Our Prisoner, I mean guest of honor

With all the “stuff” that Moms put up with, one day to recognize their beauty, love, and efforts just isn’t enough.  A lot of people I know have issues with “Hallmark” holidays; they feel that it’s a conspiracy by big corporations to keep their pockets fat while sedating people who are in stale or stagnant relationships. I totally agree! Holidays like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and especially Valentine’s Day are built for those very reasons. Yet, I participate in full force every year and am proud to do so. Before you call me a hypocrite, check out this status update from my wife and be silenced:

          Fenessa Robertson – “Today has been a wonderful day, but hey every day is great as long as I have my 3 men! They really stepped it up today for me and I appreciate all their efforts.  Thank you Keith, Ty, & Tre. Love you three more than anything!”

We try to treat every day as Mother’s Day in our house, and use that second Sunday in May as a Super Mother’s Day extravaganza.  In my eyes, there is nothing wrong with showing love on one of these corporate holidays by going above and beyond your standard activities as long as your standard activities are above and beyond what’s typically expected. The issue that I have with these “Hallmark” days is when people go all year without as much as a wimper of love and affection for their significant other, mother, father, etc. and then show up on one of these holidays with flowers and candy and attempt to buy themselves another 364 days of guilt free complacency.  When that occurs, the guys with big guts and big bank accounts to match win.

Wow, that came off sounding way more preachy than I intended.  I’ll step off of my soapbox now and get into the ridiculousness of our Mother’s Day.  Thanks for letting me vent.

Our Mother’s Day started out with me cooking breakfast for the family, which as simple as it may seems, really wasn’t that simple at all.  Don’t get me wrong, I can cook my butt off (it’s actually how I won Fefe’s heart), but I just don’t like to do it.  Fefe on the other hand, can cook her butt off AND loves to do so, needless to say, she does most of the cooking.  So when I get in there, it’s like a kid who hasn’t rode a bike in a while, you never forget, but you may fall a few times while the skills come back.

Yeah, let’s just say I definitely fell when you look at how many dishes I used to cook breakfast for four damn people, smh.

Cooking AND Washing Dishes Wasn't In The Contract. Was It?

In the end, it all worked out well.  Fefe woke up to a home cooked breakfast, and it was actually good too (minus the eggs, thanks to the boys distractions).

Mmmmm

After breakfast, we headed to our guest bedroom which the boys and I spent a good portion of Saturday transforming into TTK Spa.  Ty, Tre, & Keith Spa may have been one of my more heartfelt and thoughtful ideas, but most likely not one of my more practical ones.  We wanted to pamper Fefe and what better way than to personally provide some of the services that she loves?  So our spa opened its doors and welcomed our first customer by handing out free “Mommy Bucks”

 

Make It Rain!!! Maybe Our Logo Needs Work

TTK Spa offered a variety of services: manicures, pedicures, facials, massages, etc. and miraculously, Fefe had just the right amount of Mommy Bucks to try them all.  Here are some of the highlights:

If her feet weren't sore before, they most certainly are now Maybe they were going for an artistic look?

Maybe they were going for an artistic look?

In addition to the physical damage that she endured, the also had to deal with, let’s just call them “less than professional” employees.  There was this guy, the disgruntled cashier:

He was more concerned with stuffing Mommy Bucks into his cash register than helping our customer receive her services.  This cashier also doubled as a masseuse, nail technician, and makeup artist.  All of which he appears to have been under qualified for, after thorough review of his application.  In addition, another employee who shall remain nameless to protect his identity periodically shouted derogatory terms while performing his job.  While massaging the arms of our client, the young employee asks “Do your armpits smell?”  In the middle of the facial, a comment about our customer’s robust lips using up all of the lipstick was also thrown out.  I tried to mitigate these issues, but I could tell it definitely hurt the reputation of our business.

Once the massacre spa day ended, TTK Spa decided to close its doors for good after serving only one customer and being open for business a mere 60 minutes.  At the end of the day, while we may not have provided satisfaction in our services, we knew that our customer’s heart was filled with admiration for our efforts.

To make up for disaster in spatown, we showered Fefe with gifts that the boys worked very hard to make:

Homemade Flowers

Froggy Gone Fishin

Once she was lavished with gifts, it was time to hit the town.  We rounded the day out with a trip to the park where we did some exploring and hand holding, a movie adventure to see the Avengers (I think this was more for me and the kids than Fefe), and dinner at Space Aliens.  At the end of the day, we spent time together as a family, we showed Fefe that she means the world to us, and we had a great time doing it.  All of those things encompass our daily lives, so for our family, Mother’s Day wasn’t another ode to Hallmark, it was just another day pushed to a slightly elevated level.

Sometimes you have to go back to basics

Prune Face

By show of hands, how many of you have had the distinct pleasure of tasting the fine delicacy of PRUNE JUICE??? Come on, don’t be bashful, let us know if you love the taste of Prune juice touching your tongue and traveling down the back of your throat. No? No one? Well Ty can now say that he’s part of the club after scarfing down a few ounces of the beloved beverage.

His troubles began about 2 weeks ago. It’s a crazy tale that ultimately ended in us finding out and treating him for Perianal Streptococcal Cellulitis. That’s a mouthful right, and I couldn’t pronounce it correctly even if you paid me. Therefore, going forward for the remainder of this post, this infection will be known as Strep Butt. Essentially, it is strep throat (which is extremely common) but in your butt (which as you’ve probably guessed is less common)

The following statements lay out the events leading up to the discovery of Ty’s Strep Butt infection. Similar to dealing with grief and loss, there are 7 phases of Strep Butt infections as well; I’ll be sure to point them out along the way.

Day 1 of Strep Buttgate
Ty: “Daddy, my butt hurts”
Me: “What do you mean your butt hurts? Hurts like what?”
Ty: “I used the bathroom and it hurt when I wiped it”
Me: “You probably wiped too hard, don’t worry about it, it’ll get better.
Stage 1: DENIAL

Day 2 of Strep Buttgate
Ty: “When I was in school today, I used the bathroom and my butt really burned and I had blood in stink”
Me: “It’s probably just something you ate, sometimes some foods go in hot and they come out hot too”
Ty: “But it hurts a lot, I told you yesterday but you didn’t do anything”
Stage 2: GUILT
Me: “Okay, tell Mommy to put some diaper rash cream on it or something, that should help”

Day 2 of Strep Buttgate (9hrs later)
It’s 3AM and Fefe and I are both woken out of our sleep by horrendous cries and screams as our bedroom door opens
Ty: “Ahhhhhhh, Mommy, my butt is burning, I went to the bathroom and it’s burning, ahhhhhhh it hurts, ahhhhhhh”
Stage 3: ANGER
Me: “Ty, it can’t be that bad buddy, just stop crying and we can figure something out so that we can ALL get back to sleep”
Fefe: sensing my irritableness “Come on Ty, let’s go put a cold towel on it”
Ty: More screaming, more crying, more hollering
Fefe: “You think we should take him to the doctor?”
Me: “It’s probably just something he ate” Apparently denial doesn’t go away to easily. “If he still hurts in the morning then yeah, take him. But right now, less talking, more sleeping”

Listen folks, I’m not proud of the way I act when I’m sleep deprived. But I need my beauty rest and disturbing it can lead to very unfortunate consequences. I’m working on it, I swear.

Day 3 of Strep Buttgate
3hrs after the crying and screaming finally subsided and my stupid iPhone alarm begins going off
Stage 4: DEPRESSION!!!

Day 3 of Strep Buttgate (4hrs later)
My work phone rings, I groggily answer
Me: “Hello”
Fefe: “Just left the doctor, he thinks Ty has Strep Butt”
Me: “What? Strep Butt, what the hell is that?”
Fefe: “It’s like Strep Throat, but in your butt”
Me: “That’s CRAZY, how the hell do you get some freaking stuff like that?”
Fefe: “I don’t know, the doctor gave me some numbing cream to help with Ty’s pain and said we’ll have the results tomorrow to know if it’s Strep Butt or not”
Stage 5: THE UPWARD TURN

Shortly after stage 5 we had a brief moment of relapse back to stage 4. As soon as Ty took a sip of the Prune Juice that the doctor recommended, Depression was written all over his face.

Day 4 of Strep Buttgate
Fefe checks her voicemail to discover that the butt culture came back positive and Ty does in fact have Strep Butt. We get some antibiotics and are on our way to
Step 6: RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH

Day 14 of Strep Buttgate
Today Ty took his last does of antibiotics and has been off the “juice” for over a week now. He’s had no more pain and I haven’t woken up to a screaming child since day 3. I think this thing is behind us and we can finally move into the last stage of Strep Butt infections
Stage 7: ACCEPTANCE

Speaks For Itself

I write this post with great heartache and pain, I can feel the emotions running through my veins, into my fingers and on to my iPad keyboard; today is a sad sad day for our nation. I sit here in mourning as I imagine all of you are as well. We have lost an international entity, someone who has touched the hearts and souls of countless people during their short time on this earth.  An iconic figure has fallen today, a person of great stature and accomplishment is no longer with us and my heart goes out to those that knew this individual personally.  In case you haven’t tuned into the news today or read the headlines of your daily paper, I am of course talking about untimely death of “Jetson”, my moniker.  Today, I lay my nickname to rest, and say goodbye to an alter ego part of me that has served me well for many years.

With the death of Jetson, I am finally able to bring an end to a thirteen month stint of “riding dirty”.  For those of you not familiar with that term, it means that I was basically driving around with expired tags.  Yes, it may sound stupid to some of you, to ride around in constant fear of every patrol car that passes you by.  To constantly worry about parking at a meter for fear of being discovered and fined for having no registration.  But to me, these risks were totally acceptable, because the alternative was giving up my JET$ON license plate. My plate was truly all I had left of my former self; Jetson was a part of my life before Fefe and the kids came into it, and for some reason, I felt that I needed to hold on to it or risk losing who I truly was.  So after moving here, I kept my North Carolina plates and just crossed my fingers.

I know some of you may be thinking, “it’s just a name, why the hell would you go to such extremes?”. In order to understand the motivation behind holding onto the name Jetson for dear life, you must first become Jetson.  Folks, I think it’s time for a trip down memory lane.  Strap on your seatbelts because it’s going to be a bumpy ride.  As Jetson, I was a wild boy and I’m not so sure every can stomach the juicy glorious details of the exploits associated with such a character, so enter at your own risk.

I donned the name “Jetson” somewhere around 2002, back then I was literally like the gadget master, a new cell phone every 6 months to ensure I had the latest and greatest technology, several different ways to get in touch with me at any given moment, TVs in my car before TVs became the thing to do!  Uncle Carl and I even pioneered the entire FaceTime movement, like 10 years ago.  We were the first two people to own video phones for landlines!  It was the dumbest $400 that I’ve ever spent.  The fact that neither of us were ever home, combined with the fact that the technology just wasn’t that great means that we didn’t utilize our futuristic technology very often.  Which means we were a far cry away from living the life of the actual Jetsons.

That didn’t stop me though; at one point, I was rocking a batman-esque utility belt featuring not one, but two cell phones, a Timeport 2way pager and a pocket camcorder.  So one day while waiting to punch in at my totally awesome job as a cart-boy at Wegmans grocery store, one of my co-workers (are they even called co-workers in the grocery store industry?) saw my utility belt and made a comment that changed my life: “Dude, who do you think you are? George Jetson or something? I’m gonna start calling you Jetson, because you keep all the newest gadgets”.  From that moment on, I stuck with the Jetson nickname.

I even went as far as accessorizing the name and making it into an earring.  This was when Jetson went into overdrive, and really let his talents ring out.  The earring was phenomenal; because of its large size and pure gaudiness, I often used it as bait for unsuspecting women who I viewed purely as prey. Okay this is starting to sound a bit stalkerish & I’m starting to creep myself out. But out of sense of duty to my readers, I must continue.  Many times, the Jetson earring would catch the eye of a naïve girl at the bar and she would ask a harmless question: “what does your earring say?” and just like that, I had a bite and would begin reeling her in with lines similar to “It says Jetson baby, that’s what they call me because I’m so futuristic, why don’t you let me show you what the future is going to look like”. WOW, actually writing it out like that makes me realize that my previous assertion of my self image as a monumental playboy was totally off base, I honestly can’t believe that line worked for me, smh.

JETSON Lives Baby!!!!

The funny thing about being Jetson is that unlike most nicknames that are utilized by family and close friends, my nickname was used primarily by those that did not know me that well.  Which makes it strange that I wanted to hold onto it for so long.  I guess it was the fact that the time period of my life that I lived as Jetson was a time that I looked at myself as the muthafreakin man! And now I’m just a Dad and Husband who tries to keep up with the latest and greatest gadgets but falls short on nearly all accounts due to my continually growing amount of responsibilities.  But as I sit here and write this post, I realize that being Jetson, in no way, shape, or form can compare to the man that I have become since becoming a husband and father.  That realization only allows me to let go and be completely happy being “Keith”

Apparently my car wasn't ready to give up the name either. It seems to be etched in now

Friends Til The End

This past weekend, I witnessed something completely unbelievable, something that made me roll my eyes in disbelief more than just a couple times. It was amazing, it was scary, it was remarkable all at the same time. I honestly couldn’t believe what was unfolding right in front of me. Once I reveal what I witnessed to you guys, I totally expect to hear a universal gasp all throughout the interwebs. Okay, brace yourselves people, the moment is here; this past weekend, I saw with my own two eyes, a little boy that could hold his own in terms of spotlight time while Tre was in the room AT THE SAME TIME

Okay, give me a moment to explain; because I know that now that the breath is back in your lungs, you guys are have to be wondering who this super child is. Because as a faithful reader of DFB, you all know that Tre is definitely a force to be reckoned with. From the various posts here at our site, you guys all know that Tre is the life of the party. As a matter of fact, Tre IS the party; he refuses to play the background and allow others to outshine him. I don’t believe it’s an arrogance thing on his part, I just feel that it’s who he is and people are genuinely drawn to his personality. As you can see, given Tre’s indistinguishable personality, seeing another child displaying the exact same qualities was quite overwhelming. I didn’t think it was possible to see two totally upbeat, outgoing, and extremely intelligent 4 year old little boys in the same room was a mind bending experience.

As it turns out, this little boy (A-Boogie as we’ll call him), is Tre’s best friend. They hang out a few times a week and they just click, they are two firecrackers when they’re together. They are both in a Moms club that Fefe belongs too and have been hanging out regularly for quite some time. Unfortunately, I haven’t been too privy to these interactions as they typically take place during work hours. But this past weekend, was Daddy time and I took Tre to an event entitled “Let’s Get Buggy” and I heard through the grapevine that A-Boogie was going to be in attendance as well, so I was looking forward to the opportunity of seeing these two in action.

From the very beginning I could tell exactly why these two got along so well. A-Boogie saw Tre and felt it necessary to inform the entire room that “Tre, his best friend in the entire whole wide world was here to see some bugs”. Tre in return decided that pointing out how “completely, totally, awesome A-Boogie’s rain boots were” to several people as he ran over to give him a hug. All of this was before the class even started, once it did, things got even worse. These two were lighting it up from the 3-point line in rapid succession. Informing the instructor of random tidbits of information as she was attempting to convey important facts about bugs.

For instance, as the instructor pulled out a really huge looking spider and asked the kids if they knew what it was, A-Boogie quickly jumped in to crush the dreams of a fellow bystander who gleefully answered that it was a spider. A-Boogie nearly screams out “That’s definitely not a spider” with a time that exuded extreme confidence. When the little boy tried to defend his spider position, A-Boogie jumped in and quickly dropped the final blow: “wanna know how I know that’s definitely not a spider? Because it’s a tarantula,”. Now as faithful readers here, does that or does that not sound like a line straight out of Tre’s rhyme book?

Tre complemented A-Boogie’s outgoing personality well, boastfully informing the instructor and other kids that he collects ladybugs and that’s why he knows so much about them, that A-Boogie is his best friend, and that when you see roaches you have to kill them super fast. Talk about projecting an unwanted impression! Now I’m sitting here with 30 different people looking at me as if I’m training a 4 year old roach assassin. Of all bugs, why did it have to be roaches that Tre decided to raise a lynchmob against?

The dressed him as an ANT, why could't he announce that you NEED to kill ants?

These two carried on in this fashion for the duration of the class. Talking to each other, refusing to sit on the carpet unless they were right next to each other, giving out reckless BFF hugs, and disrupting the learning environment with a double dose of charm and charisma. No one seemed to mind, the other parents found the two of them humorous and enjoyable. But this was only a one hour class, I quiver when I think that there is a strong possibility that these two guys may end up in the same kindergarten class together. I’m currently generating handmade “I’m sorry” cards for their teacher just in case, because I already know that whoever that unfortunate teacher may be, retirement is sure to come early for him or her.

Can You Feel The Bromance???

Ultimately, I was extremely happy that I got to witness Tre interact with someone of his own caliper and see him engaged in a truly genuine friendship. Plus A-Boogie’s Dad was there as well and naturally since we both have totally awesome kids, it means that we both are totally awesome as well, so I think we’ll end up being good buds just like Tre and A-Boogie.

Happy Birthday!

My birthday was this past Sunday, yup, this year I got the distinct pleasure of celebrating my birthday on Easter.  This is a privilege that has been bestowed upon me only 2 times in my 29 years on this planet.  The last time that this occurred was in 2007 and it wasn’t that big of a deal at all. Actually, no one seemed to care too much.  I guess if this aligning of the stars and planets occurred when I was a kid, I probably would have been thrilled about my Birthday and Easter being on the same day; I mean gifts plus an Easter basket and Easter candy plus a birthday cake, what’s not to love right? However, as an adult, this coincidence didn’t have much of an effect on me.  My offspring on the other hand is a different story.  The fact that my birthday and Easter fell on the same day caused one of the largest controversies ever to affect our family.

Tre is now at an age where birthdays are kinda something like a big deal to him.  Hell, this year he was more excited about his birthday than he was for Christmas, which was a shocker.  So seeing as how he’s so into birthdays, Fefe decided to include both him and Ty in the planning activities.  The more they planned, the more questions he asked.  The more questions he asked, the more complicated things got.  The biggest mistake ever was informing the boys that my birthday fell on Easter this year.  They thought it was the coolest thing, they wanted me to have Easter bunnies on my cake, they wanted my birthday party to be a big Easter egg hunt, they wanted to buy Easter baskets for as my birthday gifts.  They were excited and rightfully so since they’re children.  But their excitement quickly turned to resentment and anger as my birthday drew closer.

Tre somehow got the bright idea that since my birthday was on Easter this year, that his birthday was going to be ON CHRISTMAS next year.  He was adamant in the fact that Santa would bring him birthday gifts and Christmas presents next year because he was going to “MOVE” his birthday to Christmas day just like I “MOVED” my birthday to Easter day.  Actually, his logic wasn’t too flawed for someone of his age and limited time/calendar understanding.  My birthday wasn’t on Easter last year, so I must have just decided to move it this year right?  This debate didn’t end well, it also didn’t end with Tre; it sparked a fire under Ty’s butt as well.  Ty then declared that his birthday will be on Halloween this year and that we would go trick or treating and get not only candy but birthday gifts from each house.  Before Fefe and I had a chance to deflate their little idea bubbles, they went on and on about the possibilities of having their birthdays on Christmas and Halloween, I saw it coming a mile away that this wasn’t going to end well.

I decided to let Fefe take the wheel and drive the truck of disappointment right into their little hearts.  It was my birthday afterall, why should I be the bad guy.  Using a calendar as backup and a visual aid, she explained that the holidays that are close to their birthdays are on a fixed “date” every year, but Easter is on a fixed “day” that’s why sometimes it falls on my birthday.  Ty accepted the fate that had been laid out to him, that his birthday would never fall on Halloween, Tre shaken by this news, but refusing to be defeated, would not let the idea die.  He began pulling out all type of irrational logic to support his claim that his birthday will definitely be on Christmas this year.  Examples: “My birthday is after Christmas, but this year Christmas is after my birthday, so they have to be together” *side eye #1*, “When Santa comes for Christmas, he can stay at our house until my birthday and have Christmas two times” *side eye #2*, “If my birthday is not on Christmas, then I will never have a birthday, that’s why I’m 4 years old” *side eye #3, 4, AND 5*.

Never fully admitting or accepting that his logic was flawed and inaccurate, Tre eventually let go of the Christmas/Birthday collabo and started focusing on my birthday plans again.  Although the eye of the storm has passed, I highly doubt it’s the last we hear of this situation.

I was planning to do a post describing how totally awesome my birthday was: the clubs, the drinks, the food, the MASSIVELY outrageous party, the vomit, the corkscrew attack to the neck, the downfall, but the FCC (Fefe Complaint Committee) censored me!  But you, the reader can fight this injustice and get all of the juicy details of this crazy weekend by banding together and expressing your anger with the censorship of the FCC.  Send all of your tweets of protest and outrage to: @nessalrobertson

Fight back people! 1 team, 1 dream! We can win the war!!!

Okay, okay, the FCC didn’t censor me, I was just too lazy to write another post and blaming Fefe and mobilizing you guys to demand change seemed a heck of a lot easier than just admitting fault, I’m sorry.

Man oh man has it been a rough few weeks for me.  Work has been kicking my ass, the kids’ activities have been kicking my ass, “Hank Hill’s” lawn has been kicking my ass, hell there’s even a Beaver living in our pond that has been kicking my ass as well.  Needless to say, it hurts to sit down!  So instead of sitting, I stand up and dance to some good music to wash all of my troubles away. 

Okay, okay, so me and dancing don’t necessarily go hand in hand, but Ty seems to think that he was built to be a dancing machine as you can see in the video above.  It’s been a rough week for me, so I thought YOU guys could probably use some cheering up (because obviously if my week is bad, then everyone else must be having a bad week also).  What better way to give yourself a boost than by watching a little 7 year old rhythmless boy try his best to grove to the music.  I hope you all enjoy! I’m definitely in a better mood after watching.

Oh yeah, the music that you hear in the background is courtesy of my good friend DJ Heavyness!!! When I’m having a rough time, I just put on one of his Heavycast mixes and let the skills of DJ Heavyness melo me out.  So if Ty’s dance didn’t boost your spirits, head on over to DJHeavyness.com and download one of his free podcasts. I’m sure it’ll do the trick.

Ty brought home is project and Fefe reviewed it before I got home. When I came home she quickly urged me to look over Ty’s schoolwork. I honestly wasn’t looking forward to this task immediately after coming home from work, but she made it seem as if this assignment needed immediately attention. The title of the assignment was “What Would You Do With $100?”, the students were to draw a picture & then write a few sentences detailing their lofty purchases. I reviewed Ty’s picture and failed to see the importance or hilarity in this assignment. The boy drew what appeared to be a pretty standard car. I thought to myself “Fefe needs to get her internal importance meter checked”. I mean what’s so spectacular about the boy wanting to buy a remote control car, or a bunch of Hot Wheels with his imaginary $100? Then I read his description of the purchase and her response all made sense.

The writing portion of Ty’s assignment went a little something like this: “If I had $100 I would buy a Lamborghini. It can go fast and I can buy rims and speakers that can go “boom boom”. I will paint it black”. Talk about delusions of grandeur! Really Ty? Really? The kids comprehension test scores are off the charts, so I know he didn’t misunderstand the assignment and potentially think the question asked what would you do with a personal genie as your indentured servant! This leads me to believe that the kid obviously has no concept of purchasing power. Hell, if $100 gets you not only a Lamborghini, but rims, speakers, and a custom paint job, then I must be extremely close to finally purchasing that space ship that I’ve had my eye on for quite some time.

This assignment was awesome and it truly put a smile on my face. As an adult, often times we get so wrapped up in bills, mortgages, car notes, etc. that we never take a moment to dream. Ty’s answer to his assignment (regardless of how delusional it was) gave me an opportunity to dream a little, and think about what I would do with an extra hundred dollars; both at my current age (now that I know the value of a dollar) and if I put myself in Ty’s shoes (where $100 is the equivalent of owning an oil refinery in Iraq.

So with an extra $100, (all bills paid) a grown up Keith would most likely buy….man, this is harder than I thought, $100 doesn’t go very far in the adult world, so it’s not like I can go buy that golf cart I’ve been eyeing, or the snow mobile that I can’t wait to get my hands on (did I mention that my Birthday is in 2weeks? Hint Hint). So with $100, I’d probably buy a new video game (I know, real grown up of me right?) and a bottle of Hennessy.

Now if I were asked this question back when I was 7 years old, my answer would undoubtedly have been to purchase every Ninja Turtle action figure ever made. Honestly, I think that goal may have been quite attainable, those things were only like $5 each back then. I know my answer isn’t as ambitious as Ty’s was, but hey, maybe that’s why I’m merely a lowly blogger and he may grow up to be the next Madoff skilled visionary.

So now it’s your turn: what would you do with an extra $100 today and what would you have done with it when you were 7 years old? Can’t wait to hear your responses.

The wife leaves me alone for one week and blood gets spilled!

So the fantasy is coming to an end, reality is setting in and my days as a free man are nearly over.  My family comes back in a few hours and that means I have to return to being a Dad, a Husband, a responsible member of society who contributes positively to the community.  But as I look back and reflect on the past seven days, the question arises: do I want to go back? Allow me to present to you, the married man’s version of “The Hangover” and then you tell me if you’d be so eager to return to a life of snot nosed kids and a ball and chain.

Last Monday, I drove my family to the airport, unloaded their bags, gave each of them a kiss, told them I would look for them in the skies and just like that they were gone and I was FREE!  I sent out the following Tweet:

             ”Just got home from dropping the wife & kids off at the airport.  I’m free for  7  whole days! Time to get this party started!!!!”

Which was met with complete and utter disbelief, I was heckled, ridiculed, it appeared that no one had any faith in my party boy persona.  Then came this response, from a fellow married guy:

               “Fellow Married Man Translation….Party = Ramen Noodles & PS3″

The other hecklers and jokesters I could take, but this guy, he was one of my own, we’re in the fraternity of married men together, if anyone would have my back, I’d expect it to be this guy.  He’s been married a bit longer than I have, so he was speaking from experience, but it still hurt all the same.  No one had faith in me, but I’d prove them all wrong! Without the responsibilities of a wife and kids, Keith turns into a regular party animal!

So I embarked on the quest of setting the bar on my first night, I was pumped, I was ready, it was my time to shine…I ended up lounging around in my boxers, playing video games, watching SportsCenter, and eating freaking Ramen Noodles.  Failure, smh, I totally fell into the stereotypes that had been laid out by my friends and family members.  I didn’t get down on myself, I mean it was only Monday right? I’d hit my stride as the week went on.

Later in the week another Tweet:

“On the deck chill in, grilling, & drinkin!!! Music blasting, feet up, just me & my dog, the good life”

And another reality check from the married guy:

“I tried that once and all I had was a bunch of meat without the wife to cook side dishes.  Good life without the mac and cheese”

I read the response as I was devouring my plate of grilled chicken breasts, burgers, and ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! His ability to decipher and rebuke my every glorification of the single life was uncanny.

The week went on and my stride well, umm, let’s just say I never hit it.  I tried, I really did.  I hit up a few Happy Hours, but fell way short of closing the bar.  What I did excel in though was being a complete slob.  Without Fefe here and the prospect of brining hot chics back home dwindling faster than ice on a hot summer day, I had no motivation to keep the house in prestige shape.  Fefe has all these rules, things like “put dirty dishes in the sink”, “put dirty clothes in the hamper”, “only one pair of shoes at the door at a time”, well seeing as how I was failing at becoming the next big socialite, I decided to excel at being a rebel! I broke all of her rules, and enjoyed doing it!

1 pair of shoes at the door my ass. I'M A REBEL!!!!

I continued my rebel behavior by stretching my legs and hitting the town! The weekend approached and I was a caged man unleashed. I hit up a sports bar with friends to catch some March Madness action,followed by a little clubbing (the ultimate bachelor activity).  Well I quickly determined that I clearly wasn’t the ultimate bachelor. I was in a club with black lights wearing the lintiest black shirt that anyone has ever laid eyes on; which meant I was sparkling like a VVS diamond.  Needless to say, this outing wasn’t my finest moment.  The next day, I got back on the horse and rode out once again.  It was St. Patty’s day and co-workers were making a day of it.  I headed back downtown around noon and started drinking immediately, it was a great time, but got old pretty quickly. Nine hours later, I was dying for someone to scream last call; that scream never came.

To top off my rebel lifestyle, I got into an altercation with MPD, yeah that’s right, the freaking cops and I tangled! What’s a rebel without a little trouble with the law?  Now we’re getting to the good stuff right? The trouble, I know you guys wanna hear more about it.  Well I got pulled over by 5-0 for having a headlight out.  The officer didn’t even give me a ticket, smh.  I’m completing thankful for the kindness the officer displayed, but hell, it doesn’t do a thing for my bad boy reputation.
After 7 days, I came to the realization that there’s no long term job security in the rebel department, so I spent my entire Sunday, cleaning up the mess I made all week.  As I reflect on my free time, I can truly say the grass isn’t greener on the other side!  I’m a Dad, I’m a Husband, it’s who I am, it’s what I’m good at, and I’m happy being that lame family guy, it’s a life I love and one that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

While I did get a bit “wild” this week, I did take some responsible actions.  I cleaned the entire house, installed new curtains, did some work on Fefe’s car, and kept all the pets alive.  Although I danced with the rebel, I didn’t go full rebel, you never go full rebel!

Oh yeah, about that picture at the beginning.  Aparently safety gets thrown out the window when you’re being a rebel!  That blood was caused by a drill!  Yes people, a freaking drill drew blood from me.  Sadly to say, the injury wasn’t very rebelish at all.  The drill wasn’t even plugged up, I freaking stubbed my toe on it while it was laying on the ground.  Smh.

It may look scary, but it really isn't too bad

It was just a little over a year ago that I sat in my cube at work contemplating how in the world I would convince her to say yes.  Hell, I hadn’t totally convinced myself to say yes, so convincing another individual was going to be a tough sell if I wasn’t even totally committed.  Yup, I’m talking about the move to Minnesota; next week marks the one-year mark since I made the trek up to the Twin Cities.  As I sit here now in the middle of March, on my deck, grill fired up, cold one in my hand as I type away; I can come to only one conclusion: Minnesota ain’t so tough! 

A year ago, I was petrified to tell Fefe that moving to Minnesota was a real possibility.  I felt that she may have thought I had gone clinically insane for more than a few reasons: 1) It was Minnesota, 2) It’s halfway across the country, 3) It was Minnesota, 4) It’d be cold as hell, 5) IT WAS FREAKING MINNESOTA!!!! I mean seriously, what kid wakes up one morning and says “you know what Mom, when I grow up, I wanna live in MINNESOTA!”  Noone does, that’s who!  So when I knew that the possibility was real, I cringed slightly at the thought of her response.

How would I tell her?  How could I butter this dismal idea up a bit?  What type of wizardry could I work up to make this option sound appealing?  Well I thought and I thought, and finally it came to me: my ace in the pocket, the Mall Of America!  Yup, that’d be my way in, what woman could resist the Mall Of freaking America, even if it was located in Minnesota? Game plan laid out, ace in my pocket, rebuttals prepared for her every response (It’s only winter 9 months out of the year sweetheart, Who needs to see the sun ALL year round anyway, that’s how skin cancer spreads, etc, etc) I went to her and broke the news.  To my surprise, she was all for it and didn’t even put up a fight.  At this point, I was the one thinking she had gone clinically insane, instead of the other way around.

So we packed our bags and headed westward; once we got here, all I could think was boy this was the biggest mistake ever.  I mean seriously, the day I left NC, it was 80 degrees and sunny, my flight was delayed because Minnesota had a huge snowstorm.  What the hell was I thinking?  Friends, coworkers, and neighbors didn’t make matters any better either.  It seemed as if every person Fefe spoke to had only one topic of discussion and that topic was WINTER. Smh, winter was so horrible, worst winter ever, hope you’re prepared for winter, get ready to hibernate, blah blah blah, it never ended.  By the time winter arrived, we were terrified and started collecting realtors business cards in our back pockets just in case.

Luckily, winter was extremely mild, when I say mild, I mean really mild!  I think it only snowed like 3 times, each time the snow only lasting about a week.  Temps only dropped into the negatives on one or two days.  We never got snowed in, and civilization as a whole continued on as usual.  All in all, our first winter here (Fefe & the kids first (real) winter ever) was totally decent.  I feel like our family came, we saw, and we conquered the great winter of Minnesota.  Now if we can keep the steak alive next year, we’ll be all good.

When it did snow, Fefe and the boys took full advantage.  Check out some photos from our wintertime adventures below:

Snowstorm??? Wait, you can still see the ground, that's called a dusting. Sorry kids

Fefe and the kids first (despicable) attempt at a snowman

After bringing in a ringer (ME), we finally have a real snowman

Would it be Minnesota without tubing???

King Of The Hill - The Last Hurrah