Back to the Future.

It's been a few months since I posted anything and rather than make excuses I'm just going to say this; all I'm missing is a midget being shot out of a cannon in my living room for my life to be considered The Greatest Show On Earth. Hopefully starting up again means I'll do it on a more regular basis but I'm not going to make myself any promises I can't keep. Rather, just like the injury report filed by every team in the NFL every week, for now I'm listed as Day to Day.

2 years ago Ang decided to go back to school and get her Masters Degree in Education and I figured what the heck? Couldn't make things any more chaotic than they already were. Which only goes to show yet again how big of an idiot I really am. Lots of long nights and empty weekends with her at school studying and me doing my best Mr. Mom impersonation while trying not to stroke out due to something one of the kids did. But we made it through, she did all the heavy lifting as usual, and we've got ourselves a Masters Degree holder who still has to cut the crust off the sandwiches. So not too much has changed, other than the level of respect I have for her mental toughness has gone up about 200% over the past 2 years.

To celebrate her parents decided to take us out to the local Ruth Chris steakhouse to celebrate so we jumped in the man van and off we went. Mind you, I'm a cheese dog with chili kind of guy and anyplace I can't wear my Sox cap to makes me immediately leery but after being told this was a "business casual" place only I put on my khakis and button down shirt and jumped into the breech.

2 minutes after sitting down a guy comes in wearing cargo shorts and a hat, which makes me think one of two things; I've been had or Ang just wanted to make sure I still had hair on my head since the only time I take that hat off seemingly is to sleep or....... let's just say the Bandit said it best and leave it at that.

5 minutes in the boys had to pee and we now come to the reason I am posting tonight. We were gone from the table NO MORE than a minute and a half and the following events took place, in real time, just like Jack Bauer experiences, except Jack may have saved the world countless times over but never had to take Trot and Rakes to a public bathroom.

In order, Trot tried to take the lid off the urinal to flush it because it didn't have a handle, Rakes kept saying "There are a bunch of questionable people in this place, Dad. They keep asking you how are you, do you need anything, is this your first time here, do you want a glass of wine? Dad, I'm 9; I can't drink wine" etc...., all the while talking at the top of his lungs in a tiled bathroom while I tried to keep Trot from shattering the urinal lid while I'm trying myself to pee and not get anything on my pants.

Trot then couldn't get the water in the sink to come on (it had a sensor at the bottom) so he's yelling "I need some help over here" while Rakes is yelling at him that "You just need to hold your hands RIGHT THERE". Mind you, he's standing exactly 1 foot away from him, all ending with Trot going bonkers over the paper towels being so soft and wondering why ours at home don't feel that way.

I knew then how Alice felt when she stumbled down that hole into Wonderland.

So you can see I may have been gone from here awhile but not much has changed.

Fatherhood

For anyone who tells you sports don't make a difference in a kids life?

Take a look at that picture.

Last fall was Rakes first year playing soccer on the "Big" field and to say it was an adjustment would be an understatement. Much larger field, more defensive players and bigger players all played into a rough year for Rakes. After being one of the better players on the smaller field he spent a lot of games sitting on the bench.

So it made me extremely proud when his coach told me toward the end of this year that he was so glad our team had four legitimate forwards and Rakes was one of them.

This shot was taken right after he scored his first of three goals this season and I'm not sure who was happier, me or him.

But take a look at that kids face and try and tell me games don't matter.

And just to keep him from getting the big head? This was taken a few seconds later.

"This is our *&^%*&^ City"

You're darn skippy it is.

I'm tired of reading about these two jackasses that for whatever twisted reason decided to set off bombs in a crowd of innocent people, trying to kill or maim as many as they could. I'm glad the one is dead and I'm glad the other one is in custody, although it wouldn't bother me if he was dead too. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I really don't give a rip.

Per Fred Rogers, just about the nicest person this side of Mother Theresa in the 20th Century.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."

These are the people I'm trying to find out more about. The ones who saw the smoke and noise and injured and who ran back TOWARD it, not away. I don't want to read about two cowards who killed innocent people and somehow justified their sick deeds. Whether it's in this life or the next, those two will get what they deserve.

For now, I'm gonna say a prayer for the victims, the survivors, and their families and concentrate on the goodness of humanity.

Because no matter how many times it happens and no matter how many bad guys there are, there will always be more good than bad, and while it may win the battle?

Evil will never win the war.

Stay Strong.

If you're gonna go? Go big.

We took the kids to play Putt-Putt on Saturday and after golfing we went into the arcade for some games. Rakes and Ciera played this car game shown in the picture while Trot watched in dead silence.

Finally, after they were done, he turned around and asked me.....

"Dad. Can I have one of those in MY room?"

One day when he's President I'm gonna remind him of stuff like this so he can appoint me the Ambassador of Fenway Park.

You Never Know What You'll See On Opening Day

At some point today during the Red Sox 8-2 Opening Day win over the Yankees (kudos to Lester, Ells, Pedie and the Flyin' Hawaiian) Trot pulled down his shorts, mooned his sister, and uttered.......

"This is for all the LADIES!"

Unless he's somehow seen "Magic Mike" I have no idea where he came up with this but the fact it came during a victory over the MFY?

It's somehow sort of appropriate.

Not appropriate enough that I won't have to have a serious talk with him about dropping trou in front of his sister.

But close enough.

It's Here.

The long winter of my discontent is over.

Or something like that.

Tomorrow, 1 p.m., the Bronx.

Thank God.

The Birthday Dirt Dog

From the age of, well, birth to..... yesterday, this child has been the human equivalent of a barrel full of monkeys. He rolled down our staircase at around 6 months old, taking 5 years off the end of my life and after catching his breath and convincing his Mom and I he wasn't dead took off crawling again.

At 9 months he had tubes put in his ears, got Mersa at the age of 2, and following 3 1/2 years of merrily urinating in every conceivable place he could find? He contracted Alopecia and had all of his hair fall out while battling a speech impediment.

Despite all this he has constantly amazed me by having a perpetual smile on his face all the time, laughing and running and roaring through life like some pint sized version of John Blutarsky, complete with the eyebrow wiggle. He's never met a stranger, the entire world is his friend and even though he doesn't know it he lives his life by the motto "If you're gonna go, go BIG."

Tomorrow he turns 7 and I honestly can't believe it.

Seems like yesterday he was standing in the van peeing on the garage floor.

Happy Birthday Trot.

I never thought I'd make 7 years.

Manny Still Being Manny

After forcing myself to wait until the price came down some I finally bought this book yesterday on my Kindle for $5 and at about a third of the way through so far I'm loving it. The fact it was written by the CHB scared me at first but it feels like Tito wrote it instead. Full of stories and language formed by a lifetime spent in baseball parks across the country you can hear Tito's voice in every sentence.

Best part of the book so far? The back story behind the home plate argument between Manny Ramirez and Yadier Molina in Game 4 of the 2004 World Series. While the two of them screamed profanities in Spanish at each other, Umpire Chuck Meriwether waved Francona out onto the field.

Upon arriving at home plate Meriwether said he couldn't understand Spanish, thus he couldn't understand what in the great wide world of sports was going on.

Francona: "What do you want me to do about it? I don't speak Spanish either." Turning to Manny he asked "What's this about?"

Ramirez: "He thinks I'm stealing their signs."

Francona: (chuckling) "Chuck, Manny doesn't even know OUR signs!"

I miss goofy, pre-steroid knowing about, blissfully unaware Manny.

And while I think John Farrell is going to be a fine manager?

I think I'll always miss Tito.

Blessed

For the past year and a half we've been dealing with Trot having alopecia, which is a virus that attacks the hair follicles. Yeah, I'd never heard of it either until he woke up one morning and looked like he had gotten the mange virtually overnight.

If you ever want to feel fear all the way down to your core? Have a 5 year old child have all his hair fall out, seemingly at once. We took him to his pediatrician, who referred us to a skin specialist where we spent the better part of a year going twice a month and nothing working.

Finally we got him in with a specialist at Duke University in October. I'll let the pictures tell the story.

These were taken at Duke on our first visit. He looked like Uncle Fester, only a lot smaller.

This was taken a few weeks later at a Fall Festival in our town. You can see some hair coming in.

This was taken around the middle of November. Still seeing a little come in.

This was taken in January at Duke. 3 months after our first visit.

And this was taken 2 days ago while they got ready for church. Or took 3 years off my life, whichever you prefer.

It's been a LONG 1 1/2 years, but at our last visit at Duke we made an appointment to come back in May and if all is well? She's cutting us loose. To say I'm thankful for all this is an understatement and the look on his face when people come up to him and say how great his hair looks instead of "What happened to your hair?"

Priceless.

Just Another Brick to my Head

Thanks to me getting an IPhone, all the text messages I get from Ang can now be saved for posterity. Most of them are the general "Can you pick up milk on the way home" or "Did you remember to pay the water bill" or the always popular "The Kids are spending the night at your parents tonight which means DATE NIGHT!". Sadly that usually turns out to mean we go out to eat dinner and by the time we get back home she falls asleep at 8:30 while I watch tv and remember when we were young that date night meant a whole other ball of wax.

Anyways, today at work I get the following.

I'll let it speak for itself.

And may God have mercy on my sanity.

A Welcome Break From the Norm

Raising a teenage girl is a lot like riding a double barrel, double flip roller coaster; it's fast, loud and scary as all get out and at the end of the day you feel like throwing up. It's filled with more drama than a typical episode of "Dallas" and most days you feel like this guy:

Today something happened that makes you sort of forget all that hair pulling out drama normally associated with dealing with a 14 year old; on the bus home from school there were two girls bullying a little girl that lives down the street and Ciera stood up for her and made them stop. For no other reason than she saw somebody getting treated wrongly and felt like she needed to do something to make the sides more of an even playing field.

Which just goes to show you that in the middle of all the crying and shouting and complaining that a closet full of clothes and shoes just isn't enough to survive High School there comes, every now and then, an oasis in the middle of the teenage desert known as Raising Ciera.

Help Fight the Good Fight

My Mom had it. Thankfully, she beat it.

My Father in Law had it.

My best friends Mom had it. And although she fought the good fight for several years, she passed away from it.

My friend fought it, twice, and lost.

We all know somebody, or will know somebody who will get cancer one day. I don't know what the statistics are but most likely most of us will deal with cancer in the future. And cancer doesn't give a crap if you're white or black, male or female, rich or poor, good looking or ugly, Red Sox fan or Yankee fan. It is an indiscriminate killer that just keeps coming.

And while there have been fantastic advancements in treatments and medicine there is still such a long, LONG way to go.

Which brings me to my brother from a different Mother Josh and his beautiful, saint of a wife Amy. (If you know Josh, you KNOW this woman is a saint.) This year is the 4th year of Project Cupid, an event Amy started to raise money to fight cancer and have a great time all in the same night.

If you live in or near the city of Boston, please make plans to support this incredible event for such a worth while cause. There will be good looking women and men auctioned off for dates, sports memorabilia to be won, great food and drinks to be had, and a chance to see Josh dressed up.

 Which happens approximately once a year.

You can read about the event here http://www.project-cupid.org/ and you can visit their Facebook page here https://www.facebook.com/projectcupid. And if you can't attend, click on the link where you can make a donation.

Because one day in the not too distant future, hopefully during the lifetime of my children, people will be able to talk about this disease that used to kill thousands and thousands of people every year and thanks to events like Project Cupid?

It doesn't anymore.

And I couldn't even SPELL technology 5 years ago.

I realize that I've gotten pretty slack with blogging over the past year or so and there are a multitude of reasons. One is I'm inherently lazy and after working all day and dealing with the three ring circus that is my family at night by the time I've got 5 minutes to myself I'm too tired to think most nights, much less come up with anything remotely entertaining to write.

Also, I just don't know how many "Trot peed in (insert new place here) " stories I can write about without coming to the inevitable conclusion that either he or me or most likely both of us are gonna need intensive therapy in the not too distant future. Throw in Rakes and Ciera and Ang and that dumb dog I let them talk me into and it's a small wonder I have enough brain cells left to come up with a thought.

So I decided to open a Twitter account. If nothing else, whenever something happens I can document it right away before I get sidetracked by Rakes wanting to look up cheats for his latest video game or Ciera talking about what happened at school that day and all of a sudden I can't remember my name, much less something that happened 4 hours ago.

I'll still blog, hopefully with a little more regularity, but I'll try to put at least something up on Twitter everyday.

I'm at dted19 @twitter.com

Don't say you weren't warned.

The Older I Get? The More I Don't Get.

Even though I own approximately 1 gun, which belonged to my Grandfather and I have no idea where in the great wide world of sports I put the shells and I've never fired it, I don't really understand this fascination we have with the 2nd Amendment.

When that was written it was a different world and a different time and I'm pretty sure our founding fathers couldn't have imagined a semi-automatic gun that could kill 799 people in roughly 20 seconds. When the Constitution was written it took roughly 10 minutes to load a single round into a gun that had the accuracy of a guy trying to hit a barn from 3 feet away.

I have no problem with people owning guns for protection, hunting, and trying to compensate for some physical shortcoming, much like Monster Trucks and 85" plasma tv's. But whenever somebody tries to convince me that it is necessary to own a gun that fires 500 bullets per minute, or whatever it is, I get a little hinky. When is enough enough? People in Colorado went to see the new Batman movie and never imagined, and rightfully so, that some dipstick with a mental complex was gonna come in with enough artillery to take over Panama and kill them.

Or all those innocent children in Connecticut who went off to school that day didn't expect to see the Devil himself show up in their room. I honestly don't know what the answer is; all I know is that over the past few weeks I've seen people try to convince me that these shootings are some vast government conspiracy to take "our guns away from us and make us Germany" all over again.

Horse crap.

It's people sick and tired of hearing about innocent people being gunned down by raving lunatics with access to weapons our forefathers couldn't dream up and have no reason for existing other than killing. Not protection, not hunting, not target shooting, and not for any other reason than killing. Pure and simple.

And if you've watched what has happened over the past few months and you don't question what in God's name we're doing about guns?

You're operating on a whole other level that I really don't want to think about.

Cinderalla Gone Haywire

Kids being kids is something we've gotten used to around here. Peeing in the plants, "forgetting" to wear underwear, tracing all the light switches in the house with a permanent marker and rubbing a whole tube of lipstick into the carpet are all things that we've dealt with over the years.

Tonight, as Ang tried to get the boys clothes together for school tomorrow she could only find one of Trot's shoes. According to her she looked everywhere she could think of, up to and including the refrigerator. (Don't laugh; I found the remote control for the tv in there about a year ago, right next to the cheese.)

After looking up and down all over the house she was finally ready to give up until she walked into the kids room where they play the Wii and watch movies. It was here she found the following:

There it is, on the top shelf of one of the bookcases sitting next to the television. I don't know if he threw it up there or climbed up there or if he even remembers how it got there.

When asked by his Mom WHY it was there?

He simply grinned and said "That's where I keep 'em, Mom".