Am I becoming a “muscle-head?” Actually, I’m not even sure if that’s the right term. That’s how little I know about gyms and lifting weights. Although I am learning. I’ve been trying to farm-raise a muscle or two along my upper body. A field of abs here. A row of biceps there. Maybe even a plot of pecs for the spring. As an avid runner, my lower body has always been in pretty good shape. My legs were toned with sharply angled muscles. My upper body, on the other hand, looked like a man who had launched a hunger strike about three decades ago. But a few months back, when I was forced to take to the Flagler College gym to rehab my wounded leg, I started looking around at these scary and intimidating devices for arms and shoulders. While I couldn’t figure out what any of them did, or much less how to use them, I got it in my head that I should expand my circuit to add some upper body workouts. So I’ve started lifting weights, and actually I’m really enjoying it. It’s added some variety to my running, and even put some meat on my formerly scrawny bones.
The … um … ‘Quirks’ of a Toddler
You never call your kid nuts. Never. No way. That’s out of bounds and off limits. Parents don’t go there talking about their own children. Other people’s children, sure, why not? But your own, nope! That isn’t to say they’re not nuts. More than likely, they are, especially if you have a toddler. Every parent knows their kid is bonko. But you don’t say it out loud. You don’t mention it among civilized company. You kind of pretend they’re normal, sane, and didn’t just crash into that wall at high speed, only to turn to you and say, “I fell on my butt.” This is what I’m coming to understand as the parent of a 2 1/2-year-old. You invent nice, delicate, PC ways to explain your child’s behavior, and her … um … quirks. Yeah, quirks. That’s it. She has quirks. That’s why she tried to brush her eyeballs with a toothbrush, or nearly flushed herself down the toilet. That’s why she says things like “poopie music” and wants me to smell her dirty shoes. You invent little phrases and sayings to explain all this stuff: She’s having a moment. A circuit must have fried. She’s unique. She’s special. There’s not as much oxygen going around as there used to be. Must be too much sugar in her diet. Must be all those double espresso lattes. Our new one is not so subtle, but speaks more to a time of day than a frame of mind: the 5 o’clock crazies. […]
Happy Birthday, Honey … Now for Some Advice
Happy birthday, honey. Don’t worry. I won’t give away your age, except to say that you look more beautiful today than you did when you were 20. Unless of course that’s giving away too much. In which case, when you were 11. Although that sounds a little creepy. So let’s just say you look smokin’ hot, and young not old … I mean … OK, let’s move on. Anyway, it’s your (age withheld) birthday, and I hope it’s a good one. For my part, I will try not to make too big a mess around the house; I will attempt to do at least one thing you ask (except fold that shirt that’s been sitting on the dresser for weeks — I kind of like it there now); and I’ll do my best to watch the kid to give you a break. (Yes, I know. Watch the kid means don’t let her put the dog in the dishwasher again, and it doesn’t mean two eyes on the TV and one ear on her.) I want this day to be special and relaxing for you. Yeah, I know, that was a good one. Stop laughing. You’re the parent of a 2-1/2-year-old — the responsible one at that — and it’s not easy to take time for yourself or put away your role as the mother of me, and the child. Guys have no problem there, I don’t know why. Shoot, sometimes we forget we have kids. We forget we have houses. […]
Time for a Big Kid House
I want a big kid house. I don’t know what it is — what has changed. Maybe it’s fatherhood, maybe it’s my age. Maybe it’s that I want really nice things so that a storm can come and blow them all away. Or maybe it’s just that I’m finally tired of looking at those wood putty holes in the utility room door that I started over a year ago but never finished. Take a walk around my house and you find many things like that. The trim I never finished painting. The trim I never finished putting up. The trim I never bought. Little things and big things. They’ve all been weighing on me recently, making me think it’s time to finish the house and make it a little more grown-up. I have extra motivation, too: It seems my wife feels exactly the same way. Funny the things that will motivate you! I don’t want to leave my house, I just want to polish it off. Make it feel more complete. It’s a quaint, rustic-looking, century-old abode in Lincolnville that could be at home in Key West or Cross Creek. It has personality — it seeps from the pours of every piece of heart pine, and even the creaking of the floors sound like an old man telling a tale “Did I tell you about the time I fought off a grizzly bear with nothing but a pair of tweezers and a rolled up newspaper?”