Written Warning

My older brother is quite the prankster.  He'll mess with just about anybody.  And that includes strangers.  In fact, last week he went to the bathroom at work and heard snoring.  He looked under the stall door and saw that someone was sitting on the toilet and apparently deeply asleep.  And he noticed that the guy's pants weren't at his ankles.  So that meant that he'd snuck in there with the express purpose of sleeping on the job.

So my brother, the prankster that he is, jumped into action.  He went to his desk, typed up a funny note, printed it and headed back to the bathroom.  And this is what he slid under the stall door before dashing out:

Your snoring is exceeding acceptable decibel level guidelines as outlined in the Employee Handbook. Please lower your snoring to an acceptable decibel level or face the following disciplinary actions:

1. Bucket of water.
2. Being sprayed with Lysol.
3. Lights off.
4. Picture taken and posted.

Thank you for your continued commitment to employee excellence!

Have a great (and refreshed) day!

And that's why my older brother is my hero.

Slugs And Snails And Puppy Dog Tails (And Punching)

Since we already have one boy and one girl, we weren't necessarily rooting for a particular gender for our third child.  And I'm thrilled that we're having another girl.  Girls are sweeter, they're cleaner, they don't break as many things (on purpose) and I hear they're easier all the way through adulthood.  Plus, I know if there's a mutiny at any point, they won't overpower me physically.

But (you knew there'd be a "but") realizing that my son will be outnumbered 2 to 1 was a bit of an eye-opener.  Because right now, it's even.  If one of my kids wants to wrestle or hit stuff (guess which one) and the other wants to play "princess doctor" they either split up and play alone, or one of them does something they don't like.  But when my son is the only boy, nobody will want to wrestle or hit stuff (except me).  And he'll have two other little humans who want to put on plastic high heels and flouncy dresses and pretend to be figure skaters.  And I just can't have that being his only option.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm not at all upset that we're having a girl.  (See paragraph 1 if you have a bad memory.)  But for some reason I had it in my head that we'd have a boy this time (I was good at identifying patterns in standardized testing).  And my preparation for that scenario blinded me to the other possibility.  And I realized that my eldest may be my only shot at raising a manly man who can hit home runs and punch through walls and arm-wrestle and stuff.

So here's my plan.  I'm gonna have weekly (or maybe daily) "guy time" with my son.  We will play rough, we will throw stuff, we will be gross and mean.  And I fully expect to get hurt by this.  Bruises and scars will happen.  And the girls can do their own thing during that time.  But I want to make sure my son turns out to be the kind of man who defends his little sisters instead of becoming one of them.  I've seen both kinds of boys and I much prefer him to be the macho type, not the "princess doctor" type.

In THIS Economy?!

So buying a house was stressful.  And it wasn't so much the stress of making the decision.  We knew it was a good decision to finally buy a house.  We needed more space for our growing family, I got a better job, and renting is essentially throwing your money away (we've spent over $70,000 on rent since we got married).  So we weren't worried about it being the right choice.  The stressful part was all the unknown stuff that could happen.

Two things kept playing on a loop in my mind.  First was the 1986 comedy "The Money Pit" starring Tom Hanks and Shelley Long.  I kept imagining ridiculous plumbing and electrical problems that, if filmed, would be hilarious.  But in my head they played less hilariously.  I couldn't help but imagine our bathtub falling through the second floor and shattering on the ground level (even though we were buying a one-story house).  And I kept imagining door frames falling down and chimneys collapsing.  And since I don't have the charisma of Tom Hanks, there was a lot of crying in those fearful imagining instead of laughing.

But the other thing that kept running through my head was the constant fear that closing costs would balloon out of control once we sat down to sign.  The voice in my head kept saying, "Just wait.  It'll be so much worse than you think it is."  See, our lender (who made this process pretty difficult and so shall remain nameless) had assured us that we wouldn't have to pay more than $800 at closing.  But every document they sent me had an estimate that was closer to $1500.  And my job isn't so much better that I have an extra $700 laying around whenever I need it.  So we scrimped and saved and sold a lot of our stuff to make sure we had enough.  Then the day before closing, they were supposed to give us the final tally.  But they didn't have it.  In fact, they waited so long to find out what the closing costs would be, that we didn't find out until we sat down to sign (with a stack of hundreds in my pocket).

Luckily for us, the closing costs came out to be less than $400, despite my bank's insistence that they would be more than that.  And that gave us a nice little cushion in case we had to buy a bunch of stuff for our very own money pit.

Also luckily for us, it hasn't turned out to be a money pit.  The home has been well-maintained, renovated slightly, and there hasn't been a single issue we've had to pour money into.  But I can promise one thing.  We will never install a tub on the second floor.  Mostly because I don't want to pour water into it and then laugh maniacally when it crashes and shatters on the ground below.  (But also because we don't have a second floor.)

Mmm, Epiphany

Okay, let's start with the least consequential but most shocking part of my life.  I'm actually losing weight.

Give that a moment to sink in.  If you know me or you've read this blog, you know that a) I love food, b) I've been fat for a while, and c) I'm extremely lazy.

But I had an epiphany (which at one point in my life I thought was the name of a fancy French pastry).  Actually, it was a two-part epiphany.  Part one was when I realized that my father's most athletic days were before he had kids.  And that doesn't sound like an epiphany, I know.  But he and my mother had me when he was 30 years old.  And he started gaining weight about that time.  So the man who played tennis and softball and basketball growing up turned into a dad who wasn't active or in shape.  And I realized that I could flip that trend on its head if I got in shape.  I could say that my inactive period was before children.  And I could play those sports with my kids.

Now before I get to part two of the epiphany, I'd like to clarify.  I love my dad.  I'm not saying that my childhood was terrible or lacking in something because we didn't play on a softball team together.  Although I'm sure my therapist would disagree (if I had one).  He was and is a good dad.  I'm just saying that it was part of the epiphany.

Part two of my epiphany (which no longer sounds like a real word because of all the times I've used it) was when I realized that I've never dunked a basketball.  I mean, it's not like I forgot that.  I just forgot that one of my goals was to dunk a basketball once in my life.  Literally just once would be fine.  If I dunk and then fall and break my leg so I can never dunk again, that's fine.  I just hope I get it on film so I have proof (and because injuries look cooler on film).  But anyway, I've always wanted to do that.  And I realized that once I turn 30, my chances of dunking for the first time are diminished by a lot.  Everyone I've talked to has said that the 30s are the decade where they finally felt like they weren't able to do the things they used to.  So I imagine that attempting something I've never done before will be all the more difficult.

Then I turned 29 in December.  And that really got me in gear for this weight loss thing.  I've set a goal to dunk a basketball on or before my 30th birthday.  And really, that specific day is pretty arbitrary.  If I dunk on my 31st birthday, I'd still be happy about it.  But it just seems like such a great goal.  And while I know the chances are slim, it's helping me take this more seriously.  I go to the gym now, I eat less, and I have my biggest meals early in the day.  And it seems to be working.  So I will dunk in December (or sooner)!  Although I probably won't.  But I am back to what I weighed when I got married in 2005.  So that's something.

I'm Still Alive

Okay, I forgot I had a blog.  I'm that guy now.  Go figure.  I always make fun of that guy.  And instead of boring you with my "reasons" (that's fancy talk for "excuses"), I'll just give you a quick update.  Here are the things happening in my family's life:

-We're having a girl!  In May! (this is the part where I panic because that's close)
-We bought a house!
-I'm losing weight! (slowly)
-My kids are growing up! (quickly)

Okay, so that's actually all normal life stuff.  It's exciting normal life stuff, but still.

I make no promises that I'll be back here.  But I do feel that it's a shame that I'm letting so many good stories go unblogged.  I wanted to keep up this blog as a memory aid for when I'm older and I don't remember all the stuff that's happened with me, my friends, and my family (especially the kids).  So I might try.  Laziness usually trumps my blog promises to strangers who have probably long since left this space.

However, I can promise one thing.  There will be a new post tomorrow morning.  And by the time you read this, you'll probably see both of them together because, let's face it, nobody checks this blog anymore.  But I'm gonna go write it now and schedule it for tomorrow.  Technology!

K, bye.