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hey work, see ya in july

Holy crap internet peoples.  Today is the day.  At 5pm today I’ll be done with work for seven weeks.  Seven weeks!

I can scarcely comprehend it at this point.  It still doesn’t feel real.  I went out for beers with a friend tonight, we needed to catch-up, been too long.  We had a few drinks and talked about things and now I’m back home listening to Sonic Youth’s “Teenage Riot” on repeat.  A masterpiece of early indie which emotes perfectly where I’m at right now.  Seven weeks! Today the RV place called me to let me know they were “readying” our coach; cleaning, preparing, tuning.  It was just another sign; an earthquake or a plague of locusts or the seas turned red as blood.  The tip is nigh!  Noah knew, so can you!

What’s more, around 1pm today I stopped what I was doing at work and took stock for minute to realize… I was done.  My mile-long list, my ambitious pre-trip to-dos, everything: finished.  All done one day early.  A whole day to spare.  A giddy feeling overcame me as I realized that I’d done it – I’d bested almost all of the guilt over leaving by getting things done and readied and left in the best state possible for my absence.  As we shirts at the sawmill are fond of saying, I did my “due diligence.”  And I was proud.  Proud that I didn’t short-time the whole thing, proud that I gave my best until the last, proud that I wasn’t “abandoning” things without at least giving them a push in the right direction.

We pickup the vehicle Friday morning.  Our friends are throwing us a farewell fête that same evening which I am very much looking forward to, and am planning to actually drive the RV to.  Saturday is pack-up the vehicle day.  The plan for Sunday, departure day, is to drive the thing to church for early service and then actually hit the road immediately afterward.  From God’s parking lot then, it begins with just one step.  I am nervous and excited and thrilled to have enough time away from work to truly forget and disconnect.  That… that I am looking forward to.

Enough three-beer writing… it never looks as good in the morning anyway.

Goodnight folks and goodbye work.

Next blog here should be from the road… Keaton’s blog will be updated before that.

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thursday is my last day

Happy Tuesday internet.  It’s gonna be another humdinger for me.

The friend Sharaun had lined-up to watch Keaton and Cohen Monday so I could go into work called Sunday evening to tell me that her own kid was sick.  Fever, up-chucking, the whole nine yards.  Without any time to secure alternate options, I fell on my sword and decided to try and do the whole workday from home with both kids.  This, friends, is not easy – particularly if you have a precious four workdays left before leaving for seven weeks and need every minute to be bursting with productivity.  I did my best, and would say I was about 85% as good as I could’ve been at my desk.

Keaton, bless her, truly bless her, helped me entertain Cohen.  In exchange I delegated her parenting to Disney cartoons, computer time, and coloring.  I felt bad about it, but I had no choice in the matter.  Thankfully she handled it well and really did manage to keep herself busy (and not all of it was in front of the TV, either… she played dollhouse and colored and even spent some time practicing reading).  She can be an absolute angel when she wants to.  With the exception of the thirty minutes between noon and 12:30pm I had meetings all day.  My ears hurt from the earbuds I use to take calls (Bluetooth is terrible; never works and is too much trouble, wired is where it’s at).  Cohen also behaved, napping when I needed to chair meetings and eating well when I could borrow time to feed him.

Around 10am Sharaun called and let me know she missed her flight out of Miami and there was a chance she’d not make it home until Tuesday (today as you read, I know it’s confusing but I write a day in advance).  Luckily that didn’t happen because, man, I couldn’t do another one of these days.  Not to mention, I really couldn’t; I absolutely have to be in the office Tuesday through Thursday.  Thursday – my last day.  Holy crap Thursday, which is three day from now, is my last day for seven weeks.  Seven weeks on the road.  Seven weeks to let my mind wander.  Seven weeks.  Oh man, I am ready.  I am counting down.  Battling the mainspring and winning for once.

Goodnight.

 

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dad did it

It’s Saturday as work on this entry begins.  Day four as Mr. Mom.  Over the hump and with aplomb, I might add.

Presently it is 6:30am.  It’s that time of year where it’s light outside beginning around 5am here in California so it doesn’t feel so early when judged by surroundings.  But it is early; early to have Cohen up, bathed, and fed already.  Early to already have a load of laundry out of the washer and into the dryer.  Early to be on my third cup of coffee.  By eight o’clock Cohen will be back asleep… somehow the whole schedule slid forward by about an hour and a half when I was waking everyone so early to get them fed and readied before the daycare drop-off.

I’m not complaining.  I’m enjoying my morning.  Keaton’s still sleeping and I decided the grey skies outside were calling for a spin of Steely Dan’s sophomore record, Countdown to Ecstasy. (Note: somewhere in the middle of this paragraph a lot of time passed, that’s how writing goes.) In fact these days with just the kids and I have really been a blessing.  I kind of lost myself in it this weekend; stopping once to think how great it was to be able to do nothing but lounge on the floor playing peekaboo with Cohen or coloring with Keaton.  I like to think of it as a preview of the coming seven weeks on the road: plenty of time to spend enjoying my family and the fun we can have together seeing and doing new things.

Sunday after church (which, I should add, I was early for – not a regular occurrence) I decided that I’d take the kids out for lunch.  I didn’t feel like making their lunches and I’d already half-planned to do something so I’d packed food and bib and spoon and snacks for Cohen in the diaper bag.  Part of me knew it could be disaster… one parent and two kids in a busy restaurant, but another part of me anticipated the challenge – and even more so anticipated looks.  Dads… you know what “looks” I’m talking about: The “Oh gosh what a good dad he must be!” looks you seem to get whenever you’re out just you and the young’ns.  I thought I’d written about it before but I can’t seem to find it.

Anyway, dad’s out mom-less with their kids really do stand to get a swollen head.  People look and point and nudge and talk, it’s a good feeling but part of me also thinks it’s sad that being a “good dad” is something rare enough that we have a warm emotional reaction when we see someone doing it.  But, whatever, I’ll take it gladly.  It might help that Sharaun and I made some fierce-cute kids, like cute enough to strip the hide of a live steer – or some other such meaningful expression of a hearty cuteness.  It might also help that we’d come straight from church and I’d taken care to dress both kiddos as sharply as possible (y’know, to prove to the parishioners that this lone-dad has it going on… and to get those fond smiles from the pews as well…).  The image accompanying this post shows what sort of merchandise I was showing-out.

Sharaun get’s back today (Monday, not the “today” of writing), and it couldn’t come soon enough.  Goodnight.

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i’m that dad

Today was the first of my six days without Sharaun.  By now she’s on her cruise ship and is giddy with some pre-teen New Kids on the Block fever.

The day started early as Sharaun was busy getting up and out around 4am.  I slept poorly after she left, tossing and turning until the alarm woke me at 5:30am.  I had a 7am meeting I needed to be on, one of those things where your manager’s manager’s manager would be asking your opinion on something.  Before that, however, I had to get Cohen over to the house of our kind friend who offered to watch him today.  We pulled into her driveway at 6:40am; not too bad.  Keaton colored groggily in the car, waiting while I dropped off Cohen and gave some terse guidance around his daily routine.

We left around 6:50am, somehow found time to run through the McDonalds drive-thru and grab some McGriddles and still make it back to the house by 7am on the dot. I dialed into my call and we ate while I sat on mute waiting to be called on.  The call went the full hour and afterward Keaton and I were out of the house and on the road again by ten after.  Sharaun had made arrangements for Keaton and Cohen to go to a local daycare on the days I had to work, the sawmill offers employees a complimentary week of daycare per child per year for just this kind of situation.  Since the ratio of teachers to babies is higher than teachers to fiver year olds, they had room for Keaton every day but could only fit Cohen in on two of them.

I have to admit, I was probably more nervous than Keaton whilst dropping her off.  She had told me in the car that she might be “shy” and keep to herself… letting me in a little on her through process, knowingly or not.  I tried to play it smart, I walked her to her classroom, introduced her to her teachers, and promptly gave her a big hug and kiss before turning quickly to leave.  I didn’t want to linger, as I was worried it might give her feet time to cool and re-think how “OK” she was being left there.  I caught her by surprise, I think, doing the whole drop-off so ninja-quick.  Out of the corner of my eye as I was leaving I saw a look of trouble and doubt blooming on her face and, although my heart was exploding at seeing it, I strode firmly out the door without a lingering glance or any hesitation.

OK so when I got to the car I nearly had to fight back tears.  Keaton can be “sensitive” socially.  She seems to care, already, at this age, about how people receive her and she wants to be liked.  I could tell she was nervous and shy and more than a little worried about fending for herself among this classroom thick with well-established friendships.  (Or maybe it was all in my head… and I was just projected the old social fears I myself once had onto my daughter, who knows.)  I guess it’s fair to say I was feeling anxious on her behalf, hoping she made quick buddies and fit in and had a good time.   And yeah, I’ll admit that I called the place at noon to get a halfway-point status report.  I’m that dad, apparently.

Happy to say, though, that Keaton loved her day at daycare and is excited to go back tomorrow.  She made friend and they palled around together most of the day; they had music time and she learned new songs; they had an art table that she stuck close to; she had hot dogs and vegetables and tots for lunch.  Not only that, Cohen was a good kid for our friend, napping per schedule and being generally all-around awesome.  After day one, I’m feeling up.  Also could’ve helped that the day at work was busy enough that I didn’t really have time to worry about anything but the present…

I got this dad stuff licked.  Hurry home, mama; we miss you!

What a boring entry.  I’d go back and delete it were I not just happy to have written. Goodnight.

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last trim till july

Two Mondays ago I trimmed my beard for the final time before our big trip.  When we get back, it’ll be with some eight weeks of growth hanging off my face.

I don’t mean shaving (or, perhaps “shaping,” better put).  I’ll still shave, both my head and to shape my beard the way I like it – I just won’t go over the whole of the growth with clippers to keep it to a certain length.  So it won’t be entirely unruly, but it will probably be very unattractive.  I don’t grow a good beard; I’m missing the upper-lip and goatee areas… just don’t grow there.  So what I can do is what I can do.  There is something… manly… or primitive, about not shaving (OK about half-shaving, in this case).  There’s a Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young song where David Crosby talks about a hippie guy who’s considering cutting his hair.  In the song, obviously enough called “Almost Cut My Hair,” Crosby says he didn’t cut his hair because he feels “like letting his freedom flag fly.”  I like that.  In my case though I’m more like unfurling my freedom shag (supposed to be a carpet analogy).

I know I will likely look ridiculous, but I believe this is an essential part of this third-life crisis.  Not only will I wear a belt buckle that has a picture of an RV on it (no, really, Sharaun and Keaton bought me one as a gift – it’s the featured image alongside this post) and a leather cowboy hat, I will be sporting an unruly beard to boot.  In my head this is my road persona… some dust-caked nomad tumbling over hill and dale and stopping for club sandwiches in forgotten diners.  Except I’ll be toting my family along with me, a clean and well-manicured suburban unit which’ll no doubt appear mismatched with my shabby disarray.  OK, OK, I admit… the whole “dust caked” and “shabby disarray” thing is only the glam in my head… people will see me as yuppie-Joe hiding under facial hair and affected accoutrement.  But who cares!

Goodnight suckers.  Love you.

 

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don’t kick that anthill

Hey friends and readers who don’t like me.

It’s Monday we are at t-minus 13 days until the big trip.  From a work perspective this means that I’m at t-minus 9 days (I’m taking that last Friday off to pick up the vehicle).  If I find more time to write between now and then, you’ll likely hear me come back to this theme again and again.  Y’know, the “Oh Lord I only have X days left to get this all done!” with a , “Oh Lord I only have X-1 days left to get this all done!” follow-up.  I have a feeling that, as the sun sets on those last couple days, and the whistle blows at 5pm as I leave the sawmill that this guilt will begin to fade into excitement.  Already I’m making little lists of things I want to remember to bring.  Sharaun’s been doing a good job borrowing things from her Facebook consort… thus helping us minimize our continued investment.

Speaking of Sharaun, she leaves for her New Kids On the Block cruise on Wednesday morning.  Abandoning me to both kids and a full-time job and all the week-before planning madness.  I don’t want to devote much writing time to this cruise, because I’m afraid I’ll get to riled up.  I’m glad she’s going because she wants to so bad… the kind of bad where you might mistake her for a thirteen year old teenie-bopper instead of an established stay-at-home mom of the suburbs.  I’m also glad she’ll have some time to cut loose with her friends, so there’s that.  But don’t ever, ever, try and talk to me about the money thing.  If I think too long about it I get disgusted (probably shouldn’t tell her that either, even though she already knows it’s not good to kick the anthill).  But let’s talk about it just a bit… perhaps…

I wouldn’t deny her the experience because of cost, obviously… no.  What angries up my blood is realizing how rational it is in her mind to spend so exorbitantly on something I consider so wasteful.  I think it’s that mental disconnect around “return on investment” that irks me.  To her it’s a “no duh” to spend so much on something like this, to me it’s akin to burning dollars.  But then again, I don’t expect to understand it… the ROI for her is something I’ll not be able to comprehend.  I’d like to say that there’s nothing I would be willing to spend so stupidly on… but I’m fearful of making such a statement and then getting called down with lightning.  I suppose I can leave it at that, because if we go much further down this route I’ll begin playing the apologetic and start questioning myself in her voice about the money I’m disposing on this silly RV trip (which, I might schizophrenically add, is a family thing).  I could do this all day… debate with my own consciousness.  Probably as good reading as it is thinking, though, huh?

Anyway it’s the kids and Mr. Mom for the latter half of the week, our last weekend in town, and Monday of next week.  Then Sharaun’s back and we have five days to get everything together, load it into the vehicle, and hit the road.  It’s going to go by in a blur, I already know it.  Wish me luck.

Goodnight.

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live bees in the grocery store?

It’s Friday.  Huzzah.

Listening to Nirvana’s In Utero, a kind of underrated record if you ask me.  I think when it came out I had already decided Nirvana was passe, being all cool and hip and sixteen and driving.  I bought the cassette, probably from good old Omni music in the mall (where just a few years later I’d be assistant manager), and listened to it in my read Nissan Sentra.  Aww crap, now you guys can verify you’re really me when logging into my bank account.  You just need to know what highschool I went to and where my dad was born.

Sharaun bought this little baggie of candied pecans from the bulk section at the local supermarket.  She put them into a salad with dried cranberries and some raspberry vinaigrette dressing.  Normally I would turn up my nose at such a sweet, feminine concoction.  Who can expect a man to eat something like this?  Fruit and nuts to complement a salad?  No thanks.  But I tell you internet, that salad was delicious.  And those candied pecans?  Those were the icing on the cake.  The bulk aisle done good.

Speaking of the bulk aisle, that place is awesome.  Bulk anything.  Why buy anything in packaging anymore?  Fill a plastic bag with flour or dogfood or steel-cut-oats or trail mix or candy.  Heck they even have bulk honey.  No, I’m serious.  You know those white beehive-box things you see in fields?  Like the picture accompanying this post.  They have a row of those very things right there in the store, with freakin’ taps on them.  Three kinds, clover honey and some other stuff I can’t remember.  You walk right up to these beehives, twist the lever on the tap, and out flows a slow stream of awesome honey.

I was marveling over these things on a rare joint-shopping trip with Sharaun when I noticed large signs posted on each: “Warning – Do Not Lift Lid.  Live Bees Inside.”  Wait… what?  The bees are actually in the thing making honey?  Right there inside the store?  I had to ask Sharaun, “Hey babe, do you think there are really bees in there?!”  “Of course,” she answered, as if it were obvious, “It says so right on the sign.”  Still though, I was tempted to not buy it… I mean there were no locks or straps or catches or anything on those wooden lids.  From what I could tell I could’ve just lifted one up and been attacked by a hivefull of bees.  Seems like a liability.  I thought it must be for the effect… because… live bees in the grocery store?  (I’m not the only one.)

Write some kind of witty wrap-up here.  Goodnight.