Three's Company

I was supposed to write this last night, but I was too tired. I was so tired that I woke up an hour late this morning and had to rent a Zipcar to get my daughter to school on time. I'm never late, so that says something. So what happened? What crazy shenanigans did my daughter pull to make me so tired? Believe it or not, nothing. This time it's not on her.

Yesterday I went on what I can only describe as a family test drive. A friend of mine invited my daughter to a birthday party and we tagged along with her and her two kids, ages 4 and 4 months. I used to want three kids. Then yesterday happened. Now, I MIGHT want three kids. To steal this simile from a friend: it was like trying to herd squirrels.

First we went to Target to get a birthday present. It was weird walking in there with three kids. When it's just me and my daughter, I get admiring stares from everyone. "Hey, there's a young brother taking care of his responsibility." Yesterday, I had two in the shopping cart that I was pushing, and my friend was pushing the baby in a second cart beside me. I may be exaggerating a tad, but people knelt as I passed. Maybe it was out of sheer reverence for what they misinterpreted as a family of five, or it could be that they felt I was due a kind gesture for what was about to come.

Kids will never be as well mannered as they are when you start going down a toy aisle. They'll also never be as "put-up-for-adoption-able" as they are when it starts to sink in that you're not going to buy them anything. I had one trying to jump out the cart while another one was reaching hard trying to use The Force to will a toy into her hand.

We eventually made it to the superhero-themed party. My friend's daughter went as Robin. I refuse to buy anything else this year, so my daughter went in her Doc MacStuffins outfit and I told the other kids she was a supervillain from the pharmaceutical industry, Dr. Evil. The party was at Anacostia Park, so that's where most of my energy was depleted. We ran around for what seemed like ever. My friend (pure genius) was happy to let me entertain the kids while she caught up with her friends.

Half of the time was spent trying not to seriously maim the 11 year olds trying to play stunt-football on the little kids' playground. One of them walked up to my daughter on top of one of the platforms, and I believe it was his intention to push her out of the way as his lips began to form the word "move." I honestly can't tell you what happened next. I saw his mouth form the "m" sound, but by the time he got to "oov" I was in front of him. Maybe I have my own superpower. What happened next can't be told until the statute of limitations passes, but we had no more problems out of him.

We stayed another hour or so, and I ran around trying to entertain the two of them before spending time with the baby. I wanted to see if I really could go through that phase again. I think I could, not that it's up to me. If I do end up getting married again, I know that I could do at least one more. My daughter started off as a twin, but she ate the other one in utero. Assuming lightning strikes twice (minus the Highlander womb fight), I THINK I could do two more.

Fully Insured

[Doing the Ice Cream Dance from Eddie Murphy Delirious]

I got insurance! I got insurance! I'm gonna use it all. I'm gonna use it all! You don't have insurance. You didn't get none. Cuz you are on the welfare. You can't afford it!

There is nothing more humbling than celebrating something that you used to take for granted. As you know, it's been one HELL of a year, but I'm still here. A friend of mine, and frequent reader, "E.G.," put a status on Facebook yesterday that said something along the lines of life throwing her a lot of curve balls, but God giving her a bat and teaching her to swing. I can relate, but I take it a step further. Life threw me two curve balls before hitting me with a beanball on the last pitch. God gave me a bat alright, but I'm not using it to hit a ball. Me and the pitcher (Life) are about to have a conversation about righteous indignation.

So anyway, back to my ice cream dance. I got insurance! I got insurance! So, you know...I got divorced. There's this crazy rule that you can't stay on someone's family insurance if you're not actually in their family anymore. (Where do they come up with this stuff?) I anticipated that before I filed, and applied for health insurance with my old employer. Ain't no love in the heart of the city...

I used to be the one to tell people that their coverage was been denied. "Sir, you stated on your application that you're 200 lbs overweight, smoke two packs a day, have 5-7 drinks a day, engage in unprotected sex with multiple partners, and you have several surgeries scheduled in the near future. You're gonna die. We can't cover you." If I were in that category, then I'd expect someone to sing me the same song. Here's the conversation that I had with the underwriter:
Me: Hi, my insurance application was denied. Before I appeal, I wanted to talk to you about it.
Her: Based on these things, I don't see an appeal going in your favor.
Me: Why?
Her: You have a history of heart disease.
Me: No. I had heart surgery to remove an accessory pathway. They removed it five years ago. The condition is gone. It can't grow back or anything. It's like having Lasik surgery on your eyes.
Her: Doesn't matter. There is a history of a heart issue. Plus you're morbidly obese.
Me: No I'm not! I weigh 180.
Her: That's considered obese for your height.
Me: It's muscle mass. I run 3-5 miles a day. I lift weights. My blood pressure has always been exactly 120/80. I have a resting heartbeat in the 40s. If you send out a nurse, she can verify my body fat percentage.
Her: We don't send out nurses or do medical verification. Finally, you have a history of mental illness.
Me: WHAT!?
Her: You have used mental health benefits in the past.
Me: I went to a marriage counselor before I decided to file for divorce! The benefit is charged under mental health, but it's not an illness.
Her: Any mental health usage is considered a suicide risk.
Me: Are you kidding me?

They gave me the option to take a different plan where everything, including office visits and prescriptions, would apply to a $10,000 deductible. This plan was $1,000 a month. After I read that I decided to devote my life to the used bookstore downtown, more specifically the old medical school textbooks section. I had already decided to start by making my own flu shot this weekend (vinegar, saline solution, three drops of Dayquil, and two drops of Lysol) when I got the email a few minutes ago saying that another company accepted my application.

So now I am doing my happy dance.

[youtube=http://youtu.be/2JfMCBh1sJQ?t=1m39s]

Sleep Deprived

I want to post something. I really do, but I'm still getting over this weekend. The child woke up at four in the morning one day and three the next. And it's not like she wakes up to use the bathroom or something. She's the rooster from hell. She's Satan's Rock-a-Doodle.

I haven't seen it myself, but I hear that there's a brochure that advertises children to the (naive) childless. I've heard that there's a section in there that talks about them waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or because they saw a monster in the closet or something. My daughter has the bladder of a 30 year old man, and actually prefers that the lights be turned off when she goes to bed. She's not afraid of things that go bump in the night. She IS the one who bumps!

I'd do a praise lap around the living room if she woke me up just so that she could use the bathroom. Instead, she wakes me up to Rock-a-Doodle...for Satan. I have no idea how she slips into my bed without me noticing, but almost every morning I wake up in what seems like a twisted version of The Little Mermaid. (Yes, I now speak in Disney references. It's been a long week.) The prince gets knocked out and when he wakes up the mermaid is standing over him staring down at him singing. At least, that's what I remember happening.

I wake up groggy and confused, and I open my eyes to see these two giant globes staring back at me. A small soft hand is stroking my cheek, and just as I'm about to smile my senses kick in. My vision kicks in, which helps me realize that it's still dark outside. That makes me groggy, because I know what's about to happen as soon as my hearing fully awakens. I hear some random, not-for-early-morning song like "Mama Said Knock You Out."

Sometimes she has a prop with her. This weekend it was a microphone. I came to while she was saying, "I'm gonna knock you out" and then putting the mic on my face, then going back to "Mama said knock you out," then putting the mic on my face again. What she wanted was for me to do the grunt. "Umph! I'm gonna knock you out. Umph! Mama said knock you ouuuut!" Oh yeah, she wasn't stroking my cheek either. She was smacking me in the face with the microphone.

What do you say to that at three in the morning? Nothing that can be repeated here without provoking the ire of parenting groups and Child Protective Services. When she realized that I wasn't going to sing, she started making demands: "grits, eggs, sausage..." 3:22 in the morning and I'm cooking breakfast like we're on a farm. When it's all finally done she asks for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Like I said before, one day someone will write a song about me long after I'm gone. I hope they blast it in her room at 3 in the morning.

The Ballad of SuperDaddy

This one's gonna be very short. It is 6:24 AM. I woke up about ten minutes ago and just knew that it was 11:00PM. I went to sleep at 9:30 and there was no way that more than two hours had passed. I'm guessing the Earth spun faster last night. We have to leave the house in 20 minutes. Even if you don't have kids you should know how that game goes.

If I had to give it a theme, I'd say that this week is The Eliminator from American Gladiators. Co-Parent's on vacation, so I'm doing drop off and pick-up of Darkwing Baby. But this wouldn't be The Eliminator if it were just that simple. I don't have a car anymore, so I have to find the path of least resistance to get to her school. But this wouldn't be The Eliminator if it were just that simple. Her school is located in a part of the city where you have to cross a spiked chasm, walk over hot lava, and go around a dragon. In other words, I have to rely on Metro.

The first day I tried the train. That didn't go well. It's a ten minute drive normally. It took an hour and some change on the train. So the next day I tried the bus. I might as well have walked, which is exactly what I did the day after that. I walked through Rock Creek Park and got there in an hour. That was fine, except for the whole part about getting back. I tried walking back with the child. Even with her in a stroller, it still took over an hour, because a good chunk of the path isn't paved. And then there's the matter of this ski slope that they call a hill at the end of that walk.

But this wouldn't be The Eliminator if it were just that simple. I'm cleaning out my grandmother's house, so there's a very large dumpster in front of her house that I ordered. I only have two weeks, else I have to pay more money, so I have to scramble to empty the house. Sooooo....regardless of how she gets to school and gets home, the middle of the day is spent lugging bags of clothes and other old-people objects to a dumpster where I have to summon the power of Castle Greyskull to toss things up and over the 6 foot tall dumpster walls.

When all is said and done, I come home, cook dinner, play whatever game my daughter makes up in her mind, and then put her to bed before passing out myself. One day someone will write a song about me, grab a lyre and go from town to town singing my ballad.

It's 6:43...gotta run to the train by 6:50 and make this child eat eggs that apparently aren't up to her standards. That song will be beautiful.

Turn the Crank

Just turn the crank and snap the plank and boot the ball right down the chute. Now watch it roll and hit the pole and knock the ball in the rub-a-dub tub which hits the man into the pan. The trap is set, here comes the net...Mousetrap!

I really do remember the most random things. I have a house guest. If all goes according to plan, he'll be on life support by the time I finish typing this. You ever have that moment when you think you see something move out of the corner of your eye, but don't want to look because you'll just feel stupid when it turns out to be nothing? That happened to me yesterday, but I looked because not looking is how horror movies start.

Of course it turned out to be nothing, so when I had the same moment today I tried to save face and be Neil Degrasse Tyson. It's just light reflecting off the window across the way. More than likely a car turned the corner and, with the sun being directly overhead, it bounced from the windshield to that unit and then into my apartment. The illusion of movement was no doubt caused by the fact that the car was in motion, thus the angle of reflection changed due to the curvature of the windshield.

Uh huh.

Thirty seconds later I remembered that my degree is in Business, not Physics, and I took another look. I saw my daughter's werewolf doll (don't ask) and rationalized that that was what I saw. I went to pick it up and my brain started talking again just as I bent down. You know, even though this is here, it doesn't answer the question of what it was that we saw moving. This isn't Toy Story. Toys don't move on their own. It could very well have been...

A damned mouse Usain Bolts across the floor. I jump back and that's when it gets weird. There was a cricket in my house yesterday and you would've thought it was a langolier or something. I hauled ass to get the can of Raid from the closet and wielded it like a proton pack. I don't do bugs.

But when I saw the mouse, I jumped back...and immediately sealed off all the rooms in the house. I didn't want him to have anywhere to escape the beat down. When I was ten we moved into a crappy apartment in Rosedale. We only lasted two months there because everyday we caught at least two or three mice on a trap. I got over my fear of them real quick. Bad news for Ben.

I grabbed a broom and started pushing furniture around trying to find him. I know I looked insane to any passersby looking in my window. Picture a savage carrying a spear as he slowly approaches a boar or something. That was me with the broom. Call it my mouseketool. I searched high and low but couldn't find the bastard. So I...

***Update***
I got him.  No point in telling the rest of the story, but I'm too tired to write about something else. Right before I started typing this I put down two glue traps. I just heard one dragging along the floor. I'm about to send Jesus a pet.

[Two minutes later]
Yep, that was him. I don't know if I should sing Ben or Gone Too Soon.

Hey, why not both?

End of Chapter

Today would've been my 10 year anniversary. Would have been...if I didn't get divorced two days ago. Talk about falling down at the one yard line. Then again, to be honest, this story began back in January. The divorce just made it official. Still, the timing of it all: ten year anniversary, a month after my grandmother died. It's a lot to take in. But that's what we do here at OrdaleCo. When life starts to rain we find a way to walk between the drops.

I won't lie; I'm emotional. Better yet, I'm confused. Part of me is still waiting for someone to jump out and tell me I'm being punked. I honestly don't believe the stuff that I've seen with my own eyes this year. I don't feel like writing the specifics. I will eventually, but that's a story that needs to be told over some chapters and not in a singular post. The best way I can analogize it is to say that it's like being married to someone who didn't know they had amnesia, and then one day they just snap out of it.

It doesn't matter that you have nine years together. It doesn't matter that you have a kid. They wake up and are instantly a totally different person. You can't negotiate that. You can't work that out. If the old person was happily married and a week later the new person says, "I'm not marriage material," what recourse do you have? I learned this year that trust is not a requirement for love. That explains the friends of mine who willingly went back into the whack-a-mole game that their relationships became. As far as I'm concerned, trust may not be a requirement for love, but it sure as hell is one for happiness.

It's depressing as hell to make the decision to sacrifice one for the other. It's hard to trudge through a divorce without the limitless energy that hate can provide. Even if you do make it through, you come out of it compromised. To be told that you didn't do anything wrong, that you were actually more than they felt they deserved, and then for that conversation to end with an axiom: I'm sorry, but I guess what they say is true, nice guys really do finish last... How can you not be compromised?

The truth is...you can't. You can't avoid it, but maybe that's a good thing. Something like this happens and it makes you question yourself and your values. If you can process all of the emotions and all of the hurt feelings and still arrive at the conclusion that this is who you are and how you want to live your life, then you know that it's real. You know who you are. I don't have to worry about having amnesia myself one day. I don't have to worry about my own happiness ever coming at the expense of someone else. So my story doesn't end just because one character drops out. We flip the page and start a new chapter.

***

 

 

Today

I want to acknowledge 9/11, but I don't want to dwell on it. You'll never forget where you were. No one needs to remind you of what you felt. We all remember how that day became the dividing line between the way things were and the way they are now.

All I'll say is that I hold my hand over my heart for all of those who died that day and for those left to carry the scars of their absence.

 

Out of Office Reply

This is going to be a very busy week. I may not have much time to write. I'll be sure to write a humorous recap when it's all over, but for now...I gotta go see a man about a mule.

If you are bored and just need something to do. How about you pray. Not for me, but for October. I want to get away. Correction: I NEED to get away. After all that's happened this year, I just want four days of relaxation. I got a passport, and I'm going...somewhere. Wherever I can find a last minute deal to a beach with clear water, that's where I'm going. So pray that there be no hurricanes in my vicinity. It seems like every time I try to go away something crazy happens.

Thanks in advance.

PS...If you can also pray up a nice looking woman with marriage potential under 5'3 (I wanna feel tall the next go round)...that'd be AWESOME!

Random Vent

I'm going through a "tiff" with someone (You ever forget a word was a word until it pops in your head? Tiff. When was the last time I used that?) Anyway, I'm not one to put people on blast, but I'm really annoyed right now and I can't seem to shake it. So, let's highlight a few of the folks who haven't pissed me off. That's positive, right? It's not an all-inclusive list. It's just a few that come to mind in no particular order.

Friend #1
I know a lot of people, but I have very few friends. The smaller the organization, the easier it is to manage. This person made the team back in 2001. I was in the elephant graveyard that is my HBCU's all-male dorm when I noticed something strange: my refrigerator was gone. Remember that scene in A Thin Line Between Love and Hate when Lynn Whitfield steals the tires off Martin's car while it's parked in front of the police station? I responded just like Martin did.

What kind of crackhead steals a refrigerator? I had a Playstation. I had a computer! They stole my refrigerator!!! That's like stealing a baby's car seat. Some things you just don't do. I took that personal. I'm 5'7 on a good day, but I was 6'9 that day carrying He-Man's sword, because I walked up and down the hall cursing everybody out from the football players to the R.A.s. This was back before 9/11 when you could make idle threats. "I will burn this _____ place down if I don't get my ______ refrigerator back!"

I didn't. But out of the blue Friend #1 (who didn't go to my school and thus isn't a suspect) bought me a brand new fridge.
Friend #2
Back in high school, during the winter of our discontent when our gas was off and our house was a freezer, I had the misfortune of my backpack falling apart. I went to Banneker where we had homework in every class every night, so those books went home every night.

This was back when I ran track, and the joy of each day was waking up to God's glory at 7AM (late) and realizing that I had only six minutes to get to the bus stop. Me and the bus driver...we had this game we liked to play. He'd see me running for the bus and speed up. I'd run after the bus cursing the whole time until I caught up to it. Doing this day after day puts a strain on the straps of the backpack. They snapped off, but being poor means you know how to sew. I used to just sew them back on.

One day I was running for the bus and noticed that it was becoming easier with every stride. For a split second, I thought it was due to my olympic-level athleticism. Common sense kicked in just as I caught up to the bus, and I realized that the bottom of the bookbag ripped open. The books fell out one by one as I was running hence the gradual decrease in weight.

For the next week I walked around carrying my books in grocery store bags and even at one point I put them in a suitcase (not the rolling kind either) and carried them to school. My friend took pity and even though she was broke too, she went around and tried to take up a collection to get me a new bag. Foolish pride meant that I turned it down, but I was deeply touched by it.

What's the Point?
These two did something really nice for me, and as grand a gesture as it was at the time...They've never brought it up. It's been over 10 years and not once have they said a thing about it. They've done more things, grander things, but they never bring it up. I really hate when someone gives you a gift or does something and they bring it up every chance that they get. It annoys me, ESPECIALLY when it's something that you could do for yourself.

Anyway...vent over.

 

Cemetery Follow-Up

Well, I tried. I went back to the cemetery today for my "follow-up" visit. The hole was opened, casket was lowered, the hole was closed. Why that warrants a return trip, I have no idea. Oh wait, yes I do!

I was told that there was a complimentary keepsake being offered to the family in memory of my grandmother. I just needed to pick it up. Of course when I got there they wanted me to pick out which shade of pink I'd like it to be and whether I wanted her picture at the top or bottom. This keepsake was a bookmark, of course. And because they needed my input on its design, I had to wait 20 minutes for it to be finished. And what could we possibly talk about for 20 minutes...in a conference room with nothing but sample headstones mounted on the wall? How to spend more money.

I tried to be nice to the woman, but I have my limits and she pushed the wrong button. Fine, you're a salesman. Earn your money. But don't you ever in your life use my affection for my grandmother or my daughter in an ill-conceived attempt to guilt trip me into spending money. You don't start a battle of wits with me when you're unarmed.

Me being nice = Me lying and saying that my plans are to be cremated and scattered at my favorite vacation spot. You know damned well I haven't been anywhere. Where are they gonna scatter me? The skating rink over at Anacostia Park? Put a little bit of my remains in the trashcan in front of the Snickerdoodle shop in Forestville Mall?

I even tried to just level with her and tell her I wasn't interested in anything at this time. That's when she went passive aggressive on me and started talking about how unfair it is for someone to leave managing their death to their child. "Even if it's a grandchild, I just don't think it's fair to put that burden on someone who should be grieving. You have your whole life to set something up. It's inconsiderate and irresponsible."

Really? Go on.

"I see a plot as a way of memorializing someone. I mean, what does it say about your life that you have nothing to remember it by. You're just gone leaving nothing behind."

[Inside my head was like a scene from those movies where everyone just gets up and walks out of the bar without saying a word. I tapped Nice-Guy-Me on the shoulder and told him he could go home for the night. I'll lock up.]

Though these may not be my exact beliefs, I found the words coming out of my mouth anyway...

I would hope that my legacy is more than just a headstone in the ground. It is my hope that my life would echo through the person that my daughter becomes, and the people I've touched. The things I've done will be enough of a monument to who I am.

To be honest with you, my grandmother didn't even want to be buried here at this cemetery. I mentioned it to her the week she was diagnosed with cancer and she said that she sees cemeteries and places like this as just a giant way to capitalize on people's sympathy and grief. The reason she made me power of attorney and executor of her estate is because she felt that not only was I strong enough to make the right decision, but that I wasn't stupid enough to fall victim to things like that. She told me that she'd rather me not even claim the body than to waste money on stuff that has no actual connection to who she is.

You said it yourself that people come to the cemetery to feel better by connecting with a loved one. Could not the case be made that all of this is really for the living and not necessarily for the dead? I'll do my best to raise my daughter to be balanced and when the time comes and I'm gone, then I hope she uses the insane amount of life insurance that I'm leaving to do whatever she feels comfortable with.

The lady's response..."Let me go see if your bookmark is ready."

Luckily it was ready, because that was the warm up for what I REALLY wanted to say.