercials I've seen with the immaculately manicured lawn, the perfectly built raised garden, and all the beautiful, vivacious plants. Then you look at that smiling chowder head, not a hair out of place, no sweat running down his forehead, and no dirt under his fingernails, as he peers into the camera, trying to convince you that their lovely little store is the place for all your gardening needs......Yeah, got anything for poison ivy? You prick....

One other, unrelated thought, had just occurred me as I lay in the tub.  I totally forgot to put out the trash ---- for the last two weeks.  Next Thursday's trash day should smell really nice. (If I remember)

All in all, it's just a minor setback.  I do need to take some roundup to the poison ivy before I can plant.  It wasn't but a few days after Tera and I cleaned out the flower beds that that nasty, three leafed, bastard reappeared.  It would give me great pleasure to stand at a safe distance and hit that patch of itchy crap with a molotov cocktail.  But, I'm fairly certain Karla won't go for it.

So, when am I going to finish planting my garden, you ask?  Hopefully this weekend, but I'm not sure........I'm really in no hurry to acquire more bug bites and rashes at this point.

Aches, Pains, and Withdrawals

I'm a only week into my workouts (nothing serious yet) but I'm already feeling it.  I have minor aches in my shoulders and knees;  my chest and legs are sore as hell........And it feels great.

Before the insanity of kids and organized sports I was always immersed into some kind of exercise whether it be lifting weights, swimming, biking, or playing basketball.  By nature, I have a hard time sitting still.  I have to be doing something (um, other than home improvement projects).

Then, as the kids got older and got into sports things changed rapidly.  I was suddenly working full time and coaching full time; exercise fell by the wayside.

I say coaching full time because organized youth sports in America has gone absolutely stark raving nuts.  How?  Why, somebody turned into a profitable business, that's how.  Hooray for capitalism.

Ok, I'm going to veer away from the organized sports right now before it turns into a long winded tirade.  I love it, but I do have my gripes.  Let's just say that when you step into coaching organized sports you are basically taking on another part time (one team), or full time, (more than one team) job.  It's a great gig, but it's a grind, too.  A grind that really wears your body down.

Anyway, back to exercise.  My goal is to get back to one hundred and sixty five to one hundred and seventy pounds.  If it was just exercise I would have no problem reaching this goal;  I love to exercise.

These are two pics taken over two years ago --- when I was in the best shape of my life at nearly forty years of age:

Honestly, I'm not real comfortable posting these pics.  I've always been a baggy T-shirt kind of guy.  But I posted it because, now that it's out there, I feel like I need to uphold a standard.  Nothing drives you to success quite like the perception, whether it be real or in your own head, that someone out there is going to hold you accountable.  I simply can't afford to sit on my ass now.

 However, I have one big road block in the way ----- fighting off the withdrawals of giving up junk food.  Not an easy task considering that junk food is everywhere you go.

The good thing is that I've been through all of this before and succeeded.  So I know it can be done.  The bad thing is after all those months of hard work and diet discipline I let myself fall back into my bad eating habits.  All it takes is one pizza or greasy hamburger before you find yourself craving more and more.  Just one meal morphs into a few, a few turns into a way of life.  Things can spin out of control in a hurry.

As an example.....I used to (no, seriously) go to McDonald's and order not one, but two, super sized big mac meals for myself and down it all without even thinking twice about it.  That's, what, about four thousand calories in one sitting?.......No doubt about it, before I got on the health kick I was a quadruple bypass waiting to happen.

Having said that, I have never in my life had a serious weight problem.  Thanks to a high metabolism I have never been more than twenty five or thirty pounds over my ideal weight.  That sounds like a lot, but if you've ever seen me eating at my worst, you'd wonder how I couldn't possibly weigh at least three hundred pounds.  I could pack away a lot of food and I could eat all day long.

But I became all too aware that just because I looked ok on the outside, I was setting myself up for some severe health problems on the inside.  High blood pressure and diabetes runs in my family and, after my granddad passed away from a heart attack, I knew I had to make some changes.

Let's face it; when you grow accustomed to a diet of fat, salt, and sugar, trying to go back to cucumbers, oranges, and skinless chicken breast sucks.  For a while nothing tastes good because all you want to do is go back to McDonald's and wolf down that beautiful big mac meal then wash it down with a super sized coke.  It's kind of scary to think that we, as a society in general, are so accepting of the self destructive habits that we have so deeply immersed ourselves into.

Just the other day I found myself ripping through the kitchen cabinets trying to find something to satisfy the demon growing inside my mind and stomach.  In the fridge were a ton of fruits and vegetables, but I was having none of it......I needed processed food.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I had found the temporary cure for my cravings.  Wedged in the back of one of the cupboards I found a package of Ramen noodles.  Joy.......You'd have thought I had hit the lottery.  Yeah, buddy.....Serve me up that sodium bomb.

As I fired up the microwave, Tera entered the room and bore witness to the package of tasty, empty calories, that I was about to nuke up .  I could see the longing look in her eyes, but I went total Alpha Male on her and wolfed it down without sharing.  "It's for your own good -- you gotta start eating healthy."  (Om, nom, nom)

Yes, it was a fine parenting moment filled with self sacrifice and love........I'm a dip shit.

But, in a psychotic way, keeping the Ramen from Tera was what was best for her.  You see, her eating habits are atrocious -- just like mine when I don't keep my cravings under control.

And so out of the house went all the boxes of Little Debbie cakes, packages of Ramen noodles, boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese, and countless bags of potato chips. And CHOCOLATE.....ALL THAT WONDERFUL CHOCOLATE...

 Gone also was the twelve packs of coke, sprite, and diet Dr. Pepper.

In it's place entered the tomatoes, cucumbers, grapes, apples, oranges, spinach, lettuce, bananas and, most importantly, water.....Lots and lots of water.  (My bladder feels like it's going to explode)

The crazy thing I noticed right away was that after we got rid of all the processed food, Tera quit eating.

The new law in the house is that you can eat in between breakfast, lunch, and supper; but it has to be a fruit or a vegetable.  Initially, Tera did not respond well at all.  In fact, for the first couple of days she just moped around the house and muttered, "I'm hungry."

"Well, pumpkin, we have fruits and vegetables on the counter and in the fridge."

(Big sigh)  "No, thank you."

But now I'm starting to notice Tera digging into the good food we have laying about the kitchen.  She's starting to eat tomatoes and has really taken a liking to grapes and, if I juice it for her, she will drink apple and orange juice.  So, while we are nowhere close to out of the woods yet, things appear to be getting better.

In fact, Tera has become my inspiration.   I realize now that since Tera and I are so much alike, we can work together and help each other out.

The most important thing for me to keep in mind is that I need to lead by example.  I can't have another Ramen slip up or I will be seen as a hypocrite.  Tera -- a little girl with all the subtlety of an axe to the forehead -- will now be responsible for holding me accountable.  My daughter and I are now joined at the hip......We will exercise together, we will eat right together, we will win together.

My Support Group

When I first announced that I was going to be a stay at home dad I did it thinking that this was a journey I would be taking by myself.  I couldn't have been more wrong.

The outpouring of support has been absolutely incredible.  One sister in law has offered to teach me to cook, another, a Doctor and one time voracious label reader, has been sharing her experiences with the stay at home parent, both her and her husband had a tour of duty on the home front.  She's also going to be a great source of information in regards to eating healthy.

In one of my earlier posts I complained about cleaning the microwave; I basically thought  I would need acid and a jack hammer to clean it.  The same day that I posted the blog a friend of mine responded back and told me that she took vinegar and water in a bowl, microwaved it for five minutes, and then wiped away the mess.

It sounded to simple........and it was.  It worked like a champ.  This same friend also recommended that I take a look at the site www.pinterest.com for other cheap and easy cleaning ideas.  If you look on my list of favorite links you will notice that I added pinterest to the list.  I'm just getting started on it and,  to be honest, I'm a little overwhelmed. But I can already see that this site is going to be a huge help.

Along with the support there has been this kind of positive energy that you can almost reach out and touch.  I've been told over and over again that I made a great decision and that I'll be just fine once I adjust to the new schedule.

When I told a soon to be former co-worker (hi, Laura!) that I was nervous about what lay ahead of me, she looked me in the eye and said.  "Your son has been taking care of his sister all this summer.  If he can do it, you can do it."

That was just what I needed to hear.  Thanks, Laura.  It was a good shot in the arm.  :)

Like I said, the support has been huge.......from all the women.

So far only a small handful of guys have told me what that I was doing was cool - my brother and a few friends.  (In fact, one of my male co-workers was jealous, "Dude, that is like the dream job.")

That being said, I think the guys who know me are supportive.  They just don't say so.  More than once Karla has accused us men as being "Socially Constipated."

However, there was that nagging doubt in the back of my mind about what I was about to embark on and how it was going to be perceived.  In fact I was kind of expecting some kind of sympathy card in the mail from some of my more "traditionally" minded friends:

"Dear Tom,
            I was sad to hear about the passing of your testicles.  Maybe, one day, they will grow back.  Call me when they do and we'll go fishing.

                                                          Signed,
                                                                ED"


As a society we have an unhealthy fixation on traditional roles.  I grew up with the whole, "a woman's place is in the home" and the man is "the bread winner."

Well, what if the woman is smarter than the man?

I make no bones about it, from an intelligence standpoint, I don't hold a candle to Karla.  She graduated from KU in three years with a degree in business.  My granddad absolutely loved her and always said, "That girl is sharp as a tack."

She loves the whole corporate environment and the idea of moving up the ladder; her organizational skills are incredible.  Me?  I want nothing to do with the corporate rat race and have a hard time just figuring out what I want to eat for supper.

So it's obvious to me that there is a role reversal playing itself out.  Karla came right out and said, "I love my kids, but if I don't work I will go crazy."  I, myself, love the idea of staying home and learning to cook and clean and being there when the kids get home.

So, here I am, doing my part to obliterate the idea of traditional roles, one dad at a time.

This whole experience, even though it's in it's infancy, has been a real eye opener for me.  My respect for women, while always healthy, has grown exponentially.  I honestly feel that if I ever need help all I will have to do is reach out......I will get an answer.  The ladies I've come into contact with have made me feel a part of the group.

Sadly, it doesn't work as well the other way.  If a woman wants to step into what is traditionally seen as a man's role she isn't met with quite the same enthusiasm from her male counterparts.  That needs to change.

If a woman is good enough to be a kicker for an NFL team then, by God, she should be able chase that dream without getting odd looks or becoming part of a media circus.

If a woman wants to be the CEO of a fortune 500 company and has the intelligence and tenacity to do it, then there should be no glass ceiling holding her down.

If a woman wants to be a plumber and show her butt crack to world just like all the other guys.  Then, by all means, have at it.

And in all those cases she should come home to the supportive husband that has been holding down the fort while she was playing the role of bread winner.

I understand my role......and I will do it to the best of my abilities.