Liam Turns Four

I was just minding my own business when someone decided to go and turn four. I don't remember agreeing to this.

I tend not to do that whole "where have the years GONE?" thing, just because it irritates me when parents do that. It seems pessimistic to me somehow. I will say I was NOT prepared for this one. By "not prepared" I mean, sure, emotionally I was a bit blindsided, but I also mean I literally wasn't prepared. I've been so completely wrapped up in my own business as of late that I'd kind of forgotten about it until just a few days before his actual birthday, which of course left me feeling guilty. 

So what do you do for your precious child whose birthday deserves to be celebrated? Do you try and scratch together some kind of last minute party, or do you take them to your sister's wedding just three days after his birthday and convince him it's his party.

Sometimes it's good to lie to your children

A bit of cake, candles, a new 'James' for the train table, and some drunk guests willing to sing 'Happy Birthday'...BOOM! Greatest kid's birthday party ever. Liam blew out candles, blushed at the attention, and danced his little booty off with all the cousins his age. A better time could not have been had. If he's looking a little underdressed for a wedding in that photo, it's because he's wearing Finn's backup outfit. He'd already destroyed his nice outfit AND his backup outfit by the time dinner rolled around, so you know he had a blast. 

I love you Liam!

Blind Man's Bluff

This past week Liam turned four and my baby sister got married. I'd love to write about those things, but first I have an incredible story to share.

I learned at my sister's wedding that people are actually reading this blog. This is great news! Those people will know the gist of my current life chapter. For those who haven't kept up, here's the story in a nutshell: I'm splitting up with my wife which is sad, but we found a buyer for the house and new places to live so all is well and the boys are doing great. 

I never mentioned much about the buyer in this blog because I didn't want to jinx it. About a month ago we'd given up on finding someone to offer anything close to what we owe on our house, so it was going to be a "short sale". A short sale in real estate (for those who haven't been keeping up on the subprime mortgage crisis) is basically where we tell the bank our situation and they agree to take what they can get for our house so that we don't have to do a foreclosure, which basically fucks everyone involved. The bank agreed and they got an offer. 

Then, out of nowhere, in swoops our savior. Though the deal with the bank was done, our agent was still putting out feelers when she came across a man with an offer. Not only was it for more than we owed on the house, it was for more than we'd originally paid. Too good to be true, right!? The bank agreed this was good news and we got to wiggling our way out of the short sale offer. I was curious about the man who put in the new offer of course, so I asked our realtor for details. It turns the guy is legally blind and had offered to pay cash. I'm not sure which of those two things is more unimaginable.

I can't tell you how happy Erin and I were after this turn of good fortune. We got right down to business, signing documents, filling out our disclosure report, and sorting through the details. The bad news was we wouldn't be making any money on the deal after fees and other costs, so our realtor talked to the buyer who...get this...offers even MORE. Why would he do that?? Is he an angel??!!

Last week things got weird. The buyer shows up at the house while I'm there watching the boys. Finn was napping so I quietly greeted the blind man and his companion saying "oh, you're the new owner!"  

"Not yet" he says. I clenched.

It turns out the man with him was there to inspect under the house. It was 7 days before the final day we were told we had to hand over our keys so Erin and I were both moved into the new apartments we'd only been given 30 days to find. 

I woke up Finn and loaded the boys into the car, making sure the blind man at least heard the sound of young children protesting as we left the house so they could do their inspection. I texted our real estate agent:

I was reassured but I couldn't help wondering if this guy had some sinister plan. He knew we were short selling originally and he knew we weren't making any money off of his first offer so our precarious financial situation was no secret. He may have even assumed (correctly) that if he backed out of the deal we'd be in real trouble what with the fact that we'd be on the hook to pay rent at two apartments now in addition to our mortgage. A struggling couple with young children caught in that impossible situation would have to take drastic measures. They'd probably have to foreclose and then the house could be purchased for a song. Who would then be in a better position to buy the house from the bank than the guy who had just done all the inspections on the house and had strung the nice young couple along right up to the very end so that the house would be nice and clean and ready to move into? Did he offer us more so we wouldn't field other offers? Did he really have the cash or were we being duped the whole time??

I was being paranoid! People don't actually do stuff like that, do they?

Yes. Yes they do.

I was standing on the porch last night at a friend's house when I got the call. My friend had agreed to let me store some of my things in her garage and I had literally just dropped off my last load. My agent said "I'm so sorry, he backed out of the deal". He claimed it was something about renovations being too expensive. This was just hours before the July 16th deadline. All I could say was "Oh wow. We're fucked."

I feel pretty naive. I didn't know enough about this deal apart from my own nagging feeling that it was too good to be true. I guess because he had offered cash it put him in a position where he could do this with no financial retribution. I guess it's a good thing this guy doesn't have to look himself in the mirror. 

I asked about the "sinister plan" I'd suspected. She assured me we would never 'sign off' on a sale to this guy after doing what he did, but I have a feeling it might not work that way. The sale is going to be in the hands of the bank now and I doubt they'll care much about the buyer's moral history, especially if he really does have the cash.

So now what? I'm thinking about painting a giant penis on the living room wall. Something artsy so that any guests the blind man has over to the house will assume it was something he had commissioned and will be too embarrassed to ask about it. I figure it will be months before it's discovered and by then it will be too late. Does anyone have a few gallons of 'taupe'?

The Number One Problem

The greatest challenge I've had, now that I find myself doing the 'daddy' thing solo, is finding time to pee. Seriously.

Saturday the boys and I drove down to S.F. because one of my best friends' baby was turning one and there was a party to be had. Even though Liam is about 90% potty-trained, I dressed both he and his brother in diapers for the ride down. I, on the other hand, am a big boy and since it's only an hour and a half drive I knew I'd be okay, but as soon as we got there we said a quick hello to our hosts and hunted down a potty. I let Liam go first while I held Finn and cased the joint.

The party was at my friend's in-laws' house so it wasn't exactly baby proof. It was a little bit like a museum actually. There were lots of fragile expensive-looking things on small tables, some cool antique items arranged carefully on low shelves, and even a very nice set of samurai swords on display. I was going to have my hands full preventing thousands of dollars in damage and possible hara-kiri for the rest of the visit so this one pee break was going to be it. I sat down after Liam and as soon as I let it rip, Finn went for the door. The lock was one of those buttons which pops open easily with just one quick turn of a toddler's hand. Attending the party were a few people I hadn't seen in years and I didn't want our reunion to take place with my pants around my ankles, so I stretched out as far as I could to try and push the button back in. It was a little beyond my reach so I had to angle my "stream" behind me like a cat marking it's territory in order to reach it. Finding this new game hilarious, Finn immediately re-unlocked the door so I swung back over and clicked the button back in again. With few opportunities to pee these days, my body has trained itself to retain fluids better than a camel, so this little tete-a-tete went on for the duration which was about a full minute.

Awkward potty moments like these are common and manageable. It's not just at strange new bathrooms either. Even at home the amount of time it takes to pee is just enough for Finn to smash a jar of jam and begin eating the sticky glass shards, for Liam to blow on Finn's face while he's taking a nap, or for any multitude of punching, pooping, smashing, and other such mayhem to take place.

Most people believe the real nightmare is having to go to the bathroom while driving with the kids, but this is not the case. After Saturday's party there was no chance I was going to manage a pit stop before leaving, not while the boys still had "birthday party" in their systems. They were out the door and playing in traffic before I could say my goodbyes to my friends, so I just herded them to the car and planned to stop and "check the tire pressure" on the way home. "Checking the tire pressure" is when you pull onto the side of the freeway, walk around to the front right side of the car, kneel down on one knee, and pretend to thoughtfully examine the tire while you're peeing on the ground. It takes a bit of acting and an excellent ability to visually judge slope, but it is a life-saving tool.

Grandpa Janik's Pantry

Part of (almost) every foray into the ever-endearing Midwest should include a trip to Grandpa's House.

My Grandpa Janik lives in this crazy custom-built dream home with fish-stocked ponds and a spiral staircase and giant TV's and, well, an amazing amount of food and booze.

When the kids and I arrived after our four-hour drive from Kalamazoo, they were like "oh, hey Great Grandpa, hey Judy (GG's delightful and astoundingly energetic wife), if you need us we'll be in the pool."

They went in the hot tub, too

We waved them off and then began stocking the cooler with every imaginable drink in preparation for the rest of the Janiks & co. to arrive. My Grandpa has always been an impeccable host. Once, my friend Jessica and I made the trek to his place at the ripe young driving age of 16, and upon arrival he asked what we'd like to drink and listed off a dozen options, including beer. Baffled, we reminded him that we were only16 and couldn't drink, but he just poo-pooed this. We drank pop instead. As we were leaving, he and Judy filled our car with snacks and drinks, and he pressed some Zimas into our arms. "Just take 'em," he urged. "I won't drink 'em!" Jess and I looked at each other, blushed, and took the Zimas.

The Janiks are dear to my heart, which I was recently analyzing. I didn't really spend a lot of time with them as a kid - aside from some summertime here, a holiday or two there - and yet I have such a great affection for them all. I realized it might have something to do with the fact that they act from the heart and don't steep every action they take in passive aggressive drama and unnecessary bullshit. In short, they are real people. And I love them!

These visits are always a whirlwind of hugs and half-conversations but I still appreciate anything I can get, and I was happy that the kids got to hang with their cousins. Also, I was kind of hungover from an impromptu night on the town in Kalamazoo the night before, and there's really no better place for a Hair-of-the-Dog drink than at my Grandpa's place, because of his built-in Cantina. Yes, that's right, I said built-in Cantina. Wrap-around bar, opposite booth seating, dusty margarita mix bottles galore...I found some Jack Daniels and some coca-a-cola and all was well with my miserable fuzzy-headed world.

The next morning I walked downstairs to find my kids at the dining room table surrounded by three different kinds of cereal, glistening pints full of orange juice, and plates waiting to be filled with their very specific instructions as to how to make their eggs, which Grandpa was kind enough to oblige, though he had to let me know it was a pain, which he did in is usual good-natured way: "Jonah says he wants an egg pancake, I say 'what the hell is that?' he says 'ya scramble it in a cup and then put it in the pan, then flip it like a pancake!' I say 'okay.'* But it takes up the whole goddam pan! And this one, she wants hers fried!" Then he gestured to me with his spatula: "howd'ya want yours honey?"

"Scrambled, please!" I didn't dare say "egg pancake but then folded over an unbuttered piece of toast." I asked if they had any tea. Grandpa said they did, and began pulling boxes upon boxes out of the upper reaches of a cupboard. "We got peppermint... this one's...we got chamomile here...." Judy appeared behind me and piped up "Geno! Don't give her that tea, that's like twenty years old, don't giver that!" "It's fine! It's all sealed up in it's packages, you know? The paper wrapper? It's fine!" I assured him that I was fine with OJ and proceeded to eat my breakfast sans stale tea.

During breakfast I asked Judy about her volunteering, which she does in abundance and makes me really, really sleepy just hearing about it. I mean, this woman...really. She has this dance troupe for seniors that travels around and performs all the live-long day, and she basically runs the whole freaking show. Their dining room is filled with sparkling hats and songs on tapes and random balloons and feathers. She's been doing it for over a dozen years and she's tired as all get-out but she'll never stop doing it. Oh and then she showed me the 14-page newsletter she singlehandedly creates for the senior center every month. I was like..."um, I'm kind of sleepy from looking at all of this can we nap now?" Look at what she does just for fun here! It's nuts. I saw it live once and I cried like a baby.

As we were preparing to leave, true to form, Judy asked my kids to hold some ziplock bags open and then proceeded to fill one with Oreos and the other with Froot Loops, despite my eye-rolling and protests. She ignored me, saying "oh wait, just a few more. Wait, just a few...just one more...just, wait, there's room for another."

I walked into the pantry to grab a few bottles of water, but Judy scoffed, "honey no, you don't want those, those are old, lemme getcha some fresh ones," and then she disappeared into the basement, emerging a few moments later with three bottles of 'fresh' water.

Rumor has it there's no fresh water here

Then we got out to the car and Judy insisted that we take a cooler full of ice, so that I could put some down my shirt when I got too hot on the way home. I assured them that wasn't necessary, but she was already gone, searching. After waiting for about ten minutes in the oppressive Midwestern humidity, Grandpa and Judy emerged with a small cooler full of ice, which I immediately reached my hand into to pull out a perfectly-formed ice cube, wasting no time to shove it down my shirt.

After a few more hugs and kisses, away we went.

Before falling asleep within three minutes on the road, Jonah sighed, "I want to live at Great Grandpa Janik's house, mom."

I said wistfully, "me too buddy. Me too."

Kids These Days

It's Friday morning. Payday. I was just checking my bank balance online and narrowing my eyes so I don't see the other transactions listed just below the direct deposit (i.e. security deposits, first and last month's rent, a second set of every frickin' kid accessory for the new apartment, THERAPY bills, etc.)  As I'm sitting here poised to click on something that at least appears work related, these two hipster early twenty-something douchebags come swaggering in. A couple of cocky, overprivileged, undergroomed, tattooed, sockless, dumpster-diving, trust-fund a-holes wearing their sunglasses in a wine cellar, oh joy.

These six-figuring "earning" bastards are here to take pictures and "write copy" for the company's Facebook page and guess who gets to field their questions? That's right, ME! Here are some of the more brilliant gems:

Why don't you guys make beer and shit?

Which wine is the panty-dropper?

You play basketball bro?

Is every dude here, like, Mexican or whatever?

Ah, from the mouths of babes. I know I shouldn't "hate". I think my real hang up is my fear that I'm glimpsing a bleak future for my boys. When my grandfather was their age he was a dad fighting to keep his family alive during the Great Depression. When my father was their age he was working in military intelligence during the Vietnam War. When I was their age I was waiting tables. It seems like there's a steady decline from unimaginable sacrifice and integrity to....well, Social Media Specialists. How much lower can it go?

Who am I kidding? That's not my real hang up. Clearly my boys are destined for greatness.

a'Midwesting We Will Go

As some of you may know, the kids and I are on vacation in the glorious Midwest. Would you like to hear about it? Okay!

We took a red eye out of SFO, because those always seem like a good idea at the time.  Then I remembered that the last time we'd tried this, there was no actual sleeping when there was supposed to be sleeping, which just led to lots of frustration and crying.

 

Jonah was a helper-extraordinaire, and offered to haul our heavy-ass suitcase in which I'd packed everything we would need for a two-and-a-half week trip. He pulled it for about as long as it took for me to snap this picture.

 

Turns out my kids were so excited about our trip that while they slept on the first leg of the journey, they just couldn't on the second. That's okay though, they were champs and had smiles every step of the way:

 

We made it!

The very first thing we did after a decent night's sleep was go to the beach, duh. The kids had never seen or been in Lake Michigan, and come on, they didn't know what they were missing! It's kind of like the ocean...but you can actually go in it, and it doesn't make you want to die from salty overload if the water gets into your mouth.

 

First steps in...

Love at first swim!

Then they made sandcastles with friends

Then they stood next to this lighthouse

It was a really fun, tiring, Michigan day. Evie fell asleep on the way home, thus starting a trend of her falling asleep in cars every chance she got:

The next day we drove and drove and drove (more car sleeping), so the kids could experience what I like to call...Grandpa Janik's house. I'm not kidding when I say that immediately upon arrival, the kids jumped into his pool, and stayed there for the rest of our time there:

 

Finally, because we'd done Lake Michigan swimming, and we'd done Grandpa's pool swimming, we decided we needed to do some good old fashioned regular-lake swimming.

Jonah with Bapa on the paddleboat. I'm paddling. It sucks.

After paddle boating, we all piled into a pontoon boat and Jonah drove us out to the perfect swimming spot, where we leapt in like frogs looking for lily pads. Instead we came back with algae lining our swimsuits, but I figured that was close enough.

My once not-so-sure swimmer, having practiced every day of vacation so far, jumped right into the depths of this lake without a second thought. I was pretty darn proud:

Finally, here's a picture that is fairly irrelevant to the story, but I'm adding it because it's basically the cutest picture of all time. This is Evie's new friend Schmetty.

 More to come!

Couch Surfing

When couples break up in the movies it's usually dramatic and ends with someone storming out the door, never to return. The part they edit out is ten minutes later when the dejected lover sneaks back in the front door to retrieve their keys, the most recent phone bill, and a few pairs of clean boxers. Drama is exciting but you have to have clean underpants.

My point is that I've found the splitting up process to be more of, well, a process. I packed up my underpants two whole months ago and have been on a couch-surfing safari ever since. It's been a whirlwind adventure. I have a few more grey hairs now but it hasn't been too bad. I can't really complain thanks entirely to some generous friends for opening their doors to my transient ass and welcoming me into their homes and refrigerators. I'm super grateful to them for making this so much easier than it could have been. You guys absolutely rock.

The whirlwind is due to the usual "working parent" thing combined with apartment hunting while simultaneously trying to sell a house. The house selling was looking pretty grim for a while. Erin and I were sure it was going to be a Take-it-in-the-Shorts Sale at one point, but luck prevailed and in the eleventh hour we got an offer for just enough to break even. Thank the credit gods.

Once we got the offer, my hunt for a new place to live got serious. I suddenly had thirty days to find something great for myself and the boys in a rental market that's been described as "abysmal". The very first place I checked out had promise and I thought I had better go for it, but the space and the location weren't going to work for the boys AT ALL so I backed out. I told the very nice woman that owned the place that it was 'bad timing'.

After that I applied for everything in the Healdsburg area that fell into my price range. This amounted to a grand total of five apartments. After four rejections I started to get depressed.

In my desperation I was quick to call on any number that offered something in my price range. I rang one number with an unlisted address without even clicking on the full Craigslist ad. A woman answered the phone and I switched on my tidiest, rent-paying-on-timiest voice, which is basically my normal voice an octave higher. I'm not really sure why that is.

About twenty seconds into the conversation she talked about a father of two boys, like myself, that had seemed interested but had turned the place down. This was when I realized she was talking about me and I'd just called the woman I'd rejected only a week earlier.

The adult thing to do would have been to identify myself, apologize for not realizing I was calling about a place I did not want, and wish her the best, but "adult" isn't my default, so I started disguising my voice.

At first I just kind of clenched my teeth and used small sentences. This just made me sound angry and wouldn't do. It was too late for an accent since I'd been an American for half a minute already so I just went lower and tried to adapt some strange throaty effect to my voice. I ended up going from a high-spirited, slightly effeminate version of my normal self, to sounding exactly like the serial killer from Silence of the Lambs that tucks his junk and dances in a suit made from women's skin. I think she's relieved I didn't follow up.

At this point I realized I was doomed to end up homeless. Or worse, in Windsor. But with that last performance I kind of deserved it.

I was starting to give up when just this week I went to my appointment to see apartment number five. It was on Haydon Street in Healdsburg, just a few blocks from downtown. Despite living in Healdsburg for thirteen years I don't think I'd ever walked down this street before. It's gorgeous. It's lined with pristine and well gardened Victorian homes enshrouded in enormous oaks and redwoods. I strolled down the street and felt a nostalgia for a period in which I'd never lived. It's the kind of place you'd expect to see the Morton Salt girl walking the RCA Victor Records dog, or something.

About halfway down the block I was shaken from this trance by an out-of-place hideous grey-green cube that, as of yesterday, I am grateful to call my new home. The landlady is sweet, the rent is great, and the place is just fine. When I got back to my old house (I say "old" already) I found Erin there who too had scored a new place to live. Less than a half an hour after this revelation our real estate agent showed up with the final page we had to sign to close the deal with the old home's new owner. Things couldn't have ended any sweeter.

So now I'm feeling a ton of gratitude. Gratitude toward Erin, my friends, my family, to merciful fate, and of course to my two precious boys, without whose infectious laughter and love I wouldn't be able to so easily brave the storms in life like these. I love those little fartknockers and I hope they love their new homes.