Marathon Madness

Rrrrrright...like you're going to see ME run 26 miles for no particular reason.
This is a different kind of marathon.
This one involves completing a list of several 'honey do' projects, while the other 'honey' is in Virginia on business.
This can be a bit of a challenge, especially when you have a soon-to-be two-year-old daughter under your feet demanding Daddy's undivided attention.
So, I enlisted the help of my younger brother Heath, who, as a self-employed computer whiz, sets his own hours. 
He was only too happy to oblige after I assured him there would be no dirty demolition work like when we remodeled the one bathroom.
I don't think any amount of money would have enticed him back for a second round of that.
But with both of us working (OK, with him working and me helping only after getting Savannah off to bed), we did as much together as the remaining daylight would allow, and from Tuesday to the time Margie returned home Friday night, we had the grass mowed, hedges trimmed, two out-of-control rhododendron bushes tamed to some sembalance of order, a mini-patio laid for the fire pit, the Intex pool cleaned, an unwanted bathroom vanity in the basement cleared out, an erosion-worn gully near the driveway resodded and reseeded, weeds cleared from the side and back of the house, as well as the driveway, and two ceiling fans put up.
Margie was pleased, to say the least.  One thing I didn't want to do was spend our entire summer doing outdoor chores, since we have so few good weekends during the summer in western Pennsylvania to have fun with.  And I want to make the most of them.
The last thing I want to do in this life is forget how to kick back, relax, and enjoy life when I have the opportunity to do so.

TWO WEEKS FROM TODAY:  The Second Time Around

Summer Splashdown

Do you remember your first time?
I was maybe four.
It was hot.  And wet. 
And made of plastic.
My first experience in a swimming pool.
Oh, you thought I was talking about something else?  Shame on you.
My daughter's first time was ten months.
It was Memorial Day weekend, and my wife Margie had Savannah dressed in a little bathing suit with her hair done in a fountain ponytail as she splashed in her inflatable pool, having the time of her life.
I even took a movie of it.  All while doing so, I couldn't help but think about how fast she was going to outgrow this thing.  Should I invest now in something bigger?
But then I didn't have to.  Or so I thought.
My brother-in-law had two of those Intex Easy Set pools that he bought for his two young children.  Unsuccessful attempts to sell them online led to our subsequent ownership gratis. 
I was pretty psyched.  I gave one to my parents, who watch my nephew during the week over the summer.  Maybe they could use it.
Then came the first snap of warm weather, after it sat in the garage for about six months.  Time to put it up.
Let me tell you that no matter how level a portion of your yard looks, for some reason, it never is.
That's when you have to settle for 'as level as you can get it'.
After we got it level to our satisfaction, time to inflate it.
That's the fun part...when you find out just how many leaks there are in this thing and go through the process of trying to fix them.
Let me also say that even patch kits aren't fully capable of properly repairing an air leak in that top ring.
Oh...and did I mention the accessories?
You know, chemicals?  Little cheap pool, big price tag chlorine and other maintenance items to keep your little one's swimming water safe.
Then there's skimmers, a pool vacuum that works about as well as the latest Palestinian peace accord, oh...and little toys to keep my daughter amused until we drag her out kicking and screaming.
"NOOOOO!!!!!  I don't care if my lips ARE turning blue!!!"
But as she spends time splashing around, she's also working on her tan, which happens fairly easy for her since her mother and I are both dark-complected people. 
And learning to swim.  She likes to think she can, but only pushes herself to her threshold of comfort.  But she's undeterred.
And so am I. 
Even if she's not Donna DeVarona, she will succeed at anything she does. 
And I certainly enjoy watching her try.

NEXT WEEK:  Marathon Madness

Dancin' Across the USA

Who can forget that catchy little ditty Lindsey Buckingham sang in the closing credits of "National Lampoon's Vacation"?
This memorable cinema classic, which spawned several sequels, details the life of the Griswold family and every conceivable disaster that can go wrong on a family vacation...does. 
And the thing of it is, we've ALL been there.  Hopefully, not all of these crises happened at once.  Not every vacation has been debacle-free.
My mind still flashes back to September 2009, two months after our daughter Savannah was born.  You who have children can understand the sudden crying fits (of the baby, yours come later) where nothing seems to make the situation better.  There's things like finding the brand-new hotel that's so new, no GPS device has the ability to find it.  When you have a two-month-old baby who wanted fed an hour ago, never mind their diaper changed, four-letter words can be exchanged and even the most perfect marriage can be put to a severe test.
But it did get easier the following year...sorta.
This year, my wife and I are hoping for another easier trip, as we pack a portable DVD player to keep our daughter entertained during the six-hour trip to Detroit this summer, followed by another three hours to Houghton Lake. 
I've also resigned myself to the fact that my own sense of adventure is not shared by my family.  While I'm comfortable going to a different destination every couple of days, my wife and daughter prefer to stay in one place and focus on destinations that keep in-car time to a minimum.  Anywhere beyond that can be saved for another year.
And I'm OK with that. 
Most disasters happen on the road.  While I do intend to take the tribe cross-country in the Wagon Queen Family Truckster someday, it doesn't have to be today.
But the year will come where I'll feel the need to challenge myself.  Hopefully my wife will be able to talk me out of it.

NEXT WEEK:   Pool party

Smart Phones, Dumb Users

I think I revered technology a lot more when it was priced out of reach.
That way, only smart people who earned enough money were able to manage it properly.
Today, I see the most sophisticated technology being utilized by the least important people.
I'm pretty much on call 24 hours a day in my line of work.  However, do I have a bluetooth hanging out of my head or my iPhone 4 growing out of my ear?  Absolutely not. 
I'm one of the few people left that still has a landline phone.  Anyone who needs to get in touch with me can call that number first.  Then call the cell as a backup.
My iPhone was a gift from my wife, who bought it for me to use for work.  Because it can record audio and video, as well as take pictures and text, we're able to deduct a portion of its cost at tax time, since much of its use is for professional, rather than personal use. 
Outside of my profession, I wouldn't have much use for it.  Even I'm not 100 percent sure of its features.  Just this past week, one of my colleagues from KDKA-TV was in town for a news story big enough to invite the local TV stations.  She was trying to figure hers out, and I could only suggest, having no idea of how to deal with the problem myself.
Yet I see people who look like the Smart Phones they possess is probably the most valuable piece of personal property they own.  While at the store, I saw a guy in the parking lot chatting away on his own iPhone while behind the wheel of an early 90s model Ford Escort. 
Hey pal, how 'bout takin' that $650 you spent for the phone and buying a better set of wheels?
They're the same people who have bluetooths and other devices. 
However, common sense tells me not to rush to judgement.  With today's lax dress codes, the guy could be an eccentric software engineer pulling down half a million a year.
Nah.

NEXT WEEK:   Vacationland

Honey Don't

You've heard of the fabled "honey-do" list, right?  The imaginary (or written) list of home improvement chores a wife bestows upon her hubby to accomplish on the weekends?
For me personally, it didn't exist before we had our child.  We always were able to find the time.  Now having a small one that demands constant attention at this stage of her young life, we have to take the time as we can get it.
And it's not always when we're full of pep and energy.
This fatigue sometimes makes projects go awry...thus spawning the 'honey-don't" list.  Why don't we have more of these?
The 'honey-don't' list can be best described like this...if you remember the ABC sitcom "Home Improvement" at all during the 1990s, remember every mishap that Tim Allen had on the show and at home. 
"Honey, you're not qualified to re-wire the house...let's call someone.  I mean, your dad's a retired electrician, right?  Let's call him!"
Most men wouldn't heed a warning like this.  But growing up in the house of an electrician, even I know when I'm licked.
My latest project has been a patio pad in the backyard.  It was "finished" yesterday, or supposed to be anyway.  After seeing its lumps and dips underneath the patio stones, it became inevitably clear that I would have to borrow a tamping tool from my dad to finish it properly.
Fortunately, I have a very understanding wife who's patient enough in times like these.  She always understands when I bring up the point of saving money by taking up certain tasks on my own.
However, there will come the day where one of my around-the-house blunders will lead to a medical bill that will far exceed what we could have paid a professional to do the job right in the first place.
And we've all had them, right guys? 
Come on...'fess up!
Proof positive that we're the weaker sex. 
We won't give up on our right to exercise our male right to home improvement independence. 
Fire and personal injury be damned!

NEXT WEEK:  If it's a 'smart' phone...

Get on Board the Bus

"Bus!"
That's the voice of my daughter, who recently celebrated her 22nd month on this cherished planet, as she watches a tractor-trailer roll by.
"No, honey.  That's a tractor trailer.  A semi.  Can you say semi?"
"Bus!"
Then comes a school bus.
"Bus!"
"Yes, honey.  That is a bus."
Savannah is beginning to form words and some very small sentences.  However, she needs to get her vernacular straight if she's to make the fourth generation of motorheads in the family.
"Bus!"
"That's a van, Savannah."
"Van...van...van."
"There you go."
She knows words like "truck" and "car", and can use those correctly, but vehicles like box trucks, motorhomes, tractor-trailers, and coal trucks, she hasn't quite figured out yet.  Minivans are even a little tricky.
"Bus!"
Go with what you know, right kid?
Then on the way to go shopping one day, we passed the local school bus garage not far from our home.
"Bus!"
We pointed out how many there were parked at the garage.
She had the time of her life, so excited by the find. 
It gets me thinking that in another three years, she will be boarding one for the very first time as she goes to her very first day of school.
And my mind will flash back to those days when she was saying those one-word sentences...most of them "Bus!"
Will she cling to Daddy and not want to leave, or will she fly out of the house and through the door of the school bus?
Either way, I'll be thinking of one word.
"Bus!"

NEXT WEEK:  The Honey-do List

Four Generations

The week before last marked the arrival of my grandmother-in-law. 
"Nanny", as she's affectionately called by her grandkids (including my wife, who also is Nanny's namesake), arrived in Pennsylvania from Brandon, Florida on Thursday, May 5th. 
Nanny is no stranger to our locale, but this marked the first visit she would make to the new home my wife and I moved into Memorial Day weekend of 2009. 
Lots to be done, of course.  Cleaning the house thoroughly is one thing, and making sure the outside is free of weeds and other debris, of course.  But then came an even bigger project.
The bathroom.
Specifically, the bathroom I've called 'mine' since we've moved in.  Our house has two and a half baths, and one had been pretty much untouched since it was first built in 1966. 
Pink wallpaper, and pink and white tile.  My wife and I talked about eventually updating it, but with Nanny's visit coming up, she wanted it done sooner, rather than later.
And the clock was ticking.
We recruited my brother to do the demolition work to the concrete bunker that doubled as the shower, as well as remove the fixtures and assemble some of the new furniture.  We hired a drywall contractor to put up new drywall, the shower insert, and lay the new floor tiles. 
Margie and I took care of everything else, with my Dad buttoning up some minor plumbing and electrical issues.
The paint had barely dried when Nanny arrived. 
We did it.
Margie promised that she'd wait a few weeks before giving me another time-limited home improvement project.
My drywaller told me there's two things that women look at when buying a house...the bathrooms and the kitchen. 
That should give you a hint, he said.
He also said "A happy wife is a happy life".
Another hint.

NEXT WEEK:   The Magic Bus