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".

Happy New Year

Fiscal cliffs, shootings, random chaos and the Red Sox playing like some demented version of The Bad News Bears.

Three healthy, funny, smart kids, a wife who I definitely hit the lotto on, a job I love and a handful of good friends I'd run through a wall for.

2012 is gone like the wind and 2013 is bringing me my 43rd birthday but that's OK.

I'm here, I'm still relatively sane, and Trot is only peeing the bed about once every two weeks so all in all?

Life's good.

Hopefully the new year will bring me a newfound enthusiasm for the blog and I'll post a little more than once every few weeks, but if not?

Life's still good.

If you stop by this little corner of the world I wish you nothing but a fantastic 2013 and health and happiness to you and yours.

Even if you're a Skanks fan.

And my only New Year's Resolution is this; to be a better Dad, Husband, and friend than I was in 2012.

They Followed A Star

Roughly 23 million light years away from the Milky Way Galaxy is the Whirlpool Galaxy. It was discovered in 1773 and some 230 years later some scientist somewhere decided to use the Hubbell Telescope and what he found, right in the middle of this galaxy, is this picture.

Of a cross.

Millions of light years away, made millions and millions of years ago.

Thanks to my Pastor, Darrell, for sharing this yesterday at church. It made me feel really small and really blessed, all at the same time.

Merry Christmas.

God Only Knows

I'm not even going to try and make sense of what happened in Connecticut today. How a human being can walk into a school and cold bloodily kill 20 innocent children, kids full of joy and happiness and not a mean bone in their entire body who had never done anything to anyone? As long as I'm alive I'll never understand it.

In the days to come I'm sure we'll read about this person being mentally ill or off his medication or whatever passes for an excuse these days. We'll hear from neighbors proclaiming shock they can't believe it or others saying they saw it coming. We'll hear from the pro-gun wackjobs and the equally wacky anti-gun contingent yelling about how it's a God given right to own a rocket launcher or how we need to ban all guns and all live in a commune together.

I honestly don't know the answer. I fully support an individual owning a weapon to protect his family or home but I really don't see the need for having machine guns, UZI's and anti-tank missiles for "personal protection". All I know is my heart is broken tonight; broken for 20 precious children who are dead for no reason, for 7 adults who spent their life educating young people, and for our country.

Like I said, I can't make any sense of what happened today and I'm sure I never will.

But I'm pretty sure when the founding fathers put in our constitution the right to bear arms, they never in a million years imagined something like today happening.

What I do know is this; when I go tuck my kids into bed tonight I'm gonna hug all three of them a little bit longer and harder than I normally do and I'm going to say a prayer for everyone affected by today's senseless tragedy.

And probably shed a tear or two.

'Cause other than that?

I have no idea what in God's name to do.

Working the Con

I'm eating lunch with Trot today and his poor, frazzled teacher comes up to me and asks "So, are you enjoying Hanukkah?"

After nearly choking on my water she explains to me that yesterday they were getting ready to read a book on Hanukkah and she asked the class if anyone was Jewish and Trot immediately raised his hand and yelled "I am!" Upon being confronted about whether this was true he sheepishly replied "No. But my Grandma is!"

I think it was the fact that there are 8 days of celebrating which means 8 days of presents that made my little nut job suddenly wish he was Jewish.

You can't say he isn't trying to play all the angles he possibly can.

Out-Beaning Mr. Bean

We watched "Bean: The Movie" with the kids tonight for our weekly movie and going into it you figured the biggest laugh was going to be the scene when Bean loses his watch in a Turkey he's stuffing and ends up with it on his head while he stumbles around the kitchen.

And it ALMOST was.

The funniest?

When Bean is stuffing the turkey with dressing, Rakes sits straight up on the couch, looks at me with eyes as big as 50 cent pieces, and says:

"Dad! Did he wash his hands before he started stuffing that turkey?"

Looks like the OCD didn't fall too far from the tree.

Poor kid.

A Voice of Reason in a Sea of Insanity. And no, it isn't me.

The past several months have been, well, an ever loving mess. We've been bombarded with tv ads, celebrity phone calls, Facebook posts and pictures, and mailing after mailing from the various political candidates. You couldn't watch the baseball playoffs or the World Series without seeing one commercial after another from everybody from Mitt Romney to Barack Obama to your local congressman to the guy running for Head of Portable Toilets.

In addition to all the media hype you couldn't go to work or out to eat or to the restroom eating out without basically getting into an argument with someone who just had to let you know what they thought about the President or Governor Romney. Quite frankly, it was starting to give me a splitting headache.

Now, depending on which camp you're in, you're either dancing on air or stockpiling guns, food, gas masks and roach motels. I don't quite know what the answer is, but my little tree hugging brother wrote a fantastic post about it all from a Christian perspective, and if you're a believer I happen to think that this is exactly the way you should be looking at this whole thing. And it doesn't really matter who you voted for.

You can read the entire post HERE, but this is the part that I really want people to hear.


"And beyond that, what does my reaction to the election say about my trust in Him?  How many of us throw out Romans 8:28 in every situation, except when it’s one that doesn’t go our way?  Has He ceased causing all things to work for the good of those that love Him and are called according to His purpose?  Or are we upset because what God purposes doesn’t always line up with what we desire?

Consider Paul’s words to Timothy:

“Therefore I exhort first of all that supplications, prayers, intercessions and giving of thanks be made for all men, for kings and all who are in authority, that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and reverence.  For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.  For there is one God and one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself a ransom for all.”  (I Tim. 2:1-6, NKJV)"

In short? Can everybody just chill out and live long and prosper?

Or something.

Is it Truck Day yet?

Am I My Brothers Keeper?

About 2 months ago Ang and I came up with an idea to keep Trot from wetting the bed. Very simply, it's me going upstairs around 10:30 every night and carrying his comatose body to the bathroom and getting him to pee, all the while hoping he doesn't decide to let go and hit me, the wall, or the floor before going in the toilet.

Tonight he took it to another level; after finishing his business he lets out a fart that would have been better than the bean eating scene from "Blazing Saddles" which causes me (Yes. I may be 42 physically but I'm actually 8 mentally) to bust out laughing.

As I'm trying to pick him up and carry him back to his room he mumbles "It wasn't me. It was Rakes" which only makes me laugh even harder. Before I can put him back into bed he says it again, which by this point I'm CRYING.

Even in the deepest hold of REM it is ingrained in him not to take the blame, and like a thousand times before when I ask "WHO DID THIS"? I get the always classic blame the other guy, no matter how definitive the evidence is.

You gotta love brotherly love.

Surprises are sometimes a good thing.

I had a parent/teacher conference with Trot's speech teacher today and for once? Got some good news. He's met all his goals she set but since we still have some concerns they are going to keep him in the program for a little while longer.

He's got some issues with reading and I sort of feel like the speech issue may be affecting the reading, even if the therapist doesn't agree. His regular teacher was also sitting in and during the course of the discussion I also mentioned that in addition to the speech and reading issues I was worried that the alopecia thing was maybe affecting him as well.

Don't get me wrong; he hardly EVER mentions it but I've gotta wonder how it is affecting him. In the course of all this, his teacher told me something that made me realize the future of our country may not be as bad as I imagine it to be.

When I mentioned the fact that he was bald and his Mom and I were worried about how he was handling it, she looked at me and said the following:

"Just in case you were wondering, he's got 20 friends who are militant about Trot AND his bald head. If anyone say's anything about it they let them know in a HURRY that it's not cool".

Being a parent is never easy and at times heart breaking.

Today reminded me that it's also the best job on earth.

The REAL Kung Fu Panda

4 for 4 with three consecutive home runs, 2 off the best pitcher alive today.

I think Pablo Sandoval was ready for the big stage.

Just another reason why I love this game and why those 6 months of winter seem like 6 years.

Catching up on nothing

A few people have asked me recently why I haven't posted anything in a while. Truth is there just hasn't been much to write about.

Trot has been on green at school for the last 3 weeks, which is either a minor miracle or one of the 7 signs of the Apocalypse. Rakes has been completely absorbed with soccer and some game called "Minecraft" and rarely makes sense in anything he's telling me.

Ciera's whirlwind romance with HIM lasted all of three weeks and so far all is quiet again on that front, which I've gotta admit makes me nervous. Sort of like the opening scene in "Saving Private Ryan" when they're on the boats and it's all calm but you KNOW when that gate drops all hell is gonna break loose.

On a baseball front the Sox were out of it by July; I was just too pigheaded to actually believe it. And the most exciting thing about them this off-season is they hired one of the least charismatic managers since Art Howe managed the A's. Who knows? Maybe Farrell will do a fantastic job and if nothing else Lester and Clay will appreciate the hire.

So I guess I haven't written much lately since there really hasn't been much to write about.

Imagine that: My life has actually been calm lately. Which has been nice.

But I've got a sinking feeling that it won't, or can't, last.

Trot will break this green streak in a blaze of glory by taking the Principle hostage with a paper clip and a bag of Teddy Grahams or Ciera will come home saying she likes some 6 ft 6 inch 300 pound right guard on the football team or Rakes will stop speaking English all together and start talking entirely in Pokemon'.

Which is ok too.

'Cause quiet is really sort of boring the crap out of me.