One of the cards I didn't include in my Ghosts of Christmas Cards Past post last week, was our parody of My Favorite Things from 2009. That year's card was perhaps our most irreverent:
Showing posts with label my favorites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my favorites. Show all posts
Friday, December 28, 2012
Friday, September 30, 2011
A Brush with a Legend
"This field, this game: it's part of our past. It reminds us of all that was once good and could be again." -James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams
If you had the opportunity to meet one of your childhood heroes, you'd take it right? And when you did, you would tell him that your dad (gulp) hated him, right?
I think my dad would have gotten a kick out of my meeting former Yankees center fielder Bernie Williams. Even though, for no reason at all, he had the most irrational hatred for Bernie. Could not stand the man. He'd say things like, "He's the slowest fast guy I've ever seen." Whatever that means. And, "I just hate how he runs." Huh?
The man was a little crazy, and this is just one example.
Suffice it to say, even though I think my dad was being ridiculous and I found it amusing enough to goad him about it during Yankees games, I wasn't going to bring it up to Bernie.
Bernie Williams was appearing as a guest on my show. I watched him help the Yankees finally win a World Series in 1996, then three more in the next four years. As soon as I was told that he arrived, I waited for a long commercial break, unplugged my headset, and hightailed it out of the control room.
Working in the news business at a national network, I occasionally get to meet sports, entertainment, and political celebrities. I rarely go out of my way to meet them. But this time I made an exception.
I spotted our stage manager in the hallway, handed him my blackberry and said, "You mind taking a picture of me with Bernie?" He understood. I didn't even have to ask. I didn't even have to wait for an answer.
I burst into the green room (where the guests wait) and spotted Bernie sitting there, watching television. (Watching my show, which was still in commercial.) Here is a man behind so many great Yankees memories. So many great stories. I had no time to tell him any of them.
If I had the time, I would have loved to tell him about watching Game 6 of the 1996 World Series with a bunch of my fraternity buddies (Yankees fans only) at that crowded off-campus apartment. Bernie came up in the bottom of the sixth inning. The Yankees clinging to a 3-1 lead. We were on the verge of witnessing our first ever World Series title. Even though we were all alive for the Yankees last championship in 1978, none of us remembered. That's when I made my pledge.
"If Bernie hits a home run right now, I swear I will name my first born 'Bernardo Mannato.'" I didn't even have a girlfriend at the time. (I wonder why.) That's when everyone began to chant, "Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato" at the top of their lungs. For the entire at bat. Then, Bernie connected. He lofted a 1-1 pitch deep down the left field line. Everyone still chanting, "Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato." It had a chance. At the warning track. At the wall. The left fielder leaped and made the catch.
The Peanut has no idea, but she was a few inches away from being named Bernardo or Bernice or Bernadine. One day I hope she gets as big a kick out of that story as my fraternity buddies still do.
Bernie came up again in the eighth inning and I repeated my pledge. The chant started up again. On the fifth pitch, he singled up the middle.
The Yankees won that game, clinching that memorable World Series title. We were all drunk and happy and hugging and crying with each other. As soon as things settled down, I went outside and called my dad. I didn't plan it, I just felt it. At that point, my dad and I weren't as close as we would become. But I imagined him sitting there in his reclining chair, with his ashtray on his chest and an open bag of ShopRite Krinkle Cut potato chips on the floor next to him. My mom asleep on the couch. No one to enjoy this with.
That's exactly where he was when he picked up on the second ring. I heard his joy when the first thing he said was, "How 'bout them Yankees?!" This was my favorite conversation I ever had with my dad. We talked about the game. I told him how cool it was that they finally did it and I finally got to see it myself.
Then I told him I loved him. That's the first time I said that to him and actually meant it. I always felt it, but never really said it without having to, without my mom asking me or telling me to.
Just another great memory involving Bernie.
Read more ...
If you had the opportunity to meet one of your childhood heroes, you'd take it right? And when you did, you would tell him that your dad (gulp) hated him, right?
I think my dad would have gotten a kick out of my meeting former Yankees center fielder Bernie Williams. Even though, for no reason at all, he had the most irrational hatred for Bernie. Could not stand the man. He'd say things like, "He's the slowest fast guy I've ever seen." Whatever that means. And, "I just hate how he runs." Huh?
The man was a little crazy, and this is just one example.
Suffice it to say, even though I think my dad was being ridiculous and I found it amusing enough to goad him about it during Yankees games, I wasn't going to bring it up to Bernie.
Bernie Williams was appearing as a guest on my show. I watched him help the Yankees finally win a World Series in 1996, then three more in the next four years. As soon as I was told that he arrived, I waited for a long commercial break, unplugged my headset, and hightailed it out of the control room.
Working in the news business at a national network, I occasionally get to meet sports, entertainment, and political celebrities. I rarely go out of my way to meet them. But this time I made an exception.
I spotted our stage manager in the hallway, handed him my blackberry and said, "You mind taking a picture of me with Bernie?" He understood. I didn't even have to ask. I didn't even have to wait for an answer.
I burst into the green room (where the guests wait) and spotted Bernie sitting there, watching television. (Watching my show, which was still in commercial.) Here is a man behind so many great Yankees memories. So many great stories. I had no time to tell him any of them.
I shouted Bernie's name, almost startling him. I introduced myself and explained that I was actually producing the show on which he was about to appear. And would he mind taking a picture.
"Yeah, no problem." Bernie stood up and shook my hand. I was surprised at how tall he was, impressed at how in shape he still appeared, thankful he was friendly, and relieved he had a strong handshake.
Before the picture, I considered putting my arm around him. Then I thought if Bernie wanted a half-man hug with a complete stranger, he would have made the first move. So I just settled for a kind of awkward standing next to each other pose:
"If Bernie hits a home run right now, I swear I will name my first born 'Bernardo Mannato.'" I didn't even have a girlfriend at the time. (I wonder why.) That's when everyone began to chant, "Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato" at the top of their lungs. For the entire at bat. Then, Bernie connected. He lofted a 1-1 pitch deep down the left field line. Everyone still chanting, "Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato." It had a chance. At the warning track. At the wall. The left fielder leaped and made the catch.
The Peanut has no idea, but she was a few inches away from being named Bernardo or Bernice or Bernadine. One day I hope she gets as big a kick out of that story as my fraternity buddies still do.
Bernie came up again in the eighth inning and I repeated my pledge. The chant started up again. On the fifth pitch, he singled up the middle.
The Yankees won that game, clinching that memorable World Series title. We were all drunk and happy and hugging and crying with each other. As soon as things settled down, I went outside and called my dad. I didn't plan it, I just felt it. At that point, my dad and I weren't as close as we would become. But I imagined him sitting there in his reclining chair, with his ashtray on his chest and an open bag of ShopRite Krinkle Cut potato chips on the floor next to him. My mom asleep on the couch. No one to enjoy this with.
That's exactly where he was when he picked up on the second ring. I heard his joy when the first thing he said was, "How 'bout them Yankees?!" This was my favorite conversation I ever had with my dad. We talked about the game. I told him how cool it was that they finally did it and I finally got to see it myself.
Then I told him I loved him. That's the first time I said that to him and actually meant it. I always felt it, but never really said it without having to, without my mom asking me or telling me to.
Just another great memory involving Bernie.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
To Hell and Back
"You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave." -The Eagles, Hotel California
Hell hath a Swedish name.
I know that because I've survived it. Stared the devil right in the face... twice in my life. Never again.
I am talking about IKEA. Land of cheap chic furniture and certainly one of the nine circles of hell.
What's worse, I brought my daughter on my most recent - and final - trip. Exposed her to the evil. She very nearly became a victim. One of the damned.
After my first trip - when my wife and I first moved in together, way back when she was my girlfriend, we needed an entertainment center and some other stuff for our new roach motel of an apartment - I vowed never to return again.
Until...
My sister asked me to do her a favor. She and my brother-in-law needed some tables for the business they're opening. I agreed purely out of love and loyalty.
I put the trip to IKEA on my itinerary one day when I was at home alone with the Peanut. My stay-at-home friends tell me that planning errands is a good way to pass the time. It's also a good way to lose your mind.
IKEA, one of the nine circles of hell. With a four year-old. You know the trick to IKEA, right? The walking... from the parking lot to the entrance... from the entrance to the section you're looking for... from there to the checkout.
In hell, they make you walk... a lot. Through the entire store, in fact.
On said walk, we made a pit stop in children's furniture so the Peanut could play. Apparently in hell, there is also a children's play area.
Exhausted and exasperated, I carry the Peanut, who has been done with the walking and waiting for what seems like eons. In hell, times goes by very slowly.
I locate the car. I go to put her in her seat and realize... "Where's Lammie?" Oh my God are we going to be those people who lose their child's cherished play thing? (That's not a blog I ever want to write.)
I ask her again. In the second it takes her to answer I remember the Peanut putting Lammie in my pocket to carry as she played in the children's furniture section. Did she fall out of my pocket there? Or somewhere else? Her world - our world - was shattering around us.
I make a huge parenting mistake and shout, "What do you mean you don't know where Lammie is?! She's lost! We may never find her again!" Huge. Fail. I allowed hell to get the better of me.
Read more ...
Hell hath a Swedish name.
I know that because I've survived it. Stared the devil right in the face... twice in my life. Never again.
 |
| Is it hot in here? |
What's worse, I brought my daughter on my most recent - and final - trip. Exposed her to the evil. She very nearly became a victim. One of the damned.
After my first trip - when my wife and I first moved in together, way back when she was my girlfriend, we needed an entertainment center and some other stuff for our new roach motel of an apartment - I vowed never to return again.
Until...
My sister asked me to do her a favor. She and my brother-in-law needed some tables for the business they're opening. I agreed purely out of love and loyalty.
I put the trip to IKEA on my itinerary one day when I was at home alone with the Peanut. My stay-at-home friends tell me that planning errands is a good way to pass the time. It's also a good way to lose your mind.
 |
| (Courtesy http://americanapersona.wordpress.com) |
IKEA, one of the nine circles of hell. With a four year-old. You know the trick to IKEA, right? The walking... from the parking lot to the entrance... from the entrance to the section you're looking for... from there to the checkout.
In hell, they make you walk... a lot. Through the entire store, in fact.
On said walk, we made a pit stop in children's furniture so the Peanut could play. Apparently in hell, there is also a children's play area.
Then, more walking... through the warehouse... through the part of the store with all of the houseware tchotchkes (pronounced, "CHACH-keys")... please just let me check out.
Even after you do, you have to walk to the pick-up area and wait for them to get your order from the warehouse through which you just walked.
Are things this annoying in Sweden? Seems like such a nice place.
Our boxes finally came. I'm wheeling them out of the store on a big industrial-sized dolly. Wait a minute, though. Dude, where's my car? On the other side of the building, of course... near the entrance. In fact, it's on a whole other floor for crying out loud. Hell, I tell you.
In one of the nine circles of hell, you can't expect anything to be easy.
I make the decision to stash the boxes on the dolly in a corner of the parking garage and get the car.
Are things this annoying in Sweden? Seems like such a nice place.
Our boxes finally came. I'm wheeling them out of the store on a big industrial-sized dolly. Wait a minute, though. Dude, where's my car? On the other side of the building, of course... near the entrance. In fact, it's on a whole other floor for crying out loud. Hell, I tell you.
In one of the nine circles of hell, you can't expect anything to be easy.
I make the decision to stash the boxes on the dolly in a corner of the parking garage and get the car.
Exhausted and exasperated, I carry the Peanut, who has been done with the walking and waiting for what seems like eons. In hell, times goes by very slowly.
I locate the car. I go to put her in her seat and realize... "Where's Lammie?" Oh my God are we going to be those people who lose their child's cherished play thing? (That's not a blog I ever want to write.)
I ask her again. In the second it takes her to answer I remember the Peanut putting Lammie in my pocket to carry as she played in the children's furniture section. Did she fall out of my pocket there? Or somewhere else? Her world - our world - was shattering around us.
I make a huge parenting mistake and shout, "What do you mean you don't know where Lammie is?! She's lost! We may never find her again!" Huge. Fail. I allowed hell to get the better of me.
Panic sets in. The Peanut is now crying frantically, mostly because of me. I am whipping the car in and out of parking garages like I'm a character in Grand Theft Auto. I open the back door to the minivan and throw in the boxes. I park, grab the Peanut, and we backtrack. (Remember, a lot of walking in one of the nine circles of hell.)
Peanut is now screaming. No Lammie in the parking lot. We enter the store near the checkout. No sign of her there either. I am running towards the pickup area while still carrying my hysterical Peanut.
And I spot Lammie. On the bench where we were sitting and waiting.
And I spot Lammie. On the bench where we were sitting and waiting.
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| Reunited. Inseparable. (Usually.) |
I immediately calm down. I stop about fifty feet from the bench. I put the Peanut down and stand her on the floor. I point to the bench, squat down to look her in the eye, put my arm around her and say, "Lammie's right there where we were sitting. Go get her."
She smiles. She runs. Reunited and it feels so good. I dodged a big one. Big time.
After barely surviving another trip to hell, thou shall not return.
Suffice it to say, we're Crate& Barrel people now. Raymour and Flanagan maybe, if you twist my arm.
After barely surviving another trip to hell, thou shall not return.
Suffice it to say, we're Crate& Barrel people now. Raymour and Flanagan maybe, if you twist my arm.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Making Up For Lost Time
“The best inheritance a parent can give his children is a few minutes of his time each day.” - O. A. Battista
Sometimes the smallest thing will stop you in your tracks. And break your heart.
Sometimes the smallest thing will stop you in your tracks. And break your heart.
Another day started way too early as my alarm sounded at 4:24 in the morning. I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled downstairs, towel and razor in hand. I shower downstairs to ensure I don't wake everyone up.
 |
| There it was: frozen in time |
Then, I saw it. Sitting there on one of the stools under the counter. One of the Peanut's books.
And that's when it hit me. Smacked me in the face, in fact.
Yesterday evening the Peanut ran into the kitchen holding that book. Did she want me to read it? No. She wanted to show me something in it. It's a book with a different dog on each page, and when you turn the pages each different dog takes on the same big googily eyes. She wanted to show me which one looks like Luna.
But I was too busy. To my defense, I really was very busy. I had to delay getting dinner started because Luna once again crapped in the living room. So I was annoyed and busy.
And it grosses me out to have to clean up dog poop and cook a meal. The hand washing knows no end.
Standing there in the kitchen ten hours later, guilt consumed me. I remembered telling the Peanut to please wait. I wasn't nasty. I nicely explained to her that because Luna had an accident, I couldn't look right now. But I will in a minute.
This is the daily struggle we as working parents endure. Sometimes I stop doing what I'm doing and pay attention to her. If not, I will follow up in a minute, when I have a minute. (But who ever has a minute?)
That minute never came. I felt devastated. I felt I had disappointed her. I showered, soaked in sorrow.
When I came home tonight to start dinner, I saw that book again. Forgotten again. By me. By the Peanut. Now 24 hours later, it still sat on that same stool.
I hadn't even taken my bag off my shoulder when I announced to her, "You know what I'd like you to do right now? May you show me what you wanted to show me in this puppy book?"
She immediately ran in from the playroom, as if no time had passed. She grabbed the book, turned the pages, and showed me.
"This one is Luna:"
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| This is what she wanted to show me |
Then she turned a few pages and said, "And this one is me:"
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| Peanut's the one with the pink bow |
Maybe she didn't think anything of it. Maybe she did. Either way, I felt like in that one little moment, I saved her a trip to the therapist. I righted a wrong.
And in that moment, we both felt better. All it took was a little time.
Monday, August 8, 2011
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.
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...
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.
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.
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 ...
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. |
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. |
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. |
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. |
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.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Courage Under Fire
"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." -John Bingham
When you least expect it, your child will teach you a lesson. Without even trying. Such was the case as the peanut and I went for a late evening walk with Luna one night this week.
Since my wife worked a little later than usual, we ate dinner a little later than usual. Right before we were finished she asked, "Daddy, are you taking Luna for a walk?" After I answered her yes, after dinner, she asked, "May I please come with you?" She had been such a good girl at dinner. And I can't say no when she asks so perfectly. Despite the late hour.
We finished our meal and I took the dishes into the kitchen to be done after we put the peanut to bed. I told her I was ready to go. "But, daddy, I need to draw a map first."
Cue the roll of the eyes, slumping of the shoulders, and bubbling up of annoyance. I only did this knowing she couldn't see me.
"Ok, sweetie. But it's already bedtime and it's getting dark. So we have to hurry." Within two minutes we were out the door, each of us with our map. Of course, I was thinking to myself that maybe I could turn the whole drawing a map thing into a blogable moment.
And as I was formulating that post in my head, halfway down our block, she tripped on the sidewalk. It happened out of nowhere. There wasn't even something to trip over.
She landed on both knees and hands. A bad fall. She immediately started crying. And I could tell by the severity that this was no normal cry, this was no normal fall. I lifted her up and saw the nastiest of nasty scrapes on her knee. My poor baby.
She was so excited to be rewarded with this walk and all I could do was be annoyed. And now she's in my arms, bleeding and crying. You can imagine how poorly I felt.
I carried her home, while seeing at least three of our neighbors out of the corner of my eye looking on with concern on their faces. Luna, meanwhile, is utterly confused at this point. Having dropped her leash, she's still walking towards the park. I call her to join us, pick up the leash again, and proceed to drag her back home while carrying my broken peanut.
We get back to the house and I call for my wife to come tend to the peanut. I leave Luna, still wearing her leash, on the front lawn. My wife takes over. I look out the front door to find Luna laying on the front lawn, waiting and wondering.
We tend to the peanut. I don't want to leave but my wife says, "I'll take care of you while daddy walks Luna." And this is where she dropped the lesson without even trying.
"No," she said through her sobs and tears. "I still want to go with them."
Amazing. Simply amazing. We were floored. It's not that she was being unreasonable. She was telling us she was going to be ok enough to go for the walk.
Luna, ever patient, is still laying out there waiting. We grab our maps and her leash and head off for our walk again. This time, holding hands. This time, I'm paying closer attention.
After Luna did her business and we we headed home, the peanut said she didn't want to walk anymore. "I'm tired, daddy."
Usually, I would give her my "this is a walk" line, and we don't carry you on a walk. But this time I gave in. This one time. I picked up my wounded little warrior and carried her home. Her reward for teaching me about courage, innocence, excitement, and perseverance all at once.
Read more ...
When you least expect it, your child will teach you a lesson. Without even trying. Such was the case as the peanut and I went for a late evening walk with Luna one night this week.
Since my wife worked a little later than usual, we ate dinner a little later than usual. Right before we were finished she asked, "Daddy, are you taking Luna for a walk?" After I answered her yes, after dinner, she asked, "May I please come with you?" She had been such a good girl at dinner. And I can't say no when she asks so perfectly. Despite the late hour.
We finished our meal and I took the dishes into the kitchen to be done after we put the peanut to bed. I told her I was ready to go. "But, daddy, I need to draw a map first."
Cue the roll of the eyes, slumping of the shoulders, and bubbling up of annoyance. I only did this knowing she couldn't see me.
"Ok, sweetie. But it's already bedtime and it's getting dark. So we have to hurry." Within two minutes we were out the door, each of us with our map. Of course, I was thinking to myself that maybe I could turn the whole drawing a map thing into a blogable moment.
And as I was formulating that post in my head, halfway down our block, she tripped on the sidewalk. It happened out of nowhere. There wasn't even something to trip over.
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| Ouch (yes, I took pictures). |
She was so excited to be rewarded with this walk and all I could do was be annoyed. And now she's in my arms, bleeding and crying. You can imagine how poorly I felt.
I carried her home, while seeing at least three of our neighbors out of the corner of my eye looking on with concern on their faces. Luna, meanwhile, is utterly confused at this point. Having dropped her leash, she's still walking towards the park. I call her to join us, pick up the leash again, and proceed to drag her back home while carrying my broken peanut.
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| Required Two Dora Band-Aids |
We tend to the peanut. I don't want to leave but my wife says, "I'll take care of you while daddy walks Luna." And this is where she dropped the lesson without even trying.
"No," she said through her sobs and tears. "I still want to go with them."
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| Map in hand, ready to go again |
Amazing. Simply amazing. We were floored. It's not that she was being unreasonable. She was telling us she was going to be ok enough to go for the walk.
Luna, ever patient, is still laying out there waiting. We grab our maps and her leash and head off for our walk again. This time, holding hands. This time, I'm paying closer attention.
After Luna did her business and we we headed home, the peanut said she didn't want to walk anymore. "I'm tired, daddy."
Usually, I would give her my "this is a walk" line, and we don't carry you on a walk. But this time I gave in. This one time. I picked up my wounded little warrior and carried her home. Her reward for teaching me about courage, innocence, excitement, and perseverance all at once.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
THE PEANUT GALLERY: Go Fly a Kite
The week before we went on vacation, I decided I wanted to do something special when we were away. Something for just me and the peanut. I wanted to create a memory since we often get lost in the obligations and chaos of the daily grind.
So I thought we could fly a kite. We'd go to the store together to pick one out. Her choice. We'd wake up early one morning, before everyone else. Pack a breakfast and go to the beach and fly the kite together. Just the two of us.
Her response? "I don't want to." To all of it. The shopping, the waking up early, the going to fly it. She wanted none of it.
So I backed off. My wife and I picked out a kite without the peanut. It looks like Nemo, but isn't. I didn't do the early wake-up. But one morning, while she was antsy and we weren't ready for the beach yet, I said, "let's fly our Nemo kite."
Again, "I don't want to."
Read more ...
So I thought we could fly a kite. We'd go to the store together to pick one out. Her choice. We'd wake up early one morning, before everyone else. Pack a breakfast and go to the beach and fly the kite together. Just the two of us.
Her response? "I don't want to." To all of it. The shopping, the waking up early, the going to fly it. She wanted none of it.
So I backed off. My wife and I picked out a kite without the peanut. It looks like Nemo, but isn't. I didn't do the early wake-up. But one morning, while she was antsy and we weren't ready for the beach yet, I said, "let's fly our Nemo kite."
Again, "I don't want to."
So I started to put it together without her. Eventually, she joined me. Now she's into it. We finally got it assembled after about 45 minutes, which included calling in my wife for reinforcements (remember: I am historically bad at fixing/putting together anything).
And after all of that, the pictures tell the story:
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| "Wait for me, daddy." |
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| First time doing it herself |
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| Nemo's stunt double |
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| Mission accomplished. Memory made. |
Monday, July 11, 2011
Puttin' on the Hits
"I just didn't want to hit a slow roller to third base and have it be replayed forever." -Derek Jeter, on hitting a home run for his 3,000th hit.
If you can't be there (and with the cost of taking your family to a ballgame these days who can?), then watching it on television is the next best thing.
This is the situation I found myself in as Derek Jeter sat two hits shy of 3,000 for his career.
He stood on the precipice of baseball immortality (only 27 other players in history have ever reached 3,000 hits). And I realized one thing: The peanut was monopolizing the only television in the house while watching a movie. "Meet the Robinsons," in fact.
My wife and I were lounging by the pool at my parents' house. I had checked my blackberry and saw that Jeter had singled in his first at bat. So I told my wife, "We're going to have to interrupt her when Jeter comes up again. He's one hit away."
"Then you'd better start laying the groundwork now," she wisely answered.
I opened the sliding glass door and entered the family room with a pit of dread bubbling in my stomach. The same feeling I might get when I was a boy and I knew I had misbehaved and my father was sitting right there in his recliner.
Only this time, I was dreading a confrontation with my 4 year-old daughter.
"Sweetie, in a few minutes I'm going to pause the movie so we can watch the Yankees for a little bit."
"But I don't want toooo," she whined, almost on the verge of tears. A morning in the pool had taken a lot out of her.
"Not right now. In a few minutes. And it'll be real quick. Then you can watch your movie again."
"Noooooo," she offered feebly.
I went back outside, hit refresh on my blackberry, and saw the Yankees were due up again. And Jeter was hitting second that inning.
I gave it a minute, went inside, and ripped off the proverbial Band-Aid.
"I'm going to put the Yankees game on now, sweetie. I want you to watch too because something big might happen here."
She protested, but there was no stopping me. And as Brett Gardner was called out just barely as he dove head first to beat out a ground ball to second, I entered Yankee fan mode. Hands cupped over my mouth and nose. Then clasping them on top of my head. Rocking back and forth as I stood in place.
No longer were the peanut's pleas relevant. We were watching this no matter what. I opened the sliding glass door and yelled to my wife, "Hon, Jeter's up." and she knew.
She came in. And we watched. As a family. The peanut on the couch. My wife sitting on the floor next to her. I standing behind them in hopeful anticipation.
He fouled off a few pitches. One he hit straight back, meaning he barely missed it. The count went full. "He's facing one of the best pitchers in the league here," I offered to my otherwise ambivalent audience of two. I was referring to Tampa's David Price.
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| #3,000 (image courtesy of yankeesdaily.com) |
I yelled, "He hit a home run!" (Very original). "Woooooo! He did it!"
I was fighting back tears as I looked over at the peanut, only to see her holding her blanket in front of her face saying, "I'm NOT going to watch."
About five minutes later, after we watched the celebration and the excitement had worn off, I knelt down to my daughter.
I told her, "I'm glad we got to watch that together. Thank you for letting us watch. You don't know it now, but that was a big deal and you'll tell your children about it some day."
To which she answered, "Daddy, may you please put Meet the Robinsons back on now?"
Saturday, July 2, 2011
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.
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?
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 ...
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?
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| No one makes me laugh like you |
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.
Monday, June 13, 2011
The Monster at the End of This Post
Children will spring tough questions on you the instant you're awake. They don't care. Thus was the case this past Saturday morning. My wife allowed me to sleep in while she took the Peanut downstairs. It was actually 9:15 am when I finally awoke and I was a little panicked that I had slept so long.
I was standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to work the Keurig and get myself some coffee. (As if I don't use it every day)., That's when my daughter came running in and sprang this one on me: "Daddy, what Sesame Street (character) is your favorite?"
Immediately, my brain went into hyperdrive. Dangerous when it hasn't had coffee yet. I didn't want to get this one wrong. My answer would speak volumes about me, my personality, and how my daughter perceives me now and in the future. I am not overreacting. Ok, maybe a little.
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| No Cookie for you |
Next?
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| Kick the can, buddy |
How about Bert or Ernie? Well, Bert's a buzzkill with a unibrow. And Ernie's annoying. And there are too many questions surrounding their relationship. I understand they're a Muppet version of The Odd Couple, but how old are they supposed to be? Are they kids? Teens? If so, where are their parents? Are they adults? If so, why do they share a room? Are they gay? Doubt it. None of my gay friends would be caught dead in those hideous stripes and saddle shoes.
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| The Odd Couple |
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| No and No |
Elmo? He's become a cliche'. Plus, he's too self-absorbed, even for me. Who talks in the third person that much? He's out. And Big Bird is a big baby and a little clueless.
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| Your old pal, Grover |
So how did I answer? I told her GROVER. Lovable. Neurotic. Adorable. Bumbling. Silly. Always wants to help. Never really knows how. He's not perfect. But he is blue... filling the favorite color quotient.
*As you may already know, the title to this post refers to "The Monster at the End of This Book," a classic Grover tale that is by far my daughter's favorite iPad book/app. Highly recommended.
One time I didn't like my daughter's character of choice, but found the silver lining. Click here to read more.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Father of the Bride
"You stop worrying about her meeting the wrong guy, and you worry about her meeting the right guy. That's the greatest fear of all because then you lose her." -George Banks in Father of the Bride
My wife and I recently attended another wedding. I say "another" because we've now been to 36 weddings in our 14 years together, not including our own.
You can say we're wedding professionals. East coast, west coast. Winter spring, summer, fall. We've seen it all.
You know who I couldn't keep my eyes off of? The bride's dad. Because that's going to be me some day. It used to be, I would focus on the groom. That was me once. I liked to watch his reaction upon seeing his bride for the first time. It's pretty cool. I nearly lost my cool up there when I saw my soon-to-be wife, a stunning, glowing, floating angel approaching me.
Maybe the first time I held her when I said, "It's so nice to finally meet you."
Or maybe those times that I get to spend alone with her, one-on-one, if my wife is working late or staying in the city for a night out with her friends. I often make it a daddy-daughter date night. We go out to eat, maybe get ice cream, and go home and watch a movie. Maybe I'll think of her looking across the table at me while she amuses herself by simply sipping a glass of ice water through a straw.
These are some of my favorite times. The times I get to be the one to read all of the books and sing all of the songs and wipe all of the tears and give all of the hugs.
Now, there's a reason why the pending nuptials of my 4 year-old daughter are so fresh in my mind.
One day recently, as I entered my daughter's classroom to pick her up from daycare, a little boy came up to me. A classmate of hers. He walked over as I squatted down for a hug and kiss. He looked me in the eye and asked me, "Can I marry (your daughter)?" I didn't know what to say. I turned to her and asked her, "Do you want to marry this guy?"
She thought about it, shifted her eyes as if she were looking to some far off place, then said whimsically and dismissively, "Ok."
And that was that.
As we drove home I turned around to look at her as we were stopped at a red light. She sits in a booster now. Not a baby seat or a toddler seat anymore. She held her Lammie and sucked her thumb... just as she has since she started doing it so many years ago now. She was staring out the window, unwinding from a busy day of learning and playing. In that moment I thought to myself... my little girl is growing up so fast.
She's going to be married in no time. And just like that dad this weekend... that big, tough man with the thick Long Island (or LawnGUYlind) accent... I am going to be a mess.
Read more ...
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| We all went to #34 |
You can say we're wedding professionals. East coast, west coast. Winter spring, summer, fall. We've seen it all.
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| Us at #35 |
While I still do watch the groom, the bride's dad is who I'm most fascinated by now.
And this father of the bride did not disappoint. He was a big, sweaty, hulking mess. He was crying and he wasn't even trying to hide it as he and his wife walked their only daughter down the aisle. And once they were at the altar, he was constantly dabbing at his eyes, and getting emotional all over again.
I wondered what was going through his mind. The first time he held her? The first day of school? The first time a bone was broken? The first time her heart was broken?
What will I think of?
I wondered what was going through his mind. The first time he held her? The first day of school? The first time a bone was broken? The first time her heart was broken?
What will I think of?
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| "It's so nice to finally meet you." |
Or maybe those times that I get to spend alone with her, one-on-one, if my wife is working late or staying in the city for a night out with her friends. I often make it a daddy-daughter date night. We go out to eat, maybe get ice cream, and go home and watch a movie. Maybe I'll think of her looking across the table at me while she amuses herself by simply sipping a glass of ice water through a straw.
These are some of my favorite times. The times I get to be the one to read all of the books and sing all of the songs and wipe all of the tears and give all of the hugs.
Now, there's a reason why the pending nuptials of my 4 year-old daughter are so fresh in my mind.
One day recently, as I entered my daughter's classroom to pick her up from daycare, a little boy came up to me. A classmate of hers. He walked over as I squatted down for a hug and kiss. He looked me in the eye and asked me, "Can I marry (your daughter)?" I didn't know what to say. I turned to her and asked her, "Do you want to marry this guy?"
She thought about it, shifted her eyes as if she were looking to some far off place, then said whimsically and dismissively, "Ok."
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| Weddings suit her. |
And that was that.
As we drove home I turned around to look at her as we were stopped at a red light. She sits in a booster now. Not a baby seat or a toddler seat anymore. She held her Lammie and sucked her thumb... just as she has since she started doing it so many years ago now. She was staring out the window, unwinding from a busy day of learning and playing. In that moment I thought to myself... my little girl is growing up so fast.
She's going to be married in no time. And just like that dad this weekend... that big, tough man with the thick Long Island (or LawnGUYlind) accent... I am going to be a mess.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Orange We Glad
"All I needed to know I learned at Syracuse University." -A t-shirt I received after attending freshman orientation in 1993
The words flashed across the screen below the coach's name and immediately my wife said, "Wow, that was that long ago?"
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| Boeheim cutting down the nets in '03 |
The words I'm talking about read "Won 2003 National Championship." The coach under whom it appeared, of course, is Jim Boeheim of Syracuse. My alma mater. Our alma mater. If not for Syracuse, there would be no us. There would be no Peanut.
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| The Hall of Languages on SU campus |
Syracuse University holds a very special place in our hearts. It is arguably the most important place in our lives. Good ole' SU.
But... we still have 2003. That magical run. That amazing journey. Just thinking about it right now brings a smile to my face.
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| 2003 National Champs |
Syracuse won their first and only men's basketball championship a little less than three months after my father passed away. Earlier in the season, I took a trip to D.C. with a group of friends to see SU play Georgetown. It was a welcome diversion.
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| Thanks for the diversion, Carmelo |
Syracuse won a close game that day... and you felt it. You felt this could be a team that could win the whole damn thing. You felt it because they had a freshman superstar named Carmelo Anthony. I also felt relief... that I had made it through. I learned that day that I can have fun again. I can have a few drinks and laugh and enjoy the things I love... and still miss my dad.
And so they did... they won the whole damn thing. We celebrated. We hugged. We partied. And I still did... I still missed him. But Syracuse made that year a little easier to endure.
So here's what I'm taking away from that 2003 National Championship, a moment now eight years in the rearview mirror: enjoy every minute. We did. And that makes it so much more special. And that's what I continue to try and teach my daughter. Enjoy.
Tickle. Laugh. Dance. Run. Love.
Cherish.
She'll be this age only once, and then the next age, and then the next. I want her to ride that tricycle with abandon. Hit the bumps. Fall off. Get back up. Get back on.
That's what Syracuse taught me.
And my parents wanted me to go Rutgers.
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