Mae Culpa

Since my other post is a bit serious, I decided I'd try a something more conversational to round out the night. So, meme it shall be, thanks to The Bookpusher. 8 random tidbits about me.

1. There lives a man named Derek, who hates me so much he would gladly kill me, and I don't know why.
2. I bought a harmonica last week. I do not yet play the harmonica.
3. I don't like to rewatch movies or reread books.
4. I was born with pyloricstenosis. My stomach wasn't connected to my intestines properly.
5. I like to travel because of the complete anonymity of being a face in the airport.
6. I met my wife in a chemistry class designed to help us all get to know each other. She immediately went back to her roommate and told her that she would never even consider dating me. I immediately started dating the student advisor who ran the little group.
7. I have been on the cover of the newspaper in Lawrence twice, and didn't know it either time until after the fact. Once was yesterday, so I am told.
8. I don't really like animals. Not at all. No hatred or malice, just a complete dislike.

Consider yourselves memetagged.

With a drink

I'm having troubles gripping the idea of my imminent move south. I have made a list of chores to do, easily beyond my means, and am merely biding my time until the move occurs.

Then what?

This is really the part of this that is giving me the most trouble. At some point, I will be in Texas. Here are my top contenders:

1. Go back to school to study business.
2. Go back to school and get a masters in something so that I can teach at a community college.
3. Get some IT training and an IT job (exactly what, I don't know).
4. Find some mindless job, maybe in a coffee shop serving cookies and cappuccino.
5. Sit in the fetal position and worry about this damn house not selling and watching our few months of two paychecks whither away into oblivion.

It is weird for me to be so directionless. It will also mark the first time in 25 years I am outside of an academic setting. It has been easy to just follow it along. Stepping out has me weirded out.

Mostly, I just feel adrift. I am not a provider, a homeowner, a leader, a teacher, a band mate, or any of the other titles that have comforted me over the years. I feel like the title of dad is the only one left for me. And although it's a good job, and one that I want to do better than any other, it leaves me lonely for Me. I'm not improving anymore, and I lack the drive to decide how to go about it.

I'm growing a mental beer gut, I think.

Race til ya drop...

I just finished my last day as a teacher. I have been working non-stop trying to get done, and now it's done. I am so worn out I can't even really think about it yet. Thankfully, I was spared most of the sappy goodbye stuff because we were all in such a rush to get our rooms emptied out for remodeling.

I'll write more when I think more. Now, time to write a new chapter.

And I would do anything for love...

I thought I knew what I was getting into with this fatherhood gig. I expected the sleepless nights. I anticipated losing the roles of man, husband, individual, in favor of the bigger title of Daddy. But I never anticipated having to lubricate a little girl's anus so that she could drop a turd.

Before you call SRS, hear me out. She hadn't crapped in two weeks. I have been giving her laxatives for the last five days, hoping for a less invasive solution. I have upped the fruit quantity through the roof, and she eats a cup of shredded wheat on the way to school every morning.

But today, despite the best efforts of a reassuring and loving Daddy, it had to be done. She didn't eat all day, and refused to play in favor of sitting on the floor trying to shove the poo back up into her body by sheer force of toddler will. So at the advice of the local nurse practitioner (read: saint), I bought a small bulb of glycerin suppository complete with narrow tube.

She trusted me, the deed was done, and after a few moments of futile angry struggle in which our tiny-fisted soldier knew the gates were opened, the beast was released.

I will spare those of you with weak stomachs, or the ability to do math well enough to know that no 27 pound child should have their weight cut in half in a few traumatic moments. Suffice it to say she still put up a valiant struggle.

She sleeps now, our soldier against defecation. Her belly newly filled with apologetic ice-cream with sprinkles. She lost this round, but I promise she is happier for it.

Another night...

Last night's tantrum fest was hellacious. Two hours of whining and screaming pixie of evil, followed by 3 minutes of exploding, door-slapping daddy. It was not one of our high points. If that weren't bad enough, she picked up where she left off for the hour and a half I see her conscious before preschool. At least I'm not alone in this behavior. We did finish the evening with "I love you's" and "I'm sorry's". Both of us.

Thankfully, much planning, preparation, and scheming on the part of Love-and-Logic daddy, as well as an extra reading of Green Eggs and Ham, maneuvered us into a scream-free night of sleeping daughter.

Now, to quickly clean for the realtor's open house tomorrow.

Oh, did I mention I gave the girl some laxatives before putting her to sleep tonight? You see, she's afraid to poop. After 10 days of no poop, I am afraid. Very afraid.

House of Lies

Well, it turns out that an agreement to let my wife move into a house, rent it, and buy it can change on mother's day while she drives to the house to sign the papers. That's right, it was sold out from under us. Dr. Wife is now in San Antonio, living in a motel, trying to find an apartment to rent. Our stuff moves in three weeks.

I'm so fucking mad right now I could throw bricks at kittens.

Baby drive south

For those folks in the area, we are hosting a little bye-bye shindig on Saturday 5/12 for the new Dr. Wife. Come on by between 3:00 and 6:00pm and say a little goodbye to the good doctor, because on Sunday she moves to Texas. The newly-three-year-old and I will be following her down at the start of June.

Here's another pic of the house. We dig it. Yes I covered the address. If you want to know where it is, let the bribery commence.

So humble

We have had our offer accepted, and will be renting this place until our home sells, at which point we will buy it. The back yard is full of more twisted versions of these trees, and there are already solid anchors for swings and hammocks. It has a lovely room just aching for guest room status, though I do ask that you all come visit a few at a time. If you all visited at once it would be a wild and naughty time in that room that I just don't think Texas is ready for.

It is ready to move in, though it needs new windows. The nice part is, we won't have to move our stuff into storage or an apartment. We can move right on in. I can fill the whole garage with junk, as is the way of my people.

So look out, San Antonio. We's is a comin'.

The man behind the curtain

The haggle for a new car for Dr. Wife is in full swing. It is stressful as hell...

"Let's not talk totals... let's talk monthly payments..."

"Let me go speak with the manager and see how these numbers look..."

"I will have to tell you, this is good news for you..."

It's all a bunch of smoke, mirrors, and hogwash. Luckily, we happen to be good with numbers. Like the pope is good with prayer, we are good with numbers. So we aren't taken in by much. After two hours of haggling, we are now waiting for loan approval tomorrow. Hopefully, a new Mazda 3 is in our immediate future.

It really is a sick little dance. They try not to let us know the numbers they want to hide, and we try not to agree to jack shit. Then they get our money and we get a car. Strange little business, and stressful as hell. I think I need a drink.