Tag: marriage

The women in my life make every moment matter

imageSitting on the edge of the bed this morning, I looked over at my wife’s slowly stirring figure. I watched her stretch beneath the blankets and finish with that little squeal that means it was a good stretch. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand like she always does. Her eyes focused and she slowly smiled at me.

I smiled back, knowing in that moment I was exactly where I was supposed to be in my life.

Before heading to work, I slipped a note into her lunch:

You make every day better because of loving you.

It made me think of how the women in my life — especially my wife, daughters and mother — are a constant inpiration, and how the gift of their presence is something worth celebrating every day.  Continue reading The women in my life make every moment matter

There shall be no eye rolling on Father’s Day

Child rolling her eyesI am a father with three teens. As a result, if a priest were to visit my home and witness the amount of eye rolling that occurs, he would schedule an exorcism faster than you can say “The Conjuring.”

I realize this is a teen thing, and that it’s not easy going through physical and emotional changes generally reserved for a full moon. I understand how the Molotov cocktail of hormones created during this time makes everything annoying, particularly when I say something insensitive such as, “Hi.”

However, come Father’s Day, I will remind my them about the recently discovered 11th Commandment, in which God said unto the teenagers of the world: “Thou shalt not eye roll thine parents. Tis truly annoying.”

They will immediately Google it and discover I’m making up this Commandment, at which point the whites of their eyes will begin that slow, exaggerated roll they know drives me nuts… and then they’ll remember:

Oh no, It’s Father’s Day.  Continue reading There shall be no eye rolling on Father’s Day

I promise this is the last time I’m going to be ‘sexy’

 

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Being chosen among 100 men to participate in The Public Blogger’s “Who Is the Sexiest Number” competition was hard enough for me to understand. The fact that it has come down to Thomas Lemke and myself during tonight’s finals round is even harder to fathom.

Not the Thomas part.

He’s definitely sexy.

In fact, if I wasn’t a ridiculously happily married heterosexual, I’d be all over that guy.

But me? A humorist nearing 50 who has already traumatized most of his readership after wearing a red thong? Then again, considering what is happening with this year’s presidential elections, it just goes to show anything can happen.  Continue reading I promise this is the last time I’m going to be ‘sexy’

It takes manliness to crawl under the house, even if you’re screaming

imageThere comes a time in every man’s life when he must set an example for his son by crawling under the house to fix something. This must be done with apparent fearlessness even though he knows whatever needs fixing is going to be located in the darkest corner of the home’s underbelly, probably behind a spider web the size of a commercial fishing net.

Several years ago, I used plywood to seal up the underside of our home and stop what I suspected were nightly “rave” parties hosted by our cat. These parties generally started around 11:30 p.m. and were held directly beneath our bedroom floor, where it sounded like 20 cats playing Twister. Naturally, I had no choice but to break up these parties by getting out of bed and shoving our 60-lb. Labrador headfirst through the crawl space in our closet floor.

My point is this: Sealing things up stopped the cat parties. Unfortunately, it also turned the crawl space under our home into a frightening black void where, thanks to evolution, a species of hairy, sightless, spider-like rodents with large fangs and the ability to mobilize telepathically has nested, colonizing into the hundreds.

Possibly even thousands.

I know this because I’ve shined a flashlight down there and — this is not an exaggeration — I’m pretty sure I saw something move.  Continue reading It takes manliness to crawl under the house, even if you’re screaming

I’m not exactly sure when “sexy” happened

imageI’ve seen a lot of strange things on Facebook;

Cats doing chin-ups.

A naked guy playing flaming bagpipes while riding a unicycle.

Kanye West.

But a few days ago, as I was scrolling through my Facebook notifications, I was tagged in a post with 35 others who had been listed as “The Neighborhood’s Sexiest Men.” I stared at it for a moment then, naturally, decided to restart my iPad.

Something was clearly wrong, like that time Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” started playing on my laptop and wouldn’t stop until the battery ran out.

I wasn’t about to re-live that nightmare again.

That’s when my wife came in and pointed to the same link, which she shared to her Facebook page with the comment, “Yep. That’s my HUSBAND!”  Continue reading I’m not exactly sure when “sexy” happened

That time I decided to quit writing

image Over the weekend, I had the chance to work with some young writers, one of whom asked me the proverbial question, “Did you always want to be a writer?”

I smiled, nodded my head and replied, “Oh, hell no.”

After an awkward silence, I went on to explain that I had been writing stories since I could chew a pencil eraser. And while it has always been a part of me, it wasn’t until making the conscious decision to give it up for a while that I truly understood the importance of writing in my life — and how, without it, I wasn’t completely me. However, without that experience, I would still be thinking of writing as a pursuit rather than what it really is:

Something that finds you. 

I quit writing  back in 2006. For almost a year. It had nothing to do with the typical kind of frustrations every writer faces, such as not having a readership or being told it’s time to “get serious” with your life by family, friends or every publisher on the West coast. It wasn’t the result of drug addiction or alcohol abuse, although I did find myself addicted to watching Grey’s Anatomy, which made me WANT to drink.  Continue reading That time I decided to quit writing

Why NASA will never let me order furniture

imageIt wasn’t until dragging our furniture onto the patio during our spring cleaning that I realized our couches looked like they were purchased from a crackhouse garage sale. After years of having the dogs rub themselves along the front, and motionless teenagers planted on the cushions for hours at a time, they were dirty, lumpy and misshapen.

And so were our couches.

After a discussion about the merits of keeping our old set and the cost of replacing them with a new one, my wife and I decided to go ahead and get rid of our old sofa and love seat.

Total elapsed time of this conversation: 11 seconds.

That includes the eight seconds we spent covering the couches with a tarp so no one else would see them. Naturally, before going to the furniture store, I needed to measure the wall and floor space in the livingroom to ensure we wouldn’t order the wrong size couches and end up having a conversation like this:

Me: Honey, would you like me to grab you a soda from the fridge?
My wife: Only if you’re going that way.
Me: It’s no trouble. The other end of the couch is in the kitchen anyway.  Continue reading Why NASA will never let me order furniture

Because it’s the moments that matter most

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Our lives are filled with moments, many of which pass us by without notice. We’re a busy society, afterall. Updating. Downloading. Plugging in. Rushing out. Tweeting. Streaming. Always planning ahead. Constantly feeling behind.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, we lose track of what really defines our lives and who we are — to others as well as ourselves. It’s not the texts or Tweets, posts or pins.

It’s the moments.  Continue reading Because it’s the moments that matter most

Today’s my day to #BeReal

imageAs I mentioned last week, I have the privilege of being today’s guest at Hasty Dawn’s amazing blog #BeReal, which is all about sharing a part of yourself honestly.

Some posts are so true that they’re hard to read.

Others help you realize you’re not alone.

But all of them offer a perspective and insight into the author that, many times, offers a new perspective into ourselves. A lot of you may be surprised to know there was a period in my life where my humor was, more than anything, a reflection of my unhappiness. It had become my coping mechanism. And I needed to find a way to embrace it as part of my identitiy in a way that was healthy and real, or risk losing myself to it.

Fortuately, I was blessed with someone who helped me find the way.

Click on the hot link (now I want sausage) and join me over at Hasty’s for my chance to #BeReal …

Monday, Hasty Dawn is giving me the chance to #BeReal

imageI’ve been a fan and follower of Hasty Dawn’s terrific #BeReal blog series for quite a while, marveling at the honesty and insight shared by folks revealing their truths in the hopes of helping others — either through offering perspective or inspiration. Sometimes, it’s just good to know you aren’t the first or last person to tread a particular piece of painful territory. Monday, I have the privilege of being a guest at #BeReal with my own moment of truth — and the difference between embracing humor as a part of my identity or slowly being smothered by it.

Here’s a short preview…

As a humor columnist, I get paid to be a truth-stretcher. An embellisher. A chronicler of life blown out of proportion. And I get to do it without living in Washington D.C. It’s a skill my mother will tell you I began honing at a young age — usually as a way of getting out of trouble. Again, it’s a wonder I didn’t go into politics.

However, I decided to use my skills for the greater good by becoming a writer instead.

Early in my career, I was in a very unhappy marriage. It lasted 15 years because I got good at not being real. Often, I wrote about my married life in a humorous way by portraying myself as the bungling husband always falling short of his smarter, more capable wife. It kept the peace and also gave me an escape. But while it generated laughter for readers, it also generated an identity that I grew increasingly uncomfortable with. My ex-wife, who was a successful business woman, would introduce me to clients at parties or dinners as “the silly guy they’ve read in the newspaper.”

They expected me to be the same silly guy. Always.  Continue reading Monday, Hasty Dawn is giving me the chance to #BeReal