Summer - Kids, Breasts, Crazy People and More

OK…I know that it has been quite some time since I have posted here at my own freaking blog. I don’t know, I guess ‘real life’ is getting the majority of my time.

Anyway, I thought that you all should hear about what is happening in my world.

First of all, I have been spending a lot of time working with a very nice (but completely off his rocker) guy trying to organize 5 lacrosse teams within our city. It is much more work than I thought. Last spring I was just coaching and this year I will be serving as the club’s General Manager. This means everything from securing sponsorships, website development (which ZenMom is so graciously helping with), coordinating with parents, developing relationships with all of the schools, formulating and conducting recruitment activities, hiring coaching staff, reaching out to local media, etc.

The funny part is that this is all for kids between 7th and 12 grades…who predominately do not show a bit of gratitude. (assholes!!)

Next on my list is....I was driving down the street last week and look over at the car next to me and almost chocked!!! I wanted to be nowhere near this lady. (I so wish I had taken a photo).

She was driving with one hand, was playing on her iPhone, had a breast pump harness system going (like the one pictured below) ...boobs out and pumping away....and she had a laptop up on some holder so that she could use it while driving.

What else?..... Oh yeah, so I am driving with our little 11 year old rock climber (who tends to back seat drive at the drop of a hat) and we get to a 4 way stop .

She reads aloud, “Stop - All Way …that means that you have to stop all the way?! Right”…I think this one, having grown up with California’s rolling stops, may need to read the drivers manual a few extra times.

One day at the beach…no twice now we were at the beach (with a large group of kids) and this ….woman(?) showed up.

Not only did she reposition regularly…like a roasting pig, but she moved in a way that everyone within 50 yards saw EVERYTHING! I think the beach rules should cover people like her.

Lastly, we’ve spent the last month hosting Mariah’s sister and her 3 kids. It has been a lot of fun and we all enjoyed the visit, though our house was FULL!!!!! 3 parents, 9 kids, 3 dogs, 2 birds and 2 guinea pigs. We did though have great beach days, hikes, trips, family time ….and I was even forced to sit through a dinner theatre musical….while trying to digest under cooked fish.

Now, Cody (15) is off at his second Boy Scout came of the summer (hiking down the Grand Canyon , camping and then hiking out).

Amanda (18) is finally back from her 2 weeks trip to Bali…and now preparing to go off to college.
I spose I just roll with it all….What else is a Hot Dad to do?

Senses Are All We Need

Without even opening my eyes
I can see the sun rising and clouds drifting above us all
I see kids running around the house and yard
I see everyone, going about their business

Without removing the pillow from my ears
I hear the surf lapping at the shoreline
I can hear the dogs eagerly crunching their morning kibble
I hear the neighborhood come alive

Without shaking off my blanket
I can feel the warm touch of my beautiful woman
I feel goose bumps from the houseful of loving family surrounding me
I feel the heat of the coming day, from the bright sun above

I love the fact that, just awaking or not, I can experience all of these joys of life..any time I want…just by closing my eyes and clearing my mind.

Rub It !!!

I think that there are a lot of cool tattoos out there...but on the same note, I now wish that I did not have any. I went through a phase (if you can call a 5 year span a phase) where I thought that tattoos were the ultimate in cool.

To me, they said something about the person who's skin they wove themselves into. I could tell a little soomething about people by their tattoos (biker, neo nazzi, gang member, ex-con, mamma's boy, etc.)

Then again...as things are today...you can't tell if it says something about the person or if it says something about who the person wants to be...or

if they are just doing it cuz someone else did it.


I don't mind the folks that 'ink up' because it is something internally meaningful to them...but it is the people who get tattoos like they are jewelry (or make up) that kill me. I know that I have three tats, but they are all concealable (unless I am at the beach...or getting down to business.) You would not know that I had any if I have a t-shirt on.


I have seen some sexy as shit tats...have seen some on guys that look really good...and have seen some that are absolutely FUCKED!!!!

And even with all of that...Look what I have done to myself

This does not rub off?!

Each of my tattoos does mean something to me...but I do have MANY days when I wish that I never got any...or some freaky scientist would come up with some "Tat-Be-Gone" lotion and you could just ...rub it off.

Parenting - 2,945 1/2

OK…I know that you all know where I stand on overbearing and over the top parenting.

My philosophy is simple….let kids interact, learn, experience and enjoy their childhood. Yes…keep your kids safe and never put them in harm’s way…but at the same time you need to TEACH them …not hide them under your wing as to not experience what our world actually consists of.

I ran across a copy of Smithsonian magazine today and an article talking about children's stories caught my eye.

These stories are suffused with the same purity that makes children appear so marvelous and blessed,” wrote Wilhelm Grimm in the preface to his volume of fairy tales. If true, then life in the 19th century was worse than I’d ever imagined. Reading these stories today is like sitting through a Quentin Tarantino movie.

How will a child who has been overly sheltered (and yes…that is my nice way of saying it) react when he or she hits high school or college and has to experience sleeping in a bed without rails for the first time…or when the freak out at a friend’s house when they see a pair of scissors in the night stand?

I saw this article and almost threw up on the magazine…in the middle of the doctor’s office waiting room.

…A few more excerpts (enjoy!!)

Have you ever added up the body count? One poor girl is transformed into a block of wood and thrown into a fire. A father risks his daughter’s life by boasting she can weave straw into gold. An evil queen tries to off her stepdaughter with a poisoned apple.

I’ve come to realize that many popular children’s books are rife with malice and mayhem. Do you have any idea of the dangers that may lurk on your little ones’ bookshelves?

Let’s start with Goodnight Moon. Margaret Wise Brown’s beloved bedtime tale is a veritable hotbed of child safety hazards. First of all, the child’s—excuse me, bunny’s—great green bedroom contains an open fireplace filled with dangerous tools like tongs and pokers. The bed has no side rails. And what about the grandmother—a careless caretaker if I ever saw one. Why, she leaves knitting needles unattended in a child’s bedroom!

The Hot Dad Dream!!

Are ‘Dream Books’ full of shit? Are psychotherapists full of it? Does anyone REALLY know what the hell it means when you dream?

I have to say that I don’t dream to much, or rather, I don’t remember my dreams. But there are times, like last night, where I toss and turn all night or wake up sweating and pissed off. I guess the range of emotions does vary as I have woken up sad, excited, scared…and even quite hard.

That being said…I don’t really get dreams. I mean, if I dream about running someone over in my car…does that mean that I want to? Does it mean that I fear that? Does it mean that it will happen in my future? What about the sex dreams? The murder dreams? The torn apart family dreams? The dreams about defecating in public (not that I have had those) …just saying.

Some say that dreams are your uninhibited and raw personality. Some say that it is a glimpse of the future. Some say that they are your worst fears and best dreams being realized. Some even say that everything in your dreams stand for something else in your life. Like if I dream about peeing on the steps of a police station…that it could be seen as; me showering our protectors with gold and warmth. (what a crock!!)

I don’t know…Ass I mentioned earlier…I don’t remember many of my dreams, but when I do…or when I talk to family and friends who do dream a lot…it kind of scares me as to what it could mean.

Trust me…I have woken up to elbows to the ribs and bloody lips…due to what I did in SOMEONE else’s dreams.

Someone please help me to understand!!!!!!

FAT!

I saw my doctor this week for my every-two-year physical. Overall, I’m healthy – good blood pressure, good pulse (I have one!), good blood cell counts. But one biological statistic just couldn’t be ignored.

I’m fat.

Two years ago, if someone asked how tall is Lance Armstrong, or how heavy is the Tour de France rider – I could proudly say “the same height and weight as me!” These days, Lance has dropped five pounds, and I’ve gained ten since my last physical, two years ago. (Doh!) And I was a guy who stayed pretty much the same weight for all of my adult life.

What happened?

My doctor and I discussed it, trying to figure things out.

• I’m not running marathons like I used to (I completed 7 of those 26.2 mile races in my 30s), but I’d quit running marathons eight years ago. That I no longer run marathons doesn’t explain a weight gain in the past two years.
  
• I’m still cycling a century ride each year. I’m not the quickest to finish, but it’s en epic accomplishment to go 100 miles.
  
• I’m eating as healthy as ever, with swiss chard and beet greens, brown rice, pasta, grilled salmon, chicken dishes, etc. etc. etc.
  
• I’m not downing too many martinis or mai tais or manhattans
  

The problem, it seems, is that I’m eating as if I’m still running marathons and cycling centuries non-stop.

“You need to lower your calorie intake, or lengthen your runs and bike rides, and up their intensity, to burn more calories per workout,” my doctor said.

I admit – I do like me my food. Cut back on asparagus pasta? Water down my best margarita recipe?

Not on your life.

Time to bump my five mile runs back up to ten, and draw out my thirty miles bike rides to fifty.

In short, time to get back to serious training. It doesn't feel right to be checking out women (I'm an ass man!) when I don't have flat abs to show off in return.

When’s that Tour de France thing, anyway!?

Racist Kids And The Chameleon - 3

The inner office reeked of a mixture of cologne, leather and pipe smoke. Standing in the doorway, now with a scared look on my face, I started towards the oversized burgundy leather couch. The principal stopped me and said, “Sit there!” pointing to a single wooden chair in the corner of the room. As I sat down, fear descended upon me.

The principal began by asking me what I had done…but he really did not care. I sat there and listened to him scold and talk down to me like I was not even worthy of being in “His” school. After leaving his office, I sat in the hall for a few minute and knew that this was going to be a battle. I put my plan into action…full force. The year started with my classroom remarks, making jokes, throwing crumpled papers at the teacher’s desk, and talking back to the teacher. I would get in trouble EVERYDAY and at least 3 times a week I would end up in the principal’s office. I knew that this was not good, but I also noticed that the other kids in the class were starting to laugh at me...whether it was something I said…or the fashion in which I was sent off to see the principal…shit…I did not care, they were actually laughing with me.

I carefully weighed the progress that I was making with the other kids against the trouble I was getting in at school and knew that I had to withstand the punishment that I got from my parents for the good of my physical safety. As the year progressed, fewer of the kids started fights with me and some actually prodded me, in class, to tell jokes and harass the teacher so that they could laugh. I was more than willing to accommodate them. There were still a few of the “tough guy” kids that wanted a piece of me and I knew that this would not end until I was able to hold my own on the playground.

I remember approaching the stairwell that led down to the lunch room one day and seeing a few of these kids standing at the landing…just waiting. I cleared my head and knew that I would have to fight them. There were three of them and I was terrified. As I got closer to them, I averted my eyes to see if I’d be able to just walk by them. That was not going to happen. They moved from leaning against the wall to blocking access to the stairs. I stood there not knowing what to do. There were people behind me and the stairwell above became crowded with kids watching this development. The three started to approach me, when from behind me, I heard a voice of another boy yell out, “one at a time!” I was in complete shock…there was someone that was standing up for me.

I quickly numbed myself, as I had learned to do over the years, balled up my fists and got into a fighting stance. The biggest of the boys moved forward. All I could see at that point was his huge fists. I knew that I would have to avoid them at all costs. The first swing came at my face. Quickly ducking, I felt his fist fly over my head. I backed up and he swung again, this time for my gut. I doubled over in pain as his fist seemed to go straight through me. Just then I told myself that if I did not beat this kid, I would really be in for it and that the plan that was working…would have been a complete waste and things would go back to the way they were. I struck out from where I was and landed a fist to his balls. (shit. I did not care about fair fighting…they never did.) He let out a yelp and went to a knee. I stood straight up and punched him square in the nose followed by the hardest kick I had ever delivered, straight to the center of his chest. The other two boys looked at each other and moved toward me. I did not know who to go after first …so I waited for them. As they approached, a boy from behind them held one of them back. I did not hesitate in my attack. I swiftly began to punch and kick this boy until his friend did not have to be restrained anymore…he just stood there and watched as I bloodied his “tough guy” friend.

A few minutes later, there was yelling from the top of the stairs. It was a teacher coming. Everyone disbursed and ran in different directions. That is...everyone except me. I just stood there with two boys in front of me, blood on there faces and blood splattered on my shoes and dripping from my hands. The teacher got to the landing and immediately grabbed me, while looking at the two kids’ injuries. Needles to say, they went to the nurse and me…off to the principal. Now, with my record with the principal…I was scared of what he might do.

The principal made me sit in his office, on that hard wooden chair for the rest of the day. I sat there, unable to say a word as he called my mother and told her about the incident. I did not know what she was saying, but his recount of what had happened was so ill-founded…the jerk wasn’t even there. I did worry about what I would say to my mother when I got home. I did not want her to make a big stink…knowing that it would only make things worse….but I was not the instigator of the fight and I wanted to be able to tell her that…but I knew that I couldn’t.

After that day, I found that my plan was indeed working. I not only had kids actually laughing WITH me but there were a few that would talk to me. Things got better from there. I still had fights here and there, was in trouble with teachers and the principal a lot…but I was making friends and the tough guys started to think twice before jumping me. Now that I had proven that I could fight.

The year was tough but I ended it with a couple pretty good friends…and a girlfriend. That was a great way to end a year in my book.

Racist Kids And The Chameleon - 2

It was never one on one and I could no longer just try to defend myself…I had to think of something to get out of the fights. Being outnumbered the way I was…I knew that I had to find another way. The fights …and hiding continued through 4th grade and that is when I finally figured that if I could not beat them, I’d have to find a way to join them. I spent that summer trying to figure out a way to make everyone like me …or at least put up with me.

Mid summer, it came to me. Now, I had 5 brothers and sisters and at home, I was a pretty funny guy and I also found that I had the ability to “change.” I could adjust my attitude and personality to fit well with the person that I was with. I spent the rest of the summer honing my chameleon-like skills…as well as my humor. It was going to be all or nothing this year. I could not continue hiding bruises, bloody nooses and fat lips on top of lying about the cuts and scrapes that I had gotten used to over the past few years.

At the arrival of the first day of 5th grade, I was waiting for the bus with my brothers and sisters. I was overrun with anxiety about the day ahead of me. With the recent years of practice I had become a pretty tough kid, but there was only so much I could do while outnumbered. I got frustrated, thinking of how I might be able to avoid the impending beatings that day. Just then, the bus pulled up. After watching my siblings hurry onto the bus and find seats with their friends, I realized that once again I would have to sit alone in the back seat.

Staring out the window, seeing a miserable little boy in the reflection in the glass, I knew that I had to change things…NOW. Hearing the laughter and fooling around in the seats in front of me made the silence and solitude of the back seat that much more intense. The 20 minute ride to school usually seemed like an eternity, but that day …it was different. By the time the bus pulled up in front of the school the reflection that I saw in the window had changed …to one resembling that of a scientist discovering the cure for a deadly disease. I had an idea and with all of the courage that I could muster…would try it today.

Making my way down the long corridor to class, I noticed the usual dirty looks, snickering and racist comments following me as I walked. I quickly took refuge in my classroom, which was empty for the moment. I sat at a desk and put more thought into the details of my plan. Smiling to myself, I was startled when the door opened again. It was Mrs. Brooks, my new teacher. As she walked in and closed the door, she looked over at me and greeted me with a smile and “good morning.” After putting her things down at her desk, she turned and asked me if everything was OK. Now I knew Mrs. Brooks from last year…she was one teacher that had always treated me fairly…and now I was going to ruin that. I, trying to hide the unfamiliar mischievous smile on my face, told her that everything was fine.

Just then, letting my eyes move back down to their normal position…staring at the front of my desk, as to not attract any unwanted attention. I watched as the other kids in the class started to file into the small classroom. All of the chatter and moving around ceased as Mrs. Brooks rose from her desk. My anxiety was high and I know that I was sweating profusely. I was lost in my own head, trying to decide when I should put my new plan into action.

I knew that my attitude change could not be too drastic – I needed this to work. After about 15 minutes, I found my first opportunity for my plan to start. After the class was done reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, the class was silent, waiting for our teacher to sit down and prepare for class. All of the sudden a fart erupted and echoed throughout the entire room. The whole class began to burst out into laughter…all except Mrs. Brooks. As the other kids in the class saw the extremely irritated look in her eyes, there were suddenly about a dozen fingers pointed directly at me.

Mrs. Brooks marched through the classroom and stood over me, with her hands on her hips. The look on her face was one of complete disgust and anger. This was a new side of her…one that I had never seen before. Her daunting presence gave off a very unfamiliar air of unemotional superiority from her…which was far different than the empathy and safety that I had felt …until now. Mrs. Brooks instructed me to stand up. As I did, she barked, “Why did you do that? It disrupted the entire class.” My planned response, an attempt to make my classmates laugh again – “I only burped…it just came out of my ass.”

Mrs. Brooks grabbed me by the back of my neck, obviously not worried about the fingernails that were working their way beneath my skin. She stormed me down the hall to the principal’s office. Upon entering the outer office, Mrs. Brooks informed the secretary that I had disrupted the class and was being vulgar and rude. On her way out the door, she glanced over her shoulder and added, I don’t want to see him in my classroom until after lunch.”

The secretary pointed to a row of hard wooden chairs across from her desk and instructed me to “sit.” She then quickly picked up her phone and whispered something …while glaring at me. Perched atop one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, my eyes surveyed the room. There was a mixture of pictures, certificates and school rules pined to the textured walls. Until now…I had never noticed anything about this office…I had been here before, but generally stared at the floor. Time seemed to stand still, but it was really only a matter of minutes before the phone buzzed. The secretary looked at me and said, “He’ll see you now.”

Racist Kids And The Chameleon

Stemming from my adoption…I will give you a bit of a back story on me.

My natural mother is white and natural father is black (making me…an Oreo.) I was adopted in 1967, when I was 10 days old by a very loving couple (both white.) They already had one daughter and then had a miscarriage, so they decided to adopt me. Now, I can’t say how I felt then…cuz I was tiny little thing that only knew to cry, poo and eat. What I can say is that we lived in rural New Hampshire…where everything (except the leaves in the Fall) was white. Oh….but not me…I was/am more of a caramel. Anyway, life was good, at least from where I sat and in my baby world.

As I got a bit older (5 or 6), I started to experience racism…and this was even before I really knew what it was. I obviously knew that I looked different than EVERYONE…but I just thought that everyone WAS different…some pale, some pinkish, some fat, some skinny, some had black hair, some blonde, etc. I guess that I never really brought it up cuz I thought my skin was a bit darker. Boy it would be great if everyone had my 6 year old attitude. Soon after going into first grade and coming home from school with stories of people being mean and not seeing anyone else that looked anything like me, my mother sat me down for a discussion.

My mother told me that (in a longer, more descriptive way) that I was adopted and that one of my natural parents was black. At the time…I guess that was enough…now I knew why I was different. The community that we lived in was completely white. Iwas the only person of colorin the entire school at that point. My mother then told me that if people were being mean to me, that I should immediately tell my teacher or the principal. At the time…that sounded good to me, figuring that the teachers would straighten things out.

As time went on, kids were still mean and basically ignored me…unless they were picking on me. I told the teachers a few times, but the message that I got from them was, “kids this age can be mean…you have to just get used to it.”

In second and third grades, things got worse. There was more of the same nagging and kids making fun of me as well as a lot of pushing and instigating trouble. It was in third grade when I got into my first real fight. It was not what one would think of third graders, it was me trying to defend myself against several boys throwing punches and calling me “nigger.” After I thoroughly got thrashed, I did go to the principal’s office to report the fight and the boys who were responsible. The principal flipped through a book and then looked over at me before stating that there have been a lot of “reports” of trouble that included me. Then he proceeded to tell me that I would be in serious trouble if there were any more.

I knew, from that point on that the teachers and the principal would be of no help to me. I did not want to tell my parents because I knew that they would call the principal and then I would be in worse trouble. Now, looking back on this…it was some pretty intense thought for a 9 year old. After that first fight, the fights became a regular thing. I came to expect that I would spend my recess either hiding or fighting. At that point, I did not want to call on my older sister or younger brother for “back up, cuz I did not want them to have to endure what I was going through and did not want them to have to fight my battles for me. I knew that this had to be figured our by me…and me alone.

TO BE CONTINUED….

Happy Is As Happy Does

Happiness – it is one of mankind’s emotions that can’t be explained in any set way. Everyone reads and expressed happiness in a different way.

I know that for me, I see true happiness only in a person’s eyes. They can speak cheerfully…and still not truly be happy. They can walk with a ‘pep in their step’…but may just be suffering from ADHD. They can smile, give a high five or even compliment someone…but still not be happy on the inside.

I guess there might be something to that old adage “the eyes are the windows to the soul.” When I look into someone’s eyes…I can instantly tell if they are happy, sad, scared, angry or confused.

One of the things I love most in life is looking someone in the eye and seeing pure joy and happiness flickering around like a star-filled night…right there in their eyes.

The downside to all of this is the fact that when I look into people’s eyes…and do not see the happiness sparkling around…it makes me sad…or confused as to my possible involvement in their unhappiness. It also makes me feel as though I should try to help them…do something to make them happy.

It is one of those things that I consider to be like the yawning contagion … being around unhappy people …and seemingly not being able to help fix their situation…tends to suck the sparkle from my eyes. I end up not looking at people’s eyes, walking like a freakin sloth and battling with how I make myself once again happy.

Since I don’t know where this is going…if anywhere…I’ll just say that for anyone who is or plans on being around me…..BE HAPPY and let your eyes sparkle!!!!!!

I got Funked!!

As I woke up this morning and …well, after driving the kids to school…had some coffee, I realized that my ‘morning funk’ would not go away.

I hate that little funk that just won’t fade. It is so hard to shake. It’s like a back ache…a constant bother that gets worse when you try to fix it. I have been mulling around this morning trying to get to the bottom of my funk…and all that is doing is making me think of all of the little things that are bugging me, the fact that I still can’t find a job, that I am unwillingly still married to my ex, that we have to put down one of our dogs, that relationships are not always a bed of roses, that I am getting old…you get my point.
I am now thinking that if I had never tried to ‘get to the bottom’ of my funk…it would have been long gone by now.

Anyone have ‘funk remedies’?

Life Is A Mess!!!!

Sorry that I have been away from the whole Twitter and blog thing for the past week…I am just feeling a bit off these days.

Even though my lazy ass is not working right now…I feel run-the-fuck-down. With 6 kids…even the smallest chore, like keeping the house clean is a tough one. But kids aside…I have been spending 10 to 12 hours a week on the Lacrosse field as I was appointed one of the coaches for the new high school lacrosse team. It has been a bit tough as I personally know a handful of the boys and disciplining them has been quite the chore.


On top of that…Mariah was attacked by a pole in a parking lot. Well…the pole did not actually do anything…but it was definitely the pole’s fault.


The puppy is chewing everything and seems to enjoy making a mess.


The guy (a friend) living out back is getting on my last nerve and doing all the right things just as we are about to ask him to leave.

**No pic...Just imagine me puking!!**

Our son Cody had his 15th birthday party with some of his closest pals...and gals.


I have divorce court (again) coming up in about a week and a half.

Basically…I have been feeling like a house-maid with no purpose in life.

I am ... On the ball

I am going to start by saying that I am a firm believer in organization, preparedness and all around just having my shit together.

With the kids in school and the house quite during the day...I thought that I’d get back into the swing of our ‘school year schedule.’ The kids are gone from 8AM until about 4 every day and we finally have time to get things done. Well… at least that is what is supposed to happen. Between our work, after school sports, homework, play dates and our (collectively) new addiction to the blogosphere, shit is still slipping through the cracks.

While grocery shopping the other day, I seem to have forgotten to buy cereal. When I noticed this last night, I went into “the back up storage” to fetch a box to put into the kitchen pantry. Smiling to myself, I was pleased with my preparedness…I actually HAD back-up. I rock…and the kids will eat some tasty Kellogg’s Honey Smacks!!!

13 year old Cody walked into the kitchen this morning to grab some cereal for breakfast and then he looked over at me and said, “ Um…I think this cereal is…a bit old.” I looked over at him, expecting to explain that they are NOT old and that if he wants breakfast…just to eat them. I did not say that…All I could do was laugh. Actually I burst into laughter…after spitting a bit of coffee across the room.

This is what Cody showed me.


Right...that cereal is OUT OF ITS BAG.

I guess one needs to be careful in what items go into the “back-up storage.”

What a great start to my day!!!!

Tough to admit

Sitting on a cold concrete floor with my arms crossed and my head buried in my chest, a man twice my size and with blood all over his shirt began to walk toward me.

He stopped a foot away from me to my right, unzipped his pants, and began to pee in a urinal. I could have reached over and touched the dirtiest toilet I had ever seen from the only available place to sit when I was led into the cell in the Los Angeles-area jail.

Never moving my head while he was there, I closed my eyes and began to wonder what brought me to what was no doubt the lowest point in my life. I am lucky enough to be a father of four beautiful girls, have the job that I wanted ever since I was in grade school, and I am generally pretty happy in life.

Yet, here I sit with nine other men, at 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, in a 10x10 cell, knowing that five hours later my girls would wake up and ask my roommates why their Dad was not home. That thought made me realize that there was really only one thing that could make me jeopardize everything that I had in my life.

It was alcohol. Like my mother had been all my childhood and my older brother who developed into one as a young adult, I knew then that I had become an alcoholic.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seven hours earlier, I fought through Los Angeles traffic en route to my 20th high school reunion. Truthfully, I didn't want to go and see my former teammates on what was one of the best football teams our school ever had.

However, I was repeatedly told that I had no choice.

"Brett, you have to go," Jenny said, who I had known since junior high and was the reunion organizer. "You are the football coach of the school we graduated from. How can you not go? Everyone will want to see you!"

That was exactly the reason why I didn't want go. While seeing old friends and sharing stories from the past was intriguing, having to answer questions on why our football team is now struggling was worth avoiding.

"Don't worry about all that..." Jenny continued. "You will have a blast and everyone won't care about what the team is doing now."

She was right. I did have a blast and everyone was more interested in seeing pictures of my girls than how the team was doing.

For five hours, I laughed, shared parenting stories, and reconnected with people I had grown up with and hadn't seen since graduation. And, I drank.

Every time another former teammate or friend walked up to me to talk, they brought with them a drink for me. I didn't buy a drink during the night. But, that didn't stop me from not knowing how many I drank.

Despite going with the intention of not drinking, I never turned down a drink and was enjoying downing beers with my former drinking buddies.

I was funny, loud, and felt pretty damn good about myself. The shy, insecure kid from high school was now the head football coach at the school we all went to and was also the fun guy to be around.

Shortly after 11 p.m., I began to say goodbyes and started to head to my car when I was stopped by one of my oldest friends.

"Hey, are you OK to drive?" he asked while puffing on a cigarette.

"Yea, I am good. But, let me bum a few cigarettes for the drive home. It will keep me busy and awake."

He handed me three cigarettes and I got in my car and jumped on the freeway. I drove for 30 minutes and thought I was driving just as I would if I was sober.

Driving in the fast lane, I finished the first cigarette and flicked it out the window to avoid the smell lingering in my car. Rolling my window back up, I checked the rear view mirror. My heart began to race as I saw the flashing lights of a California Highway Patrol car behind me.

I couldn't believe it. I had no idea how drunk I was, but was pretty sure I was over the legal limit of .08. Moving my car off the freeway and onto an off ramp, I told myself to calm down and act relaxed when the CHP approached my car.

Stopped on the side of the road, I waited as two officers approached both sides of my car.

"License and registration please," said the younger of the two CHPs.

"Here you go, Sir. Everything alright?"

"Well, everything was alright until you threw a cigarette out your window. Have you been drinking?"

I was speechless and didn't know what to say. Stupidly, I lied.

"No, Sir."

"Well, you were driving fine and we pulled you over because of the cigarette. But, I can smell alcohol on you. If you would have told me you had two beers, we would probably have let you go. You need to get out of your car for a sobriety test. Are you willing do that?"

"Yes, Sir. Whatever you want."

I got out and went through test after test. I touched my nose with my eyes closed, counted backwards, and walked foot over foot down an imaginary line. After I was done, the CHPs talked to one another quietly for a moment before asking me to blow into a breathalyzer.

I agreed and waited patiently after blowing the first time. The younger CHP then asked me to blow again. It was after the second time that I began to understand the situation I was in.

"How fucked am I?" I asked as he waited for the results. "Am I fucked? I am so fucked. Damn... I can't believe this. I am so fucked."

He then looked up from the breathalyzer and told me what I didn't want to hear.

"Sir, you blew .0823. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After two slip-ups on consecutive weekends after my arrest, I am proud to say that I have not had a drink in 115 days. It hasn't always been easy, but it also hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be either.

Instead of drinking after football games with other coaches, I drink iced tea or have a non-alcoholic drink. No one harasses me about not drinking, and I can't believe how much easier it is on Saturdays or Sundays at football meetings or practices without suffering from a hangover.

The definition of an alcoholic is different for every alcoholic. I believe I am an alcoholic because I couldn't stop once I got started. Enough said.

I am thankful that my night in jail didn't involve me hurting anyone with my car, didn't cause me to lose my family, my job, or end the relatively new relationship I am in with a wonderful woman. It could have been a lot worse for me and my family.

But, that still doesn't change that fact I am... "Brett, and I am an alcoholic."

The Lava Spews - All Over The Place

As the temperatures around the country are cooling off and Fall is in full effect, I thought it a good time to spread some more hotness throughout the nation.

I knew that I would not have much time to scout for more hotties, as Halloween, Turkey Day and Christmas are all just right around the corner, so I have spent the past week trolling.

You’ll all be happy to know that my search was so successful that this blog is slowly turning into quite the lava pit.

So, without further ado….I’d like to present you all with our newest Hot Mamas!!!!!!!


UberDorkGirlie of Life in Monkeyland
Faerie Mom of TheFaerieCastle
VodkaMom at VodkaMom

I highly recommend that you jump over there and show them some love…as they will be visiting all of you to do the same!

Lastly folks, We’ve had a bit of a shift in contributors here at Hot Dads.
A few of the boys were not able to fit extracurricular blogging into their busy lives and had to step back (for now) and we have also added some new testosterone to the mix.

Please bow and welcome:
Surfer Jay from I have to wipe their what?
CanadianBaldGuy
and
Mocha Dad

Spies, Code of Conduct and Boot Camp

It has become increasingly obvious to me that Mariah and I are going to have to sit down to reformulate our plan of attack with regards to the kids. The kids are all great and nobody is giving us any problems…as of now, but it is our goal to keep it that way.

The kids are all getting older and Mariah and I (unfortunately) continue to age as well…(I am even beginning to shrink!!) We want what is best for all of the kids and want them to grow, learn and conduct themselves in an age appropriate manner. Now the difficult part in this balancing act is that every child is different. Just because one 12 year old acts a certain way…doesn’t mean that every 12 year old should.

We try to push the kids to be ‘individual’ and to follow their instincts. We want them to feel comfortable being who they are…to a point. I do want our 10 year old to stop the baby talk, whining, going EVERYWHERE with the 4 stuffed animals and two little ‘blankies’ and drinking from a baby bottle…and I want our 18 year old to call to check in after school and ask before inviting 15 friends over at 9PM for a back yard party.

Now, with 6 kids ranging from 5 to 18, we have run into a sort of conundrum. House Rules. I am big on rules and consistency, while Mariah is big on individuality and reflection on her childhood. Both aspects are very important in operating a well-oiled family machine.

We have found it hard to have (and enforce) just one set of household rules. It would be ridiculous to have our 18 year old following the same rules as a 5 year old …or even 12 year old, yet where are the lines drawn? Do rules drop off as you get older?

I have thought that having House Rules that everyone abides by and a set of ‘Guidelines’ that drop off or get more flexible as a kid gets older. I, by no means, want to raise kids that are not allowed to make mistakes or make their own decisions…that would be just plain stupid…but at the same time the younger kids watch the elders and …want to act like them and have the freedom that they have.

We do not spy on the kids, nor do we overstep the bounds and get overly involved with the kids’ social lives…but we do have one or two kids in each of our children’s circle of friends that we know we can pry the truth from…our own little spy ring.

As I stated above, the kids are all great. They are honest, polite and are all doing exceptional in school. They all have great little groups of friends and have proven that they know right from wrong. BUT….they all seem to, from time to time, forget that we have rules….and they’ve completely forgotten what chores are.

With a 12 year old that ask to do or for something 500 times (instead of taking our first answer as ‘the ruling’), a 14 year old that ‘plays it by ear’ on a daily basis and ‘tells’ us what he is doing instead of asking…and an 18 year old that comes and goes, has boys sleep over and ‘forgets’ to check in on a regular basis….is making me think that we may all need to go back to family boot camp.

I feel as though I’ve been rambling in circles here so I am going to stop…the last thing that I am going to say is that I 100% endorse the notion that all children, no matter how old, need to know that they are not the boss…parents are and their rules and decisions need to be respected and not questioned or broken. I believe that it sends the message of security, strength and authority… and continues to teach them respect.

The Journey of Life

I know that I am only 41 and can in no way (unless from the mouth of a wisecracking teenager) be referred to as old. But the fact of the matter is that I am getting older and …it kind of scares me.

The journey from cute little awkward kid to handsome, philandering young adult, to Hot Dad has been quite a ride. Yes, I’ve gone though some rough patches and yes, I’ve wanted to hit the ‘rewind’ button a time or two, but now I find myself frantically searching for the ‘pause’ button…or at the very least life’s slow motion controls.

Though I am semi comforted by Mariah’s adoration of old men, I am still having a hard time with the impending transformation from Hot Dad to decrepit and wrinkly geezer sporting a broken hip and wearing Depends.

Though I am in relatively good shape, I still find myself waking up slower with joints that creak for the first hour or so (or until well lubricated with multiple cups of coffee) of each day. My bladder and bowel control’s ‘motherboard’ seems to be on the brink as I tend to spend about as much time in the can as I do parenting. My feet get cramped and achy when I am up and walking around too much and a cool breeze can stiffen my neck before I can even get the window closed. My back has both good and back days, but when I use it for much more than picking up a pile of dirty clothes….she kicks my ass for days on end.

Now Mariah keeps telling me that I just need to exercise more and that I will feel better when I get on a good workout regimen. I don’t know if she is just looking out for me…or if she is looking for me to buff up and uncover the buried six-pack that was once visible and give the arms and chest of a college athlete. Regardless…when I hear her, or anyone else say, “Working out will make you feel better.” All I know is that when I work out…all that happens is that I get tired, sore and cranky.

Well, Thursday morning I have a full physical and though I want to go, I’m a bit scared that I’ll get some bad news…or that things are going to have to drastically change in my life.

Getting old like this would not be so bad...Look at how HOT Mariah is.

Is it normal for me to be going through these thoughts at 41 freaking years old??????

Drinking and Sex - Time for a Study!

Oh those French. Apparently, they did a formal study which made a connection between women drinking wine and having sex. The more you drink, the more willing you are to do the deed. (You think?! Hey, I’m not making this up.)

BigLittleWolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy clued me in to this. She gives a delightful account of the study of 800 women, how “women blossom sexually under the influence of alcohol”. She even suggests that wine guidebooks should contain info about which wines get which types of women into the mood.

To which I say – WTF!? How did the Hot Dads miss out on this one?

I propose the Hot Dads get the same EU wanks who funded the French study to fund us. Not everyone drinks wine. We’ll go on a mission to see which cocktails get which women in the mood.

Let's kick off the proposal writing process:

As Hot Dads, we are aware that women are sometimes not in the mood to be ravaged. (We don’t understand that behavior, but we are aware of it and respect it.)

As Hot Dads who enjoy a drink now and then, we have direct evidence that women who drink sometimes become aroused into a state of sexual willingness. (We do understand this behavior, and for that reason the next round is on us.)

As Hot Dads fighting for a better planet (i.e. one with more sex, love, and happy endings), we would like to procure funding to study this topic in depth.

Hypothesis: candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker

Procedure: gather 800 nubile women (just like the French study), or perhaps simply take out our wives and girlfriends, depending on what we can get away with (all in the name of science!)

Flirt with these women and attempt to seduce them into having sex. We predict a success rate with this technique of 1%. (Mostly due to our lack of flirting skills, sober. Time to brush up on sweet pick up lines.)

Line up shots of vodka and tequila, as well as provide favorite mixed drinks like cosmos and margaritas and mai tais, and offer said alcohol to said women.

Flirt with these women and attempt to seduce them into having sex. We predict as more drinks are consumed, we’ll be getting laid a lot.

Of course, the Hot Mamas could get their own study funded. I’m not sure what it would be, but if it’s something about men drinking and women shopping, I’m ducking for cover.

Ask Hot Mamas (episode 2)

For our second edition of Ask Hot Mamas, we’ve gotten a bit more personal in an attempt to spice things up a bit. You know us guys…always needing a bit of spice for our meat.
(by the way...this is a nice way to introduce some of Hot Dads' newest Hot Mamas!)

And here are week two's questions:

Q: Tell us one thing about you we'd never believe or guess.

Amber says: Well, assuming the readers here don't read my blog on a regular basis, I'd have to wager that most don't know that I've been married twice, and I met my first husband online.

Miss Grace says: Okay I've been staring at this question for.....longer than I'd care to admit. I went and answered all the other ones and now here I am still looking at this one. I can't think of anything I can say about myself that y'all would find surprising. Cuz I think I've already told everyone about every possible moment of idiocy. Fuck. I mean, I called 9-1-1 for a taxi once, because it was the only phone number I could remember, but are you really surprised?? (If you're wondering, this was effective - the police came, and they called a cab and made it take me home for free - WIN)So. I'm surprise-free at this point. The only secrets I have left are the ones that I actually don't tell.

Brandy says: (Brandy failed to answer this one…what the hell is she hiding????)

ChurchPunkMom says: ... I fart rainbows. Honest. Ask Aman.

Tom the Girl says: I have piercings...yes multiple...in some very special places.


Q: What is your #1 favorite thing about a man, physically? (arms, hands,ass, whatever)

Amber says: Well, if it's any man it would have to be his smile. Hair (or lack thereof) is a close second.If it's my Mr you're talking about, it's his ass. His ass is perfectly juicy, a true pleasure to look at.

Miss Grace says: Mmmm backs. I *love* a nice muscular back. Makes me all wobble-kneed.

Brandy says: Shoulders; I love a man with broad shoulders. It just makes them look "manly".

ChurchPunkMom says: Hm... Any part of my husband!

Tom the Girl says: My favorite thing about a man would have to be the lines that run down either side of his lower abdomen, and disappear into his jeans. Oh my...i could LICK those lines..... *hot flashes*


Q: What is the best way (method, style, technique, etc.) to do some"landscaping" that causes the least amount of discomfort.(Shaving=razor burn) - no chemicals please.

Amber says: This question confuses me...are you talking about someone landscaping me, me doing the landscaping on myself, or me doing landscaping on my Mr??If it's Mr landscaping me I'd prefer him to use scissors and then an electric razor.I prefer to use scissors and a regular Bic disposable razor. I don't do waxing, that stuff is crazy, and I'm a no go for chemical removers in my lady bits.If I'm doing some manscaping on my Mr I think I'd feel perfectly comfortable using scissors for a light trim, anything more than that and I'd be afraid of damaging his manly bits.That all being said, what other ways are there??

Miss Grace says: I prefer waxing. The one time discomfort is worse than other methods, but it takes a long-ass time to grow back, and it's never stubbly/itchy, and while I can't say it gets 'more comfortable', it does get LESS uncomfortable as time progresses. In college my roommate and I totally had a waxing party with our friend Ben. No, he's not gay. I swear.

Brandy says: For a close shave, I use a mustache/beard trimmer without any guard. Sometimes I use a razor when I want to pull a Britney, making sure to take a nice, hot shower first so that the pores are open & the hair is soft.

ChurchPunkMom says: Ah, 'landscaping'.. well, I won't lie. I've never been a big fan of yard work.. But we all know it's gotta be done, right? I'm an old fashioned girl.. one who's never indulged in those 'simple luxuries' like manicures, or pedicures, or *shudder* waxing. I shave. Like a man.

Tom the Girl says: The VERY best way to manscape is to wax. I just bought GiGi Brazilian hard wax (the microwaveable kind) for my nether region, and while it hurts like hell to pull that wax off the FIRST time, it only stings for a second, and the results are amazing. Let's just say that my baby's bottom was jealous.


Q: Do you consider yourself more voyeuristic or exhibitionist? (you haveto choose one) …feel free to share the evidence.

Amber says: I'm definitely more of an exhibitionist. As we don't really dig motel rooms for the hourly rate, we have a tendency to drive on a few 4x4 trails up the mountain and have ourselves a good old time in the backseat of our truck.

Miss Grace says: I'm a total exhibitionist. I just can't make myself care about open curtains or lights on in a dark house. And there's something ridiculously hot about sex in public places/the chance of getting caught.

Brandy says: If I have to choose (cause I think we all have a little of both in us) then I pick voyeuristic. And I plead the 5th for the rest...

ChurchPunkMom says: Well, now that I'm getting older and have popped out a few kids.. I suppose I'd be more of a voyeur, or perhaps a retired exhibitionist. And sorry, no evidence here. Besides, imaginations can be much more entertaining and vivid than reality!

Tom the Girl says: I definitely consider myself to be an exhibitionist. Just ask my twitter ladies about that. They've seen mah bewbs. You probably will too :-*


Q: Who do you consider to be the sexiest/hottest (if you could, you woulddive into bed with) woman on TV or movies today.

Amber says: Hmm, Rachel McAdams is nice. Giving a time limit of today doesn't really do a whole lot for me. I'd prefer a woman who's intelligent and easy on the eyes, with a lean figure.I'd love to romp with Diane Lane, though she hasn't really done anything in a while.

Miss Grace says: I have a RIDICULOUS girl crush on Mary Louise Parker. Because, I mean, YUM.

Brandy says: I hate to say this, I really do, but Angelina. She's been one of my girl crushes ever since she was in Gia. Angelina's hot - plain & simple.

ChurchPunkMom says: This is a hard one. We don't watch much TV around here and the bulk of what I see tends to be animated. (Not gonna go there..) Gee... I'd have to go with...... David Letterman's mom. She's HAWT.

Tom the Girl says: Hottest woman celebrity today. So many to choose from... but if I had to bang ONE, it would be Adriana Lima (Victoria's Secret Model). She is pretty much perfect in every way, and totally my type. I mean, come on. LOOK at her! O_o

Why I Cook

I'm divorced, a single dad with half-time custody, and I've been running a household solo for nearly ten years. I figured learning how to cook was a necessity. I had a bit of a head-start, since my ex was Italian and from a family of great cooks. I learned the ins and outs of la cucina italiana directly from the source. (You don't throw spaghetti on the wall to see if it's done!) My Italian-style carrots that I learned from them are to die for. My ex-mother-in-law also taught me how to cook beets, plus a zillion different ways to serve pasta.

One single buddy of mine won't cook on a nightly basis. He'll heat up a can of chili, or microwave some Lean Cuisine, but most often he'll take his hard-earned cash and go spend it in a restaurant.

Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, if you have the money. But there's more to cooking for yourself than saving a buck.

First off, it can be healthier to cook for yourself. I get to pick the ingredients, so I know they are healthy and fresh. I can also cut back on butter and salt (important for an aging dad like me.) Plus, some dishes like my marinated grilled asparagus recipe are awesome, and not something I find in many restaurants.

Second, it doesn't have to take very long. I can cook most meals in 30 minutes flat. Heading out to a restaurant takes longer than that. (My grilled chicken marinade recipe needs to be prepped hours in advance; needless to say, I don't cook it every night!) And in those 30 minutes, I can enjoy the cocktail of my choice. Whether that's the best margarita recipe or mai tai recipe depends on my mood, and doesn't cost me ten bucks a pop!

Third, it's a grounding experience. (This part gets touchy-feely, I suppose. I'm in NorCal, baby!) I feel connected to the earth, and to the farmers and suppliers, and to my kids who I cook for. It feels good to create a meal for them. It's nurturing. I get this feeling whether I'm grilling salmon at the BBQ, or cooking chicken and dumplings at the stove.

When I asked my single buddy why he doesn't cook, he said - "I'll cook for company. But it's just not worth the effort to cook for myself."

To which I said - "you're saying you're not worth it?"

Cook. It's good for you.

And if I didn't give you enough recipe pointers here, go buy a cookbook!