Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Take that, Dr. Spock.

My sister has been filling in and teaching Rakes class at school since his teacher decided to quit during the year. (I have no idea if this is just a coincidence or a direct result of having Rakes in the class, although I have a few thoughts about it). Today Trots teacher found my sister and asked the following;

"Is Trot on medication?"

My sister replied not that she knew of and asked why.

"Well, he's been so well behaved today and I asked him if he was taking any new medicine and he said yes. When I asked if it was today he said he started it yesterday."

He did admit, after the teacher asked if he wanted to verify that with my sister, that he was "just kidding".

Turns out all you need to do to make a hyper-active child act calm is take him to the swimming pool 4 straight days and just flat wear him out.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Summertime Blues

Today was opening day for our neighborhood pool.

I know this because Trot was in his swim trunks in my bedroom at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m. whispering in my ear "Can we go swimming NOW?"

My first Saturday off in 2 months and this maniac is ready to go swimming before the sun has completely come up.

My day started with that and ended with Salty walking off in the ninth.

All in all, a pretty good Saturday.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Who, Me?

For my birthday today, Trot got on red at school.

Of course he did.

The following is a letter his teacher sent home from school today; her name has been changed to protect the innocent.

"Trot is on red today because he refused to do what I asked him to do twice today. We took the writing test and he got up twice after I clearly asked him to sit down and raise his hand. He didn't like my answer to he got up again and went to OTHER TEACHER.

"He was already on yellow for talking during class time."


When we asked him why he didn't raise his hand he responded "Dad, I raised it for so long I almost fell asleep and she STILL didn't let me talk!"

At least it wasn't like last week when he got on red for looking under the bathroom stall at some other kid doing his business.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Gary Thorne Made Me Do It

I've gone almost a week without a new post, which is probably the longest I've ever gone. Part of it has been nothing really new to write about and part of it has been due to the fact Trot and Ang came down with some kind of flu bug last Thursday and I've been a one-man show for the better part of a week.

Drove Rakes and the neighbor kids to school on Friday, worked all day, took Ciera to ballet practice first thing Sat morning, worked all day, went home and took her to the ballet concert that night and didn't get back home or eat dinner until almost 10.

Taught 2 year olds at church on Sunday, then had to take Rakes to the neighbors house before taking Ciera BACK to day 2 of the ballet concert that afternoon, and then back home. This isn't taking into account all the everyday normal stuff I had to do, like yelling at Rakes for dragging the dog, who was ASLEEP at the time, across the floor by his collar, clean up various spills, food, clothes, and toys up off the floor.

All that just bled over to Monday where Ang and Trot were home again. All day. On my day off.

So I cleaned the house from top to bottom and almost killed Trot AND the dog when they went running hell bent for leather into the kitchen not 3 minutes after I mopped the hard wood floors.

Went back to work today, only to have to leave at 11:30 to take Ciera to the orthodontist, where I calmly gave over enough money to fund a third world country's budget for the next 6 months, only to be reminded I get to do it all over again at her appointment next month.

As I went back to work and wondered what my life would be like if I'd never gotten married for the better part of the day I had almost convinced myself that I'd made the wrong choice some 20 years ago.


It was when I got home and saw a little bald headed boy tormenting a dog, another boy that looks like I spit him out, a beautiful daughter that is growing before my eyes and the woman I love finally feeling like herself again that I realized what all I would have missed if it had gone a different way.

And I told myself I wouldn't change a thing.

Except for maybe letting them talk me into getting a dog.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Dog Days

My day started yesterday at around 5:15 when Trot and Rakes decided that was a perfectly reasonable time to get up and start role playing Mario Brothers in Rakes' bedroom followed by 2 more hours filled with chasing the dog around the house, wrestling each other, and apparently trying to break the sound barrier with voices only.

8 hours of work later I pick the boys up at my parents house (Ang and Ciera had gone to dance practice) and upon entering my home I see the remnants of Hurricane Keagan. First he'd crapped on the stairs (Ciera, ignoring my pleas on the phone just a few short hours ago had NOT taken the dog out), left our bedroom door open, meaning the dog got into the bathroom trashcan and had strewn it's contents all over our room.

They had also left all their lunchboxes on the kitchen table and Rakes' now resembled something that had been put in the garbage disposal; I should point out at this point I'm sure my blood pressure is at stroke level and I'm rambling incoherently about sending the dog to Siberia while Rakes keeps finding MORE stuff, like the trash all in the toy room that I still don't know where it came from.

The dog, sensing something is amiss, promptly goes into our bedroom, crawls under the bed, and won't come out until 10 minutes later when Trot drags it out by his tail. I've gotta be honest; for one brief moment I considered just opening the door, letting him run out, and writing a kidnap note from Morris the Cat stating "this is for all the cats that have ever been chased by a dog".

Thank God the Red Sox won or yesterday might well have been the day they put me in that straight jacket for good.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

He's a Goodfella.

Ang got a call from the boy's school on her way to work Friday and it turns out it was Trot's teacher.

Thinking it a little odd that the first question out of her mouth was "Does Trot eat breakfast in the morning before he comes to school?" she quickly discovered the reason for the call.

Turns out Trot had been arriving to class about 15 minutes late each day as he took a side detour to the cafeteria to have his SECOND breakfast of each day and was telling his teacher that we didn't feed him anything before he left.

The little con man even told his Mom, after she let him have it for not paying for any of these meals that "It's free, Mom. The lady has all the money in her computer where she punches the numbers in".

I have no idea whether he believes this or if he's the biggest shyster since Leonardo DeCaprio in "Catch me if you Can" but what I do know is this.

He's 6 years old and he already reminds me of Henry from "Goodfellas".

Part of me fully expects him to be running a rolling craps game and taking bets on college football by this fall.

Friday, May 11, 2012

The Commander? Not Anymore.

*Image courtesy of Kelly and*

I've never hid the fact that I've always been a huge fan of Josh Beckett. Going back to 2003 when he sent the Yankees home in the World Series all the way until yesterday he's been one of my favorite players. I loved the gunslinger attitude, the competitiveness whenever he was on the mound and his bull dog mentality when it came to doing his job.

Yeah, he could be a horses ass at times. And yes the "I'm a jock and I know it" act got old at times but he always reminded me of a guy who could have pitched in any decade and pitch well. The fact he always took responsibility whenever he came out and laid an egg on the mound always went a long way too.

Yesterday I lost some, actually quite a bit of respect for Beckett. Not because he gave up 7 runs in less than two innings. Not because he played golf on his off day last week when the team skipped his turn in the rotation for a lat issue. Guys have bad games; it happens. And pitchers playing golf on their off day probably goes back to Babe Ruth, although I doubt he'd let a thing like golf get in the way of his serial drinking.

No, what really bothered me was this exchange he had with reporter Gordon Edes.

Question (paraphrased): Did the golf business have any impact on how you pitched?
Answer: None. None.
Question: Anything to say about the golf business?
Answer: No. I spend my off days the way I want to spend them.
Question: Any regrets?
Answer: My off day is my off day.
Question: Given that you were skipped a start with what was described as a tight lat muscle, do people have the right to question why you were golfing?
Answer: Not on my off day.
Question: Do you understand the perception that leaves when the team is playing as poorly as it is?
Answer: We get 18 off days a year. I think we deserve a little time to ourselves.

Wrong. Dustin Pedroia gets 18 days off a year. YOU pitch in roughly 30 games so you get around 130 days a year off. And it wasn't about the golf; it was about you acting like a 5th grade child when a reporter asks you a perfectly legitimate question. It's about those other 24 guys on your team who are scuffling like crazy to get out of a season long rut where you can't win at home, can't win on the road, and are looking way up at the rest of the American League East.

In short?
You're a professional.
So grow up and act like one.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Everybody's got 'em.

As my kids, especially my boys, get older and as a result argue more and more I'm starting to realize that adults aren't really that much different than kids.

Sure we ACT more responsible and have bills and jobs and other crap that kids thankfully don't have to worry about for the most part. But when it comes to disagreements and different opinions? We're not much different than Rakes and Trot hollering "No I didn't. YOU did" at each other about 1000 times.

I guess it's always been like this and I've just been to busy to notice but when did civil discourse about things give way to acting like 3rd graders trying to play with the same toy?

At least with my kids I can send them to their respective rooms and eventually it'll all sort itself out.

And if that doesn't work I can just send them out to the backyard until the little voice inside my head telling me to ship 'em off to Military School shuts up.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Where Have You Gone Tim Wakefield?

*Image courtesy of Kelly and*

When your 4th outfielder is throwing 83 mph in the top of the 17th inning you know you've had one of those games.

After staying up for a 13 inning loss Friday night I missed Saturdays game due to work and I think God knew I needed the break.

17 innings, every relief pitcher on the team except for 1 used (Bobby V must be saving him for tomorrow night against the Royals, although he must be assuming Dubront is going 8), Pedie playing like it's game 7 and for one brief moment the vision of Marlon Byrd being the hero in the first walk off game of the year.

After it was all over and I angrily shut off the stupid Orioles broadcast I had an epiphany. Or something.

If that game hadn't have involved the Red Sox I'd be saying it was one of the best games I'd seen.

Off to Kansas City tomorrow where I'm hoping the road trip of last week repeats itself.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Cheesy never gets old.

I haven't been this stoked about a movie since I learned there was going to be a second Indiana Jones. It's the simple things that matter.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Too Soon.

There was a time I thought 43 was old. Ancient even. The older I got, however, the more I realized that just like Alan Jackson says 40 is just a stepping stone.

That hit home today when I read about the death, presumably by suicide, of Junior Seau. He was a year older than me so as I came up through my twenties and thirties Junior was a guy I could relate to. I remember when he finally retired after stopping and starting for the better part of 5 years and realizing then that even though you reach a certain point where you can't do what you used to you still live on.

Today that ended for Seau.

I don't know if concussions played a role in Seau's death and it's likely we won't know for several weeks. What I do know is a relatively young man with three kids, money and a very giving charity that he ran that greatly impacted the San Diego area decided, apparently, to take his own life.

He played in the "steroid era" for sports and played with what can generously be called reckless abandon. For 20 years as a PROFESSIONAL he played a violent game in a violent manner which doesn't take into account his years in college at USC, High School, Jr High, and Pee Wee. With all the recent deaths of retired football players at a young age who committed suicide or died of heart ailments at a time they should have been enjoying retirement and playing golf I can't help but wonder if that contributed to this tragedy.

The ironic thing is on the site where I first read about Seau's death right below it was an article about Roger Goodell suspending Jonathon Vilma for the entire year next season for his role in the bounty scandal.

The only thing I know for sure about all of what I've written is this.

My two sons, if I have anything to say about it, will stay as far away from a football field as humanly possible.

Rest in Peace, Junior.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Sir Charles had it all wrong

*Picture courtesy of Kelly and*

"Dad, am I going to be a midget"?

This is what Rakes asked me tonight while I was making dinner and I have no idea where it came from. We've had talks from time to time where he asks how tall he'll be and while I have no idea I do tell him that based on the lack of height from both his parents I wouldn't hold out hope for being a basketball player when he grows up.

Then, not 15 minutes later, the game comes on and there is Pedroia and his eyes light up. Remembering the time I talked about how all his life every one has told Pedie he was too small to make it at whatever level he was at Rakes then says "Dad, if Pedroia can do that then so can I, right?"

Who says athletes aren't role models?