A Rainy Day, CandyLand and Lessons in being a Poor Sport

October 4, 2010 By 2 Comments

Okay, I admit it.  I cheated playing Candyland with my then 3-year old son and 5-year old daughter.  I committed this crime one year ago, and I’ve been called out for being a “poor sport” for the past 12 months, so here I am coming clean.

But, I ask all of you dads, “what would you have done if put in this same situation?”  Read the following set of circumstances and you tell me…

It’s a rainy first Sunday in October.  My wife and I “hit the town” the previous night for a fun-filled October fest with a few friends.  Now, I’ve learned my lesson to stop at 2 bottles of wine.  I’m joking.  Relax.  I’ve learned my lesson to stop at 2 “glasses” of wine.  So, Charlie Jack Hammer is not drilling his way into my cerebellum, but hey, we got home late, and Cooper decided that his normal 5:30 am wake up call was in play for the 73rd consecutive Sunday.  This kid just doesn’t like to sleep on the weekend.  It’s the first Sunday in October, so we have the last day of the baseball season (see Tigers-Twins excitement for those of you that recall).  We have NFL Football of course.  Normally, I’m a casual fan.  After the 9th straight game of Candyland, I’m John Madden on Cotton Candy.  Boom!

So, here we are sitting at the kitchen table at 2:30pm.  I’ve been awake now for 9 hours.  My only break was the 60 minutes asking God why he has forsaken me in this, my hour of need.  I’m trying to be a good Dad and keep the TV off and do some Smith Team Building excercises like the dishes, reading books, cleaning out kid’s closets, and now playing board games:  first 4 games of Memory and now we’re onto our 10th game of Candyland. This is where it all went down.

Delaney has won 5 games.  Coop has won 4.  I say “hey guys, let’s do something else.”  They respond with “Daddy, you haven’t won yet.”  Yeah, well, every time I get past the Ice Cream Cone, I draw a damn Gingerbread man again.  That guy is a jerk.  And, I’m back near the starting line again.  I’m glad the fox ate the gingerbread man.  He deserved it with his wry smile and open arms as if it say “here I am, pick me again Mr. Smith, you moron.”  Sorry.  I’m having flashbacks.

So, picture this.  I’m between the Lollipop and the Ice Cream Cone again.  I know that the jerk (see Gingerbread man) still hasn’t been drawn yet.  I also know that I’ll never play Candyland again if I can just win one game.  Delaney is a double purple behind me.  Cooper just drew the Candy Cane.  Goody-Goody Gum Drops, I have my opening.  I need a Double Blue, Double Green, and a Double Red.  I do all of that and I’ll be watching Game 162 of the baseball season.  So, I draw, and I’ll be damned, that sweet little bastard is staring at me again.  Nope, not happening.  I drop all of the cards on the floor.  Delaney screams out “Daddy, what happened?”  I respond with “I don’t know, my hand just started shaking.  Are we having an earthquake?”  Cooper chimes in with “Sure, I’ll take a milkshake.”  No, I said “earthquake.”  And, we all proceed to clean them up.  Kids under the table, me in my chair, orderly putting the cards back in the pile with every 3rd card being a Double Blue, Double Green and Double Red.  Huh, funny how that worked out.

So, a few minutes later, I win. Game Over.  And, finally, I get them each some milk, so we all can take a little Sunday nap.  As the three of us fall into the couch, Delaney looks at me says “Daddy, I think you cheated.”  What??? “I think you dropped those cards on purpose.”  And what gives you that idea Delaney?  “Well, we went through the entire deck of cards, and no one picked the Gingerbread man.  It seems that you always pick it, and that’s “shady;” Her word, not mine, by the way.

So, call me Shady.  Call me a Gingerbread Man Hater.  But, I swore that table started to shake on that 1st Sunday in October in 2009, and for that I’m not sorry.  There.  It’s out there now.  Whew, I feel better.

As a present to myself, I think I’ll go pour myself a tall glass of milk, eat a few sugary little men with candy buttons and outstretched arms then finish this little nightcap off with a nice smile.

I guess you could call me a “Poor Sport.”

-Daddy

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Freeze Frame – A Soccer Dad’s Moment

September 4, 2010 By 3 Comments

Dear Daddy Diary-

You ever have those moments in life where you actually do sit back, take a deep breath and wish you could just freeze the moment forever? I had one this past Tuesday night at a First Grade Girl’s Soccer Game.

It was the ‘Consolation’ Championship Game of a Pre-Season Tournament. Both teams had lost their 1st game, but won the next 2 advancing to a “Trophy Game.” Trophy Game being defined as a game where the winner receives a trophy. See, you don’t have to be too smart to read/write these diaries.

I only mention this fact, because this game was tied 1-1 after 50 minutes of play, thus went into Penalty Kicks.

For the non-soccer fan, this is where the ball is set up just a few yards from the goal, and a player is allowed to shoot the ball completely uncontested as hard as she can at the goal. It’s the goalkeeper’s task to stop that ball from crossing the line. Each team gets 5 shots. Whichever team scores the most, wins, and thus walks home with the trophy. Kind of a big deal to a bunch of 6 year old pony-tailed soccer zealots.

This author is one of the “coaches.” Whew, use that term extremely loosely when referring to me. Coach Joe is the Head Coach. He’s the guy on the field positioning the girls during the entire game. He’s constant with his words of encouragement, working so hard to keep them in the right spot that I was tired for him. Then, there’s Coach Matt, the “teacher”. He’s the guy that played ultra competitive soccer back in the day, and could still whistle a shot past a Ghana Goalie (yep, could have used him in South Africa about 2 months ago). Coach Matt is so patient with the girls explaining the way the game is supposed to be played: passing, spacing, unselfish play. Then, there’s yours truly. Coach Joe has assigned me the job of substituting the girls on/off the field; making sure they all get as equal amount of playing time as possible, and also putting each of them in the best position to be successful. No pressure. Thanks Coach Joe. (Pssst, I love it.)

soccergirls

Then, of course, there are the girls. Just look at them. Don’t they look sweet? Huh, think pack of wolverines. Sure, they’re cute and nice, almost adorable with their little pigtails and batting eyelashes, but then the referee blows the whistle, and their entire purpose in life for the next 50 minutes is to put that ball in that goal as many times as possible. Tonight, they found the net once. The other team scored the same amount, so it’s on to Penalty Kicks.

Coach Joe takes the 5 girls who are going to shoot and gets them all ready. Coach Matt takes Addie (the goalie) and explains to her how she is going to stop all of these shots from reaching the net. Yours truly sits alone on the bench. See, my job is over. No more substituting. I’m just a Dad now watching his little girl and her friends have fun.

And, this leads me to the moment that I want to freeze forever.

I look across the sidelines, and realize that these parents are my friends for the next 8-12 years (or longer if I’m lucky). I look on the field and understand that these little girls will grow up with my little princess and experience all of the wonderful things that kids enjoy. They’ll be in and out of my house faster than Landon Donovan, have all night slumber parties, text boys on their smart phones from my living room, beg me to re-charge their ipod in the middle of the night and coerce me into downloading multiple movies on a Friday evening. I gazed down the sideline at my wife, peeked at my little Mia Hamm on the field and found my 4 year old son sitting with another of the girl’s brothers (of course), then looked to the sky and said “thank you.”

See, this is everything that I’ve ever dreamed of…I love team sports. I truly love them for this. I love that team sports bring kids together and let them play….just play together with the goal being to have fun and maybe learn a thing or two about being a part of a team. These kids will be friends for a long time, not forever for some of them of course, because the world will try to pull them away from each other. But, for tonight, on this field, each one of these innocent balls of sugar and soccer spice is rooting each other on harder than they’ve ever rooted for anything in their lives, and for what? A Trophy? Heck no, they’re rooting for each other because they’re friends.

It really is that simple; Just friends cheering on friends. It’s perfect. We’re going to have a lot of fun over the next 12 years. See this picture. You can almost imagine this Class of 2022 walking across the stage, gathering their diplomas and heading off into the real world. For now, they are just a bunch of 6-year old girls who would love nothing more than just to play with their friends.

And, maybe, just maybe win a Trophy.

PS…Addie (The Goalie came up huuuuuge). The Wolverines (ahem, I mean Crusaders) win in Penalty Kicks.

I “CAN” wait for the next game. I’m just fine enjoying this one FOREVER.

Sincerely,

A Soccer Dad

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The Vasectomy Consult Experience

July 18, 2010 By 31 Comments

A Daughter, A Son, and we’re all set.

So, this past week, I visited my local Urological office for a consult on getting a Vasectomy. This is where this latest Daddy Diary turns into a Seinfeld moment. Oh, you’ve had these too. We all have had our own Seinfeld moments, where a “should be normal” task or event turns into a 30 minute made for TV comedy. Set the DVR.

Scene 1 – Jeff (writer will draft in 3rd person at times, then switch to 1st person for funny moments when necessary) enters Urology Office at 9am. Jeff finds out from receptionist that Ann Bessinger will be conducting consult.

Jeff: “Is Ann a (gulp) woman?

Receptionist: “Um, yes, Mr. Smith, is there a problem with that?”

Oh, come on!  A Woman is going to do this?!  This is not good.  I don’t know how to write this except to say that every man reading this does not want a woman to be doing a consult on his, ahem, you know, man parts.  Sweat starts to bead on my forehead, stomach starts to churn, knees begin to tremble, and I respond with…

Jeff: “No!”

Receptionist: “No, you don’t want to see her?”

Jeff: “Yes!”

Recptionist: “Yes, you have a problem.”

Jeff: “No, I don’t have a problem. Yes, I want to see her. Well, I don’t want to see her. I just, well you know. I’m married.”

Recptionist: “Okay (shaking her head), so you want to see her, but you want her to know you’re married?”

Jeff: “No, I’m fine. I’m ready. Do not tell her that I’m nervous.”

Receptionist escorts (not escorts, but ushers) Jeff to his room; the consult room which is not really his room. Okay, anyway, he’s in a room.

Scene 2 – She walks in.  Jeff takes a deep breath and wishes this was over.

Nurse: “Have you ever done this before?”

Jeff: “People come back twice? I thought this was a one-and-done. I have to do this again? Oh, wonderful.

Nurse: “No, I mean, have you ever had a consult about getting a Vasectomy before? Have you ever discussed this before?”

Jeff: “No. First time. I’m a Vasectomy Virgin. Hahaha…get it? Sorry, I’m nervous.”

Nurse: “Don’t be nervous. 95% of this is all me asking questions and letting you know what to expect.”

Jeff: “And the other 5%?”

Nurse: “Well, I have to check you out”

Jeff (thinking to himself):  Good God, please let this end quickly.

Nurse: “On the day of the procedure, you’ll need to bring a scrotum protector.”

Jeff: “What?”

Nurse: “A scrotum protector”

Jeff: “A jockstrap?”

Nurse: “Well kind of, just not with the cup. Come to think of it, you have a 4year old son. You may want to wear the cup as well.”

Jeff: “You’re not joking, are you?”

Nurse: “Nope.”

Jeff: “So, how long do I wear the jockstrap?”

Nurse: “A few days.”

Jeff: “Have you ever worn a jockstrap? They’re not that comfortable.”

Nurse: “Mr. Smith, you’re getting a Vasectomy. This is not going to be comfortable.”

Jeff: “How soon after the procedure can I drink alcohol? I’m just kidding. Fine, I’ll bring a, what did you call it? A scrotum protector? This is incredible.”

Nurse: “Which doctor would you like to use?”

Jeff: “Whichever one does this with the least amount of pain to me. Oh, and is a man. No offense.”

Nurse: “None taken. Well, we have 2 docs that do it with IV anesthetic and 2 that do not.”

Jeff: “Holy Crap! Sorry! Okay, you mean to tell me there are doctors that don’t use anesthetic on a patient that is getting his penis cut into?”

Nurse: “Mr. Smith, first, we’re not cutting the penis. Second, some patients just don’t want the side effects of anesthesia.”

Jeff: “Yah, they’d rather feel someone sawing on them. Sounds like a blast. Let’s go with the male doctor that is going to put me under.”

Nurse: “He’s not going to put you under. He’s just going to give you something to take the edge off. You don’t need to go all the way under.”

Jeff: “I do. I’m a wimp.”

Nurse: “So, anyway. We’ll put with you Dr Shnip.”

Jeff: “Seriously, his name is Shnip?”

Nurse: “Now, what’s the problem?”

Jeff: “Think about that for a moment. No other patient has questioned a Surgical Urologist with the name Shnip?”

Nurse (growing agitated now): “No, no one has, and I don’t understand why you would.”

Jeff: “Forget it. What’s next?”

Nurse: “The non verbal part of the consult. Pull your pants down.”

I stand up, but this is also interesting.  She didn’t say to pull my pants and boxers/briefs down.  She just said to pull my pants down, and I don’t want to over commit.  So, I stand up, back to the wall.  She’s in a rolling chair staring straight ahead, and I pull my pants down.  Insert awkward silence.

Nurse: “Mr. Smith, you have to pull your boxers down too.”

Jeff: “You didn’t say that.”

Nurse: “Please, pull your pants down.”

Temperature is much cooler in the room now.

Nurse: “So, what I’m feeling for now … is….”

Jeff: “Just an FYI, I really don’t need the play by play. Just do what you need to do, and I’ll pull my pants…and…boxers back up.”

Nurse: “Well, I just want you to know that I’m searching for a spaghetti type string inside your scrotum.”

Jeff: “Psst. I’d like to refer you back to my prior statement. No audio needed.”

I’ll never eat spaghetti again now.  I really liked spaghetti.

Nurse: “Okay, all done. Pull up your pants…and…boxers. So, when would you like to do the procedure?”

Jeff: “Never.”

Nurse: “Mr. Smith?”

Jeff: “I mean, Thanksgiving week looks good for me.”

Nurse: “It’s July. That’s 4 months away.”

Jeff: “Yep, I’ll be thankful that it’s over. There are discounts on Scrotum Protectors on Black Friday. I’ll watch a lot of football, and get 4 days of pity from my wife and kids. Done. I’ll take the Tuesday or Wednesday before Thanksgiving please.”

Nurse: “Um, okay, we don’t usually book that far out, but okay.”

Jeff: “Thank you much. See you in about 4 months. Enjoy your summer.”

To be continued …

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The Choice

May 24, 2010 By 16 Comments

Dear Daddy Diary-

Today, May 23rd, 2010 was the toughest day of my life since July 10, 2004.

I made a career decision today that I’m not sure was the right one. Do we ever know? I’m a mental wreck. My mind has gone back and forth so much in the last 24hrs that I feel like a politician. I flipped a coin 15 times. I flipped my 3-yr old son! Luckily, he landed on tails. I chose the safe, conservative route. I took the job that I was supposed to take. Yet, still something is missing.

I used to be the guy that would be a risk taker, with a “bring it” kind of attitude. I never did it for the money. I never did what I was “supposed to do.” I was a sportscaster for goodness sakes. I made no cash, lived in small towns, and rode a bus from town to town calling Minor League Hockey Games. I did things to be the wild card. Now, I play things close to the vest. I’m holding on too tight. I need to turn in my wings. I feel like Cougar in “Top Gun.” And you want to know why? Because of the happenings on July 10th, 2004.

That was the night that I became a daddy, and almost became a widow. My first was born, beautiful, healthy, and I was on top of the world. At the same time, my first and only love was fighting for her life. Delaney, the scrapper that she is, caused some serious internal problems for the toughest woman on the planet aka her mommy aka Extraordinary Mommy. One minute we’re celebrating our first little miracle. The next minute I’m praying for a miracle that my wife will come back from emergency surgery with enough blood inside of her to see her little girl.

delaney-week-1-068Lucky for me, this story has a happy ending. The doctors were able to finally stop the bleeding, and my beautiful bride made a full recovery after many weeks of rest.

So, that brings me to today. Each time that I’m confronted with another major life decision, I think back to 7/10/04. I thank my lucky stars for the conclusion to that highly stressful day, and think what I need to do in order to take advantage of that day each and every day thereafter. Yes, I put way too much pressure on myself. That’s my biggest problem. I’m trying to live the rest of my life as a “thank you note” for the present that I was given on that wonderful Saturday, 6 years ago.

daddydiaryfeatured

There’s a lesson here, and I’m still trying to learn it, but I do know this, I love my wife, I love my daughter, and I love my son more than any love that I know that I ever had, so for that, I’m thankful. And, since they’re all healthy and tucked into bed, then that makes today, May 23rd, 2010 one of the best days of my life since July 10th, 2004.

PS…Sorry to be so serious with this Daddy Diary. The witty, funny ones will return next time around. As my 3yeard old says “I had a hard day.”

-Daddy

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Bedtime and Basketball

January 26, 2010 By 5 Comments

Bed Time. Lights Out for the kiddos. Time to watch my alma mater, the Mizzou Tigers play some high flyin’ hoops against our rivals to the west, the dreaded Kansas Jayhawks.

The ball is tipped, and there I am imploring the team in black and gold to get the ball to tickle the twine, make it wiggle and giggle. Then, out of nowhere, a gold headed 3 yr old boy dressed in black basketball pjs appears at the foot of my bed. “Daddy, can I watch the basketball game with you?”

Now, how do I say “no” to my son who wants to root on the Tigers especially when we’re heavy underdogs on the road at KU? We need all of the help we can get.

cimg1305

“Daddy, where do the Tigers live?” Answer: In Columbia, Missouri.

“Daddy, I thought Tigers lived in a jungle?” Answer: Yes, in a Jungle in Columbia, Missouri.

“Daddy, what’s a Jayhawk? Answer: An Ugly Bird.

“Daddy, can I go put my basketball jersey on?” Answer: Of course.

“Daddy, does LeBron play for the Tigers?” Answer: I wish.

“Daddy, does Kobe play for the Tigers?” Answer: I wish again. And, for my third wish, I’ll take D Wade.

“Daddy, can you find me? I’m hiding under the covers.” Answer: Hold on, Coop. We’re making a run. We’re within 8.

“Daddy, are we rooting for the Jayhawks?” Answer: No!

“Well, Daddy, the Jayhawks are winning.” Comment: Thanks Cooper. I know this already.

“Daddy, I think the Jayhawks won.” Comment: Yes, Cooper. The Jayhawks won.

“Daddy, thank you for letting me watch the basketball game with you. I love you very much. I had a lot of fun. Can you please take me to my bed now? I’m tired.” Comment: It was the best game that I’ve ever watched. Bed Time. Lights Out.

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A Christmas gift for Daddy

January 6, 2010 By 2 Comments

It’s Christmas Eve. We just returned from a Christmas Mass-Christmas Dinner combo. I melt into the couch completely stuffed from eating everyone’s food. I’m conversing with my father-in-law when out of the corner of my eye I spot a shadow near the fireplace.

img_2844He’s short, about 3 feet tall, dressed in a red sweater with a sweet little smile. He has something in his hand. Is this an elf bringing me a Christmas present just a few hours too early?

“Daddy, do you want one of your daddy drinks,” asks the 3yr old elf that looks a lot like my son Cooper.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I’ve heard about this day from some of my buddies who have older sons. I never thought it was real though. I thought it was only one of those dreams that dad’s tweet about in their sleep. Christmas is a time of magic though; maybe the story is a non-fiction.

My wonderful son stands in front of me holding a cold, frosty, bottle of all American (well, it used to be All-American, now it’s half American, half Belgian) Beer.

Okay, crazy anti-beer zealots, I drink maybe 2 beers a week, so let’s not get carried away that I’m one of these beer guzzling, couch potatoes that ferments himself in between the cushions. I just like a nice sip of an adult beverage once or twice a weekend, so relax.

Now, let’s get back to the Christmas miracle.

I look up from my seated position and see a halo around Cooper’s head or maybe that’s the glow from the TV, but either way, he’s an angel in my eyes, always has been, always will be.

I grab Cooper, and give him a big bear hug. I tell him how thankful that I am for him thinking of me on this Christmas Eve. He has really grasped the concept of giving during this holiday season. He then shakes my hand (yes, he shook my hand), and says “Anytime, Daddy.” A single tear runs down my cheek. I grab the bottle, take a drink, and puff my chest out. That’s my son!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night “cap”.

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Holiday Shopping at Hooters (this post was written by a dude)

December 19, 2009 By 1 Comment

Happy Holidays to all of you Dads out there. This Daddy Diary is strictly for you. Moms who continue to read, you have been warned.

img_2810My 3-yr old son, Cooper and I, are off to find a gift for PaPa (Cooper’s Grandpa, My Dad).

PaPa’s perfect night is a couple of cold ones while watching a baseball game and a plate full of chicken wings in front of him. Every male reader knows where we’re going to get his gift.

Hooters!!!

And, this is where the Daddy Diary begins.

Cooper and I enter through the double doors. The Neon Orange blinds us. We both trip right into the hostess stand. (That move never worked in college). Cooper looks up with his big, blue eyes “Hi, my name is Cooper, we need a present for my Papa.” Wow, he’s smooth. I really could have used him back in the day. I’m so proud of him.

“Well, sure, Cooper, would you like a gift card, so your Papa can come here whenever he wants?” She’s smooth too. What a great salesperson. “Yes, please, he told me that his favorite restaurant is Hooters.” This is great stuff. Cooper is in charge of the conversation, making good eye contact, and accomplishing our goal. I stand back and admire.

“You’re very pretty,” says Cooper. “Well, thank you,” replies the Hostess, “you’re handsome too. Will you be my boyfriend?” Really? It’s that easy when you’re 3? “No thank you, my mommy is my girlfriend. She’s the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.” Yep, that was the old 32-A move, “Play hard to get.” Women have perfected that move over the years. “Oh well, your mommy is a lucky lady, Mister Cooper” says the Hostess in a fit of jealousy, but never once looking at me. My ego is hit, but I’m the “wing” (shameless pun) man here, I know my role.

Then, Cooper goes in for the close. “Do you like baseball? It’s my favorite. I love playing baseball with my Daddy.” Yep, here we go, I’m finally introduced to the conversation. “I like baseball too,” says Cooper’s new friend, “Here’s your gift certificate for your Papa. You come back and see me, okay?” Cooper’s first trip to Hooters and he lands the 2nd date. Amazing! “Okay,” says Cooper, “Merry Christmas.” He grabs the gift certificate himself, takes my hand, and we exit the Owl’s nest.

Atta boy Coop, you accomplished something that most of us Dads cannot ever dream of doing. You bought a Christmas present with one whole week to spare.

Happy Holidays!

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