Getting Salty

Shelly went to Walmart today for groceries.

It's the same thing every couple of weeks.

She goes by herself (because she swears it goes faster), comes home, we all help carry bags in, and she sets to putting groceries away by herself (again, faster...).

She used to take us with her.

I think somewhere along the way, between the kids asking for things they didn't need, bickering amongst themselves, and me walking so slow that I was always 20 paces behind - she decided it was just easier on the family if she didn't spare our feelings, and made it clear that grocery trips were a solo affair.

That being said, we put the things we want on the list, and she makes sure they make it home with her.

She truly does spoil us.

On that topic, while putting groceries away today - Shelly realized that her husband may in fact be a pickle-aholic.

Oh, she's known for some time that I love pickles. She buys them for me regularly, and has on more than one occasion caught me drinking the juice once the pickles are gone.





While I'm not as bad as Hannibal Buress, I'm pretty close.











Today, she counted - and our fridge has three different jars of pickled peppers, and six jars of different types of pickles.

A pickled something for every occasion.





We have hot banana peppers for sandwiches, mild banana peppers for salads, and jalapenos for pizza. We have Claussen spears and minis for my snacking, Vlasic minis for Jade's snacking (though I like those, too - so there are two jars), McClure's habanero spears for variety, and Vlasic slices for burgers.





Seriously, I can quit any time I want.

I just don't want to.

I've said multiple times before that food is my drug. Though, it's never been sweets that tempt me. It's sodium.

I crave it.

If they made one of those after school specials on addiction about me - there would at one point be a guy standing in a dark alley, wearing a trench coat lined with bouillon and soy sauce.

"Hey kid..."

____________________________________

Last night, Shelly and I were laying in bed discussing life and the challenges we weren't ready for that our thirties have presented us - and I commented on the fact that I don't like being 33 and on blood pressure medication.

I have a sometimes stressful job, and I'm *cough* pounds overweight... but the idea of being medicated this young bothers me.

Then 24 hours later, we counted out 9 bottles of pickled snacks in the refrigerator.

Correlation does not equal causation.


...but it's probably a factor.

____________________________________

This week has been pretty good.






Shelly and Jade both had eye doctor appointments where they each found out that they need glasses. Jade was much more excited at the prospect than Shelly was (another 30 something year old lamentation) - but both girls looked absolutely adorable in their new eyewear.

The day of Jade's eye appointment, I asked her to join me on my evening walk. I make a lap around the outside of our neighborhood that takes just at thirty minutes to complete.

As we left the house, she started telling me about what had happened at her optometrist appointment, and we were nearly home when she ended her story.

It was great.


I try and try to find things that Jade and I can do together. Personalty-wise, we are quite similar. We both like weird things and making other people feel uncomfortable. Hobby-wise though, we end up in different parts of the house more often than not. Having 30 minutes of her telling me about her day - completely uninterrupted - was perfect.

Being a step dad makes finding my position in the kids' lives a bit of a challenge sometimes. So, when they are eager for me to be there or eager for me to learn about them, it's exciting.


Towards the end of the walk, we passed a small drainage dip in one of the sidewalks that has bested Jade in the past.

Back when we all used to go on walks together, Jaxon and I jumped it in front of her, and no matter how much we coaxed or cheered - she was too scared to try.

This time, high on the excitement of new glasses and having a story to tell, she wasn't going home defeated.






This weekend, Shelly and I went to see the new Power Rangers movie.




The kids were with their dad, and I was the only one in the house who had at one point been into the tv show, so I dragged my wife along and we sat there with tons of other parents (who had their kids with them) - and as it turns out, actually enjoyed the movie quite a lot.

It was cheesy, but we knew that it would be going in.

What we didn't expect though, was that it had some really endearing characters. Who knew that a movie about teenagers turning into karate fighting super heroes would spend time actually letting the audience get to know and care about the kids on screen?




I think one thing I liked the most about it was that it had two non-traditional types of kids on the team (one somewhere on the autism spectrum, and one who was lgbt)  - and it didn't make a big deal out of the fact.

They were just there. On the team.

I liked that.


Last week, we went to see Beauty and the Beast, and after reading of all the boycots because one character was gay, I have to admit I was feeling a little disheartened. Having seen the movie, seeing what a small part of the movie this issue actually was, it made me frustrated to see how truly upset some people got over it.

Malaysia wanted to ban the movie as a country.

As a country.

Because one character was gay.

Because one character was gay - and save for the (literally) 2 seconds you see him dancing with a man after he dances with a woman, it would be pretty hard to tell.

I don't know. It just seems like there are far worse things to worry about.


As a straight, white male, I've not known many hardships. I honestly can't wrap my head around someone telling me that the way I looked at my wife disgusted them. Reading Leviticus tells me that throughout my daily routine, I sin PLENTY - honestly, I've eaten a lot of pig in my life -  but I've never been told I'm going to burn in hell because Shelly wanted to hold my hand walking into a store.


This blog isn't my soapbox, so I'll keep it brief - but suffice to say, it bummed me out.

I have lgbt friends and family, and it's sad to think that for the two seconds in a new movie that they got to feel represented - people took that much offense.












It reminded me of my cat, Turk. Hear me out.










The other day (see the Sushi blog), he was meowing at me yet again because I was cutting fish and he wanted a bite.

I looked down at his eager face and told him how spoiled he was as I handed him a small bit.


But, then it hit me. He was "spoiled" because he wanted a fraction of the entire part that I had divvied up for myself. 99% of his diet is brown rocks, and he was "spoiled" because he wanted a quarter inch piece of fish off of my heaping plate.


I found myself wondering if that's how gay people feel.

They see straight people talking about their spouses, kissing them in public, going to clubs, eating out at restaurants, as characters on popular shows... but then when they ask for a fraction of the same thing or try to show up and take part, people shout "Jesus, we get it. You're gay. Quit shoving it down our throats!"

It reminds me of the election. My facebook feed was filled with liberals and conservatives absolutely blasting each other. I've got good friends on both sides of the coin and I found myself wishing that they could both see past these lines in the sand - because they're all awesome people.

I think they'd get along on far more topics than they choose to fight about.



All that said, Turk is really spoiled. He's super fat.


... I never said I wasn't spoiled, too.

The rest of the week has been pretty uneventful.


We're still working our way through Iron Fist on Netlix, I'm trying to finish a book a coworker loaned me, and I spent part of Sunday prepping chicken taco soup for my lunches this week.


I found a one-pot recipe for it online, and when it was done, it REALLY reminded me of the chili-chicken soup my grandma made when I was a kid.



It's amazing how smells and tastes can take you back, isn't it? I tasted the first spoonful, and I was there again, eating a bowl of her soup in her old house.

I sure miss her.



Other than that, not much else to report.


Not this week, but next week I have something exciting coming up. I've been asked to take part in a podcast put on by We Are the Revelers. I'll have a lot to say after I've done that.

Apparently it's a couple that does podcasts where they have people on who talk about how they try to do their part to add enjoyment to the lives of others. They're connoisseurs of entertainment, and it's super cool/flattering that I get to be a part of that.

...It probably doesn't hurt that the wife's sister is a friend from work - but whatever, it's still awesome.


I'm going to talk about my books, possibly comics, and definitely about my crazy family .


It's going to be a good time.



That's all for this week, I think. Until next time.

March Madness

I'm not going to lie.

This is pretty much exactly how it went down.

Except, instead of guys at work - it was a random text from Michael, the husband of one of Shelly's friends. He wanted to know if we wanted in on a bracket competition.

...and that's what real guys do, right?

I had five bucks in my wallet, so I had Shelly text back that I was in.


And then I remembered that I know NOTHING about sports.


I drove over to their house to pick up the bracket and called Kevin on the way, explaining my situation. After he got done laughing at me, he agreed to help.

Then I called my friend Nate, because he knows sports too.


I got this idea that if I could take my two most sports savvy friends and compile their two brackets - I might actually have a shot at winning.

And, more importantly - I would look like I knew what the hell I was talking about.


So after they sent me their brackets, I set to work.

I looked at their picks and one by one made my choices, balancing out their decisions into what I figured was one super bracket.


I got back in my car with my now filled-out paper and headed back across town to drop off my lie.


Do you watch The Walking Dead?

If you don't, there was a scene during the first season where the survivors figured out if they could cover themselves in zombie guts and walk around slow enough - the zombies would be none the wiser.


In the show, everything goes fine - the humans are able to move amongst the herd undetected - until misfortune sets in, and it starts to rain.


This liar's bracket was my zombie guts.


I got out of my car, paper in hand and marched up the steps to Michael's house, ready to drop off my bracket - to continue the lie for one more day that I was a "normal" male who knew what he was doing when it came to "normal" male activities.


He let me in the house, we exchanged pleasantries, and I handed him my sheet - beaming.

Only, things in life are never that easy.

He informed me that he was asking everyone who entered to pick a final score for the championship game in case there was a tie.


The rain set in.

My camouflage was running.


I stared at my bracket making my best deep thought face as I panicked internally.

First, I couldn't remember if basketball scores came in even or odd numbers. Thankfully, I remembered that it could be both.

Then, I couldn't remember if basketball was like soccer - and that the really great teams don't often score on each other because their defense is so sound.


So, I decided to play the middle.

I wrote something along the lines of "41-39" under the winning team's name, handed my sheet back - and walked out to my car.



Later that evening I recounted my story to Shelly and Kevin...

...and sat through their laughter as they both explained to me how ridiculously low my final score was.



I don't know if I kept the illusion that I can fit in amongst typical guys alive or not.

...I don't really even know if the illusion exists to anyone other than me.


Truthfully, I think my biggest fear is that I'm a clumsy human hobbling around amongst a group of zombies, blissfully unaware that they all know I'm not like them.


 - and that they all feel so bad for the work that I'm putting in to my zombie act that they've agreed as a whole not to eat me.

Book shows, Balanced Meals, and Birthday Parties

In high school, I got my first job - working the video counter at Price Cutter, a small budget grocery store in Bartlesville. 

I started at $5.55 an hour - which, for me, was a lot of money at the time. 

I worked a few nights a week, and a weekend every once in a while. Before long, my paychecks became quite regular - $190 here, $200 there. It was amazing. 

However, I was always astounded to see how fast my money disappeared. 

Eventually, mom challenged me to start documenting how much money I was spending (and where I was spending it at), saying that the results would probably be quite surprising - as multiple "small" amounts quickly add up to pretty staggering numbers. 

And she was right. 

What I thought were small transactions, sure enough ended up taking the bulk of my paychecks - seven dollars at Blockbuster here, six fifty at the gas station there... 

My giant bank deposits (again, to sixteen year old me, whose only expenses were gas money and taking my girlfriend out on dates) quickly became near-overdraft fees in front of my eyes. 

It was depressing. 

Counting calories these last few weeks reminds me of that period of my life. 

...and I hate it.  

Seriously. 

I'm using Myfitnesspal every day to get a brief idea of how many calories I should eat in order to lose a moderate amount of weight over a minimal amount of time - and then numbers are quite disheartening. 

I start with what looks like this big, workable number (1700), but as I'm meal prepping and plotting out my daily intake, I end up nickel and diming myself into chubby tears. 

Rice in your lunch? Cha-ching. Chicken for dinner? Cha-ching. 

Those were cash register sounds, just FYI. 

Basically, I've established that I have a very toxic relationship with carbs. They sweet talk me into giving in, and then don't call the next day. 

However, I have really enjoyed my Sunday evening meal-preps. It's become somewhat of a meditation on the last evening of the week. I go to the kitchen, turn on my Blues Traveler pandora station, and cook, and grill, and weigh, and box - until I'm left with four tupperware containers of what I'm to eat at noon for the next week. 

Also, I'm using a lot of fresh veggies, and it's been pretty cool cooking with this much color. 

This last week, after I bounced back from the stomach flu, Jaxon and Jade had a literacy fair at their school. 

Basically, it was like a science fair - only, instead of science questions presented on big three-fold boards, it was facts about a book they had each read. They both made their boards, putting a fair amount of work into them, and we milled around the school, looking at them along with their classmates' boards. 

Jaxon chose one of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, and Jade chose a book about a time-traveling dog who went back in time to help two slave children. 

Basically a non-fiction. 

We were super proud of each kid though. 

Jade's presentation even had a popsicle stick boat for her little toy dog to sit in as a visual aid. I think it really sent the exhibit over the top, as the boat was so life-like that just looking at it, one couldn't help but imagine the sound of the raging rapids Ranger the dog and the two children careened down as they paddled their way to safety. 

10/10, a masterpiece. 

Ok, I made the boat for her. Check that thing out. Glued it myself, and everything.   

Other than that, we ended the week with a quiet weekend - where I spent a good chunk of Sunday finally sitting down to read The Five People You Meet In Heaven - a book I've been telling my mom I'd read for the past few years. 

I don't know why, but for some reason I've really fell out of the habit of reading. 

I love writing stories. I love drawing children's books. It's just, somewhere along the process (I think shortly after grad school), I fell out of love with sitting down to work on a book. 

I typically end up loving the ones I sit down to read. I just have a hard time getting myself to actually crack one open. 

Truthfully though, the book was as great as every recommendation I have heard. It you haven't read it, it's definitely worth the few hours it will take to finish it. It's the second Mitch Albom book I've read, and again, the second I've really enjoyed. He has a way with words that few authors do. He can tell a very thorough story in a very small amount of pages while still being highly descriptive. 

One of those authors who gives you an opportunity to evaluate how you're living with each story he writes. 

This week started out relatively quiet. We're all still reeling from daylight saving's time, and I'm doubly tired because I donated blood. 

Tonight, we went to the joined birthday party for a pair of twin brothers that we're really close to at a local Chinese restaurant.

Where, in addition to Chinese food - there was a Stranger Things cake AND a Skyrim cake. 

These guys have great taste. Literally. 

I've been trying to walk 5 days a week, the kids' grandma (Nene) is in town to visit, Jaxon got a haircut he hated at Walmart, and Jade hurt her foot while roller skating. 

All in all, another pretty business as usual week. 

Nothing flashy, but still time together. 

Stomach Bugs and Stellar Wives

Blegh. 

Being sick sucks.

This week started like any other.

I got out of bed Monday morning, showered, and headed to work. However, something felt... off.






An hour or so in, I figured out what was going on - I was getting the currently quite popular stomach bug - and I knew that I was going to need to go home in the very near future, or we were going to have a situation.

...Throw an extra 'h' into that last sentence for a crass, but applicable joke. You choose where.








Unfortunately, true to form like most Mondays, urgent care was already starting to back up.

Seriously... if you need to go to urgent care on a Monday, I hurt for you. Everybody and their dog (sometimes literally) goes to urgent care on Monday.

Thankfully, I have the world's best boss who told me that even though she was busy that day, she thought I should go home.

I made it home by 10:15, was in bed by 10:30 - and stayed there until the next morning.

Have you guys had this stomach bug yet? It took me OUT.

My stomach burned, I had a fever, I couldn't find the right temperature to be comfortable, and I was in and out of the bathroom.

At one point I googled "What does salmonella feel like?"

Then I googled "How do you get salmonella?"


I ended up staying home both Monday and Tuesday, though by the end of Tuesday I was out of bed and moving around like a human again.







That evening, Jade had her first dance recital so I pulled myself out of bed, showered off and went to watch. While it was short, she absolutely killed it.

They showed their families both ballet moves and jazz dance moves, and it was clear which Jade enjoyed more.





It was also interesting to now have a name for the type of dance that Jade has been doing in the front room when she puts on her "shows". Though, the one we saw in public might have been a tad less dramatic than her usual routines.


Like so many things in life, being sick this week has yet again reminded me how lucky I am.

What started with my boss sending me home early led to multiple family members and friends checking on me throughout the day (one even bringing snacks to the house), and my amazing wife caring for me - even though I'm sure I made her feel like she had three children.

Admittedly - this is a feeling Shelly is quite used to - though normally it's because I've done something stupid, not because I have an upset stomach.


It's just so nice to not only know that you're cared for - but to know that when you're out of commission, people notice. I'm so very fortunate to have the people in my life that I do, and I hope that none of them ever wonder about my appreciation.

Unsurprisingly this week, I've also been reminded (yet again) at how amazing my wife is.


It hit me earlier this week that this year, we will have been married for four years - and while that number may not be huge when compared to some marriages, it's been the happiest four years of my life. Without a doubt.






Shelly is absolutely my better half. She's my rock, my sounding board, my best friend (again, don't tell Kevin), and more often than not - my filter.

When I'm out for work or down while sick, she doesn't skip a beat. She's clearly the glue that keeps this family together/operating at full capacity - and she's the most humble person I've ever met.

... Though she wouldn't say that. Saying you're the "most humble" person has an oxymoron kind of feel to it.




I tell her daily how much I love her, how beautiful she is, and how my life is better for knowing her, but it never feels like enough.

I'm not a typical "guy" in the sense that I don't know anything about cars or home repair (unless it's something I can look up on youtube), but she makes me feel like the most manly husband in the world.

So, while I was sick this week - with nothing to do but lay in bed and reflect on what a lucky life I have - and daydream about what life-threatening illness I must have - I did for Shelly one of the few things I feel comfortable doing.

I wrote something for her.

While the words I use will never do a good enough job at conveying how much she means to me - I promise to keep saying them for as long as I can.

- Shelly -

Life is short and all too fleeting. 

Full of pain, but worth completing. 

Full of laughs, headaches, surprises, 

losses, wins, and compromises. 

Life is dirty, sticky, stinky – 

Often daunting, sometimes kinky. 

Life’s up and down and thin and thick. 

Couples argue. Kids get sick. 

Flowers wither. Houses crack. 

Achy knees and achy back.

Life's also beauty with you in it.

Every second, every minute. 

Blessings greater, hardships lighter. 

Laughter’s deeper. Hugs are tighter. 

See, you’re the tape and you’re the glue. 

My life’s together, ‘cause of you.

So, sorry if this week's blog took a sappy turn.  

I had a lot of free time to think, and a hot wife taking care of me while I did it. 

*Also, worth mentioning - While writing this blog, a package came in the mail. Speaking of awesome friends and family, my Aunt (or as she puts it - domestic step aunt in law) Cheri sent me Batman lunch bags. 

Seriously, how cool are these?

Weight Loss

This week, we started a new weight loss challenge AND a month-long step challenge at work.

So, I think that means the fun is over.

Admittedly, I signed up for each of these – as neither was mandatory – but, it was time.

Last year’s weight loss challenge helped me lose 25 pounds. I have since put 10 of those pounds back on. 

Thanks to stupid, delicious carbs (which are of course stupid, delicious, and stupid delicious).

I hate being someone who has dealt with weight issues his entire life. I was born with a slow metabolism and an affinity for sitting.

… also, I hate dieting.

To me, dieting is like being an adult, but playing by the same rules that kids have to. You’re told you can’t have something you want, and that makes you want it a thousand times more. 

I’ll be the first to admit that food is my drug. 

Seriously, if Buffalo wings were injectable, I’d have some pretty nasty track marks.

The thing is, as an adult though; you know that the thing being taken away isn’t good for you. 

As a kid, you just have to assume and hope that what the adults tell you isn’t worth having is actually something you don’t need. You don’t believe them, and want it even more, but you’re at the mercy of authority – and have to abide.

At 33, I’m well aware of calories, cholesterol, and trans fat.

I know they’re not good for me.

But, they’re like the bad boys at my school, and I’m the sweet, innocent blonde girl who thinks she can “change” them. 

It never ends well.

As a therapist, I know there’s safety in moderation. And honestly, I binge and give in far less than my joking would lead people to believe. It’s just, the idea of it still chafes me a little.

I think it’s the constant mindfulness.

When I’m on a diet, I feel like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. Daily life is a swirl of numbers and calculations as I mentally work out the calories in everything around me. I’ve been at it so long that I’m quite good at guessing the roundabout caloric value of most foods.

But that’s not good enough. When you’re on a diet, you have to be sure.

So I measure my foods. I weigh them. I count out and separate servings.

For instance: I had a chicken salad for dinner last night. I made it using a digital scale. God help me, I weighed croutons.

I felt like the world’s lamest drug dealer.

Candy is out. Alcohol is out. Pasta and bread have become shady friends I know better than to listen to. It’s a lonely walk, being on a diet.

Thankfully though, I have a wife who is going through the same thing. And friends, I have friends at work trekking (and bitching) right along with me.

I think honestly, I need to change my viewpoint on the thing. Counseling for this long has taught me that all thoughts lead to feelings. If your thinking is negative, then the resulting feeling will be, too.

Example: If I think “It’s unfair that I can’t eat an entire sleeve of thin mints out of the freezer while watching this 30 Rock episode…”, then the resulting feeling will be anger.

Well, rage. Rage, resentment, fury, frustration, disgust, hate, aggravation, irritation, disdain, displeasure, bitterness…

Sorry, I got carried away with the thesaurus.

But, if I change my initial thought to something more realistic, like “A couple of cookies is within my daily diet plan, and only eating two will leave me feeling both sated AND proud of myself for showing restraint…”

…nope, still rage.

Kidding.

The feeling will be a bit more comfortable, and in turn, will undoubtedly lead towards a healthier and more comfortable behavior.

That’s just the thing though, isn’t it? Food isn’t just food.

Food is sustenance, entertainment, comfort, and calming. Food shows up at weddings, funerals, birthday parties, game nights, movies, and dates. It’s a reward when you’ve done something right – and consolation when you didn’t. 

It’s as awesome as it is addicting. 

Unfortunately, it can also be dangerous.

Especially when you’re a chubby guy in your thirties with a family history of heart disease.

So yeah, we started a weight loss challenge AND a walking challenge this week. 

But, maybe the fun isn’t necessarily over…

...I just need to figure out how to spread it around a little more evenly.

Like butter.

On bread.

…Garlic bread.