We Made the Right Choice

"I don't know what this life will bring but I know it has us. I choose us." Tea Leoni, The Family Man

Life is a series of decisions. Big ones. Small ones. Every one you make affects your life in some way. From the clothes you choose to the food you eat to the jobs you take. And the jobs you don't take.

The movie I quoted above, a tear-jerker starring Nicholas Cage that is somehow one of those must-watch-when-it's-on movies, is all about a glimpse at the life you could have had. And wouldn't you know, it was on television the weekend before our 10th wedding anniversary.

The movie begins with Cage and Leoni in an airport. He's heading off to a golden job opportunity that will help launch his career in finance. She's having doubts and utters the line above in an effort to convince him to stay. He doesn't. He takes the job and they don't end up together.

In this blog, I use the title to another movie to describe the journey My Director and I have shared to get here: The Story of Us. Our story would have ended if not for a job I DIDN'T take.

My goal - my dream - when I went to Syracuse to study broadcast journalism was to be the next Bob Costas. (He's a Syracuse alum.) I wanted to be the next play-by-play man of the Yankees or the next SportsCenter anchor. Soon I realized those guys (and girls) weren't enjoying college the way I wanted to enjoy college. (Drunk and foolish.) They were too serious and kind of nerdy. Yes, I chose not to be a sportscaster because I no longer considered it to be cool. I was a shallow 19 year-old. But a news guy... a news guy can be cool and taken seriously. Right?

After graduation, I sent resume tapes to dozens of television stations all over the country in towns you've probably never been to, let alone heard of. I received a couple of offers. One from a station in Meridian, MS, where I would be reporting during the week and anchoring on the weekends for $18,000 a year. A great opportunity in a decent market for someone just out of college. The other was from Lincoln, NE. I received the call on a Monday. They wanted me to anchor, report, shoot my own stories, and write and produce the show myself for $12,000 a year... and can you start Thursday?

I knew this was the way to break into the business. Do it all, one-man band reporting. Make no money in a far-away place as you build your reel and work your way back to where you want to be. I also knew that if I went to the middle of nowhere for six months or a year I would risk losing the love of my life.

12/07/2002

So I chose us.

Read more ...

For This I Am Forever Thankful

"How do I know when it's love? I can't tell you but it lasts forever." -Van Halen

When do you know the person you're with is the one with whom you want to spend the rest of your life? I knew early on in my relationship with My Director, but our first Thanksgiving clinched it.

Hall of Languages
Syracuse University

It was 15 years ago. We were in college at Syracuse. We had been dating just three months. I knew earlier in the semester that she was "the one," but when I took her temperature to see if she felt the same way, I didn't get the response I was looking for.

Read more ...

The Coolest Birthday Gift Ever

One year ago today, My Director gave me what I still consider, as you could tell by the title of this post, the coolest birthday gift ever. She wrote this guest post - the first ever on DKL - in honor of  my 36th birthday. She is not a writer, says she had no fun doing it, but did it anyway because she loves me. And she hit it out of the park. Today I'm 37, but this post is still just as awesome. Enjoy:

Does Daddy Know Less?

Who is DKL really? He writes freely and honestly, but how honest can anyone truly be about themselves? Well, in this first ever guest blog post, I, his wife, am here to tell you on this very special day- his birthday, who he really is.

He is indeed all of the things he says he is: narcissistic, needy and self-absorbed. But he sells himself short. He is also sensitive, kind, and loves me more than I ever thought one person could. Does he have a temper? Yes. Is he moody like a woman at that time of the month? Often. Self critical? Too much. In fact, he asks a little too often for a male if I think he looks fat (a side effect of being a fat kid growing up). But what I have always been drawn to is what is underneath that gruff exterior once you scratch the surface.

He truly is a 36 year old man.

If asked, I would have to say that one of my favorite traits about my husband is that he is a big kid at heart. He becomes whatever character the Peanut asks him to and allows that character to consume him. Whether it's Zurg from Toy Story or Aladdin her prince. It does not matter how foolish it may be. He stays in full character.

He often gets annoyed with my mom when he comes home from work and the playroom is staged from their latest pretend world. But you know what? On the days when he is home with the Peanut, what do I come home to? A pretend world and a mess. Most recently it was a train made out of chairs with all of her stuffed animals in the seats with him at the head as the conductor:

All aboard the Mess Express!

Oh, he and my mother are more alike then he would ever be willing to admit...

No one is funnier than dad.

What only enhances his being a big kid is that he is also truly very funny. No one, and I mean no one, can make the Peanut belly laugh harder than he can. Our house is filled with the echoes of "More Daddy, do it one more time" until they are both on the floor laughing. Exhausted. One of her favorites is when he collapses on her and pretends to be asleep until I come to save her and tickle him.

During a recent tour of the Ben and Jerry's factory in Vermont, the tour guide was having some very embarassing technical difficulties when trying to show a movie. The crowd was hushed. That's when my husband asked the group if anyone had checked if the TV was on Channel 3.

He got more laughs at that moment than the tour guide did the whole tour. What warmed my heart the most is how my daughter turned to me and asked with a smile on her face, "Were they all laughing at Daddy?" She was so amused by that. In that moment, I was reminded of one of the many reasons I love him.

I see his humor in her and will be forever thankful that she got this from him because laughter will always allow us as a family to enjoy each other and for others to enjoy us.

Always reminding us that
there is no reason to cry
over spilled milk.

DKL is also the person who grounds us and keeps us real. At times I have a tendency to get worked up over the smallest things. He is always the one who brings me back to reality. Reassuring me that we can handle anything.

One of my favorite pieces of advice MY father ever gave me was right before we became parents. He told me as long as we put each other first as a couple our family will remain strong and intact. He said, "Your children are of course important and you will love them more than you ever thought possible. But it is your relationship as husband and wife that is the most important. If your kids see that you are a unit and are always there for each other, your family will be stronger for it."

Now, I don't mean to brag, but those who know us often say that one of the most obvious traits DKL exhibits is his love for me. It is for this alone, that I know our family will always be alright. His ability to love. I know he has the largest piece of his heart reserved for me and next in line is the Peanut (and Luna).

We are definitely a couple who bickers, but our ability to move past our differences and always work on making us better is what will allow us to live a long happy life together.

DKL and me: Best Friends.

I don't mind that our daughter sees us in our best and worst moments together because she also sees the commitment we have towards each other.

Over the past four years, I have loved being able to see my husband express himself to all of you through this blog. I worry at times that his writing for the masses may cause him to lose himself and write to please all of you. My promise in all of this is to always be the one behind him making sure he is true to himself because to me, DKL in his purist form is the man I love and the blogger who is going to go far.

Happy Birthday to a Daddy who says he knows less, but knows a lot more than he thinks.

I have a new post of my own appearing on You Know It Happens At Your House Too today. It's a funny post about the moment I realized we can't spell in front of Peanut anymore. You can read it here.

Read more ...

You're My Best Friend

"A single rose can be my garden. A single friend, my world." -Leo Buscaglia

I just knew. I knew the woman whom I now so affectionately refer to as My Director was the one. I knew early on, too. Too early, some might say. My college roommate for one. When I shared with him my epiphany that I thought she was "the one"only two months into our relationship, he warned me. "Be careful," he said. And that's all he said. But I was careful... all of those other times. With every other girl. (I made it sound like there were many. There were not.) I never let them in. Never opened up. Didn't want to.

Even though I knew, I still tread lightly. I was, after all, a second semester senior. She was just a junior. A baby. This could never work. The long distance. A graduate and a student. We had been dating for such a short amount of time. But I felt it. I loved her. I couldn't say THAT though. Way too soon. So how do I convey my feelings without freaking her out?

I know. I'll say the next best thing. So one night, as we sat on the couch in my room in my fraternity house. (Very classy.) Jerry Maguire playing for the umpteenth time. (Very romantic.) I finally opened up. I couldn't hold it in anymore. So I told her.

"You know... you're my best friend."

Wow. I did it. I put some feelings out there. Not THE feeling, mind you. But it was definitely a hint.

Without hesitation, she shot right back with, "My mom's my best friend."

Record screeches. Tray of glasses crashes to the floor. Cuba Gooding pauses his "Show me the money" routine mid-gyration. I sat there in disbelief. In stunned silence.

Really? Her mom is her best friend? What the hell is that? If it was a warning signal, an invitation to exit stage left, I didn't take it. Still to this day I can't believe she said her mom is her best friend. Unreal.

That story has become legend. We continue to laugh about it, especially whenever her mom does something to aggravate one of us. At those times I will say, "So who's your best friend now?" Suffice it to say, she has since elevated and permanently placed me into her best-friend penthouse.

A best friend is someone who sees you at your worst but still judges you by your best. That's what My Director has done with me for the nearly fifteen years we've been together. As I said in our wedding vows, she knows everything there is to know about me but loves me anyway.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

Happy birthday to my best friend.

We clean up nice.

Which came first? The spicy chicken or the deviled egg?

Ain't that America: You and me.

A best friend agrees to dress as "Jersey Shore"
for Halloween one year. (I got a spray tan.)

Last year, a word she uses in her voicemail messages to me inspired her birthday post. Click here to read it.

Read more ...

Lies, Deception, and the Three-State Adventure That Ended with My Marriage Proposal

I needed to do something. I knew it. And I knew it had to be big. And memorable. Something different. Something amazing. Something no one had ever done before. (No one we knew of, anyway.) Time was running out.

It was the first week of June. The ring was ready but I wasn't. I had no plan. All I had was the fact that I had to come up with a plan. How would I propose to the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with? This is the story she'll be telling everyone between now and the wedding. (And beyond.) It's got to be good.

A fancy dinner? Sorry, boys. It's been done a million times. Skywriting? Too much. A scoreboard proposal? Lame. Fly her to an exotic location and pop the question there? Now there's an idea...

I had already booked a trip to Barbados. It was my Christmas present to her. (Aren't credit cards a glorious thing when you're young, unmarried, childless, and in love?) I had even hyped that up too. On the car ride to my parents' house for Christmas Eve, I told her my gift was expensive. A lot more expensive than anything she got me. The most expensive gift I had ever purchased. She was not amused.

"You better not be proposing to me in front of your family on Christmas Eve. That's definitely NOT what I'm envisioning." (If that wasn't a precursor for the "My Director" nickname, I don't know what was.) I didn't back down. "You're just going to have to wait and see. And act surprised." (Hehehe.) Eventually, she got herself so worked up I had to tell her, "Give me some credit. Do you think THAT's how I'd propose?"

She was shocked, relieved, and excited when she opened up the Barbados trip.

In the weeks leading up to it, her friends had convinced her that I was going to propose there. How romantic, right? It appeared to be my only option. There's only one problem: I was terrified of either carrying the ring on the plane or checking it in my bag. What if security pulls it out of my carry-on? What if the airline loses my checked luggage? What if I lose it somehow? I couldn't allow that possibility. Besides, I would have been too freaked out on the plane and on the island and every moment leading up to the time I finally popped the question. And that would have been a dead giveaway.

No... I'd have to do it before the trip and make Barbados our engagement celebration. But how?

Then it just dawned on me. I'll make it clever. I'll make it fun. I'll make it memorable and sentimental. And just for good measure, I'll make her work for it. I'll send her on a scavenger hunt to find me. I'll hide clues all around our town, at the places that are special to us. At the end will be me, holding the ring.

So that's what I did. I wrote a poem. I scouted out the places where I'd hide the clues: our first apartment, our favorite restaurant, our go-to ice cream place. (I originally had a lot more places chosen. Good call cutting it down.) When she gets to the ice cream place, I'll be there holding a cone with the ring on top in place of a cherry. I'll drop to one knee right there on Washington Street in Hoboken, the rest of the world be damned, and I will ask her to marry me.

But first, I'd have to do one thing. I'd have to do it a lot. And I'd have to do it well: lie. Lie my face off. Lie like my life depended on it. It's ironic, really, when you consider how much lying I did to her in the 24 hours before I asked her to marry me. I pretty much lived a lie. Everything that came out of my mouth.

First, I had to get her dad's permission. I had to drive to Pennsylvania and meet him after he got off of work. Problem is, I had a job of my own. So I called out sick, but didn't tell her. When my cell phone rang on my way to Pennsylvania, it was her.

"I just tried your extension at work and some girl picked up." (The girl filling in for me.)

"Yeah. The phones are all messed up here for some reason."

"How did that happen?"

"Who knows? It's a real pain in the a$$ here today. Just call me on my cell if you want to reach me."

Boom. Lie.

On my way home from asking for her hand in marriage, my cell rings again. It's her, again. At the time, I was working a late shift, 3pm-11pm. She was just getting off of work. I was sitting in traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike. "I'm going to so-and-so's apartment on the Upper East Side for dinner. I'll hang out and then come meet you at your office after your show and we can take the bus home together."

Without even blinking, here comes another lie...

"But I drove in today." (What?! It's like I'm on stage at the Improv. Let's see where this goes now...)

"Really? Why?"

"Because I was running late and it was hot. So instead of getting all sweaty I decided to drive in since it's quicker."

Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.

"Great. Then I can drive home with you. I'll come meet you at your office at 11."

(But I'm not at work. Damn. Sh!t. F*ck. )

"Why don't I drive up and come get you? Gives you more time to spend with so-and-so." (If I'm gonna lie, I might as well be a nice guy about it.)

"Ok."

I had until 11 to figure out what the hell I was going to do. That's what time my show - the 10 o'clock news - ends. I went back to our apartment and hung out. I ate. I changed into work clothes. (Lie.) I kept the ring in my presence at all times. I got back in the car, headed through the Lincoln Tunnel, drove up and across town, and camped outside our friends' apartment for a good 15 minutes.

The ring hadn't left my presence all day, since I picked it up in the morning. I chauffered it around, showed it to her parents, and now it sat quietly in a bag in the backseat. My palms were sweating. My pulse was racing. I would have to leave it here while I went up to the apartment. Hell no. I took the box out of the bag, shoved it in my pocket, untucked my shirt and went upstairs.

A half hour later, we were driving home. I was quiet, distant. Nervous as all hell. The next day was Saturday and I was supposedly leaving for my friend's bachelor party at noon. (More lies. The bachelor party was real. But I obviously wasn't going.)

I was nauseous. We went out for brunch, but I barely ate.

"Are you feeling ok?"

"My stomach is iffy." (True)

"How come?"

"I just don't like bachelor parties." (Also true.)

"So you're nervous?"

"Sometimes my friends get stupid and sometimes I join them." (True again, but this whole conversation was fiction. It was made up. Lies I tell you. Lies on top of lies, within lies.)

Finally, it was time for me to get ready for my "trip to Atlantic City for the bachelor party." I packed my bag, kissed her goodbye, and drove to our bank to get money out for the weekend. (Another lie. But she knows I never use an ATM that isn't our bank's because I don't want to pay the stupid fee.)

That's when I had to fire off the lies that really meant it. The ones that set the actual proposal in motion.

I picked up my cell phone and called her.

"You're not going to believe this. I'm at the Wachovia and I locked my keys in the car."

"How did you do that?" (It was almost impossible to do this with those fancy new remote keychains that everyone has now.)

"I don't know. I was sitting there with the door open, and in one motion I locked it, dropped the keys on the front seat, and shut the door. It happened so fast. I'm an idiot." Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. And true.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I have to stay here with the car. The keys are in it and I'm parked illegally." (Lie. Lie. Lie) "Can you walk the spare set down to me?"

It would take her ten to fifteen minutes to walk to the car. When she'd get there, she'd see an envelope under one of the windshield wipers. It was the beginning of the poem I wrote explaining that this was my proposal. It also contained the clue to the first stop on the scavenger hunt to find me. I laid it all out in there. No more pretending, no more lying. Here's a snippet:

I hope you like the method I chose

To say I want you for my wife

I love you from your head to toes

And will for the rest of your life

But before we are officially engaged

You must play my little game

I hope you are not at all enraged

If you are, I'll love you just the same

She had the keys, she had the car, she had the clues. Come and get me. When she got in, she'd see my bag sitting on the passenger seat with this note on it:

I had to dig this relic out of the archives in the attic

I made my way to the ice cream shop, figuring I had about 20-25 minutes to get there, buy the cone, and wait. She was there in fifteen minutes flat. She must have flown around town like a woman possessed. Later, she would tell me that she basically had to dumpster dive to retrieve one of the clues - the one at our first apartment. Still, she made good time. I didn't even have a chance to buy the cone. I guess that's not what she was really looking for. I was so nervous, so surprised that she was so quick, I forgot to drop to one knee. I showed her the ring, asked her to marry me. She said, "yes" and we kissed. That proposal was 11 years ago today: June 9, 2001.

I had a very good reason to do all that lying. I haven't made a habit of it since. And we continue to live happily - and memorably - ever after.

From Barbados, June 2001. (A lot of hair ago.)

Read more ...

The Newlywed Game

"I love you more today than yesterday; but not as much as tomorrow." -From the song by Spiral Staircase, which I quoted in my wedding vows. 

When does the so-called "honeymoon period" really end? Some say as quickly as three months. I've always gone with two years. That is, after all, when you're no longer a newlywed according to the genius creators of the classic game show The Newlywed Game. If you remember, couples were only eligible to appear on the show to answer questions about where they "make whoopee" if they had been married for two years or less.

Bob Eubanks was a master

Well, I'm here to debunk the myth and rewrite the record books. You're still a newlywed for much longer than two years. (Assuming you're still married, of course.) You can return from your honeymoon, buy a home, change jobs, get a dog, and have a baby. You can gain all the weight back that you lost to look good in your wedding pictures. You're still a newlywed. So what milestone marks the beginning of your life as an oldywed?

When you have to start replacing the gifts you received for your wedding.

That's right. Over the past few months, My Director and I have had to let go of and replace some of the items we were so excited to scan with that little radar gun in the aisles of Macy's and Crate & Barrel ten years ago. Ten years. We will celebrate a decade of marriage in December. I still feel young and in love. I love My Director just as much if not more than I did that chilly December day we said our vows in Pennsylvania.

Sadly, however, we are no longer newlyweds. All because we have bright new fluffy bath towels. All because we've replaced our pots and pans, the ones with the poisonous peeling Teflon, with new stainless steel ones. Somehow our original silverware started disappearing. Forks and spoons mysteriously escaping like wayward socks. The last straw? Our toaster oven stopped toasting. How depressing:

Goodbye, old friend

I'll remember the toaster oven fondly. The bagels, the waffles, the tuna melts. Good times. The honeymoon may be over. But the love is still hot as ever.

I get a bit more nostalgic when it comes to getting rid of Peanut's things. Like I did with the stroller here.

Read more ...

Defining Love

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." - 1Corinthians 13:4-7

We clean up nicely

My Director, Peanut, and I were blessed to witness and be a big part of my brother-in-law's wedding this past weekend. He is the little brother I never had. (And as I often joke with him, never really wanted.) But of course that's not true. Truth is, My Director's brother is one of the kindest, most genuine, loving, forgiving, and thoughtful people I know. So is his bride. I guess it runs in the family because My Director is the same way.

She and I gave what amounts to the sermon at the ceremony. We spoke about love, mostly their love. We opened it with the passage I quoted above. While working on our remarks, I reflected on the love My Director and I share. I may be one of the few guys who is willing to admit that he enjoys wedding ceremonies. I do because they allow me to remember being up there, telling the world that I love this person and will honor and cherish her for the rest of my life. They remind me of our love. How we've endured, grown, evolved over nearly fifteen years together; nearly ten of them married. How we're still just as in love as we were when we first met, if not more. 

So on this happy occasion, here are some of my thoughts on love:

Love is giving yourself to another person. Your whole self. Love is not holding back.

Love is walking around naked in front of your partner without fear of judgment or embarrassment.

Love is carrying someone when they are not at their best.

Love is not telling them they're not at their best, just understanding and knowing and doing everything you can to help them through it.

Love is being the stronger person when your partner is hurting. Love is taking their sh1t no matter what it is because you know they are struggling. And it breaks your heart to see them like that.

Love is not bringing it up when they are better. 

Love is not expecting anything in return, except love.

Love is not keeping score.

Love is laughing, all of the time. Laughing until it hurts in the good times. Laughing until you cry in the bad times.

Love is having a bad day but forgetting about it when you get home because she's maybe having a worse one.

Love is sacrificing. 

Love is doing things you don't want to do, acting like you normally might not act, because it will make her happy.

Love is revolving most of your autumn Sundays around what time the Jets are playing, because your irrational husband is a fanatic. But it makes him happy.

Love is not complaining when you're done cleaning the kitchen and you finally sit down to watch some television and your wife is enjoying that day's General Hospital on DVR. (Because you know most fall Sundays are all about the J-E-T-S.)

Love is saying "Coxsackie" when you pass the sign for that town's exit on the New York State Thruway because you know your husband is a big child and it makes him giggle:

(cock*SACK*ee) Makes me laugh every time.

Love is knowing without asking.

Love is doing without checking first.

Love is saying "No problem" when all you want to say is, "Are you kidding me?!"

Love is rising to the occasion.

Love is saying you're sorry.

Love is fixing it so there isn't a next time.

Love will surprise you.

Love will also make you wonder why you're so surprised.

Love is being happy just being together.

Love isn't easy. It's work. That's why it's so worth it.

Love is infinite.

Love is proof that everything happens for a reason. Here's our proof. 

Read more ...

THE PEANUT GALLERY: What is Love?

What is love? It's a simple enough question. Can you answer it? Think about it. It's tough to put into words, isn't it?

Often children give us the best answers to these questions, because their answers are so pure and honest.  So I asked Peanut the same question, out of the blue. No prompting or practicing before the camera was rolling. Here's what she said:
 

My Director and I are writing a speech about love, to be given at her brother's wedding this spring. I'm looking for quotes from different sources, well-known, religious, and otherwise. We'll be speaking for probably no longer than five minutes. Leave it to my daughter to sum it up it perfectly in 45 seconds.

Read more ...

Allow Me to (Re)Introduce...

"She was a fast machine. She kept her motor clean. She was the best damn woman I had ever seen." -AC/DC, You Shook Me All Night

There is a reason I used that line from that song to begin this post. Today my wife and I celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary. During the planning process, the only snag we really hit - except for the occasional grenade thrown by our meddling mothers - was the first dance. We couldn't agree on a wedding song.

Whenever we'd reach an impasse, I would suggest the song above to break the tension. To this day, my wife will point to herself and give a sarcastic wink and thumbs up whenever we hear it.

We rejected a lot of good songs, in fact. Among them, "Crash" by The Dave Matthews Band. This was the early favorite. If one song was our song at the time, this was it. But we didn't feel comfortable dancing in front of family, especially some of the older folks, to lyrics like "Hike up your skirt a little more and show your world to me."

Then there is "Lovely Day" by Bill Withers. This would have been it had either of us possessed any sort of rhythm to confidently fast dance in front of 200 people. We settled on "Someone Like You" by Van Morrison. Sweet and simple:

I've been searching my whole life for someone exactly like you.
Someone like you to make it all worthwhile.
Someone like you to keep me satisfied.
Someone exactly like you.

Our search for a wedding song is similar to my search for a new way to identify my wife in this blog. After all, I refer to our daughter as "the Peanut." It only seems right that my wife has a snazzy nickname of her own. But for months I've been hitting the same dead end.

My Muse/Boss/Editor chose this picture 

Here are the contenders:

I describe her in my about page as "My Muse." But that's only part of her role in my life. A big one, but just a part.

"The Editor?" She does have final say over what gets published in this blog. (So she thinks.) But that makes her sound like she stifles me. She doesn't.

"The Boss?"  Too trite and cliche.

I toyed with "The Megulator," which is a play on her actual name. Her brother and I often use this name to describe her when she's being particularly anal, controlling, and bossy. But no. Only we get to call her that.

This year as a joke, I started referring to her as "the lady I live with" in status updates on my personal Facebook page. Or "The Lady" for short. This in response to an app that told me the word I used most often in status updates in 2010 was... drumroll... wife.

She is a constant source of inspirational and humorous material.

She runs our family. She's in charge of the finances, the calendar, and most important... she keeps us emotionally centered.

In her actual job, director is part of her title. She manages several departments and a staff of eighteen people.

My Director & the Peanut

In my job as a television news producer, there may be no other person who is more crucial to my show's success (and to my sanity) when we are live on the air than my director. He or she has bailed me out countless times when things could have gone terribly wrong. Carried me when I was not at my best. We're in contsant communication. But sometimes we communicate without even talking. My director is always looking for ways to make me and my show better. My director always has my back.

Our life is a show. I am its producer. But I couldn't do it without... "My Director."

Give her a round of applause, and please make a note of it in your programs.

Happy Anniversary to the girl of my dreams. And the best Director I've ever had.

(Luna, incidentally, will always be simply referred to as...Luna)

Read more ...

Does Daddy Know Less?

My amazing wife wrote this guest post for me for my birthday. Enjoy:

Who is DKL really? He writes freely and honestly, but how honest can anyone truly be about themselves? Well, in this first ever guest blog post, I, his wife, am here to tell you on this very special day- his birthday, who he really is.

He is indeed all of the things he says he is: narcissistic, needy and self-absorbed. But he sells himself short. He is also sensitive, kind, and loves me more than I ever thought one person could. Does he have a temper? Yes. Is he moody like a woman at that time of the month? Often. Self critical? Too much. In fact, he asks a little too often for a male if I think he looks fat (a side effect of being a fat kid growing up). But what I have always been drawn to is what is underneath that gruff exterior once you scratch the surface.

He truly is a 36 year old man.

If asked, I would have to say that one of my favorite traits about my husband is that he is a big kid at heart. He becomes whatever character the Peanut asks him to and allows that character to consume him. Whether it's Zurg from Toy Story or Aladdin her prince. It does not matter how foolish it may be. He stays in full character.

He often gets annoyed with my mom when he comes home from work and the playroom is staged from their latest pretend world. But you know what? On the days when he is home with the Peanut, what do I come home to? A pretend world and a mess. Most recently it was a train made out of chairs with all of her stuffed animals in the seats with him at the head as the conductor!

Oh, he and my mother are more alike then he would ever be willing to admit...

No one is funnier than dad.

What only enhances his being a big kid is that he is also truly very funny. No one, and I mean no one, can make the Peanut belly laugh harder than he can. Our house is filled with the echoes of "More Daddy, do it one more time" until they are both on the floor laughing. Exhausted. One of her favorites is when he collapses on her and pretends to be asleep until I come to save her and tickle him.

During a recent tour of the Ben and Jerry's factory in Vermont, the tour guide was having some very embarassing technical difficulties when trying to show a movie. The crowd was hushed. That's when my husband asked the group if anyone had checked if the TV was on Channel 3.

He got more laughs at that moment than the tour guide did the whole tour. What warmed my heart the most is how my daughter turned to me and asked with a smile on her face, "Were they all laughing at Daddy?" She was so amused by that. In that moment, I was reminded of one of the many reasons I love him.

I see his humor in her and will be forever thankful that she got this from him because laughter will always allow us as a family to enjoy each other and for others to enjoy us.

Always reminding us that
there is no reason to cry
over spilled milk.

DKL is also the person who grounds us and keeps us real. At times I have a tendency to get worked up over the smallest things. He is always the one who brings me back to reality. Reassuring me that we can handle anything.

One of my favorite pieces of advice MY father ever gave me was right before we became parents. He told me as long as we put each other first as a couple our family will remain strong and intact. He said, "Your children are of course important and you will love them more than you ever thought possible. But it is your relationship as husband and wife that is the most important. If your kids see that you are a unit and are always there for each other, your family will be stronger for it."

Now, I don't mean to brag, but those who know us often say that one of the most obvious traits DKL exhibits is his love for me. It is for this alone, that I know our family will always be alright. His ability to love. I know he has the largest piece of his heart reserved for me and next in line is the Peanut (and Luna).

We are definitely a couple who bickers, but our ability to move past our differences and always work on making us better is what will allow us to live a long happy life together.

DKL and me: Best Friends.

I don't mind that our daughter sees us in our best and worst moments together because she also sees the commitment we have towards each other.

Over the past four years, I have loved being able to see my husband express himself to all of you through this blog. I worry at times that his writing for the masses may cause him to lose himself and write to please all of you. My promise in all of this is to always be the one behind him making sure he is true to himself because to me, DKL in his purist form is the man I love and the blogger who is going to go far.

Happy Birthday to a Daddy who says he knows less, but knows a lot more than he thinks.

Read more ...

Freaky Friday

"The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother." -Theodore Hesburgh

The alarm sounds. The bright green numbers read an ungodly hour. Ungodly even though it's an hour and a half later than I normally wake up: 6:00. Did I oversleep? Wait... that's not my alarm clock. And what am I doing on this side of the bed?

I rub my eyes, thinking I must still be dreaming. I'm not. Something feels different. My hands feel smaller, smoother. The knuckles are less hairy and clunky. I think I'm just overtired. Imagining things because I would swear I feel different.


Smaller. Prettier?

I go to scratch myself, as I would any morning. Left hand to right 'groin' is always the opening move of my personal game of scratch-and-wake Twister. And... it's different. It's not there.

This is every man's worst nightmare. Worse than the naked-in-front-of-an-audience one. Worse than the haven't-been-to-class-in-weeks-and-finals-are-coming one.

My man parts are gone. Not only are they gone... they've been replaced. By lady parts. Holy good God, what have I done? What did I say? Did I touch a cursed idol and recite the wrong thing at the wrong time? Did I switch bodies with someone? Who?

I jump out of bed, panicked. I throw on the switch, and look in the large picture mirror that hangs over our dresser.

In it, a familiar face is staring back at me. Oh. My. God.

The face in the mirror

I'm gorgeous. I love this person so much.

I pinch myself. I'm definitely awake. This is no dream. Ok... where is she? For a brief fleeting moment, I think of the ridiculous statement I've made the few times my wife and I have joked about 'being each other for a day.'

"I wouldn't leave the bedroom," I've said. "And I'd have a lot of fun."

I now know how ridiculous that statement is. I've got so much to do, so much to figure out, and the last thing on my mind is sex... let alone with myself.

At that moment of clarity, the phone rings.

"We got our wish," she says. I hear her grinning as if she were planning this all along. "What? Where are you? Are you me?

"Yes. I'm in the city, on my way to work. Your work."

Once again...Oh. My. God.

"How the hell are you going to do it?"

"Like you always say," she answered. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Yes," she says. "Immensely."

We hang up. OK... focus. I can do this. Can I? I have no choice.

Shower. Do I need to shower? She doesn't shower every day. She's that clean and pretty. I shower twice a day. I'm that dirty and disgusting. I decide to shower, just in case.

This exercise is a maze of confusion and tribulation. I wish I had the time to enjoy myself loofa-ing my wife's body. But I need to get myself to work and my daughter to daycare.

Holy crap... the peanut. How am I going to trick her? Nothing gets by her.

I decide not to wash my hair to save time (knowing that my wife does this is very helpful). I throw my hair in a shoddy ponytail. I get dressed. I choose an outfit from the year I was adventurous enough to go into Anthropologie and buy her some clothing for her birthday. She loved all of it. Still does.

I put on a white skirt with green floral designs on it. A matching blouse. A pair of blown glass earrings that we bought on our honeymoon in Venice. A necklace that matches that. Shoes? Definitely not heels. Sandals.

Makeup. Makeup? My wife is pretty enough without it. I skip the makeup.

Do I look fat? That's something I ask myself every day. She has no such issues.

Of course not. I think I look amazing. (I think she looks amazing.)

The peanut stirs. Luckily, I know enough about their morning routine to get through without incident. I get her into the car. I've offered her a cookie to distract her from my awkward and petrified state. Drop off goes smoothly.

Now off to work. On the bus ride to the city, I look at my hands. Still perfect, but I wish I had time for a manicure. Same with my feet. A pedicure would be nice.

I think about my rushed time with the peanut. And the doubt starts to creep in. Do I pay enough attention to her? Am I working too much? Do I spend enough time with her?

Am I doing the right thing?

These are the things a working mother must think of before she tucks away the family obligations and starts focusing on the career ones.

The work day is, luckily, uneventful. It's summer and my wife works at a college. While there are a few issues to deal with, they are all by phone and email. There are a few strange interactions with her assistant. I actually snap at her with some of my trademark sarcasm at one point. Then quickly cover it up with an apology. "Don't mind me," I say. "I'm not myself today."

Literally.

It's still a full work day. Midway through the afternoon, I realize I hadn't even peed yet. Another mini adventure since even when my daughter goes, I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to wipe. And if I am causing irreparable emotional damage as a result.

On the bus ride home, all I think about is how badly I want see my family. I enter the house around 6:00 pm, exactly twelve hours after I boarded this roller coaster.

She's a momma's girl

My daughter excitedly yells "mommy!" as I come through the door. And despite the unfamiliarity of this affectionate greeting, it still feels good.

We hug. We kiss. We snuggle.

Then, the moment I've been waiting for. I go out the back door to find my wife, grilling hamburgers. But I'm staring at my own face. I look a lot more put together than I normally feel I am.

We smile. Hug. And I say, "You're pretty impressive."

"So are you."

Somehow we manage to endure the motions of the rest of the evening. Dinner, bath, walk the dog, bedtime.

We close the door to our daughter's room after 'one last hug and kiss.' My wife turns to me and asks, "Shall we turn in too and end this craziness early?"

"Actually, why don't we watch last night's Grey's Anatomy on DVR and then go to bed?

A lot in common, a lot in love

An hour or so later, as my head hits the pillow after an exhausting day on so many levels, I reflected on my day in her shoes.

She works hard. She worries sometimes she works too much. She loves her family more than anything.

She would like a manicure and pedicure.

She looks forward to new episodes of Grey's Anatomy.

Turns out, we're not that different after all.

I originally wrote this post for my Week 2 assignment of Blogger Idol 2011: "If I were the opposite sex for a day."

Read more ...

My One and Only You

"When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."-from "When Harry Met Sally"

Believe it or not, there is one person for whom I struggle to find the appropriate words. That person is THE person: my wife.

Is there a strong enough word for the woman who defends you, protects you, loves you, understands you, like no one else?

I describe her on the "about" page for this blog page as my muse... but that's only a small part of what she does for me. My partner, my co-pilot, my soulmate? My ultimate Ambassador of Kwan? (I was obsessed with "Jerry Maguire" when we started dating.)

Yes... but no.

At least I know what words aren't good enough.

Every time she leaves me a voice message, for instance, without fail she will start with, "Hi, it's just me..." This is by no means an adequate description for her.

Just?

What do you mean, "it's JUST you?"

So one day, I called her out on it.

"You're selling yourself way too short," I told her when I called her back.

She shrugged me off, "Aw, you're too kind, my love."

Too kind? No. I'm just being honest.

My dance partner

Lose the "just" because without you, I'm in trouble. I'm a guy sitting on a couch in a one bedroom apartment wearing mesh shorts and a "Vinny and the Jets" t-shirt from 1998. I'm watching reruns of The Wonder Years on The Hub. I'd probably be fat(ter). I'd definitely be miserable and most likely be single... still.

Why else do you think I pounced on the opportunity to snap you up during my last semester in college? Endured a long distance relationship for a year and a half? Moved into that roach motel we called our first apartment the minute you graduated?
Because you're the only person I ever want to be with.

Why do you think I accept your stubborn refusal to ever admit you're wrong? Your insistence on explaining simple things multiple times? Your uncanny knack for raising complex subjects the minute my head hits the pillow?

No one makes me laugh like you

Because even your most annoying traits aren't nearly as bad as my least annoying ones. 

So forget the "just."You're it. You're all there is. You're all I need

I love you. I would be lost without you. You are the light of my life and the keeper of my dreams.

Happy birthday to my stunning wife. You are my everything.

Read more ...

A Show of Support

"I'm in love with her and I feel fine." -The Beatles

You never know when you're going to get that proverbial knock on the door. It rarely is - if ever- an actual knock on the door. The knock on the door that makes you realize something you knew all along, but mostly don't have the time to really think about. Although the comfort of knowing is usually enough, sometimes you need to say it out loud.

My wife was out walking the dog. The peanut and I were playing, waiting for friends of hers from daycare and their parents to come over for a backyard barbecue. She was giddy in anticipation. She was wearing her bathing suit, waiting to jump in this new inflatable water sprinkler playmat thingy we had set up.

Then came the knock on the door (It was actually a ringing of the doorbell). The peanut screeched with excitement. "They're here," I shouted. "Come with me to get the door!" She followed closely behind me. Contagious, nervous thrills pumped through my veins, seemingly jumping from my daughter's skin to my own.

I cracked open the door and peered down, expecting to see two little familiar mischievous twin faces staring back at me. Instead, I saw sandals attached to a woman with a face I'd never seen before.

"Who the hell are you?" I wanted to say. She stopped me before I could say anything. "Hi, I'm your new neighbor." She and her family had moved two houses down from ours just the day before. We hadn't even had the opportunity to welcome them to the block when this surprise visit unceremoniously cut through that ceremonial red tape.

She told me her son had fallen and needed some stitches on his chin. She wanted to know where the nearest hospital was. Pretty standard information any parent should be able to recite upon request. She was surprisingly calm for a mother in her situation, especially considering my less than helpful response:

"Uhhhhhh....."

It was impossible for her to feign surprise at my gross lack of knowledge of a key and seemingly elementary piece of information. Yet, I had no idea what to tell her.

Hospital? What's a hospital? I know of hospitals. You want a specific one? How specific? You want directions too? You knocked on the wrong door at the wrong time, lady.

"Believe it or not, we recently moved here too (a year ago) and I'm not sure which one is closest. Hackensack?" Even I knew that response was lame. This woman would clearly learn in a short amount of time how long we'd been living here and that the father in the house on the corner has no idea what he's doing, where he's going, or where's he's been for that matter. She was probably surprised that I was even competent enough to be wearing pants at that point. Wait, was I wearing pants?


The next thing out of my mouth was the most logical solution to me. "Well, my wife will be right back if you want to wait. She'll definitely know." But this couldn't wait the ridiculous amount of time it would take our high maintenance yet endlessly lovable dog to finish her business. I sent her across the street to the next closest parent - knowledgeable parent - I knew was home.

This little anecdote, other than highlighting my ignorance and making you second guess my ability to deal with a child emergency of my own, clearly shows the importance of my wife in the parenting relationship. She rules.

She provides logistical support, technical support, and perhaps most important, emotional support. She gets the directions, sets the itineraries, makes the lists, packs the gear, rids the computer of bugs, deals with the moods of her daughter, her husband, her dog.

I - we - would be lost without her. An uncalibrated compass spinning out of control with no way of finding north. She dresses, addresses, and redresses every aspect of our lives with patience, understanding, love, and affection. And she doesn't mind doing at all.

Today is her birthday, my favorite day of the year. There is no better cause for celebration than the birth of the woman who has brought unlimited, unbridled, unending happiness to my life in too many ways to count.

There's a story I often tell to describe just how generous she is with her time,  her love, her patience. And how needy, incompetent, and clumsy I am. We were skiing in Jackson Hole, Wyoming one winter. My wife, despite not having an athletic bone in her body, is a very graceful and adept skier. I, on the other hand, am Fred Flintstone on skis. I had finally acquired the skill, gained the confidence, and conjured the courage, to graduate off the bunny slope to the next step up.

I maintained this confidence even though the slow climb up the ski lift made it seem to me like we were headed for the clouds. When we finally got off we were far from the bottom of the mountain. I'm not sure if the hill was marked with blue squares, black diamonds, or green clovers, but I am quite certain I did not bring my lucky charms to the top of that mountain.

Pizza, french fries

I began my descent very well. I was doing what I was taught. Pizza, french fries. Pizza, french fries. I was doing it, doing it, doing it well. Then I fell. No problem. I got back up. Fell again. Doubt started to creep in. Got back up. Another spill. Now I'm thinking, "how the hell am I going to get down this mountain?"

I get up again and fall like you see on blooper reels. I was John Cusack in "Better Off Dead." Tumbling, stumbling, swearing, losing everything I was wearing. Including my skis. Both of them. I managed to get one of them on myself. But you need to lean on someone else to get into the other.

That's when my wife, the snow princess, effortlessly glided towards me, the sun majestically reflecting off her blonde hair as it blew in the chilly breeze. We were standing there, side by side, on the side of a mountain covered in snow so powdery you could sprinkle it on top of an ice cream sundae. I leaned on her with all my weight, which was nearly twice hers, as I tried to click my second ski into place and get off this God-forsaken bump in the earth.

She nearly buckled under the immense pressure, but she wrapped her arm around me, held me up, and encouraged me as I put all of the weight of my body onto her shoulders and slammed my boot into that stupid ski.

Safely inside, and off skis

Once successfully upright again, I looked her in her beautiful, sparkling, goggled eyes and said, out of breath, "I guess this is why they make you take wedding vows." For better or for worse.

Lesser women would have left their putz of a husband on top of that mountain. Would have complained of the enormous strain of the task at hand. Would have said, "just slide down on your butt." Not my wife. My confidence, my pride, my dreams of a successful solo trip down the mountain all shattered, she held my arm and guided me down after helping me back up.

She's all the support I need (tear).

Read more ...

The Other Sister

She's a fussy eater, doesn't sleep through the night, and definitely demands a lot of our attention. I'm not talking about the baby. I'm talking about her big sister. Our daughter may only be a few weeks old, but we've been parents for almost two years already. I am, of course, referring to our dog, Luna.

Way before we even starting talking about having a baby, we knew we would be fine as parents. It's a step a lot of couples take. Get a dog. See if you can take care of another living thing. We thought we were too selfish. Too lazy.

My 3 girls

But Luna taught us everything we needed to know about parenting. That we can love someone selflessly and enthusiastically, be nurturing and patient. Persevere. I don't think I'd be as confident or relaxed as I am as a father (or as I pretend to be, or as people tell me that I am) if not for Luna.



She's going through this process - learning, loving, worrying - right along with us. After all, her little black furry face has been there every step of the way: From the moment my wife emerged from the bathroom holding that little stick, and mouthed to me "I'm pregnant," as I sat on a conference call for work... to now.

During pregnancy, Luna would always sense when the roller coaster of hormones would kick in, jump onto the couch, climb onto my wife's chest, and kiss her nose while nervously wagging her tail. A look of concern on her face. She doesn't like it when one of us is upset. Good girl.



When my wife needed to relax, she was right there with her, curled up on her belly. A mother hen keeping the little egg warm. She must have known something was going on in there.

Now, when the baby wakes up crying each night, all Luna does is lift up her head and look at one us as if to say, "Uh, you gonna get that? Who's gonna get that?" Yes, she sleeps in our bed. That's another decision we made during pregnancy. She used to sleep in her crate. Then we figured she wouldn't settle down if she were locked up and we were getting up throughout the night.

We had to prepare her for the baby's arrival, just like we had to prepare ourselves. We heard a lot of warnings about how to get her ready. They made us believe Luna might act out towards the baby. Bite her or pounce on her. Or she'd act out towards us. Get jealous and pee on the carpet. Hasn't happened.

What did happen is we used her to practice holding, burping, rocking, swaddling, and yes, even diapering the baby. She has been a tremendous sport about the whole thing.



The first meeting



Their first meeting was classic. We laid the peanut on a blanket on the floor, and invited Luna to come look. She paced around her gingerly, stretched her face far enough forward to get a whiff, but held her body back enough to run at the first sign of trouble. She had no idea what this creature was. Then the baby let out a little cry, more of a grunt... and Luna anxiously barked. We laughed. They're arguing already. Sibling rivalry.

The apprehension quickly turned into curiosity. With each passing day, Luna would take another step closer. Finally, on the third day, it happened. Out of nowhere. The baby was alert and I was taking advantage and playing with her. Luna jumped onto the couch, looked at me, started to sniff. She leaned in and planted the cutest and quickest kiss on the baby's foot.




Always on guard

 If you're thinking, "Why would they let that filthy animal anywhere near that baby?" First of all, have a drink, or a cookie, and relax. Our pediatrician not only approves, but recommends we expose the baby to the dog since she is a part of our household and the baby needs to be acclimated to all of the normal germs within it.



So with the doctor's blesing, we allow Luna to push the limits. When the baby is sleeping in her Moses basket, Luna will peek in and rest her head on the side of it. When the basket is empty, she'll jump in and check it out. Luna even has come to enjoy playtime. When we lay the baby on the play mat, she will tag right along, tail wagging eagerly.


Caught in the Act

 I have become the dog's designated playmate, since my wife's lap is now routinely occupied by a child that is forever stuck to one of her boobs. Because of this, she can get neglected sometimes. Once, my wife was in the nursery feeding the baby. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She saw that I was busy, so she trotted into the nursery, tail up, hopeful. Just a short time later, I looked back and witnessed a completely different scene. She's slinking out of the nursery. Sulking. Skulking. Head down. Tail down. Depressed. Denied. Pathetic. I immediately picked her up, and gave her love. 



She's learning. Adapting. Adjusting. And, yes, loving. We might not give her as much attention as we used to, but we try and make enough time for her as we can.



They'll grow into each other

As I imagine our future, I can see a little girl wearing a pink sundress and blond pigtails, running around a sun drenched backyard, and a little black dog chasing after her, panting, wagging her tail. They are going to be best friends for life. And that's nothing to bark at.

Read more ...