Pregnancy outranks what ails me

 

 

The blessings are countless to be having twins, but life is also about to get a lot harder. For instance, short of losing a limb (broken isn’t enough) there’s no injury that will compare to carrying two humans in your belly for 9 months. It has barely slowed Jessica down at all, she can still move faster than me, so I can’t expect any sympathy for an ingrown toenail. I’m forever going to have to endure whatever ails me because any complaints will be met with, ‘I gave birth to twins.”

Just this week, I’d been experiencing some slight abdominal pain, but we planned on going to the aquarium. I briefly wondered if I could withstand hours of walking or would I be better off spending the day resting at home. Then I looked at my very pregnant wife and the decision was made. Aquarium, here we come!

God knew what he was doing when he made women the bearer of children. I wince in pain when a splinter is pulled out of my thumb, which is far less than a baby (or two) being extracted from me. Admittedly, I’ve always been the weaker one between us, but this whole pregnancy even amplifies that. It carries enough weight (literally) to forever be held of my head. Twenty years from now, a splitting headache could be keeping me from cutting the grass, when the words “I had twins” gets me into motion.

The words ‘I’m tired,’ have already been stricken from my vocabulary. I don’t have the nerve to complain about being fatigued to someone who has worked a 16 hour day when pregnant with twins, while the most I’ve done is complete Wordle in three tries.

After I have a restless night, I don’t have the nerve to yawn after hearing how the twins decided to have a dance party at 2 a.m. Plus, I know the effort it takes for her just to roll over.

I’m trying my best to look like I’m pregnant, that part I’m capable of, but it’s still not the same. Enough Taco Bell might resemble the feelings of a babies kick, but it’s only temporary. What’s inside me will come out much quicker and easier than our bundles of joy.

When asked, ‘How are you?’ My forever answer will be, ‘I’m good,’ because whatever ails me is less than being pregnant with twins.

Ultrasound vs. Picasso

 

'The second one is easier,' is often said about having children. If the ability to make sense of the ultrasound images is any indication, the claim is false. In my eyes, brain surgery appears as complicated as identifying specific body parts on the screen. There's a class for new parents about everything from proper nutrition to how to change a diaper, but there should be one on how to decipher images on an ultrasound. Looking at an image of a fetus should not require the same brainpower that interpreting a Picasso does.

At our first ultrasound I was tempted to ask the technician if the building had an antenna because the screen looked like there was no connection to cable. The screen was all jumbled. With two babies in there, the chances are doubled that I could see an arm. There's four instead of just two, within a pretty confined space, but it's all just a blur to me. I don't wish to find out, but I don't think having an ultrasound with sextuplets would make any difference. 

I trust the professionals with the fact we are having a boy and a girl. No offense to my son to be, who is still really young and will grow, but I couldn't see anything down there. If I couldn't see an arm, I'm not going to see that.

Then at the end, the ultrasound technician gives us a collection of printed pictures. The images do at least provide me with something to study. I don't show them to anyone, because I can't explain them. I'm no photographer, and often have my finger in the pictures I take, but am at least able to identify what it's of.

Despite the challenges it presents I do enjoy going. It's an incomparable delight to see your offspring in the womb, I might not know what I'm looking at, but I know they are there. Plus, every now and then, if the angle is just right, I can make something out. I'm pretty sure I've seen both of their profiles. Furthermore, hearing their heartbeats and the sign of life it represents is magical.

Though I may not be able to see much of their ultrasoumds,I'm still certain that both babies are pure works of art. 

Am I Ready?

 If I had a dollar for every time I've been asked, 'Are you ready?' since finding out about the twins, I'd be able to fill the van up with gas. You'd think I would have a set answer, but I don't. I better be though, because they are coming whether I am ready or not.

The question flashes me back to when I was about four years old, teary-eyed and nose white with sunscreen. I'm standing at the edge of a pool and a mean looking man with a whistle around his neck asks, 'Are you ready?'

I hold my nose and before I'm able to audibly respond, he pushes me into the pool. It's the moment of truth. I will either sink or swim. Spoiler alert: I survived. To say I swam may be an overstatement, but I was able to doggie-paddle or at least stay afloat well enough to be classified as a swimmer.

To this day, I wouldn't consider myself a master swimmer. I don't know the difference between the breaststroke and freestyle, but I can get from one side of a pool to the other with my feet not touching the bottom. I won't win many races, my grandma used to even beat me (I was close). but I'll reach the finish line. On a side note, I think pacemakers result in faster swimming.

My swimming abilities is similar to many aspects of my life. Most everyone else is better at it than me, but I will eventually get it done in my own unconventional way.

I also felt like I was jumping in to turbulent high waters when I got married. Again, everyone asked, 'Are you ready?' There was a lot I didn't know, but I couldn't afford to sink. Thankfully wives are good teachers and tell you everything you need to know. I sometimes forget, but am quickly reminded. If I waited until I could assuredly say that I was ready for marriage and all that comes with it, I would still be single.

When expecting our now five-year old, almost every conversation would include, 'are you ready?" Based on the number of babies I'd held, diapers I'd changed, and bottles I'd given...I was far from ready, but we somehow all survived. There were times I needed a raft, but overall was able to stay afloat.

Now there are two babies coming...am I ready for at 3 a.m. both are crying at the top of their lungs, Mommy is overly exhausted and mad that one won't latch on to drink, the five-year old whines she can't sleep because of all the noise and the dog is barking; all while I have a headache and can barely stay awake? There are days now that I'm ready for bed before it's dark outside and all I've done is play Barbies. People get nervous when I carry two glasses of water at the same time, and now I'll have two humans to hold. I get the remotes from our two TV's mixed up, am I going to be able to tell my own children apart?

Am I ready? I usually don't feel ready when I dive into the new stages of my life, but I manage to survive. When handed the twins for the first time, my only option is to swim and somehow I will, but it won't always be pretty.

Einstsein's Theory of Baby Sleeping?

“We the jury find the defendant…” Those words always provide tension as the next few seconds will determine someone’s fate. I feel as if I’m in a courtroom multiple times every day and night, waiting for the verdict to come in as I try to put Adelyn down in her crib. Will I be granted some freedom or sent back to the rocking chair to try again? Over the past eighteen months, I’ve been in the exact same situation countless times and the pressure has yet to relinquish.

I always thought the expression, ‘sleep like a baby,’ meant a deep, hard to awake from sleep; but Adelyn never seems to fit that definition. She may appear to be sleeping soundly, and a blaring television doesn’t faze her, but as soon as the descent into the crib begins she becomes fully alert. It continues to amaze me, how fast the tide can turn from nearly comatose to wailing cries.

After being awoken by her cries, we go out to the recliner where I hold her. Sometimes she goes right back to sleep (Thank You God), while other times it’s a lengthy process. Either way I wait until she is in a deep sleep, usually breathing loud enough for me to hear her, and then I begin rising out of the chair. The standing up is a key moment as I have to be careful not to disturb Adelyn too much. Depending on her position and my level of alertness, it can be tricky. The room is dark and sometimes she has squirmed so much that I don’t know on what end or head is. It’s really frustrating when I have to start all over because I’ve awoken her by turning her into a human pretzel. More times than not though, the journey back towards her room goes smoothly, unless I step on one of the toys scattered across the floor. If she’s still sleeping soundly, I can feel myself laying back in bed and drifting off as soon as I close my eyes, all I have to do is just put Adelyn down.

Einstein must have been a pretty smart guy, but honestly the theory of relativity has really never served me much in life. Did he ever study how fast a sleeping, peaceful child can flip the switch to being bright eyed and furious? That would have been useful. The transformation never ceases to amaze me. It seems that the times I’m most certain that it will be a seamless transition is when the most problems occur. She can be a dead weight in my arms, but as soon as I begin to lean over the crib, Adelyn stretches out and reaches for my shirt while releasing a shrieking cry. How does she know? On the flip side, my release of her into the crib is not always perfect. I’ve never been very sure handed, and sometimes I lose my grip and kind of her drop her. Mind you it’s a very short distance and onto a soft mattress, but a little jarring, yet she settles right in. I can leave her dangling by one leg and she never wakes up, but if I ease her down gently, the waterworks are likely to start-up.

Once a successful put-down has been accomplished, I run back into bed, okay it’s more of a fast walk. Unless I’m half asleep and then it’s a slow shuffle, with which I may bump into some walls. Thankfully, I have mastered carrying Adelyn through her doorway, without hitting her head on the doorframe. (That does speed up the process) Once I’m tucked in, I wish that the whole process won’t need to be repeated again before sunrise, but it isn’t always granted.

The time will come when I miss such nights, and then maybe I can say, “The defense rests.”

 

Who needs Toys?

 

I’ve never seen it any other way, every time a young child opens gifts, they are more interested in the boxes or wrapping paper than anything else. No matter how expensive the toy, a flimsy piece of cardboard proves to be much more entertaining. However, gifts are continuously purchased as most children have more ‘stuff’ than they could ever use. Of course Adelyn is no exception, as apparently she has more toys than we have storage for, because the floor is always littered with them. Yet it seems like the majority of the time, Adelyn picks the strangest assortment of household items to play with, rather something from her collection of toys.

Based on looks alone, it’s really a pretty pitiful site, as Adelyn often walks around clinging hold to a wash cloth. A dirty, or at least used, wash cloth at that. Forget her Itty Bitty Baby, there’s a wash cloth to hold. In her defense, it is soft. I wouldn’t let her near a dry and crusty towel. It does come in handy sometimes, if there’s a spill, a runny nose, or something that needs wiped she lets me borrow it for a second.

Adelyn is also fond of water bottles. Empty or full, it makes no difference. If one isn’t sitting out somewhere, she knows where they are stored and helps herself. She can make the bottles make a variety of crinkle sounds and are perfect for pretend drinking. I did get nervous though when I saw Adelyn had learned how to spin the bottles.

Our dog, Rose, also has an assortment of toys, which Adelyn plays with more than her. At least with Adelyn the toys last longer as she doesn’t chew them up in a matter of minutes. It’s too early to tell if Adelyn is going to be athletically gifted (her chances aren’t very good), but she can at least throw a ball to play fetch. She fetches the ball herself if Rose doesn’t want to play. Even brings it back in her mouth. On more than one occasion, I’ve witnessed Adelyn step over her toys, just to pull something out of Rose’s basket. Thankfully she’s discovered there’s no meat on the bones we get for Rose, so she pushes them aside for something more useful.

People always say, ‘They grow up fast,’ but Adelyn is really rushing it. She has recently become fascinated with tampons. I’m not yet prepared to tell her how to properly use them, but she likes carrying one around. I found one she had left in her toy chest the other day. It would have been really embarrassing if a visitor had found it. I’m working on teaching her to store the extra in her purse.

If ever buying a gift for Adelyn, make it simple, and bring her a dirty sock, a set of coasters, feminine hygiene products or just an empty box. She will use those more than anything.

The Waves of Life

The first one is always the hardest…that’s why it’s taken me so long to make an entry about raising Adelyn. No, taking care of my first child hasn’t been the hard part (far from easy either), but deciding on what to write. It’s been over a year since Adelyn blessed our lives by arriving on Valentine’s Day 2017, and since then some have suggested I start a blog about my experiences of being a stay at home dad. The idea intrigued me, but I didn’t know where to start. Then I saw this picture from our beach vacation this summer and inspiration struck.

On a daily basis I’m struck by how big Adelyn is getting, not so much physically, but in what she’s able to do. She can use a fork all by herself, though it’s often barren of any food (hey, maybe that’s why she’s so small), identify body parts, and almost walk as fast as I can. It seems like only yesterday that she was dependent on us for everything, now she likes to do it all herself. No truer words were even spoken than, ‘They sure grow up fast,’ except for maybe, ‘We have the meats’ from Arby’s. ‘

Beyond its scenic beauty, for me this picture shows Adelyn stepping into, full of excitement, the big and dangerous world ahead while I’m right behind her for protection. For her the ocean, much like the world in which we live, looks like lots of fun, but it can quickly pull you down. There are both little waves to hurdle and tidal waves with the power to knock you down, all of which must be faced head-on (well, in the ocean you can turn your back, but that’s not the point!). The tide rises quickly though, and it won’t be long until Adelyn’s in deep water (literally). The older she gets the bigger the waves get. There are times I feel like I’m in a hurricane, but then I stop listening to my wife and everything is tranquil. (Just joking) Wait until Adelyn starts pre-school, and all her classmates have i-phones, so she’ll want one. The wave of being socially accepted, is a really big one, which still wipes me out sometimes.

The deeper the ocean gets, the more fish there are swimming around, biting at your heels. Those young boys can be real sharks. With all of her cuteness, Adelyn is going to be the equivalent of fishing with filet mignon as bait and really reel them in. I can see it now, at snack time a boy sits next to her and after drinking of his bottle of Fiji water says, ‘My dad is the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company, what does your dad do?’ Adelyn thinks, while pulling her sippy cup from her mouth, ‘Ummm, he watches a lot of Netflix.’ At least she’ll say it proudly.

Yes, plenty of waves are coming Adelyn’s way and it’s my wish that her excitement will never waver about diving into life (and the ocean) and that Mommy and I will always be able to pull her out when danger comes.

The Crappy Side of Parenting

To say my first few weeks of being a father have been crappy (or another word similar in meaning) would be totally inaccurate, yet with just a shred of truth. While being a parent is a tremendous joy, it comes with a lot of dirty diapers and Adelyn seems to possess the gift of unleashing her bowels right when I’m in the act of changing her. Turkeys may not be able to fly, but trust me, an infant’s poop can go a great distance in the air.

Apparently in order to be a parent, I must change an occasional diaper myself. Despite the amount of time that Adelyn spends drinking, she seems to poop much more than she pees. Or at least she puts them together as a combo. I have learned my lesson though, if it just pee, stand back because an eruption is near. If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect that my sweet little girl knows when I’m changing her and intentionally unloads on me. It’s payback for not carrying her inside of me for nine months. It’s not been just once, or even twice, but at least three times that the floodgates have been open upon me.

It never fails, I think I’ve lucked out and got just a light load that she dumped, and I begin to wipe her off…BOOM! It happens so fast, there’s no time to react…and IT is everywhere. I have learned not to wear white while changing her, as it will get stained. The nearby décor isn’t even safe, as I’ve had to clean up picture frames (up to five feet away) and wash off the walls afterwards. My nickname for her should be Cannon, and she hasn’t even had any Mexican food yet. Meanwhile, she lies there with a grin. Thankfully the discharge has so far avoided my mouth, but be suspicious of any new freckles that may appear on my face.

The amount of laundry doubles from when I change her, as I never think to get her clothes out of the way. One night we went through all of her nighties and wraps. Plus, an equal amount of my pajamas gets dirty. Adalyn is going to need a whole second wardrobe for when I’m with her all day after Jessica goes back to work.

I am trying to help alleviate the problem, as I have started reading Adalyn a book as soon as I get her on the changing table. It gives her some extra time to try and get it all out.

The crappy times go beyond just diaper changing, as yesterday I held Adalyn for an hour or more, which I thought was a time of bonding. When I handed her off, I noticed a big wet spot on my T-shirt. I figured it was sweat, but Jessica instantly smelled something. It wasn’t sweat. It was more than her diaper could hold and it overflowed, right onto me….more laundry.

The positives of parenting far outweighs this little negative though, besides IT happens, especially when it’s time for me to change her.

Honoring Uncle Bill's 90 Years

 

I could tell stories about Uncle Bill for hours, but since we are at a church and because he’s sitting right here, you have to get the short version. Uncle Bill was born in Virginia in 1927. He was the first of 13. After having a child like Uncle Bill, who else wouldn’t want twelve more? Despite all the efforts though, Bill Woody is certainly one of a kind.

With so many younger siblings, including the four sisters that came after him, Uncle Bill had to grow up fast. He was a big help to his mother with the chores and helping with all the kids. When Uncle Bill was in high school, the Woody family moved from Lima to Mad River Township, now known as Riverside, to build a home. During the construction, Uncle Bill was in charge of the tent that he hand his brothers slept in. Maybe it’s all the time he spent camping that made Uncle Bill so comfortable with going to the bathroom outside. I was at least a teenager before I saw him go to an indoor bathroom. It’s fitting that his bladder was trained to be strong during the winter months. At Grandma Woody’s though, we all knew what it meant when Uncle Bill would go down the steps, that were outside, which went to the basement.

There’s many one word answers that could be used to describe, Uncle Bill, but it would be hard to find one that is any more fitting than patriot. I think it’s safe to say that he loves this country more than anyone I know and is always the first to stand-up and salute whenever an American flag passes by. At the young age of 17, Uncle Bill joined the merchant marines and served in World War 2.

It all goes largely unnoticed, but Uncle Bill has made many contributions to Riverside. After returning home from the war, he noticed a lot of young boys in town, whose parents worked at the base. To keep them occupied and off the streets, Uncle Bill formed the Boy’s Club, which had over 100 members. He started baseball and basketball teams, as well as boxing matches on Saturday nights, which people bought tickets for. On Saturday mornings the boys would have a paper drive and the money raised was used for sporting equipment. The boys club made a positive impact on the lives of many young men, and also prepared them to succeed in high school sports. He then built the Yorktown Apartments and was in charge of their maintenance for several years. Uncle Bill also once ran for mayor in Riverside, and for him not winning, I blame the Russians.

After a day of work on one hot summer day, Uncle Bill stopped into a bar and ordered a burger. Meaning a burger beer, but the young waitress brought him a big, juicy hamburger. Uncle Bill decided that anyone that sweet needed to be his wife. They were married soon after. Imagine how many lives would have been different if Uncle Bill had just asked for a water that day.

While the Royal Wedding of Princess Diana is widely regarded as the Wedding of the Century, that title really belongs to the ceremony of Uncle Bill and Peg. It was simple, yet extreme. There weren’t many guests because everyone was in it. No son or daughter,brother, sister, niece or nephew, friend or neighbor was left out. It took so long for all of the bridal party to walk down the aisle, Uncle Bill had to step outside and find a tree for when nature called…twice. It was a wedding like no other, including the presentation of rings on a diaper pin.

Years later, Uncle Bill would work as a maintenance man at the Widow’s Home. It ended up being a job with great benefits, as its where he met Geraldine, who was also on staff there. Ends up that Geraldine would spend the next twenty plus years doing maintenance on Uncle Bill. She has done wonders.

Before going in to work at the widow’s home, Uncle Bill would stop by Grandma Woody’s house every morning to make her coffee, pour her juice, and get her pills ready. Some mornings were tough, as Grandma Woody occasionally expressed her thanks in unusual ways, but Uncle Bill always came through. By living right next door, he kept a really close eye on his mother, and was a willing servant. She would not have been able to be on her own without him.

Let’s be honest, one reason we are all so proudly celebrating your 90^th birthday is we’re thinking, if you can live 90 years, we have nothing to worry about. Uncle Bill hasn’t exactly followed the recommended guidelines for a healthy lifestyle, other than getting plenty of sleep. I believe you’ve had more weddings than doctor appointments, not counting trips to the vet. For whatever has ailed uncle Bill, the cure has been found in a can, or maybe six or nine cans of B12, also known as Millers. None of that lite stuff, but only the premium Millers. Unlike most other medications waiting four to six hours between doses isn’t required with Millers nor is reading the side of the can for possible side effects. There also isn’t a limit on how many you can have in a 24 hour period.

Uncle Bill was also a very talented fiddle player, I remember one particular New Years Eve back in the early 80’s when he put on a little concert. Another interesting fact, about Uncle Bill he received his high school diploma about 15 years ago. Much of the family went to Lima for the ceremony and as customary when going anywhere an hour away, they stopped to eat. The waitress asked if it was a special occasion, and Harm said, ‘we are going to my brothers high school graduation. He’s a little slow.’ She didn’t know what to think. Uncle Bill decided against college, but he is a big fan of Ohio State and never misses watching a game, though he might fall asleep if it’s on past 8:00.

Uncle Bill is a man who has never lived beyond his means, or gotten above his raisings. I admire that he has never prided himself on material things or social status, but its only love for others that matter. His home is small and simple, yet a mansion because its filled with love. He need not eat at five star restaurants with cloth napkins and menu items that can’t be pronounced, but places like Frisch’s is good enough because his nourishment comes from just being with others. Uncle Bill doesn’t need the newest modeled car with all the hi-tech accessories, not just because he can’t drive over bridges, but his spirit is present wherever he needs to be anyway, even if his body isn’t. Material things are not of any importance, Uncle Bill has lived his life with the purpose of showing love and attention to others, its why he watched over his siblings when they were young, formed the boys club, served our country, took such great care of his mother, and at some point has hugged and kissed everyone that’s here today, probably the first time he met you.

Uncle Bill is also a great gardener, always has a good crop of tomatoes, and has planted something in each of us, whether we realize it or not, that will grow and always be a part of who we are. And we all wish you a very Happy Birthday.

Tough Questions about Brady

It’s times like these that parent’s earn their gold stripes, or at least grey hairs, as all across this great land parents are being faced with difficult questions. Why? How? What now? Plus, who is Lady Gaga? They are asked with looks of great fear, as if their future is in doubt. There is no perfect answer to give, but hopefully the right words can be found to heal the pain and make a better tomorrow seem possible.

Why is Tom Brady a champion, didn’t he cheat? How is he a hero? Does this mean I can break the rules to get ahead? Life would be so much easier, if only the Falcons would have kicked a field goal and kept their lead. Now a dark cloud is over our nation’s youth, as a man with rotten ethics, is heralded as a champion. An appeal to sports is that it’s often a reflection of life, by doing all the little things right and following the rules, you will be a winner. You’ll gain the respect and admiration of those around you. However, in sports as in life, there are exceptions. Tom Brady and the New England Patriots cheat, yet today they are on the top of the world. What example does that set for today’s children?

Since Tom Brady prefers his balls to be deflated…footballs, mind you, he went against rules of the NFL. Yes, he served a suspension for the crime, but it doesn’t take away his guilt. Do children who prefer using crayon instead of a #2 pencil, have the right to do their school work in crayon, because Brady does what he wants. Brady sets his rules, and achieves success.
Brady’s life off the field isn’t very admirable either. He’s married to a supermodel, yet still can’t keep his hands to himself. That’s very disrespectful to women. The self-esteem of young girls are devastated today, as a womanizer is MVP. Brady started dating his current wife, while his ex was pregnant with their son and more recently accused of having an affair with the nanny who worked for Ben Affleck. Women should be protesting, but Brady is forgiven because he’s kind of cute, has nice hair, and isn’t orange.

Yes, Brady and the Patriots won, but tomorrow will come again, and the same sun will continue to rise. We could protest, especially since the final touchdown in overtime wasn’t examined very closely, but it won’t change the results. Things don’t always go the way we want them, that’s how life works, but one man, even a multi-millionaire, doesn’t have the power to change everything.

Are you Ready?

‘Are you ready?’ Is a question I’ve been asked over and over about being a parent, and I’ve yet to find a perfect answer. Is there one? Are you ever truly ready for a responsibility such as parenthood? For some reason I remember being taught the importance of quadratic equations and  who signed the Treaty of Versailles, but not how to deal with a baby who cries all through the night or a teen that gets bullied online? Things will never be the same once that baby is born, while there will be many joys there is sure to also be many heartaches. Will handle it all by pretending to know what I’m doing.

Truth is, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a husband, and that has gone pretty well (most days). The rules of a happy wife are about the same for a baby; keep them fed, in clean clothes and don’t wake them up while sleeping. The major difference is, the child can’t ALWAYS be right, like the wife is. I do need to start practicing to say ‘no,’ as I don’t think I’ve uttered that word since getting married over three years ago. I’ve learned A LOT in three years, and my education is about to be at least doubled.

One positive in my favor, towards ‘being ready,’ is having a wife who is very organized. All the drawers and storage cubicles in the nursery are labeled, her bag for the hospital is packed and the guest list for the baby’s first birthday party is made out. She’s on top of everything. I must say that Jessica has handled being pregnant with a high level of excellence, I shouldn’t be surprised as that’s how it is with everything she does. I haven’t had to make a single run to the store to fill any weird cravings and the moodiness has been no different than usual. Ummm, let me rephrase that, she has been in great spirits. From traveling to California to passing a kidney stone, and continuing to work two jobs, I deeply admire how gracefully she has handled it all while having a human life growing inside of her.

In a way, a case could be made that I’ve prepared to be a stay at home dad for my entire life. I have the knowledge to teach the baby about what time the mail comes, that Victor Newman can’t be trusted, and around 3 p.m. makes for a perfect nap time. In all seriousness, I will work harder than I ever have towards anything to be a good father. Nothing will get in my way, with the exception of an occasional Facebook post (let’s be real) to doing whatever I can to best satisfy my daughter. My Netflix binge watching will be tremendously slowed down (thankfully I finished ‘Breaking Bad’), but there will be nothing greater than watching the development of our baby girl. Like with any new job, I’m excited, yet also nervous. I’ve seen people who are far less qualified than even me, be a parent, and they seem to manage, so I can too. The pay might not be that great, but the benefits will be awesome.

Babies are a result of numerous circumstances, but ours is blessed to have been made out of love. Our house was rather plain and simple when we purchased it, but a lot has been added to it. Its value has greatly increased. It’s comforting and adorned with pieces of our personalities, beliefs, and values. On every wall, in every room, there’s either a photograph, a verse, or some decorative item that represents our love. It’s a house filled with love, and our baby will be the exact same way. We are also blessed to be surrounded by so many whose love for us will extend unto the baby. As indicated by the attendance at the shower, there are lots of men, women, and children who will have a hand in raising her, for which we are eternally grateful.

Am I ready? As ready as I’ll ever be.

 

My Farewell to Political Posts

 

After much thought and consideration I've come to the decision to no longer make any political posts on Facebook. There's nothing to gain from such posts, I'm not going to change anyone's mind, and there's the risk of upsetting those with opposing views. So, why bother? There's many other less controversial matters to cover like the Kardashians, there's always something going on with them. The point of my FB posts are to never raise the ire of anyone, except for Buckeye fans, so the presidential race should be off limits. However, before silencing myself, I need to first sound off.

 

A major reason why I felt compelled to make some pro-Trump posts is it's hard to find any support towards him, other than social media. It's really infuriating to me how overly biased the national media has been towards Hillary. Granted my little voice isn't going to make a difference, but at least it's something. We have all heard, countless times, the 'hidden' Trump tape and about every accuser that has since come forward. It's the lead story every night. On the flip side, how much have you heard about the WikiLeaks? Not only high school football, but I think Chess Clubs have gotten more news coverage than WikiLeaks. Needless to say they reveal damaging and current information about Hillary. All I've seen about WikiLeaks are links shared by a couple of very dedicated anti-Hillary 'FB friends' who have posted links from unheard of news sites. Nothing from CNN, NBC, CBS or any major network, but they are all over Trump's latest tweet.

 

In all seriousness unless they are totally uninformed or brain dead, I don't see how anyone could be a Hillary supporter. She is more corrupt than probably half of the inmates in prison. It's a total disgrace that she has even gotten this far. Yes, all politicians are liars, but her misdeeds go way beyond that. From the emails to Benghazi, the Clinton foundation, all the not so mysterious deaths, and Whitewater the list goes on and on...yet what's the news of today, Trump complains about 'Saturday Night Live.'

 

Don't get me wrong, Trump is far from a saint. He's his own worst enemy and makes it easy to criticize him. Yet he's still better than Hillary. If he was only just a half way decent man, the Presidency should have been handed to him without even an election, but he's not. The most redeeming thing about Trump is, he's not Hillary and would be a change from Obama. It's going to be either Trump or Hillary that wins. Johnson and the other nominees have the same chance of winning than the Reds do winning the World Series, and they aren't even in the playoffs.

 

It is troubling to have 'Friends' who support Hillary, especially since they are intelligent people. At least I thought they were. However, I'm far from perfect myself, as I still root for the Bengals, so I'm willing to overlook faults. I don't want political beliefs to come between us. After all, if Hillary wins, in four years you will be on my side and see the errors of you way.

 

Since the presidential race began I have lost three 'friends' on Facebook. I'm not seeking sympathy as I didn't really like them much anyway, it's just sad that politics leads to such hostility. All three were Hillary supports and got mad that I defended Trump in comments on their posts. They apparently couldn't handle the truth. Their choice to unfriend me though did weigh in my decision to stop making political posts as I don't want to wreck anymore relationships. Neither of the candidates are worth it.

 

To those who I've offended or angered I would like to apologize, but I'll be brief since they will probably never read this anyway or have already stopped. To the Hillary supporters I will speak slowly so you can understand me....I   am   s---o--r--r--y.   I  didn't    mean   to   upset    you. Please

forgive     me.

 

I admire those who have been able to resist making any political posts, it's a wise choice. I will try and follow in your ways, but like a politician, I probably won't keep my word.

 

Anyone else who chooses to unfriend me, don't expect to ever see any baby pictures!

 

 

 

 

Fears of Parenthood

While the joys of having a child are plentiful, there’s also some concerns. Being born into a world where Hillary Clinton could be President is scary enough, but believe it or not, there’s some fears that run even deeper. Besides, who knows what Hillary’s health will be in five more months? Though it’s much more fun to focus on the positives, the negatives of being a parent must not be ignored.

The whole changing diapers thing is enough for its own future blog entry, but along the same lines of grossness, is all the puke there will be to clean up. Baby Woody already has two strikes against it, as both Jessica and I threw-up a lot while growing up. Yes, it’s normal for infants to spit-up, but we had volcanic like eruptions into our teen years (at least I did). I started taking an extra pair of clothes to elementary school, just so my Mom wouldn’t have to bring them after I lost my lunch. The clinic had her on speed dial, before speed dial was even invented. As for Jessica, she could barely go for a car ride around the block without getting sick. If the baby inherits that trait, we’ll have to pull over a lot, because though we both have gotten a lot better, we still have a bad gag reflex when we hear/see someone else vomit. It will be a chain reaction, if one of us throws-up, the other will soon follow. It will be an endless cycle of cleaning up barf. We better start stocking up on the Lysol now.

I have a confession to make, it’s very personal and I try not to talk about it, but I’ve kept it buried inside long enough. From the outside I may look normal, or at least somewhat close to it, but not all ailments can be seen. For years I’ve suffered from a serious case of being absolutely terrible at video games. From Pac-Man to Call of Duty, I last for about two minutes before all my lives are gone. It makes no difference if it’s at an arcade, on a home gaming system, a hand held device or on a computer, the results are always the same. With how kids start playing on their electronics at such a young age now, Baby Woody will be two and already past me on Candy Crush. How embarrassing will it be, when the child is still in diapers and beats me at every video game? Their first words will probably be, ‘No Daddy, push B!”

If we play outside the results are likely not to be much better. If it’s a girl, I can at least teach her how to throw like a girl. Either way, boy or girl, we will never be able to play catch, but rather pick it up. Not to brag, but I was always pretty good on the swings, so we’ll have to spend lots of time on the swing set, where I can both swing and push! Just no monkey bars though.

Gone are the days where a quick exit is possible, as I’ll no longer be able to go anywhere without being able to fit everything I need in my pockets. I’ll have to start loading up about ten minutes earlier now. Will never be on time again. I’ll need to pack the diaper bag, toys, stroller, blanket, bottles, food, etc. and hopefully remember the baby.

There will be no more peaceful meals, when out to eat, as soon as I cut into my steak (okay chicken nuggets), the baby will start crying, after having thrown hundreds of cheerios on the floor, and the surrounding diners give us dirty looks. I start shoving the food into my mouth quickly, not even tasting it. Then Baby Woody spits up, which causes me to lose everything I just inhaled, then we really get the dirty looks. We need to rush out before Jessica adds to the vomit, but we have to get the diaper bag, toys, stroller etc…etc…oh the joys of parenting.

The good will by far outweigh the bad, especially if Baby Woody takes after its mother more than its father.

Secret Joys of Parenthood

There are many positive blessings that come from having a baby; such as the warmth of their smile, a love stronger than anything ever known, and personal fulfillment of having created a human life. However, there are some less deep aspects of being a parent that I’m really excited about it.

First, without any shame or fear of getting caught, I can watch Sesame Street again. I never felt comfortable watching it on my own in fear that someone may find out, even with the volume turned really low, the risk was just too great. I didn’t want to be seen watching a show that’s geared for young children and provide further reasoning for my mental development to be questioned. It’s been so long since I’ve visited Sesame Street that I miss the witty banter between Bert & Ernie, Oscar’s put-downs, and Grover’s lessons on near/far plus over/under. Are Big Bird and Snuffleupagus still even friends? There’s been a huge void in my life without Sesame Street. I’m also hoping that maybe The Count can help teach me this new age style of doing Math as I’m totally clueless. I struggle enough with the old way. There’s also a whole new collection of children’s programming that I’m anxious to start watching, as me and the little one find new favorites. Thankfully Mr. Rogers Neighborhood is available on Netflix as no child of mine will go through adolescence without visiting the Neighborhood of Make Believe and learning the catch-phrase ‘Speedy Delivery…Speedy Delivery.’

Another bonus of having a child is amusement parks become much more appealing again. I will now be allowed onto the ‘kiddie rides’ rather than getting denied while preparing to board. When they ask, ‘Do you have a child to ride with?’ I will proudly state, ‘Yes, I do.’ No more getting laughed at for trying to get on the ‘kiddie coasters’ by myself. As long as I can fit in the seat, I’ll be ready to go, and maybe even let go and raise my hands up in the air. In addition, I can also go to Chuck E. Cheese again, it’s been way too long.

Though very young, babies can serve multiple purposes, such as a perfect exit strategy or an excuse to not even go. When grandma starts to tell the same story for the third time in an hour or when the aunts and uncles start to compare scars from their surgeries it’s the perfect opportunity to change the diaper or put him/her down for a nap. It will be easy to come up with a reason to excuse myself for a few minutes while with the baby, verses always having to claim I had to go to the bathroom.

I love the baby already, I won’t have to sit through any classical piano recitals because of it, as I can just say that the baby wasn’t feeling well that day. If asked over to yet another family gathering, and the finale of Big Brother is on the same night, then the baby has just been really cranky and would be better off just staying in.  

From the McDonald’s Playhouses to shopping in the toy aisles, being a parent is sure to bring lots of joys.

 

 

Finding the Perfect Name

  

The name can be everything, who wants to eat at a restaurant called the Poo Palace or live in Ding Dong, Texas? If the original plan to use ‘Mine and Yours’ as the title, instead of ‘The Brady Bunch’ it may not have reached such an iconic status. We as humans are identified by our names from birth to death, and can be the difference between public acceptance and abandonment. It’s the parent’s responsibility to present their child with a name that will serve them well.

I don’t know when the trend of coming up with more modern names started rather than the standards like; Tom, Dick and Harry or Betty, Sue, or Carol. Just like with everything else, there has to be a variety of options to choose from. I can barely decide on what flavor of potato chip to buy, not to mention name a child.

It’s important that it be a name that won’t easily be made fun of, as Woody is already enough to deal with.  That’s two strikes against Harry. An effort is also being made to not share a name with anyone else in the family. We don’t want to copy and everyone deserves their own identity, plus gossip is made easier when you don’t have to decipher which Al or Alice is being talked about. Juniors or II’s etc. are different, but we aren’t going that route. The larger the family, the harder it is to find an original name.

Maybe it’s a sign that I'm too big of a couch potato, but a number of names makes me think of television characters. Hayden brings me back to the days of ‘Coach.’ Actually Luther was my favorite from that show and is more deserving of my firstborn to be named after. Or perhaps Dauber. There’s no Dauber’s in the family. If it’s a girl, Penny or Bernadette are worthy of consideration, but I’d expect her first word to be…Bazinga! The world of television unleashes a whole host of names; Barney, Opie, Kramer (Cosmo), Chandler, Frasier, Piper, Skyler, Phoebe, Kalinda and Cersei. (How many shows did you guess?) There’s big hopes for this child, so to name it after a legend seems fitting. However the suggestions of Bert, Ernie, and Oscar just earned me a look that told me how to get somewhere, and it wasn’t Sesame Street. Maybe I should have started with Kermit.

Since television didn’t work, I turned to a U.S map for further inspiration. There’s one spot that Jessica has vacationed many times and holds a special place in her heart. Therefore, how touching would it be to name it Myrtle after Myrtle Beach. Only it makes the baby instantly sound like a senior citizen. Is there anyone under 80 named Myrtle? There’s also Anderson, which is where Jessica was living when we started dating, but Anderson Cooper is on CNN and we are a Fox News household. Greta? That might work. Reminds me of the O.J Trial though, as Greta Van Susteren got her start by covering it. Speaking of the O.J Trial. Kato is another name that comes to mind. The map ended up taking me in a direction we don’t want to go.

Finally, it struck me, the perfect name…June, after the month it all started. Only the child would be scarred when old enough to ask where her name came from.

Whether it’s a boy or a girl, I don’t know what its name will be, but it will be its very own.

 

The Other Side of Joy

For every winner…there’s a loser and for every joyous celebration… there’s a pity party. The thrill of victory is much sweeter if the sorrows of defeat have previously been experienced.  While currently relishing in the joys of my child’s upcoming birth, I’m also mindful of those whose pregnancy tests always came back negative. Though the response from everyone has been very positive, I’m certain that behind some smiles is heartache.

“So, when are you going to have kids?’ Is traditionally the first question asked of newlyweds, if they haven’t started early. I believe we were asked before we even had our first dance. Our bed wasn’t even put together yet. With each passing month the question becomes more and more frequent. By year two of marriage and still no stroller in sight the cashier at the grocery began to ask it. I don’t rush anything, it takes me an hour and a half to watch ’60 Minutes.’ Besides, getting pregnant isn’t like turning gray, it doesn’t happen automatically as soon as you say ‘I do.’ I won’t go into detail, or draw any pictures, but certain steps have to be taken. Even then, if the directions are properly followed, there’s still no guarantees.

While some women seemingly get pregnant just by having an impure thought others struggle with fertility. It can be extremely frustrating to repeatedly try to procreate and always be unsuccessful. Meanwhile, seemingly every female you ever went to school with, know from work, related to etc. is pregnant. On Facebook there’s suddenly more pregnancy announcements than recipes. Each one a reminder of a blessing being denied.

Television is not even an escape as babies are the number one tool used for breathing new life into sitcoms that are growing old. A show about the biggest geeks possible, ‘The Big Bang Theory’ even has a pregnancy in it. When watching old reruns of the ‘Golden Girls’ I kept expecting Blanche to have a big surprise.

The amount of unfit, (undeserving) or at least irresponsible, mothers also become more apparent. Everywhere you go whether it’s to a movie, restaurant, mall, or anywhere there is a mother with no control of her three young children, is on food stamps and without car, yet pregnant with a fourth. How? Why? Why do others get more babies than they can handle while some can’t have any?

Then on the news is horrendous stories of parents who commit unthinkable crimes against their children, including taking their young and innocent lives. It’s not fair, especially when there’s other homes in which the children would be deeply loved and cared for.

It’s truly meant to be an innocent question, and is asked because babies typically equals joy, nobody ever asks with malicious intent. I’ve been guilty of it myself, and I even try not to talk to people most of the time. However, being asked ‘when are you going to have kids?’ during that certain time of the month and after just learning that your single co-worker accidently got pregnant on a one-night stand, can really sting. I have learned not to ask, as it can be a very personal question that runs deeper that we could ever imagine. Play it safe and talk about the weather instead.

For those on the other side of the joyous baby announcements, I just wanted to express that I’m mindful of your hurt. I know that it doesn’t always get recognized. There’s also no words I can say to help, but don’t give up on the miracle.

As for me, I’m sure it won’t be long after the first is born, before the question becomes…’when are you going to have the second?’

Labor Pains from 'THE' Post

I don’t know what it feels like to carry a baby inside of you for nine months, but I do know the pain involved from waiting for twelve weeks to publicly announce the pregnancy on Facebook. I imagine there’s not much difference between the two. The stress involved from waiting caused me to eat a lot, even have a craving for pickles, and I gained a few pounds. There are many challenges ahead with being new parents, and among the first was making the perfect Facebook announcement at exactly the right time.

While Facebook is a blessing overall, it can also provide some hurdles. Before the days of Facebook, about 10 years ago, it was much simpler times in which to share big news with your family and closest friends. Now with Facebook, those mere acquaintances whom you hardly know have to be considered too. It’s against the unwritten book of ethics to let those closest to you, find out about life’s most monumental events on social media, so they must be alerted first before any post is made. However, if you tell them too early, the longer they must keep the secret…tell them not soon enough, and they feel rejected. It’s a difficult dilemma.

As an active Facebook user, I typically post as soon as I buy a new flavored Pop Tart (the Orange Crush ones are really good) or have any new thought pass through my head, so imagine my eagerness to tell about the pregnancy. Let’s face it, with my looks and skill-set, the major announcements I’ll ever make are severely limited. I’ve already posted about a perfect grilled cheese I made once, and I’m not ever getting married again, so all I have left is the news I’m going to be a daddy. Then at least in a few more years I can post the first day of school pictures! I was ready to post before the pee was dried off test stick, but that’s against protocol.

Apparently twelve weeks is the standard time to wait before posting about the pregnancy on Facebook. Twelve weeks??? That’s longer than some jail sentences. I certainly understand why, but that didn’t make it any easier. Plus the amount of people who knew slowly began to rise, so the pressure mounted that the privilege to make the news public on Facebook would be taken away. The opportunity to make ‘THE’ post would be lost. It wouldn’t even have to be intentional, all it would take was one brief lapse of good judgement or memory (after having one too many margaritas with dinner) for Aunt (insert name here) to innocently make a comment referring to the baby and then the guy who sat next to you in sixth grade Math class, knows before your boss at work, and the whole chain of demand is broken. I found myself censoring my posts to try and lessen the chances of such an accident, the other day I wanted to say how Rose (the dog) never lets me sleep in, even on weekends. But I was afraid someone would comment about how I better be getting used it, or something along those lines. I was really hoping that a member of my family wouldn’t ruin it, so the consequences wouldn’t be as personal. Talk about labor pains!

Thankfully there was no such incident and after the twelve week doctor appointment, and speeding home… ‘THE’ post was made, then of course the next day I realized that due to Jessica’s Facebook settings that it only went out to her ‘Friends.’ So I had to wait twelve weeks and one day! Am already counting down till the baby’s first picture is posted, am sure I’ll be told the standard amount of time to wait before doing so…nobody better do it first!

Side note: I assume that those reading this, saw ‘THE’ post, of the Mickey Mouse ears in front of the castle at Disney. It turned out great, but it’s the picture that almost wasn’t. The idea was found a few weeks prior to our California trip, after the pregnancy was confirmed. At Disney, we finally decide to stage the picture, after getting the hat (ears) and are told we have two minutes before that area of the park is going to be closed due to a parade. If we were just a little later, we wouldn’t have been able to get a picture with the castle in the background.

 

Birthdays on Facebook

Life is a series of choices, and one dilemma we have all faced, is what to do when we get a notification on Facebook that it’s the birthday of a ‘Friend.’ On the surface it may appear that it’s simple to just post a birthday greeting, but it’s actually very complex. Just like with saying, ‘I do,’ a lot of thought and consideration goes in to the pronouncement of two words…Happy Birthday.

The first decision is whether or not you want to acknowledge the person’s birthday. Facebook makes the excuse of, ‘Oh I forgot,’ almost impossible to use, as it sends constant reminders of whose birthday it is. Yes, it sounds cruel, but let’s be honest, there are ‘Friends,’ who we have been unwilling to exert the effort for to post ‘Happy Birthday.’ Am I right? Maybe it’s because they have sent about a dozen too many game requests or because they didn’t wish us a Happy Birthday. We do keep track, just like with Christmas cards, a sent to and received from list is made.

The next challenge is how much or how little to say, sometimes just ‘Happy Birthday’ doesn’t seem like enough. It’s like saying, “Hi, how are you?” You don’t really care, but it just comes out naturally. A little more in the message adds a personal touch, even if it’s the standard, ‘have a great day,’ or some variation of that. Also, do you give those closest to you, the exact same greeting as those you give the ‘Friends’ that are simply number boosters?

Personally, no matter the substance of the birthday greeting, I’m thankful for every single one I receive. It’s always nice to hear from those I expect to, and especially those who surprise me. The ‘Friends’ that I have little interaction with either on-line or in real life, but chose to acknowledge my birthday is gratifying. I applaud those who has never even had a status ‘liked’ by me, but wished me a ‘Happy Birthday.'

I also enjoy seeing the different types of birthday posts, not only to me, but to everyone. It never fails, there are always people who extends their wishes in a comment on someone else’s post. For example, Aunt Sue posts a ‘Happy Birthday’ to Fred, and then Aunt Ruth adds her birthday wishes in a comment. There’s really nothing wrong with that, it just says to me, “I don’t know how to post on your wall.” It’s not that hard. Then there’s those who are a few days or a week or two late, who seemingly have no idea.

It’s my goal to get my birthday greetings sent before the obligatory ‘thank you for the wishes’ post made by the celebrant. At that point, any wishes thereafter seem to be a little self- serving, especially those in the comments. At least care enough to make your own post and not admit that you somehow missed all the signs that it was their birthday, but want to be acknowledged for recognizing it.

Yes, birthdays were much simpler when the only dilemma used to be whether to get someone a funny or a serious birthday card.

The Unasked Question

Through my life I’ve asked a lot of questions, including ‘Will you marry me?’ and have talked to a lot of people, but there  remains a question I’ve never asked. ‘Do you want fries with that?’ doesn’t count, because it’s on a totally different level. In all seriousness, it’s a question that could forever change a life. Fear hasn’t stopped me from inquiring about, why the third hand on a watch is called the second hand? And other irrelevant questions, yet I’ve shied away from ever asking anyone to church.

I’ve been going to church for as long as I can remember, I even enjoy it, most weeks. Yet, I’ve never felt compelled to invite someone to share in it with me. Politics and religion are two taboo subjects, but I can openly bash Obama to others, but not introduce them to Christ. We, even myself, often say too much, but also not enough. When I eat at a delicious restaurant, read a captivating book, or watch an addicting TV show I spread the word so others can partake. However, when I attend a spiritually uplifting church service, I just go home and take a nap…after going out for lunch. Why? Yes, to never watch ‘Breaking Bad’ is sinful, but to know about Joseph is much more beneficial than learning about Walter White.

Religion is a sensitive topic, I feel like those who don’t go to church have their reasons. Who am I to change them? If they wanted to go, there are plenty of churches around, they don’t need me to ask. Plus, I really don’t want to be viewed as a religious freak who is all about church and stuff. Who wants to be around a person like that? I give no thought to the positive difference the invitation could bring to their life. Maybe they want to go, but just need that extra nudge and comfort of knowing they will at least know somebody there.

The sad truth is, I’m willing to bet (Gambling isn’t always sinful, the Catholics do it), that we know a lot more people who don’t go to church than who do. There’s plenty of people to ask to choose from. The current series at my church has been about how we can reach the unchurched by being the church as the hands and feet of God. Act Godly, by treating others with kindness and generosity in all aspects of life, while at work, at play, at the grocery store or wherever you are. Smiles are contagious and just a few kind words can make a big difference in someone’s heart. We may be the only representation of Christ that some people ever see.

This world is full of hate and suffering, just imagine the differences that could be made if the love of Christ was shed a little brighter. People are more familiar with the 50 Shades of Grey than the Ten Commandments. Kindness can make a huge difference. The shooter in the recent South Carolina tragedy claims that he almost didn’t do it, because everyone in the church was so nice to him. If, and granted it’s a big IF, but IF he hadn’t fired a single shot then nobody would have ever even known what almost happened. Consider this, what if you being kind to someone stops them from doing something hurtful. Smiles and kind words are free, we should all give them out more often. Doesn’t that sound like a world in which you would like to live?

I attend Christian Life Center, Little York Campus, and I extend an invitation for you to come, or to attend a church of your choice. I’m also going to try and write some occasional spiritual posts, as there really is nothing more important to talk about, even with the new season of ‘Orange is the New Black’ now on Netflix.

 

 

Sock it to me! Size Matters. Tube vs. No Shows

Marriage has taught me a lot, as apparently I’d been doing a lot of things wrong prior to taking the plunge. For example, I shouldn’t have based my tips on the amount of cleavage the waitress shows (The Hooters girls always got more than 20%) or only did dishes when the cupboards were bare. However, my worst mistakes were seemingly due to my lack of any fashion sense. I’m left to wonder how I ever dressed myself, as I failed with even the most basic of necessities. I’ll spare you the debriefing on underwear choices and instead focus on socks.

I really never knew how important socks were to an ensemble, as long as no hole was visible, all was good. So I thought. I was able to mask my deficiency of sock knowledge through the colder months, but once it became warm enough to wear shorts then my inadequacies were fully exposed. As if my ghostly white legs weren’t bad enough, my tube socks made it worse. Yes, much like my letter man coat from high school, I was forced to part with my collection of tube socks. While I miss my grandmothers daily, it’s a blessing they are departed because I’d never be able to explain why they could no longer get me tube socks for Christmas.

Apparently the truth is size does matter. The good news is, the smaller the better. You know what they say about men with big feet…small socks. Yes, socks so small, they are called ‘No Shows’ are the must haves for men to be fashionably acceptable, especially when wearing shorts. Is that a surprise to anyone but me?

In my defense, I’m not totally clueless in the field of socks. I know not to wear any size of black sock while wearing shorts. Also, it’s suggested that the tube socks not be pulled up all the way to the knee. Take my word for it, trust me, you will be laughed at. Mid-calf is also widely believed to be too high, as is even mid-ankle.

My legs aren’t very long, I’ve never been told, ‘You must be a basketball player,’ and I’ve also been advised against wearing short shorts. (That was an awkward conversation) A person need not be a fashion designer to know that if your shorts reaches your knees, then your socks are kept below knee-level. I typically kept my socks rolled down to an inch or two above the ankle, low enough that I wouldn’t look silly…Wrong! I even made sure the top stripe matched my shirt. I never want my colors to clash!

The first really warm day of the year, I broke out my shorts and rolled down my socks…red shirt, green striped socks (in the spirit of Christmas) and the wife was instantly ready to go shopping for socks. Before she’d go out to dinner with me that night, there was a quick trip to the store. I then received my first pair of ‘no show’ socks, with the warning to still not wear them with sandals or boat/deck/loafer shoes. My reaction to wearing them is similar to my feelings on G-Strings, why even bother? It’s all hanging out to see anyway.

It has been an adjustment, I feel so exposed, and my ankles have been freezing. The ankles must be the thermostat for the entire body. I suppose it’s just part of what it takes to be in style, or at least from below the ankle.