Tag Archives: family

July 9, 2011 · 11:11 pm

Crybaby!

When did I become such a crybaby?

I know… sometimes I post stuff that might make you think I am an insensitive ass… but…

The other night we were sitting outside and my daughter was playing music on her iHome which is basically a dock for her iPod with an outside speaker.  I wasn’t really paying attention to the songs, but at one point heard pieces of a song that was mostly acoustic guitar and a nice female voice and that always tends to catch my ear.  A while later I asked her what the song was and she skipped back a few and we eventually tracked it down.

The song was “The House That Built Me” by Miranda Lambert.  My daughter played it again and I liked it because of the guitar fingerpicking, but I didn’t really listen to the words at first.  I asked her to play it again and this time listened a little closer.  It’s basically about someone that goes back to the house they grew up in as a kid.  You can listen to it if you want.  Maybe you’ve heard it already.

The song made me tear up.  Yeah, seriously, it did!  Then my daughter was trying to talk to me and I had to hide my face in my blackberry.  Of course I’d had like eight drinks so my “drunken sorority girl that’s like just been dumped by a totally hot guy she met a week ago” emotional buttons had been pushed. You’re surprised?  Go listen to the song and see if it doesn’t make cry you heartless sociopath!

Anyway, I used to be a pretty stoic guy.  I could sit and watch a sad movie and be completely untouched. My wife on the other hand would cry at everything, movies, news stories, hallmark commercials, whatever… it never took much.  Maybe that’s why we get along so well.  There’s nothing wrong with being emotional, I think its okay.  In fact, it’s probably healthy!  But, not me, I’d sit there and watch them haul “Old Yeller” into the back field and shoot him and not shed a tear.

Not anymore…

Now stuff makes me cry all the time.  Movies, books, songs, even the damn McDonalds commercial with the Apple Tree song!  In fact, I’m pretty confident that these days any time I hear sad violin music playing I am going to start to cry whether I am watching a movie or not. I’m beginning to wonder if I need to ask my doctor about Testosterone Replacement Therapy if there is such a thing or maybe have my tear ducts removed.  I try to fight it, the tears, the lip quivering, the sobbing and sniffling… but I just can’t hold it back anymore.  Now when we watch a movie with the kids my wife and I will sit there balling our eyes out and the kids look at us like, “dudes, seriously, it’s just the Sponge Bob movie, what is wrong with you two!”

I’m not sure when things changed.  I suspect it has something to do with having and raising kids and the emotional responsibilities that comes with that.  But I don’t know, I guess it’s been some kind of a growth process, something that comes with aging and seeing loved ones pass and knowing that my kids are growing up and won’t be living with us much longer.

Regardless, here I am, like a guy at an AA meeting saying “Hi, I’m Steve, and even though I have spent months and months developing this image of me being this kind of rugged, handsome Marlboro Man, on my ranch, caring for wild mountain goats and tending fences and doing other manly stuff, now I’m going to come clean.” Awhile back my family sat around one evening and watched Toy Story 3. My wife and I cried like babies!  Yep, you heard me right, TOY STORY 3!  At the end, Andy turns over all his toys to another kid.  Tears were flowing, tissues were flying, snot was dripping.  Disturbing…

After the movie I opened my Facebook account and posted “should I be concerned that I just watched Toy Story 3 and cried like a baby?”

I won’t share the responses…

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June 27, 2011 · 3:59 pm

The Patchwork Cat

One day when I was a little kid, my brothers and I were sitting around the house bored on a gloomy, rainy summer day.  My Mom, being one of those Moms that always had something for us to do, pulled out three plaster cats, the kind you can buy at the craft store, to paint.  She set us up in the kitchen at a table covered with newspapers, a bunch of paint and paint brushes and water to rinse them in.  “Have fun”, she said.

I was five years old at the time, I hadn’t started kindergarten yet and my painting skills were about what you’d expect from a five-year old.  My brothers on the other hand, were respectively three and four years older than me and although still in elementary school, old enough to be able to know how a cat should be painted. So we painted and painted and painted.

My oldest brother painted his mostly black, like a Halloween cat, with some silver highlights here and there.  He spent most of the time on the eyes using yellows and greens and whites and diligently adding all the fine details that you’d see when you look at a cat face to face.  He painted the inside of the ears a mix of black and pink, just like you’d see on a black cat. He painted the claws.

My other brother painted his orange and black.  No, these were not jungle animals, they were cheap craft store domesticated cats.  But he made his look like a fierce tiger with crisp stripes down the sides that ended in sharp points.  He also painted the eyes, although not quite as realistically as the Halloween cat, and the ears and the claws.

I painted mine… red and blue and yellow and green and purple and orange and brown and white and black and…

A red splotch here, a blue smear there, a purple blot here, a red smudge there, an orange stroke here, a green splash there.

Then my brothers teased me.  They teased me because my cat was all different colors.  They said “it doesn’t look like a cat.”  They said “cats aren’t red and blue and green and purple.”  They teased and teased and teased and then I started to cry and I ran to my room.  Yep, I did… I cried my eyes out.  Of course, I was only five!

A little while later, my Mom called me back out.  She said “I have something to show you.”  So I came back out to the kitchen and there was my cat sitting in the same place I had left it.

But it was different.

Around each and every splotch and smear and blot and smudge and stroke and splash, my Mom had painted tiny little lines and stitch marks. It looked like a cat that had been sewn together with little pieces of colored fabric.  She said, “what do you think? It’s a patchwork cat.”  It was amazing and I thought it was the coolest cat in the world at that moment.  My brothers actually kind of liked it too.  Sorry, I don’t have a photograph to show you, you’ll have to use your imagination.

My Mom kicked ass as a Mom.  I couldn’t have asked for one any better.  We lost her to brain cancer back in 2002.  I’m not here to mourn, but instead to celebrate. Not for any particular reason, this story just happened to pop into my head the other day and I thought I’d write it down.  Perhaps one of these days I’ll try to turn it into a real kid’s story and dedicate it to her.  She’d like that.

Wherever she is now, I can only imagine she has a cat with her… a cat that’s all sewn together out of pieces of fabric.

A patchwork cat.

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June 24, 2011 · 3:06 pm

From ONE to TEN

I once thought that ONE was enough.
Me by myself with only my stuff.
But I met a nice girl and love it was true.
We had a big wedding and then we were TWO.

We once thought that TWO was okay.
She and I hanging out every day.
But we drove by a sign that said, “kittens for free!”
We took home a kitten, and then we were THREE.

We once thought that THREE was not bad.
There wasn’t anybody we wanted to add.
But then we decided to get just one more.
A friend for our cat and then we were FOUR.

We once thought that FOUR was just fine.
One cat was her’s and one cat was mine.
One day a beautiful baby arrived.
A sweet little girl, and then we were FIVE.

We once thought that FIVE was alright.
Though space was getting a little bit tight.
But we wanted to add one more kid to the mix.
Along came a boy and then we were SIX.

We once thought that SIX would suffice.
Not a bird or a hamster or a snake would entice.
Then we decided two dogs would be great.
We skipped over SEVEN and went straight to EIGHT.

We once thought that EIGHT would be plenty.
At least it was only eight and not twenty.
Then one of our dogs, she went up to heaven.
Suddenly we were back down to SEVEN.

We once thought that SEVEN would be ample.
Add any more and we’d surely be trampled.
“Would you like two goats” asked a friend of mine?
We took home the goats and then we were NINE.

We once thought that NINE was tidy and neat.
Though we were looking for something to make us complete.
Our daughter liked riding a horse now and then.
So we bought her a horse and then we were TEN.

For now we think TEN is all we can handle.
If we grow any bigger it would sure be a scandal.
But someday we may add some more, I suppose
Then we’ll have to start counting on our fingers AND toes!

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June 17, 2011 · 4:50 pm

My house smiled at me today…

My house smiled at me today. I didn’t actually see her smile, but I know she did. We’ve just had her painted, and I know that she feels good when we take care of her. Her old bare and peeling soffits and trim and window frames and siding are tightly sealed up, caulked and primed and painted. Her wooden sections all match once again, the old and the new, the worn and the fresh, all the same cream color, subtly contrasting with her century old brick façade. A shiny new coat of green paint covers both of her outside doors, a splash of color worn like a spring scarf. Her roof is new as of last fall, the upside of an aggressive hail storm that ripped through our area, and resulted in a rash of insurance claims and a windfall of business to the local roofing contractors.

I stood in front of her today and I told her she looked beautiful and she smiled at me. I didn’t actually see her smile, but I know she did. She smiled because she now knows and trusts me as her caretaker of the last sixteen years. She smiled because she now knows that I have been willing to put my own blood and sweat and money into keeping her solid and beautiful. She smiled because she knows me now as she has known all of her caretakers before me, likely dozens of men and women and even children who have cared enough about her to keep her structurally strong and vibrant and standing proudly for over 120 years. She smiled at me because I told her she looked beautiful.

I do believe that I am her caretaker. Yes, she is the house that protects us from the elements. Yes, she is the place where my family has made sixteen years worth of incredible memories. Yes, she is the only home my two children have ever known and likely will know until they move out on their own. Yes, she is the place where my family has shared smiles and tears, hugs and fights, ups and downs. Yes, she is the place where we have celebrated the miracle of babies born and mourned the deaths of those who have left us. Yes, she is the place where birthdays and anniversaries and holidays have been celebrated. Yes, she is the place that has made us feel content and warm and safe for sixteen years and hopefully many more decades to come.

Yes, she is all of those things and for that I consider myself immensely blessed. But she is also so much more. She is a piece of history that harkens back to the days before automobiles and electricity and indoor plumbing were prevalent. She is a reminder of where we came from, a time when houses were built on the backs of strong men with a meager assortment of hand tools, yet possessing incredible craftsmanship skills. She is a reminder of a time when rural living and one room schoolhouses and fresh food and hard work reigned supreme. She is our personal museum and I am her caretaker and I take that responsibility seriously.

My house smiled at me today. I didn’t actually see her smile, but I know she did. Someday, she will have a new caretaker, and a new one after that and on and on and on. For now though, I am her caretaker and I will continue to do my part to make sure she is still standing proudly for many more wonderful years to come. If I am lucky, down the road, when my wife and I are old and gray and feeble, we will still be able to stand in front of her and tell her that she looks beautiful. I hope that she smiles at us then as well… and perhaps even says “thank you.”

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