Thursday, April 24, 2014

So I Have This Garden....

It's a dreary, rainy day; Toby's track meet has been canceled (oh well, he was sick anyway) and Mario, my scatterbrained Shih Tzu, is totally freaking out and won't stray more than a couple of steps away from me.

"Dude, relax....There's nothing I can do for you."

I felt bad for the little flea bag.  For about two hours he would occasionally go to the door, asking to go to the bathroom -- and when I opened the door he would see the rain, stick his tail in between his legs, and slink back to his doggie bed.

"You know what, I can hold it."

Finally the pressure in his tiny canine bladder became too much.  He was literally shaking as he gingerly made his way to the front door.  I opened it and had my foot ready to boot him out in case he started to change his mind.  It's not that I wanted to boot him; I just had no burning desire to clean an ammonia scented yellow puddle off the floor.  I told myself that if I had to give him the boot then it was for his own good....Tough love, if you will.

But I'm proud to say that I didn't have to give Mario the inspirational Nike.....Looking back on it, it was probably a good thing too.....I may have ended up with a shoe saturated with pee.....Blech....

Mario bolted out the door and as soon as his paws hit grass he squatted.  He was shaking and totally scared out of his gourd the whole time he was going to the bathroom.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!!!!!  For the love of Pete, why can't I pee faster?!"

As soon as he finished he ran as if he had been caught out in the middle of a firing range; he couldn't get back inside fast enough.  He jumped into the house, made for his doggy bed, and promptly passed out.

I'm thinking he's been asleep for about an hour now.  It's been a trying day for him.

But, my mutt's ombrophobia wasn't really going to be the point of this blog.  I have, once again, succeeded in getting distracted and veering way off topic.....Well, no.....That's not true.  I can't veer off topic if I never mentioned what I was going to write about in the first place.

No, today's topic was supposed to start with rain and end with my garden......So, let's go there now, shall we?

Normally when it rains I find myself disappointed because rain means no baseball/softball.  But since I planted my garden last weekend I suddenly find myself almost giddy at the thought of watching my garden grow......I must be getting old.

I had been talking a lot lately about how I couldn't wait to get out this spring and plant my first ever garden.  But then, just recently, I remembered that I had, in fact, tried this once before when Toby was about two or three.  I don't really remember if the garden turned out a success or not.  But I do remember Toby hitting me in the back of the head with a hoe.  Yes sir, it was an awesome father/son bonding experience.

Little Toby had gotten a little garden tool set and was eager to use it.  The hoe was shaped like a heart; the bottom of the heart was pointed and just sharp enough to break the skin but just dull enough as to not bury itself deep into an adult cranium.

Toby and I had just thrown a seed into a hole.  I bent over to cover it; Toby took a mighty swing with his hoe.  His logic behind such a move still escapes me.....

I didn't know a toddler could swing that hard.  The little shit brought the hoe down on the back of my head and nearly drove my face into the ground.  I shot to my feet, held my head, and screamed as I did the stupid man dance across the yard.  I think the only thing that kept me from getting stitches was my ball cap.

After the dance was over I turned to face my son.  I was so mad that I had every intent of yanking that little hoe out of his chubby little hands and breaking it in half over my knee.

But before I even started to reach over, Toby looked up at me with those bright blue eyes and smiled with those chubby little cheeks and said sweetly........"I sorry...."

Sigh........Rage gone.....Annihilated by cuteness.

"It's okay....Just be a little more careful, ok?"

"Ok, Dad...."

How in the world did I manage to forget something as traumatic as that?  Toby will grow stronger and hit harder but I seriously doubt that anything outside of running me over with his car will ever hurt as bad as that damn toddler sized hoe......Cripes.

Hmm.  I still haven't gotten to my garden yet, have I?

OK, I promise.....Garden talk, from here on out.  I will abbreviate it since I've already written a bunch.....(Editing?  What's that?)

First off, the ground in my yard isn't all that great; rocks and clay mainly.  As a result I have gone through three quarters of my compost for a garden roughly eight square feet in size.

Speaking of compost, I am about to show how much of a gardening neophyte I am.  I don't know why but the thought never occurred to me that I would find bugs in my compost....Well, duh, dumb ass. Take a moment to think about what you are throwing in there.

As soon as I saw the first roach I knew that I could never ask Tera to get compost out of the bin.  She is a tomboy about everything EXCEPT bugs.

Spiders are the worst.  It goes something like this:  Tera sees spider, Tera screams, Tera kills it.....I swear she puts so much fear and malice into her stomp that I'm thoroughly convinced that someday she is going to break her foot.

"Oh my God, that's so gross!!!!"

Once Tera screamed on our walk home from school; a spider was crawling across the sidewalk.  I placed my hand upon her shoulder and stopped her.

"You know," I said, "Spiders are our friends.  They eat other bugs."

Tera:  "NOT IF THEY'RE DEAD!!!!"

STOMP......"THAT IS SO GROSS!!!!"

Yeah, okay.....Never mind.

Dammit....Garden.....I'm supposed to be writing about my garden......

Aw, crap, I give up.  I'm just too distracted today......I have a garden.....You're just going to have to take my word for it.  Maybe I'll write another blog along with photographic evidence later this summer.

I have a garden....Seriously, I do....

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Don't Cry....

In the movie A League of Their Own Jimmy Dugan, the manager of the Rockford Peaches, once yelled that there is no crying in baseball.

While that may be true, the same cannot be said for softball where crying just seems to be part of the gig.  Well, at least for ten and under girls it is.

I'm getting better at dealing with it, but I still find the whole crying thing uncomfortable.

Allow me to specify on the art of crying.  I have found in girls sports that there are two kinds of crying.  The first is the angry cry.  This is when a girl is crying but you can see flames and absolute hatred flickering in her eyes.  Oddly, it's our youngest and smallest girl on the team who is the angry cryer.  I can still see her stomping her way out of the batter's box and to the dugout with tears streaming down her cheeks but with that "I'm gonna rip somebody's head off" look. I can't remember if she wears batting gloves but if she doesn't I would be willing to bet that I could see her tiny hands white knuckling the bat as she yells "That ball was high!!!!!"  I'll have to keep an eye on that....

Now that kind of crying I can handle.  This emotion falls well within the boundaries of competitive fire and determination.  I'm good with the angry cryer.

It's the second type of cry that I have an incredibly hard time dealing with.  I'm not even sure what to call it........  It's the look more than the tears that bother me; that look of a sweet, innocent, little girl who just saw her puppy get run over by a tank on the highway.

It's enough to burn a hole in my stomach.

My first encounter with it came during 8U competitive ball.  Our shortstop at the time was (and is) a really good kid; great work ethic, great attitude...She's the kind of kid that coaches love to work with.

In 8U you are allowed to have a coach on the field for defense.  I took my spot between center and left field, right behind our little shortstop.  Tera was standing beside me in left field.

There were runners on first and second when the ball was smashed straight to C., who quickly gobbled it up.  The runner on second was late leaving the bag and I got excited thinking that this was going to be an easy double play.  All C had to do was tag the runner that was coming towards her and then touch second base.  This couldn't have worked out any better for us.

So I yelled "tag" as I pointed to the baserunner coming at her.

Unfortunately, Tera stepped into the coaching role and yelled "Go three!!!"

C, hearing both instructions simultaneously, became visibly confused, did a 360, held the ball, and did absolutely nothing; everyone was safe as a result.  She was still holding the ball when the ump called for time and thus a golden opportunity had been squandered.  The bases were now loaded with nobody out.

I gave Tera the stink eye and curtly told her that her job was to play, not to coach.

"Sorry."

Ugh.....

Then I turned my attention to C. who was still holding the ball, her back turned to the infield and staring directly at me.  At that moment in time all things around me ceased to exist.  There was no field, no teams, no ball game, no cheering parents.  There was just a little girl with the most heart wrenching look on her face.  That look as if to say, "All is lost.....The world has come to a disastrous end."

Then.......the bottom lip poked out and began to quiver.  And I went into full on panic mode.

"Oh, no.....No,no,no,no.no.....Please, don't.........Aaaaaw, maaaan."

C started to cry.  Her chest heaved and her body shook as copious amounts of lacrimal fluid poured out of her eyes and streaked down her dirty little face.  The play was over for everyone but her......her little dog was a greasy splat mark on the highway and she helplessly (and incorrectly) felt as if it were her fault.  The pain in her eyes was enough to sadden even the most hardened individual.  I shuddered as I felt a chill run up my spine.

Sniff....."Can you help me save my puppy, mister?"

Shit.....er, I mean, crap..... (I try to watch my mouth around the girls)

It was an awkward moment frozen in time.  To this day I can still see the look on her face; a haunting look that I really don't care to see again.

For a moment I simply didn't know what to do.  Up to this point I had always coached boys; and when a boy cries you tell him to "suck it up" or "be a man" or "get it under control or you're going to the bench".  But, quite frankly, I was totally afraid that if I were to use that tactic on this distraught little girl the end result would be an unhappy set of parents paying for expensive therapy once a week.

Sniff...."He wouldn't help my puppy.....wwwwwaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!"

I am so bad at dealing with awkward situations that I have been accused by Karla of being emotionally constipated.  So, needless to say, I was totally out of my element in this situation.

Picture, if you will, a newborn baby giraffe attempting to walk for the first time.  That's about as graceful as I was throughout this whole rotten endeavor.

I sheepishly made my way up to her.  C, physically, was already broke down, on the balls of her feet, ready for the next play.  Mentally, I could see that she was still stinging from the last play; the tears were still streaming down her face.

Shi.....I mean, crap.....

I felt like an uncoordinated goof ball as I put an arm around her with all the smooth subtlety of a battle axe to the forehead.  I managed to ask her if she was okay and, of course, she lied and nodded her head yes; her bottom lip still poked out and quivering.

Ok....what do I say?  What do I say?  Damn it, Tom, think!!!!!

"Um, good.  Don't, uh, yeah, don't worry about it.  You're fine, the play is over.  Let's concentrate on this one."

I quickly left and resumed my position in the outfield.

Yeah.......Emotionally constipated....Cripes.

That incident happened a couple of years ago.  From that time up till just this last weekend I have seen several girls cry and have gotten fairly good at dealing with it.......Then, it happened again.

Our center fielder, pitcher, catcher, first baseman, utility, band aid, shit we need somebody to play here -er ----- is a REALLY quiet girl.  So quiet I swear that I have seen her smile more than I have heard her talk.  And when she talks to you, you have to lean WAY over and strain so that you can hear her.  Just like C, she's a hard worker who never complains and never has to be told to hustle.  Just like C, she's a coach's dream and a real joy to work with.

So after a game that we lost, I'm caught totally off guard when I see her slunk down in a chair, tears streaming down her cheeks. The very picture of abject misery...

 "I've lost my puppy.......will you help me find him?........sniff"

OH......CRAP......

Now I had already dealt with one melt down during the game and thought that I handled it fairly well.  But this new situation reminded me way too much of the incident with C.  I quickly averted my eyes and tried to get my heart back out of my stomach.

"What's wrong with her?" Karla asked, "Is she okay?"

And that's when I chickened out...."She'll be alright....She's with her family; I'm sure they have it under control."

I already talked to one crying player today....I've reached my quota.  I'm sure she is fine.

Chicken shit......

I talked to Karla a couple of hours later and we concluded (Karla said)  that I needed to reach out to make sure that the girl was ok.

I didn't call for fear of hearing a gut wrenching story......I just wasn't prepared for that.  So I text the girls mom instead, praying her daughter wasn't upset about something I may have said or did.   But, to my immense relief, she was okay.....She was just disappointed that we lost.

Mom and Dad had it under control and I couldn't be happier about it.

But, next time I know I will need to man up and do a better job of dealing with it.  I am her coach, after all.....

Man,  I sure hope this gets easier as the girls get older.  This whole crying thing can't go on forever, can it?

There IS crying in softball......Boy, is there crying in softball....

I guess if I were to compare baseball to a movie it would be Conan the Barbarian...It's manly, it's tough, there is NO crying.

Softball is Conan the Barbarian that somehow got remnants of The Notebook written into the script; and this old baseball player still finds moments where the sappy sadness is too much to deal with.  Holy Moly, girls, it's just a game...Please, stop with the waterworks........

I'd almost rather have someone go stark raving nuts and break things in the dugout than to have some poor girl go through an emotional meltdown.  I completely understand anger and am equipped to deal with it.

I wonder if I can get my little angry cryer to teach the other girls how to cry angry?.......That would make me fell much better about things.

"Have you seen my puppy, mister?.....Sniff....."

Shit.........

Friday, April 11, 2014

Odds and Ends from the Ball Park...

So, you like white uniforms?
Before taking over the household duties I had never given white uniforms much of a thought.  For almost every baseball team Toby played on his pants were white; which drove Karla up a wall.

"Why do they have to be white?!" she would cry out in disgust, "Doesn't anyone know how hard it is to get the stains out of those things?"

I don't know how many times I had over heard Karla cussing as she ground a bar of Fels Naptha soap into Toby's soiled uniform, ran it through the wash on hot, and then do it all over again.  But, without fail, those pants always came out looking immaculate.....even if only until the next game.

During this time I played the role of oblivious husband. (I swear it was unintentional.)

"Wow, that sucks." I would say.  But it wasn't really that heartfelt because I truly didn't appreciate just how rotten a job this truly was.  I was just saying the right thing, being a supportive husband.

"Okay....Well, I'm gonna hit the sack.  G'nite."  I close the bedroom door so I don't have to hear the cussing and the washer door slamming shut.

So you should have seen Karla's face the moment we made the decision that I should stay home.  The very first words out of her mouth were, spoken in a very strong and authoritative voice, "YOU get to clean the uniforms."

When I saw the grin and the look as if she had just been rescued from the fiery pits of Hell, I knew I was in for a real shit job.

The shit job got even worse when Toby AND Tera's uniforms not only had white pants, but came with piping down the side..(A colored stripe)

"What are you smirking about?" I asked Karla.

Karla pointed to the piping on the pants, "You can't bleach those."

Shit.......

Toby had his first tournament last weekend...... with day one on red dirt.

Tera had team pictures and then practice afterwards....They must have worked on sliding in the outfield that day. Or, knowing Tera, she decided to go for a wallowing roll through the grass.

I went through almost half a jar of my homemade laundry soap.  I would scrub it into the pants, wash it on hot, pull them out of the washer, scream out in agony, and do it all over again; a tedious process indeed.

With Toby's pants I scrubbed and ran the pants through the washer twice before I got all the stains out....Or so I thought; I found a spot that I missed after it already ran through the dryer.  Dammit.

I've ran Tera's pants through the wash three times and still have a nasty little grass stain on the left pant leg.

This....Flat out....Sucks.

I'm lobbying for either black pants next year or outsourcing this shit job to someone who desperately needs some money.

Ugh....Only thirteen more tournaments and fourteen league games to go......


Falling off the vegetarian wagon...

Only three games into the season and I have already hit the fast food.

I didn't plan out our first tournament very well at all.  I didn't go out and buy healthy snacks and bottles of water.  I didn't get lunch meat to make sandwiches for the kids.  With Karla out of town on business I got wrapped up in other things simply forgot.

Taco Bell, anyone?

Dammit.....

That's ok....It's only a small whole in the dyke.  Plug up it and try again.  We will not live on fast food this ball season.


Love playing at the lake.....

Playing at the Lake is an awesome experience;  I love it when the boys play there.  With a turf field, big scoreboard, and an actual dugout (which have heaters built into the ceiling, by the way), it kind of gives you get that big league feel.  I just turn into one big dopey kid when we get to play there.  Sometimes I wonder if the boys appreciate it as much as I do.  I'm guessing probably not because playing at the Lake is just a normal part of the routine for them.

They got it good and I couldn't be happier for them.  Hell, I didn't get my first full uniform until I was in high school.  As little kids we played in our blue jeans and then moved up to sweat pants when we got a little older.

I remember playing at ball fields that didn't have a fence.  The boundary was either a tree line or a corn field --- which is actually kind of cool when I look back on it.  These boys will never play on a field like that -- so it's old school -- and a great story to share.

I can't imagine how I would have reacted if I ever had a chance to play on a turf field.  Knowing how I was -- a kid with a really short attention span -- I'd have gotten so caught up in my surroundings that I would have to be reminded that there was a game going on.

It happens to me at every ball field, but especially so at the Lake.  When I'm there all my worries disappear; it's just me and the beautiful game of baseball.  If this old sinner is lucky enough to get through the pearly gates I hope there's a ball field on the other side.  That and my family would be all I really need.

Life is good........  :)



Thursday, April 3, 2014

Am I doing the right thing?

What's it been, ten, eleven months since I left the full time work force?  Wow.....Time flies.

To be completely honest I don't miss it that much.  I can honestly say that cleaning the house, shopping, putting food on the table (well, ok, dumping stuff in the crock pot) and running my kids all over hell and high water has been the most satisfying job I have ever had --- even if my boss says I clean like a man..... (I still think the toothbrush in the corners of the baseboards is a little excessive ---- which is why I haven't done it....Yeah, I'm a rebel......I'd burn my bra if I had one.)

I feel like the stress level for both Karla and I has gone down dramatically.  I feel like I get to spend quality time with the kids; that I can actually take the time to enjoy watching them grow up.

But there is still a small part of me that wonders if I'm doing the right thing.

Now as far as the stigma of being a stay at home dad is concerned; I don't wonder about that at all. It really doesn't bother me and it has never been a problem as far as how I have been viewed by others.

Growing up in a household where the line of thinking was "Be a man" and  "Provide for your family" I was actually kind of expecting to catch a little bit of a rash from my dad.  He was the bread winner and mom stayed home....That is the way things should be as the old school line of thinking goes.

  But he has actually been really cool about it.  If he does have any reservations about me staying home he has done a marvelous job of keeping it to himself.

I find it absolutely incredible that there are still men in this world that firmly believe that a woman's place is in the home.  I've asked this question before and I will ask it again -- well, what if the woman is smarter than you?  Is it fair to keep your best player on the bench?

Make no doubt about it, Karla is the bread winner in this family.  While she graduated from KU in three years I bombed out of college after two semesters.  (It was bad enough that when I went back I had to take an academic fresh start......I'm proud to say that when I left college the second time, though I didn't finish, I left with a 3.6 GPA)

Karla has since used her degree to move up the corporate ladder......I took a factory job.

It's not hard to see who has the most potential for growth in the job market.

No, a woman's place is not in the home.....A woman's place is where she feels she needs to be in order to be happy.

And, no, I don't feel like any less of a man because I wash dishes and fold laundry.

But, in all fairness, given the way that I along with other men have been raised, I understand the logic.  I have to admit that at first I kind of felt like a free loader.....Men are supposed to making money, dammit.

Ok....I kind of veered off course a little....Sorry.


I mentioned that I worked in a factory......That is the main concern that I have, so let's go back to that.

I realize that the longer I am out of the job market the tougher it will be to get back in should the need arise.  I'm middle aged and have no skill set and it would be a tough task indeed to find anything that pays barely above minimum wage.

By giving up on college and happily taking a factory job I had, unknowingly at the time, did myself a huge disservice. No, worse than that....I totally screwed myself.

  Without a degree or some type of skill set my resume wasn't even worth cheap toilet paper. (I do have a DIPLOMA in computer networking.....A source of extreme aggravation.  I was told at the time that this fledgling program  the tech school offered  should be an associates degree by the time I finished and that I could transfer my credits to a four year university. The paper work had been submitted and was waiting for approval.

Yeah, that never happened.  To rub salt in the wound I had to have the honest recruiter who told me that the switch from diploma to associates degree hadn't been approved yet and there was a possibility that it wouldn't happen.  Another recruiter flat out lied and told everyone he recruited that it was a done deal.  Those people sued and got their money back.......All I have to show for whole rotten endeavor is my diploma, and I'm not so sure that I didn't throw it away.....GRRRRR....)


My next job after I left the factory barely covered half of my old wages.  That, was an eye opener.  It made me glad that I wasn't a guy in my late 50's, suddenly cut loose and having to find a job that would pay all his bills.  For an experienced, long in the tooth, factory worker, his chances of finding a job comparable to what he had are very, very, slim.  Sure he could get on at another factory but he will most likely have to come in at entry level.  Good bye house, good bye car, good bye former life.

That just sucks.

Fortunately, we are in a very good place financially.  Thanks to ten painful years of Dave Ramsey's financial peace I don't have to get a high paying job should something happen and Karla suddenly finds herself unemployed.  But the ugly truth is that, financially, I simply won't be able to provide for the kids the way Karla can; not even close.  Should the family have to rely on me to bring home the bacon, we would have to drastically change our lifestyle.  No more competitive sports, no more big vacations, no more frivolous purchases.

Plus Karla and I really want to help pay for their college expenses so they can graduate and not start off life with a mountain of debt.

Yeah, minimum wage ain't gonna cut it.

There are very few things about my life that I would want to go back and change.....But college, or at least a legitimate vo tech, is definitely one thing I would tackle should I ever be given a do over.  (I wouldn't do it....But the thought of burning down the tech school where I got my diploma did cross my mind.  I was temporarily filled with mirth.)

Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake leaving the work force in the first place.

I occasionally will sit on the couch and think about all the money I gave up by staying home.  Lord, the house could be completely fixed up.  We could be going on vacations/road trips every few months.  The kids college funds would be looking good and, who knows, I might even be driving that Cadillac that I have always wanted.

Am I doing the right thing?

But then I remember the house being an absolute disaster because no one was home long enough to clean it.  I can still hear Toby yelling, "Dang it, I'm out of clean underwear."

I remember eating a lot of really bad food because we didn't have time to cook a good meal. We were dependent on fast food and the microwave.

As a result of eating like crap Karla and I, in turn, felt like crap.....and my waistline got a little larger.

And most of all I remember being dead tired as I would run frantically from one kids activity to another.  Get off work, run home and get the kids, run back out the door, come home after dark.  I remember getting to bed late and struggling to get out of bed the next morning......I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, grimacing when I thought about the days schedule......Shit, I'll be lucky to get home by ten tonight.

I remember our poor dogs having accidents in the house because we didn't get home in time to let them out.

I remember when Monster drinks were just a regular part of the routine......and I still fell asleep at work.

You know what?....I'm an idiot.  No, really.....I am....

I can't believe I actually just sat here and wondered about making a choice between money and my family.  That's incredible....

Money isn't everything, dammit........Family is.

I am never, EVER, going to sit here and think about this ever again.....I will not second guess myself.

I.... am.... doing..... the right thing.