How I Very Nearly Ruined Christmas

Each year I usually settle in closer to “Santa Claus” than “The Grinch” on the Scale of Christmas Icons.  In fact, one Christmas I actually BECAME Santa Claus…but that’s another story for another day.  This Christmas I would have been better off attempting a break-in at Nakatomi Plaza or maybe even replacing Christmas altogether with Festivus (there were, actually, some “airing of the grievances” in this Christmas story). The Christmas I want to share with you now may lead you to believe that my heart had even shrunk two sizes too small.

It all started back in 1998.  My son, The Tall One (although both sons are quite tall now, so let’s call him “The Taller One”). 

Take two:  It all started back in 1998.  My son, The Taller One, was four years old and a big fan of hockey’s newest team, the Nashville Predators.  The number one thing on his Christmas list that year was a Predators’ sweater (or as he called it “a Predators’ shirt”).  The second thing on his list was a pair of roller blades.  For a young, southern boy who had only been to (or even seen) one hockey game (the Predators franchise opener) it was a pretty big deal that hockey had vaulted to the top of his Christmas list. 

For months, when asked what he wanted for Christmas, The Taller One’s answer was consistent: “A Predators shirt and roller blades”.  I, ever the clever one, would tell him that “I’d just got off the phone with Santa.  He’s got your Predators SKIRT and RAZOR blades in his sack and ready to bring to you this Christmas”.  The four year old failed to find the humor in this and would quickly correct me: “Dad!  It’s a Predators SHIRT and ROLLER blades!”, and demand I get back in touch with Santa and make sure he got it right.

We were at The In-Laws for Christmas and when the morning of the 25^th finally arrived I had some gift-giving comedy in store for all of us.  Imagine a bright-eyed, hockey-loving, four-year-old boy hurrying down the stairs to the Christmas tree.  He’s greeted by his father who hands him a small, brightly-wrapped package.  When you’re four and you’re handed a gift to unwrap, you don’t ask questions.  You start ripping paper.  What The Taller One finds is, you guessed it, a box of razor blades.  He says: “Dad, you’re so funny” and gives me a big hug.  The rest of the family has a grand laugh to start Christmas day and Frosty the Snowman peers in through the living room window and gives us all a tip of his hat and a wink.  Dad of the Year! The End.

Unfortunately, there was a fly in the ointment…a monkey in the wrench…to my happy Christmas ending.  When The Taller One opens the package and sees the razor blades he does not laugh, smile or giggle.  Not even close.  First, his chin sinks to his chest.  Then, as it occurs to him that “if these are razor blades then somewhere under that tree there is also a skirt for me”, he crumbles to the floor in disappointment.  Tears begin to flow.  I’m a dead man.

The Wife and The Mother-in-Law are ready to demonstrate “Feats of Strength” by bashing my skull with the first heavy object they can find.  I gather the boy up in my arms and help him find the Predators shirt and roller blades under the tree.  For the boy, the crushing sadness gives way to joy.  For me, my day didn’t turn around that quickly.  The Wife and The Mother-in-Law are plotting my destruction throughout the day.  When I see them smile, I worry because that means they have not only thought up a maniacal way to end my existence, but they’ve concocted an air-tight alibi, too.

Through constant apologies and taking great care before I ate or drank anything, I managed to survive the day.  However, every year I am reminded by The Wife or the Mother-in-Law or even The Taller One of the year I very nearly ruined Christmas.  You know, every time a Bruce Willis movie comes out, nobody reminds him about being in “Look Who’s Talking Too”. 

Here’s wishing you and yours a Yippee-ki-yay, Merry Christmas.

What Does My Marriage Have in Common with Michael Jordan?

Question: What does my marriage have in common with Michael Jordan, Ryne Sandberg, David Beckham, The Lord is my shepherd, and a bad Jim Carrey movie (OK, that reference is a bit too vague)?  Answer: The number 23.

Today, The Wife and I celebrate our 23^rd wedding anniversary.  This week as she’s talked about our 23 years (and I’ve stared intently at her hoping not to detect signs of crushing disappointment) she’s mentioned that she doesn’t remember what it’s like to NOT be married.  I believe she meant that as a good thing.  I took it that way at least, and I have to agree.

There are some of you who will also know what we mean by that.  There has been so much living and so much sharing that your lives have become thoroughly intertwined (kind of like those tangled I-phone ear buds sitting on your night stand…but in a good way).  You likely don’t own anything of substance that you had before you were married.  And there isn’t anything about your life before you were married that you have any desire to go back to (OK, I’d like to get at least close to being as thin as I was when we were married).

To remember what life was 23 years ago, you’d have to remember having a cassette player in your car where you would have played the debut albums of DC Talk, Nirvana and The Wiggles (who would have thought that the only one of those three to still be around would be The Wiggles…God help us all).

You would have to remember the premier episodes of Seinfeld, Bay Watch and The Simpsons.  You would have been able to watch what should have been the last films in the Indiana Jones, Lethal Weapon and Back to the Future series (unfortunately, that was not the case).

You would have to remember what it was like to hear for the first time “You’ve got mail”.  You would also have to know what it means to be “a very good driver in the driveway”.

Twenty three years ago the national debt only circled the globe a time or two and you could get a gallon of gas for a little over a buck.  Twenty three years ago not only did twelve year olds not have cell phones, but nobody had cell phones.  Twenty three years ago you could wear a blue jean jacket and aviator sunglasses (at night).

Oh yeah, twenty three years ago you could buy a Twinkie.

A lot has changed over the last 23 years.  We’ve seen two sons born and one of them start college.  We’ve moved between seven and nine times, depending on how you count it.  We’ve had times that take your breath away and times when we just hold our breath as we pray to get through it.  Put it all together and there isn’t a relationship in the world that I would trade this one for and that will never change. I love you, honey.  And girl…you know it’s true.

Remembering Mike Being Mike

Apart from my own father (“Hey, Dad”) and my father-in-law (“Hi, Don”) the man who has had the greatest impact in my life has been Mike Kruse.  Mike passed away last week.

I first met Mike twenty years ago.  I was a far-too-young and far-too-inexperienced CFO for a construction company that was a client of the CPA firm that bore Mike’s name, Kruse & Associates.  Five years later, I went to work for Kruse & Associates and Mike became my boss.

Mike was more than just a boss.  He was a leader.  I never felt like I worked FOR Mike.  It always felt like I worked WITH Mike.  For a young whipper-snapper (whatever that is) who is looking to learn and grow, there is a tremendous difference between the two.

Mike was more than just a leader.  He built more than a successful business, he built people.  He helped build me.  Like so many that worked with Mike, he believed not only in my ability and my potential, but more importantly, he believed in me.  That helped me start believing in myself at a whole new level.

After working with Mike and Kruse & Associates in Nashville for three years, I was part of a small team that moved to Knoxville to start an office there. That’s a much thinner, younger and clean-shaven me on the left.  Then, moving to the right, you’ll see Marc, Mike, Donna and Phillip.  The three years we worked together in Knoxville was amazing.  Even though Mike still lived in Nashville, he spent a lot of time with us in Knoxville.  Getting time to work that closely with Mike was a career opportunity of a lifetime on top of being remarkably rewarding personally.  Working with Mike blurred the lines between personal growth and professional development. 

Mike was a humble man.  He often said “if you are really good, you don’t have to waste time telling people how good you are”.  Those of us who worked for Mike called comments like that “Kruse-isms”:  quips and quotes he said frequently.  Sometimes they were funny.  Sometimes they were profound.  All of them were quickly identified with Mike being Mike. 

I’ll finish with a story that shows the servant-mentality that was Mike Kruse.  Shortly after going to work with Kruse & Associates, I was at a new client’s office in Kingsport, Tennessee.  I had driven up in the morning and Mike was going to drive up later and meet me for dinner that night.   This was the first chance I had to work one-on-one with Mike since I joined the firm. 

It turned out that it was cold and snowy that entire day, but Mike made it up anyway through the tough weather.  After dinner, we decided to meet for breakfast at 7:00 at a Perkins next door to the hotel.  I was determined to be early for breakfast and make a good impression on “the big man” so I planned to be at the restaurant by 6:30.  Not only did Mike beat me to breakfast, he got up early enough to scrape the snow and ice off of my car….MY car.  The car of the new guy.  The car of the employee that had not yet done a thing for him or his firm.  Did I mention that he was the boss and that it was his name on the letterhead? That spoke more to me about his values and the values of his firm than anything he could have said. 

I told that story to Mike several years later.  He, of course, had no recollection of it.  It was just Mike being Mike.  Everyone that knew him has memories like that of “Mike being Mike”.

Most every great thing that has happened to me in my career has Mike Kruse’s fingerprints all over it.  I can’t begin to think what my career (or life) would be like without his influence.  He was not only very good to me, but he was very good to my family, too.  He always asked about Cindy and the boys and was genuinely concerned how they dealt with the moves we made for the firm.  I hope some day that Will and Sam are blessed to work with a man like Mike.

Now our family prays for Mike’s: Mary Jean, his wife of 48 years, their children and their grandchildren.  We pray for their peace in this time and that somehow they’ll be comforted by knowing the tremendous impact that Mike had on so many lives.  We miss you, Mike.

Off To College

I didn’t cry the entire way home, and I suppose that’s something.  Today, The Wife and I moved our oldest son into his dorm at college.  ($#!+, I’m getting old).  For full disclosure, he is only 30 minutes from home and about 5 minutes from where I work.  So, it isn’t as if he’s across the country or, Heaven forbid, Cleveland.  Whether around the world or around the block (everywhere I go, the Kids Wanna Rock – Bryan Adams, if you want him) or wherever he  may be, he’s still not home….pause, while I locate a Kleenex….

I suppose the emotion of the day (which started about a month before his high school graduation) comes from three things.

First, I could not be more proud of both of our boys.  They love their Lord. They are considerate and kind.  They know how to laugh.  They are smart.  They know how to face and overcome adversity.  All these things qualify The Tall One for success as he enters “The College Years”.

Second, I’m just going to miss him.  As a parent, you have to love your kids.  If you don’t answer “yes” on the application to the “Do you love your child?” question, then they don’t give you a kid, right?  So, loving your offspring is a relative (no pun intended) given.  Liking them, however, is not required.  I’ve met lots of people’s kids and I don’t know how their parents can stand some of them.  They are rude, selfish brats (just being real here).  Their folks probably threw a party when their spawn finally moved out.   I genuinely like our kids, however.

Some people say you can’t be a friend to your children and still be their dad.  I get that to an extent, but if you are lucky (as I am) as my boys get older the more I’ve been able to develop a relationship with them that is both dad and friend.  The Tall One and I enjoy sports together, share tastes in music, like the same movies and play golf together.  I’m simply going to miss him being around all the time….pause while I locate the box of Kleenex…

Studies show that men think about sex every 52 seconds.  You can question the accuracy of the results of that experi…no, they pretty much nailed it (no pun intended this time either).  The one thing that may rival how often men think about sex is how often we question our ability as a father.  As a husband, if you are doing that wrong, you have a wife to set you straight.  As a father, if your kids try to set you straight you introduce them to the "board of education".

That brings me to my final point: there is a sense of doubt that is likely unavoidable at a time when your child is moving into another phase of life.  Doubt that persistently asks the question: have you done enough as a father to prepare your son for “this”?  The answer is “no”.  There are a great many things that could have been done different, better, more often, less often, louder, softer, more strict, more lenient, etc., etc., a million times etc.  I mean we all can't be Ward Cleaver (I don't smoke a pipe) or Cliff Huxtable (I can't pull off those sweaters).

There are two things of which I am extremely confident, however.  One: My kids will never have a doubt that they are loved.  Two: However I may have fallen short, there is a God who loves them more than I do who is eternally capable of training them in the ways they should go. 

So now I’ll sit in the basement and watch pre-season football without The Tall One and hope his first night at college is all he wants it to be.  Does anybody know if Kleenex delivers?

Shopping Part I: What if You Shop Like Tony Gwynn Hit?

It’s a stereotype, to be sure, but guys are not typically good at shopping.  Some men may be good at it (not that there’s anything wrong with that) but for most of us it’s a struggle.  For this series, I’ve broken shopping down into four main categories:

1.       Regular shopping

2.       Man shopping

3.       Anti-Man shopping

4.       Wife gifts

Regular shopping can be anything from groceries to blue jeans to a garden hose.  A man’s typical success rate is about one for three on regular shopping assignments.  The Hall of Fame is full of guys that had .333 batting average and none of them do much better at regular shopping than you do.  Tony Gwynn was one of the greatest hitters of all time…couldn’t shop worth a darn.  Except for groceries…Tony knew how to buy food. 

If you return from an errand and you get one out of three items right, unlike baseball, that….that’s not good.  Say the wife sent you to the store for 60-watt light bulbs, a loaf of bread and mustard.  You bring home one of those curly-Q energy-saver bulbs (out one).  The bread you pick up is sour dough, which would be fine except the bread was to be used to make the kids’ lunches and they don’t like that kind (out two).  You bring home yellow mustard thinking that if The Wife meant Grey Poupon you could run down a limo somewhere and ask the guy in the back if you can borrow some.  You guessed correctly with yellow.  You are one for three and headed back to Kroger...not to Cooperstown.

And before you ask: Guys we don’t get bonus points for bringing home extra things not on the list.  Picking up a 100-count box of pizza rolls or the world’s largest box of Cheez-it’s or another fantasy football preview magazine does not help your case.  Shockingly, it can have the opposite effect.  Often it will produce an “I-Know-You-Were-Not-This-Dumb-When-I-Married-You” look from The Wife.

There are things that can be done to improve our batting average with “regular shopping”, but practice does not, in this case, make perfect. Oh, we may get on a hot streak and get everything right on the list for a week or two, but pretty soon we’ll go “0 for the month of October” and our batting average sinks back to normal. 

We’ve identified the problem, so here are a few suggestions of things that might actually help:

·         Send a child with us: If there is someone that wants to be at the store less than the dad, it is the kid.  They won’t tolerate any “window shopping” at the butcher shop or the beer aisle.  Their whining will motivate you to stay on task (other than having to buy a box of Sugary Choco-Bombs cereal).  Plus they likely know more about what mom buys at the grocery store than the dad ever will.

·         Use technology: Ladies, you can text the list to us.  Don’t e-mail it because we’ll get lost in some work-related e-mail chain while we are supposed to be opening the message with your shopping list.  You can also take pictures with your phone and send them to us.  You want us to buy flour?  Take a photo of the bag and text it to us and you’ll greatly improve our chances.  Tell us to buy flour and you may get all-purpose, you may get self-rising, you may get whole wheat, you may get a bouquet of daisies.  You may get any of those any way, but you are reducing the risk of failure if you give us a picture.

·          Expectations: There are lots of things we are good at.  Regular shopping, generally, is not one of those things.  If you go through Facebook profiles of every man that on your friend list, I highly doubt that any of them will list “shopping” as an interest (and if they do, their profile picture may be of them dressed as Liza Minnelli…just sayin’). So, since regular shopping doesn’t come naturally to us, give us a little slack. Sometimes we freeze up trying to decide between Red Gold canned tomatoes or a store brand.  So if we come home with the wrong one (or both) that at least shows some effort, so give us a little credit.  If we are supposed to pick up canned tomatoes and we show up with a bottle of ketchup, feel free to hit us over the head with it.  The emergency room doctor may not be able to tell the ketchup from the blood anyway.

The next installment in the Keep A Happy Wife: Shopping Series will address “Man Shopping”.  No, ladies this is not where you get to go out and buy a better model of man to replace your husband (The Wife has had her eye on that guy who plays Thor, so I know how I would be replaced, though she won’t get much trade-in value for me).  That post will address the areas of shopping at which we excel (or at least we think we do).

Olympics Quiz

Pip, pip, cheerio. These Olympic Games are bloody marvelous.  What a fortnight of sport!

Now if you haven’t been doing so already, you need to start over reading this post and read it with a British accent.  So, go ahead…

No, no…not out loud.  Read it in your head with a British accent.  Otherwise, these blokes will think that you’re off your trolley.

OK…nevermind.  Your British accent is bloody awful (Unless you happen to be reading this and you are British, then “’ello, Guv-nah”. You can read it as you normally would). 

In honor of the Olympics, I’ve compiled a brief Olympics Quiz for you to take, gentlemen.  No need to worry about getting points deducted by the Russian judge.  It is a simple, multiple guess quiz, and I’m confident you’ll take a gold medal.

1.       You and your wife are watching women’s beach volleyball.  One player sets her teammate who leaps high into the air to spike a winner.  An acceptable response from you would be:

A. Wow!

B. That’s impressive.

C. Nice teamwork.

D. Any of the above.

E. None of the above.

The correct answer is D – any of the above.  Part of the Olympic Spirit is to recognize great athletic ability.

2.       You and your wife are watching women’s beach volleyball.  One player sets her teammate who leaps high into the air to spike a winner.  In the post-point huddle they pat each other on their bikini-clad bottoms.  An acceptable response from you would be:

A. Wow!

B. That’s impressive.

C. Nice teamwork.

D. Any of the above.

E. None of the above.

The correct answer is E – none of the above.  To be safe, don’t make a sound, don’t move, don’t even breath.  Just sit in silence until archery comes back on.

3.       While watching men’s gymnastics, your wife comments on how strong the gymnasts must be.  Your response is:

A. Suck in your gut and say: “Yeah…I suppose so”.

B. Flex a little bit every time you do a “12-ounce curl”.

C. Comment: “You know they’re all gay, right?”

D. Stop sucking in your gut because you’re about to give yourself a hernia.

E. Ask your wife to call an ambulance as you’ve separated your shoulder and fractured your skull trying to turn a cartwheel.

The correct answer is D – Stop sucking in your gut.   You aren’t fooling her or anyone else anyway. (Although there is some consensus that C is a good answer, too.  Right guys?)

4.       While watching men’s gymnastics (that seems to be on TV a lot...thanks NBC) your wife says she hopes Team USA can hold on and win a medal.  Your response is:

A. “They blew it and came in fifth.  This is on tape delay you know”.

B. “I already know how they did. Do you want me to tell you or do you want to keep watching more of this stuff anyway?”

C. “What kind of medal do they hand out for fifth place?  Is it aluminum?”

D. “It’s just fun to watch this together, isn’t it, honey?”

The correct response is D – It’s fun to watch this together.  My actual response was A.  So, I blew it and didn’t win a medal either.

5.       Which of the following should be an Olympic Event in 2016?

A. 100 meter heat stroke

B. Pull my finger (team and individual)

C. Synchronized loafing

D. Name That Tune (International Anthem Edition)

The correct response is: stop being such a smart aleck and just enjoy the Olympic games, but don’t enjoy the women’s beach volleyball too much.

What Could Be More American Than Doing Yard Work? Not Loverboy. (Encore Presentation)

In honor of both Independence Day and The Wife's birthday (this is one of The Wife's favorite posts), here is an "Encore Presentation" of a Keep A Happy Wife blog entry.  Here's a tip: don't let the only gift you give your wife for her birthday be a recycled blog post). Enjoy...Happy Independence Day.

Just a quick post today folks as you head into the weekend everybody's been working for (Try not to go off the deep end. If you do you'll need a second chance. Oh.). Let's talk about yard work. I love yard work. Mowing. Mulching. Trimming. It's something of a passion of mine. Oh. Wait…No it's not.

I have a tough time enjoying an activity that is commonly assigned to inmates during their stretch in the county lockup. When was the last time you had this conversation with your wife?

You: "Hey, honey, do you want to go to the movies tonight?"
Wife: "No way. Let's go down in the basement and bang out a few license plates".
You: "Brilliant idea! That sounds like much more fun. While we're at it, let's put on our orange jump suits and pick up trash along the highway".

Unless "bang out a few license plates" is a euphemism for something else, you have never had that conversation in your life. So, forgive me if I don't enjoy yard work. (Also, forgive me if you don't like reading something that looks like a play – you know, like Bill Shakespeare. I've got a couple sections in here tonight that are written that way. It wasn't planned. It just happened. It ain't "to be or not to be", but it's better than any skit Anthony Michael Hall was in on Saturday Night Live).

Despite my best instincts to the contrary, yard work was done this evening and I wasn't "loving every minute of it". We bought mulch a few months ago but didn't get any of it out until tonight. Between rain, baseball, tennis and countless other excuses (legitimate and otherwise) it was a chore that remained undone for far too long. I had to start working this item off the list to Keep A Happy Wife.

It was hot. Hot as a Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover. And to keep with the Loverboy theme…The Kid Is Hot Tonite. (By the way, Loverboy was on the "American Summer Concert Series" today on Fox & Friends. Do they realize that Loverboy is not from America? They are Canadian. Who's on next week? Men at Work? Ah-ha?)

To those who do lawn maintenance and landscaping as a profession, I mean no disrespect by my loathing of yard work. If you do this work every day and you do it well, then my sweat-soaked hat is off to you. First, it is hard work and that is an honorable thing. Second, the yard maintenance profession is full of entrepreneurs. Warren Buffet, General Electric and Time Warner aren't doing leveraged buy-outs of lawn mowing conglomerates. I bet Ted Turner doesn't even mow his own yard (Is he even still alive? I don't remember and I'm too tired to Wiki it). An industry composed entirely of entrepreneurs is to be saluted. Ain't that America? (Although, many in that industry, like Loverboy, aren't from America…but that is America, too.).

So…where was I? Oh, yeah. It was hot. While all of the mulch didn't get out (we had 50 bags), the front yard is done and that is a good dent in it. Good enough to impress the Wife a bit and ease my guilt over playing golf tomorrow and then going to the track afterwards (By the way, Belmont picks are in the Triple Take on Sports section).

If you plan on putting out mulch anytime soon (and if you are sane, you've already had it done for months), I've put together a list of Mulching Pit Falls to avoid and make this cruel and unusual task a bit more bearable.


  1. Mulch Foot: This is a condition where you dump a bag of much on your foot getting mulch all in your shoe and sock. If you find yourself with a case of "Mulch Feet" you should just quit and go back inside (but take off your shoes before you go in the house).



Moments before crashing next door.



2. Left Eye Blind: No, this isn't a new alternative rock band. This occurs when sweat drips down your forehead and into your left eye. I don't seem to have that much trouble with my right eye. Your results may vary.

3. Wilbur Wright: A "Wilbur Wright" is when a breeze kicks up and carries an empty bag of mulch into the neighbor's yard. It's called a "Willbur Wright" because the bag goes about as far as the Wright Brothers first flight went (and Wilbur was the pilot). Plus you couldn't call something this annoying an "Orville Wright". He was the cool Wright brother. Chicks dug Orville.

Chick at bar: "So, your name is Orville. Just like that popcorn guy".
Orville: "Yes, it is".
Chick at bar: "Well, what do you do Orville? Do you make popcorn, too"?
Orville: "Oh, never mind what I do. Let's talk about you. So tell me….what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this".
Wilbur (interrupts): "We make bicycles. We are going to make a bicycle fly".
Chick at bar: "Make a bicycle fly? Who do you guys think you are? E.T."?
Ironically, Wilbur was a terrible wingman.

4. Rake Face: This is pretty much what it sounds like. Try not to hit yourself in the face with a rake. It will leave a mark and stings significantly more than Left Eye Blind and is more difficult to treat (and explain) than Mulch Foot.

5. Stroke: This, too, is pretty much what it sounds like. Don't have a stroke. Did I mention it was hot out? I don't think I had a stroke. Of course, I may be typing a blog that reads like I tried to transcribe the lyrics as sung on an R.E.M. album and just not realize it.

Enough for yard work. Enjoy your weekend. If you play your cards right, maybe you'll get to "bang out a few license plates" (wink, wink – or as the 1981 Loverboy album would say "get lucky").

Fatherhood: So Easy a Cave-Dad Could Do It

As dads we all question or second guess how good a job we are doing as fathers.  As my older son (aka “The Tall One”) begins college this fall, I hear the “woulda, coulda, shoulda” voices in my head more than ever.  These are they same voices that tell me I'm a good dancer and that french fries count as a vegetable, so take that for what it's worth.

To help myself and all dads out there, here is a list of three simple things (none of which are ground breaking) you can do for your children today (or any day) that will make being a father so easy…even a cave-dad could do it. 

1. Say “I love you”.  Everybody wants to hear that they are loved. Even the teenage boy with the cool haircut wants to hear that they are loved.  So does the other teenage boy talking to you on his cell phone while he is hanging out with his friends.   We can provide our kids with a great sense of security by letting them know that their dad loves them regardless of place, time, haircut or circumstance.
2. Tell them you are proud of them.  One of the things that has always emboldened me has been when my dad tells me he is proud of me.  This was true when I was just a kid and it is still true today.  While telling this to your child is a great way to encourage them and give them hope, it also gives you the chance to remind them that they could not have accomplished jack in their lives without you because you made them.
3. Spend time with them.  Especially when your kids are young, time equals value.  As they get older that formula still works, it just becomes a little more complicated.  You may have to work around their ball practices, dates and even work schedules, but giving them your time still speaks volumes to them about their worth to you.

There are sure to be many mistakes we make as dads. There will be countless things that we'll wish we could have done differently.  However, if your kids know you love them, know you are proud of them and have had you present in their lives, then you may just be in the realm of the "world's greatest dad". Happy Father's Day!

To help us all feel even better about how we rate as dads, here is a brief list of "Dads Not Better Than You".

Have You Considered Your Glove Compartment Lately?

Compartmentalize.  It’s from the ancient Hebrew meaning “glove compartment”.  As in: “Hail, Jebediah, thou hast left thine shades innest mine donkey's glove compartment”.  When was the last time you took inventory of your car’s glove compartment?  Here’s what I found in mine:

·         Registration and proof of insurance 2012

·         Toothpaste, toothbrush and floss from my last not one, not two, but three dentist visits

·         Garmin

·         Registration and proof of insurance 2011

·         Granola bar

·         A small box of band aids

·         Coupon for $5 off an oil change that expired in August 2011

·         A pocket-size copy of The New Testament (with Psalms and Proverbs)

·         A couple of golf tees

·         Napkins

·         A greeting card I bought for The Wife, but haven’t given to her yet (keep a spare handy)

·         A receipt from McDonald’s for a sweet tea and a biscuit from March 2010

·         A CD case (no CD) for Rush’s album “Presto”.  The album came out in 1989, but the CD case hasn’t been there since then.

Two things to note here and one point of clarification: first, the clarification.  I have a toothbrush and toothpaste in my house.  So, don’t think that I don’t use them just because they are also in my glove compartment.  Or, that I just brush my teeth in my car.  That would be weird or something.  How are you supposed to post tweets, drive and brush your teeth at the same time?

Now, the two things to note: One, no gloves, so why is it called…nevermind.  Two, there’s a lot of stuff in there.  Which, finally, brings me to my point: there’s a lot of stuff in there.

One thing that I think is common to most men and a frustration to most wives is our difficulty in “compartmentalizing”.  Now, when I use that term I’m not meaning psychologically walling off an unpleasant part of your life so you don’t have to deal with it (like that one part of 6^th grade when I parted my hair in the middle – hello, Shaun Cassidy).  I mean not letting our various other roles in life intrude upon our role in the family.  I catch myself doing this all the time.  My butt is on the couch at home, but my mind is running through possible solutions to problems at work.  Or a baseball game that may have been over for hours, but I’m re-hashing the things I could have done differently as a coach to help our team play better.  Or over-analyzing my putting stroke in my brain and trying to figure out why I’ve been pushing everything to the right.  All this while I’m at home with The Wife and not a word of any of it comes out my mouth.  I’m not keeping things in their proper “compartment” or maybe I’m just letting a compartment full of stuff spill out in places it doesn’t belong.

Like my glove compartment (or George’s wallet to those looking for a Seinfeld analogy), there’s a lot of stuff in there. Some of it is meaningful.  Some of it is useless.  But, it is all in there taking up space, often keeping me from finding what is important at the moment. 

It’s a difficult pattern to break and after nearly 23 years of work and marriage I have come to a conclusion. There isn’t any benefit to rummaging through the glove compartment of my mind and focusing intently on what amounts to my proof of insurance and wondering if it is current?  Do I have enough coverage?  Should I listen to the President from “24” and buy Allstate?  That mistake at work won’t get undone or that missed putt won’t go in by dwelling on it. 

How does one break this cycle?  Here is my honest and professional opinion: I don’t know….you’re welcome.

I’ve read some articles on this and the authors must all assume I’m a dope-smoking, Birkenstock-wearing, tree-hugging fancy pants (they may have been fooled by the granola bar).  So, I’ve got three things I’m going to try and I’ll let you know how The Wife says it goes.  First, a really good hug and kiss when I walk in the door from work.  We both have to put aside what we’re doing or thinking about and focus on each other.  Plus, I am in favor of hugs and kisses.

Second, I’ll listen to music more often on the way home.  I typically listen to talk radio or sports talk and that is just more junk to think about.  If I listen to music then I can come in singing her a song.  I’m sure she’ll appreciate being serenaded to The Beastie Boys “No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn”.  The point being, I can share something light-hearted with her each day when I get home.

Third, well, I don’t have a third thing yet, but all lists of helpful advice are supposed to be at least three things long.  So, once again…you’re welcome.  If I come up with a third, I’ll let you know.   Wait a minute, I just found my notes and remembered what the third thing really was: honesty.  More like acknowledgement, really.  If  I can identify that my person is present with The Wife but my mind is elsewhere, then I can simply tell her: Wife, I find myself thinking about work/sports/hobbies/meaning of life/the illogical popularity of Owen Wilson so come over here and kiss me before I sing “Free Bird” to you.

One other thing…talking.  Talking with The Wife about such things would help, too.  That, however, is another blog for another day.

I think this is just crazy enough to work or at least not hurt.  Now, if you’ve seen my 2010 car registration or if you borrowed my Rush CD, please let me know.  I won’t be able to get it out of my head until I find them.

Happy Mother's Day From Gilligan's Island

Like me, I’m sure you often wondered how characters from classic television shows are like our mothers.  Fortunately for you, I’m here to help you out.  Here is how each character from Gilligan’s Island is like a good mom (listed in order of how they were introduced in the theme song).  

Gilligan: A good mom can bring fun and light-heartedness to any situation.  After a bad report card, a nasty break-up or your tiny ship is being tossed, a mom can make you feel a little better about it.

Skipper: The hardest worker on the island was the Skipper.  The hardest worker in the house is the mom.  She can take care of the house or build a hut.  She protects the kids from bullies at school or headhunters from the next island over.

The Millionaire (Thurston Howell III): Mr. Howell was a smart business person.  Whether it is traditional business, the business of running a home or both (“bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan”), mom knows how to handle the money.  Side note: My favorite Mr. Howell quote was when he was supposed to impersonate a native.  When he spoke he said: “Moolah, moolah, moolah”.

His Wife (Lovey): Lovey brought at least a little civility and sophistication to the uncivilized, unchartered desert isle.  Moms help us remember to mind our manners, eat with utensils, don’t hog the bananas and to be polite even to the savages.

The Movie Star (Ginger Grant): Most moms I know don’t pack just evening gowns when they go on vacation, but like Ginger moms can bring beauty any place they go.

The Professor: Moms are smart.  They possess an innate ingenuity (“Innate Ingenuity” sounds like the name of some indie rock band).  The Professor could make almost anything (except a boat that would get the castaways off the island) out of coconuts and bamboo (I think The Professor was MacGyver’s dad).  Moms have the same ability.  It could be 9 PM on a Thursday night, and a mom can be told by her kid that he has a science project due on Friday.  With nothing more than a ball of yarn, a pack of stale Juicy Fruit and a thimble, mom can make a model of the solar system.

Mary Ann: Like Mary Ann, moms are sweet and caring.  Mary Ann was the tender and compassionate one on the island.  Moms are that in our homes.  Even at times when the “weather started getting rough”, moms are there with a kind word of encouragement.  Plus they make pie for us.  (By the way, the answer to the question “Ginger or Mary Ann”?  Definitely Mary Ann.)

I want to wish a very Happy Mother’s Day to my mom, The Wife and The Wife’s mom.  Happy Mother’s Day to all the other moms out there, too.  I know you’ll do your very best to keep the others comfortable in your tropic island nest (or your house).