Geeze Daddy!!

Grayson: “OK Daddy!! Geeeze!!!”

That’s the shit I’ve been hearing religiously these days.

All it takes is me telling the boy for the second time to please put his shoes on so we can take him to school.

Or to please take a bite of his cereal that’s been sitting there for the past 10 minutes.

Or to stop telling his 5-year-old sister that he knows she’s lying about the fact she dreamt about a unicorn and when she woke up it was standing in her room.

It’s contagious as hell too. Yesterday the wife happened to catch me walking naked to the bathroom so she immediately threw what she was carrying to the ground and screamed, “fine – let’s do this, let’s just knock it out – geeeeze!!!”

The life of a 7-year-old can be so hard, having to always feel entitled enough to throw-down in a split second claiming you’re owed so much more than what you’re getting.

The boy honestly believes the world is against him these days.

Grayson: “What’s for dinner tonight daddy?”

Me: “Hamburgers chief. Hamburgers, salad and corn-on-the-cob. Good eats my man!”

Grayson: “Awwww come on daddy!! You know I don’t like hamburger…geeeze”

At this point he’s walking out of the room like I told him I was going to run over his bike, kill his fish, and smash all is trophies.

Me: “Grayson…seriously? It’s hamburger. What kid doesn’t want a nice, juicy organic meat hamburger? I’ll even throw some cheese on that bad boy for ya!”

Grayson: “Can’t we have sushi?”

Me: “Seriously? Really Grayson, sushi? Are you buying? We can’t afford that Monsieur! Would you like some champagne with your meal?”

Grayson: “STOP DADDY!!! Not everyone likes the same thing!! Macy likes hamburger, I like sushi! GEEEZE!!!”

I don’t know what the solution is.

We put the smack-down on the boy from ever saying “geeeze” ever again. We’ve told him the world is not holding a major conference in downtown Chicago under the theme “How To Make Grayson’s Life Unfair, Unjust and Just Down Right Sucky.”

He’s a work in progress…like the girl…like the wife…like myself…like the blow-up doll in my basement that still wants me to take her out for dinner before we “get it on.”

A work in progress…

To My Wife On Our Anniversary

Twelve,

Who’d have thought?

I still remember each laugh.

I still remember each tear…and why.

On the pier we laid, vulnerable, ignorant, surrounded by nature and the love we now raise our children in.

I knew then what I know now,

Your strength is envious.

Contagious.

Our lives are far from perfect.

Our beliefs stray from the norm.

Our love has been more than challenged.

You’re undying kindness and devotion,

Is humbling and heart-warming.

The mornings we laid dreaming of years from now,

In the place we’ll call home,

Returning back to nature,

Together,

The two of us.

The journey getting there will be ours, remarkable, painful, revealing…

You are my hero.

You are my best friend.

You are my children’s mother.

You are my wife.

You are…everything I wish I was…

Can We Pleeeeease Have Sex?

My son’s obsession with the Wii has helped me realize I ask the wifey for sex WAY too much.

Every day I hear the car door slam quickly followed by the pitter patter of feet running and the high-pitched tones of children giggling and laughing. One of them usually slams themselves against the front door in the heat of victory over being the first to the house. A key rattles in the keyhole as the wifey yells “JUST A MINUTE GUYS!!! BACK-UP!!”

The front door opens unleashing a flurry of flying book-bags, coats, shoes, and a flustered wifey. The girl tears-ass upstairs to immediately change into her jammies. The boy? Like a bloodhound he drops to all fours with his wet slobbery nose just inches from the floor and begins sniffing for any scent that ultimately leads him to me.

Within seconds he’s spazzing-out on my lap saying, “daddy can we play Wii? Please? You said yesterday we could play Wii and we didn’t even get to play that long so I wanna play longer this time and will you play with me please daddy? Wii daddy? Daddy! Wii!”

Every day this happens. And I love spending time with the kid and playing Wii, but the incessant and persistent asking to play Wii drives me up the wall. First thing in the morning. First thing when he gets home. Before dinner. After dinner. In the grocery store. Picking him up from school. Wii Wii Wii fucking Wii!!!!!

Then, like a fresh splash of clean oil on a broken down 1950s engine, my brain starts to work and it hits me! “Holy shit! This must be how the wifey feels about me asking for sex constantly!!! Oh my baby jesus…I have got to STOP doing this to her or I’ll never have sex again!”

The more I think about it the more I start to shudder at the thought of how completely annoying and unattractive my “game” has been over the past….oh shit…over the past decade. In a panic I grabbed a sheet of paper, a pen, and dropped some Mr. Wizard knowledge into a chart to compare my son’s Wii obsession with must-mount-wifey-now obsession. Here’s a few examples of what my brain managed to contemplate.  

#1

The boy NEVER wants to play Wii alone. He’s emphatic that I join him every time and gets upset if I beg him to just play by himself for a bit.

I get upset and throw a temper-tantrum when the wifey’s answer to my sex request is, “why don’t you just go upstairs and take care of yourself?”

#2

When I play Wii with the boy, he has to sit right next to me with arms touching. So while I’m maneuvering Mario through his maze of snapping turtles and angry walking mushrooms, I get poked and prodded by the fidgety mini-me who’s wedged his body next to mine.

The wifey will be laying on the couch comfortably and peacefully and I’ll slowly climb my cumbersome 6’3” frame in between her and the back cushions causing the blanket to get all fucked-up, pushing her forward so she has to put an arm down to keep herself from falling off and I grab her ass while saying, “hey there little lady. Wanna fool around?”

#3

After playing Wii for a while with the boy I’ll make the announcement, “OK bud, five more minutes and then we’re done.” That’s always followed by a whiney, high-pitched, “awwwweee…come-on daddy! We just started playing. I don’t wanna stop in five minutes. Pleeeease?!”

The wifey and I will be in the middle of one of the most amazing sex sessions of humankind with birds chirping louder, rays of sun beaming brighter, and all is right in the universe when she’ll say, “we should go ahead and wrap this up.”

And I’m all, “Awwwweeee…come on honey!! But we just started! I don’t wanna stop, pleeeeease…just a little longer?”

After completing this exhaustive list I felt ashamed. I felt how a fly must feel after finishing therapy for obsessively flying around a cow’s ass for many years—empty and full of motivation to just apologize endlessly. And, I knew that’s just what I had to do.

So, I walked over to the wifey who had just stood up to go upstairs to bed and I threw my arms around her and hugged her passionately. And before I could utter the first sympathetic apology she said, “Fine! Let’s go upstairs and do it.”

('’)

Let's Get It On

So a kick-ass lady-friend of mine on Twitter, @nuckingfutsmama, and I were asked by the sexy, lovely, and talented @toywithme on Twitter, author of the blog “Toy With Me,” to do a collaborative post for her. I can only guess it’s because the last collaboration @nuckingfutsmama and I did, “The Bumpit, the Snuggie & a Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” was one of her most favorite things she ever read causing her to print it out for all her family and friends as holiday gifts, to wallpaper her house with it, and to paper mache the most perfect vibrator with.

“Toy With Me” is a blog geared primarily towards lady readers filled with hilarious, in-depth, thought-provoking, and just all around damn good writing about all aspects of sex. She has four regularly contributing writers and often accepts guest posts. I couldn’t recommend taking a gander through her phenomenal blog any stronger.

The super-mom @nuckingfutsmama is the mother of twins and wifey to a man who apparently loves dressing as a Russian on weekends and relaxes in the most ridiculous Christmas sweaters ever knitted together by little old ladies held captive by Santa. Check out her blog here and enjoy the ride of the hilarious insanity that makes her nuckingfuts.

On to the Collaboration

My partner in crime, Ms. @nuckingfutsmama and I have tossed together another lovely story entitled Let’s Get It On. I have written “The Husband” lines. She, of course, has written “The Wifey” lines. It’s nookie-night at the bustling family of four’s house and the journey of the two love birds coming together for the wondrous act of love making is captured, line-by-line, for your enjoyment in this kick-ass collaboration.

Hope you enjoy! Click here to read Let’s Get It On.

Time To Get Off This Spot

It’s been some time since I last updated on my current situation.

The summary…Big-eared, gap-toothed freak gets job in Chicago, lives in empty house on air mattress alone in Chicago while his family tries to sell their house in Virginia, four months later said family moves to Chicago, freak works at new job for exactly18 months before being given a choice to stay at half the salary or leave and get full salary for three full months…gap-toothed freak decides to leave after searching soul and talking with friends, colleagues and family.

December 1, 2009, was the first day of unemployment and the beginning of a pretty incredible internal journey. I woke up and had nowhere to go. The kids went to school, the wifey headed off to her job, and there I was…disheveled, hung-over from feeling sorry for myself the night before, scratching myself, and looking around the house thinking, “OK…now what?”

I had a brief explosion of support from my kick-ass Twitter peeps. I pimped my resume far and wide, and met and talked to some really great, helpful people.

This is a really bad comparison, but I imagine this is kind of what it’s like when you lose someone close to you. You find out who your true friends are and they rally around you. And, for a short time you feel like you can conquer the world. But then they leave because they have their lives to live. They have their families to take care of…

Then I found myself one early morning seven weeks later standing there, disheveled, hung-over from feeling sorry for myself the night before, scratching myself, and looking around the house thinking, “I have absolutely no place in this life.”

What used to be 5 a.m. daily runs have turned into 6:45 a.m. snooze-bar workouts.

I drink more than I should at night because…well because fuck it, I don’t have to work tomorrow.

I didn’t shave or cut my hair for weeks and was introduced by the wifey to the term “beard funk.”

My son was sitting on my lap the other day and reached out and poked my stomach.

I find myself regularly and randomly telling the cat secrets and make him “pinky-swear not to tell!!”

After interviewing for what would be my dream job, I got an email letting me know they’re “pursuing another candidate.”

Last week I spent the day with the executive director of a great organization here in the Chicago suburbs. I’ve worked with her since I’ve been in Chicago and she wanted to discuss a new position being created that she wants me to take. She has to go through the motions associated with advertising it, but when all is said-and-done, she says the job is mine. Of course I won’t consider it mine till the paperwork is signed and I’m on board, but still it’s a huge relief.

And as phenomenal and fortunate as that is, I’m still here in this spot. The spot where I’ve stood since the day I was let go. Watching life pass by each day. A ghost of me interacting with my family and friends. Self pity lurking in every corner ready to be grasped as an excuse when needed.

So why am I not happy with this very fortunate news? And I realized, I’m ecstatic with the news, I’m just not happy with myself and how I’ve handled this situation. And even more so—I think I’ve been waiting for someone to come by and pick me up, fix things, show me the new course to follow, then pat me on my ass and say, “now go get em tiger!”

But life doesn’t happen like that. Life’s going to continue with or without me—that much I have learned. And I’ve got such a great group of family and friends—but they all have their lives to lead too.

All you parents out there who’ve seen Nemo 4,398,219 times remember the scene when Marlin and Dory are with the turtles riding the East Australian Current and little Squirt gets tossed out into the still water. Crush, the father, says, “let us see what little Squirt does flying solo.”

It’s time for me to move off this spot. It’s time for me to cut the hair, trim the beard, get back in my regular routine, and leap back into the wild ride of the current of life I’ve ignored for too damn long. No one’s going to come out there and grab me and pull be back in. I’ve gotta do it on my own.