Reconnecting

One of the many pitfalls of parenting is sacrificing quality time with your partner in order to deal with life's daily grind. Diane and I stagger our work schedules as well as utilize the services of my in-laws to avoid having to place the girls in daycare. And then we're constantly transporting the girls to softball games, softball practices, gymnastics, etc. Throw in miscellaneous activities like play dates and birthday parties, and, oh yeah, homework, and there's not much time left over for Diane and me. In the midst of all of this activity, communication gets easily lost in the shuffle, and is often reduced to grunts or smart-ass remarks (usually uttered by me) that bristles against the sensitivities of the other party (usually Diane). Sure, we have a couple of hours together to connect after we get the girls to bed, but by that time we are exhausted and usually collapse in front of the TV.

Last week was a tough one for Diane and me. I am a guy, and guys sometimes do or say stupid things that hurt our loved ones. Sometimes this is intentional, but most times, in my case anyway, it is not. We are just oblivious to what we've said or done, and in many cases the ones we've hurt just stuff their bruised emotions. Thank goodness Diane isn't like that, and last week she'd had enough. She confronted me on some of my attitudes, words and actions. Like I said before, I am a guy (notice I didn't say "man"?), and guys sometimes don't deal with confrontation very well. Guys are more interested in saving face than dealing with the consequences of their words or actions. So, like a guy, I addressed her issues at the surface level and then tried to sweep them under the carpet because I was pissed and didn't fully understand where she was coming from.

We continued to go through the motions for the next few days, mostly because we saw each other in passing on our way to work or to the girls' activities, but Diane, thank goodness, refused to let it go. One thing I really love about my wife is her strength. She is a beautiful woman, minus all of the emotional baggage that most beautiful women seem to carry with them. She pulled me aside one morning late last week and asked if we could spend some time talking through our issues on a day where we had time. I was tired of all the tension between us, so I agreed.

So last night, after we put the girls to bed, Diane threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and stirred up a batch of margaritas (what better than a buzz to loosen the tongue), and we settled into our positions on our comfy chair for a heart-to-heart chat. Diane shared first, and although I sat down ready for a fight, her words took all the fight out of me. Her feelings weren't insecure and irrational the way I thought they would be, and I quickly realized that I had a decision to make: I could argue for the sake of saving face and continue being an ass, or I could validate her and her feelings, own up to my actions and apologize for hurting her. Let me add here that approximately 99.9% of the apologizing in our relationship is done by me. It's not manipulated out of me, I'm just that stupid. I clicked the override button on my stupidity, took my medicine, and apologized for the zillionth time.

We were then able move into a productive discussion about our relationship where we came to the realization that we miss each other. We see each other every day, but we're always in motion, going somewhere or doing something. This is a necessary evil as parents, but we end up neglecting ourselves and our relationship in the process. One of the best things we as parents can display for our girls is our love for each other. Diane even commented last night that the girls actually get excited when we go out on a date. The last time we went out (before Valentine's Day...ughhh), the girls teased us, "MOMMY AND DADDY, GOIN' ON A DA-ATE!!" then running off and giggling, well, like school girls. So, we're going to make a concerted effort to date more, and I'm excited about it.

Our discussion wasn't fun, but it helped me to realize just how much I still love my wife...actually how much MORE I love my wife...because she doesn't let me get away with my childish B.S. She's a tough cookie who makes me want to become a better man. I love you, Hon. You're the best. Happy Early Mother's Day.

100 and Counting...Softball & Insanity

Welcome to my 100th post! I'd like to thank the insanity that pervades my life, which has supplied 100 posts-worth of material that is hopefully at least mildly entertaining. Here's looking to 100 more.

The past two weeks have been chock-full of insanity with dog-sitting, SEVEN softball games, and me working nearly thirty hours of overtime. Last week the girls had five games in five days, three of which were makeup games from rain-outs. Kailey played three games, all of which were Blue (Balls) Bandits victories where she got a lot of hits and scored a lot of runs. Kyra and her Purple (Nurple) Pixies played twice. Coverage of Kyra's Pixies has been noticeably absent from my blog for a number of reasons. First, tee-ball is tedious and boring. Most of the girls can't hit, can't field, and can't pay attention. Some of this is mildly amusing, and the girls will get an occasional good hit or make a good play, but we enjoyed it much more when both of the girls were playing in the same tee-ball league. Now that Kailey has moved on to the next level, tee-ball has revealed it's true, bland self.

In Kyra's league, each batter gets four pitches from the coach. If they don't hit the ball in those four pitches, then they bring out the tee, a symbol of shame and defeat. Which brings me to the second reason: until recently, Kyra was underperforming at the plate. I know, I know...this makes me sound like the controlling, ultra-competitive dad who rides his kids mercilessly, but let me assure you that I'm not. I regularly pitch to the girls in the backyard where they both proceed to pound the crap out of the ball. Kailey has been able to translate this to the ballfield while Kyra hadn't. I don't know if it was just game day nerves, but she would just whiff at those four pitches, and then hang her head as the coach moved the tee into position. THEN she'd pound the crap out of it. Her coach could sense her mounting frustration, and in one of her at bats last week, he walked to the plate and took a moment to give her a little pep talk. He held the yellow ball right in front of her nose and said, "Kyra, I KNOW you can hit this ball." And she did...nearly took his head clean off. And about time, too.

Kyra had a game this morning that her coach wasn't able to make. I told him and the assistant coach that I could give a hand if they needed me, and shortly before the game started, she asked me if I would coach third base. Why exactly a third base coach is needed in a tee-ball game is beyond me, but I obliged her nonetheless. I headed out to third base where the extent of my coaching ability was whittled down to a one-word utterance, screamed repeatedly until I was nearly hoarse: "RUN!" Each of the girls I encountered at third base were more interested in just about anything OTHER than running.

"My name is Taylor, what's your name?"

"I have a family...I have a Mommy, a Daddy..."

"There's a big dog!"

"...a brother, a Gramma, a Grampa..."

"Hey look! There's a little dog! He's so cute!'

"...an auntie, and my cousin...they're all over there! Hiiiii!"

"Huggie!"

That was Kyra. She'd run to third base, then give me a hug. She was excited to have me helping out with her team, and I didn't have the heart to tell her there are no huggies in baseball, er, softball. Besides, today she deserved her huggies. She was one of only two girls to get hits off of the pitcher, crushing the ball on three of her four at-bats. She only had to hit off of the tee once. Atta girl. Better late than never.

A Little Too Excited Over Home Cleaning

Rex went home yesterday, but he left millions of reminders of himself all over our house, just so we wouldn't miss him. We could actually collect all of the hair he distributed over our house to construct a smaller version of Rex...call him Mini-Rex. Earlier in the week, Diane swung by her folks house to pick up their super-duper, industrial strength, dog-hair-picker-upping vacuum cleaner. I thought it was overkill until I tried our regular run-of-the-mill vacuum that took nearly a half-hour to clean a 10' x 12' area rug. I decided to give their Hoover a try, and I wasn't disappointed. In fact, once I started, I was actually EAGER to vacuum the whole house, including rooms he hadn't been in. What's up with that? The model was a little bulky and heavy for my taste, but it did a much better job on our carpets. Diane's folks arrived to pick Rex up while I was vacuuming, and I actually asked them if I could keep the vacuum just to finish the house! Yes, it's official, I'm quite the dork. So now I'm adding a new item to my coveting list: guitar, drum machine, HD TV, surround sound system, HD video camera, and, yes, a new vacuum cleaner.

Desert in Bloom

This is probably my favorite time of year in the Southwest. It's not too hot and the desert bursts into bloom, especially after winters when it's received a lot of rain. This wasn't one of those winters. Yesterday afternoon, I grabbed the camera and headed outside to capture some of the blooms around our property.

Overprotective Dad?

I am a dad who has been "blessed" with two beautiful daughters. On several occasions when I've been out with the girls, at the store or the playground or the coffee shop, I've had other dads make comments something to the effect of, "Daughters, huh?" which is usually accompanied by "The Look." Every dad with daughters knows "The Look". "The Look" is a telling expression of pity and concern recognizing that you, dad of daughters, were once a teenage boy with raging hormones...raging hormones that sometimes took over your ability, or desire, to treat members of the opposite sex with the dignity and respect they deserve. "The Look" says get ready, 'cause payback is hell.

For the most part, I was a good boy as a teen, able to keep the hormones somewhat corralled, something I'm quick to remind the Good Lord of while pleading for the lives of my girls. I was a good boy...kinda! Please don't punish them to punish me! Please don't let them give in to the raging hormones! Please give them the horse-sense to know the difference between LOVE and HORMONES! Now, I don't want to be the dad who polishes his shotgun while potential suitors come calling, but I will if I have to! I like the following resolution even better, sent to me by a friend: The Trunk Monkey chaperone...he'll keep the boys in line when you're not there to.



Hopefully, God will be merciful and we won't need a Trunk Monkey to keep those boys in line, but I'm going to check it out as an option on our next vehicle...just in case.