Thursday, December 16, 2010

The worst job in the world? or the best?

Some of my friends and family have heard my griping about my job lately. But I have to think, there are worse job descriptions out there:

  • I can move around, drive places, and I'm not sitting all day.
  • I don't manage a factory.
  • My job doesn't result in permanent weight gain.
  • I'm not old, working in a workforce of young people and trying to understand my employees.
  • I don't have to work on the day after Thanksgiving or Christmas.
  • I get to live in a great bustling metropolitan area, no relocation to somewhere less desirable required.
  • Although I work for Avis, I don't have to wear a red uniform as I don't work at the airport (I do not look good in red)
  • People pay me for my product.
  • I don't make my customers cry on a regular basis.
  • I don't have to listen to them whine about what they want constantly. (oh wait... maybe this is actually part of my job)

The job I have described above is that of Santa Claus. Yes, Kris Kringle has to maintain a thick waist, wear an outdated red suit, live in the arctic, manage a factory of little old people, and work on Christmas. All to give stuff away for free to a bunch of strangers, and spend the whole month of December making little kids cry or greedy kids demand toys. His car is a convertible in the coldest month (in the northern hemisphere at least), but at least it delivers minimal greenhouse emissions since it runs on magic and reindeer power.

Then again, he brings joy to good little girls and boys. He also gets tons of press, his face is splattered across greeting cards, billboards, and the t.v. He doesn't have pressure to go to the gym (in fact its discouraged). I'm pretty sure he doesn't have bills to pay and he never has to fight traffic. I imagine there is a great sense of job security as well. And vacation time in the worst months, January and February, would be a plus. Papparazzi always catch him on the beaches.

Plus his job includes phrases such as "Christmas Spirit" and "Seasons Greetings" and "the magic of Christmas". Not: "RFP" and "conference call" and "vulnerable accounts".

Maybe that does sound okay. I wonder if he's looking for an assistant?

Merry Christmas everyone!

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Oh Crap at Redhook again

Now that baby Maya is getting older, we are seeing a clear bond forming between the girls. Maya gets SO excited to see Tatum, and Tatum is turning into a loving, nurturing older sister. We are starting to see how little Maya is going to look up to Tatum, and as a result we need to make sure that Tatum is setting a good example.

Somehow, Maya has caught wind of things that Tatum did as a baby, and she sometimes seems like Tatum part deux. Sometimes that is a good thing, like when she sleeps through the night. Other times, not so much.

Lets flash back to three years ago. My old roommate Shannon, and her husband Chuckie, visited from Arizona. As it was a wonderful sunny Seattle day we took them on a tour of Redhook brewery and went to the PACKED patio for lunch. At the time, Shannon and Chuckie were pre-child. We had sweet baby Tatum in the baby bjorn. While we were enjoying a pitcher of Redhooks finest, I saw Tatum's little face turn bright red, her eyes squint shut, and a gurgling sound that only a parent can accurately diagnose. She then looked up at me and smiled a smile that said "ha ha, have fun with that. Boy do I feel better now!"

She had just done the equivalent to a guy sitting on the toilet on a Sunday morning, newspaper in hand, post-coffee, after having 6 or 7 beers the night before.

The interesting thing about babies is that they defy gravity. They poop on their own head. And as we figured out what Tatum had just done, I peeled open the baby bjorn to discover a mass of sludge to rival any swamp adjacent to a tire factory. Chuckie's face turned white, eyes like saucers. Shannon said in her usually cheerful voice "Oh that is definitely a right of passage as a parent, isn't it?". To the dismay of our fellow diners, (and due to lack of options), we stripped off her rotten banana covered onesie right on the picnic bench. I held her high in the air like Simba's stinky little lion and hosed her off in the bathroom. It was horrifying at the time, but a funny story.

Flash forward to last week. We are at Redhook, beautiful Seattle day, pitcher of ESB. Tatum is coloring and Maya is 5 months old, so we share the above story with out latest guest: John. John is Kenny's ex-roommate from Arizona. Single, no kids. No less than 10 minutes after we tell the story, I notice Maya smiling and smell a familiar scent. I pick her up, see the yellow smudge on her back and say "no way... its happened again". Strip. Bathroom. papertowels. Naked baby. horrified house guest.

What's next?

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

We are trying really hard to not completely ignore our Pets

Ahhhh, well I have fake teeth but they look pretty good. I had to give a presentation to 50 people and luckily didnt even need to explain that... yes, I am here to sell tools and also I hit myself in the mouth with a wrench. No one noticed, thanks to my awesome temporary teeth that I cant chew with.

In other news, I really love being a dad of girls. They are fun, cute and smart. Tatum is beginning to really impress us with her memory and subjective opinions on things like fashion, what we should do now and what our dog is thinking about. Tatum is just getting old enough to play fetch with Jackson, which is the extent of his exercise on mamy days.

I can say that we have not completely ignored our half black lab half golden retriever, he just got to run free and swim in the slew at the marymoor dog park, and then washed in the new little doggie wash station they have set up there. Tatum help me wash jackson and loved it, and I helped tatum not notice the dogs humping each other while we waiting in line for the Doggie tub.

Our cat has resorted to throwing up for attention which is just wonderful. My neighbor gave me some iams catfood that he is a salesmen for. This is a sort of low residue special sensitive cancer cat formula. We fed coconut that and she didn't like it but ate it anyways because she is part goat. He also gave me some samples of Iams Pate which I got an email from my aunt was recalled between certain dates because of not enough thiamine (which cats need to survive). I checked the dates, they were cans that were recalled. I fed my cat the food anyways. Its free catfood and it just lacked thiamine so we also mixed other stuff every other can. I am sure Coconut will live a happy low thiamine lifestyle for a month or two.

The dog and the cat now spend most of their time watching us walk back in forth to do something for the kids while the sit and wait for their half hour of attention that they get for the day... like a prisoner who gets a half hour in the yard. I have tried putting on animal planet for Jackson to stimulate his mind, but it mostly seems to stress him out that their is a wildebeast standing in his living room.

I can't wait until I have the girls feeding the pets as a choir and petting them for some attention. that way I can stop worrying if my pets are happy and just know that they are content... like me.

Feeling Human Again

Maya just celebrated her three month birthday. She is smiling, laughing, sitting in her Bumpo seat... you know, super advanced. And with her turning three months comes my return to work, and Crossfit.

My first week of work was very low key. I prepped my boss and co-workers that I'm "easing into work" and essentially let her know that if she wants me to come back to work in August, lay off sister. (Put more politically).

This week I spent time catching up with my co-workers and sifting through three months of email. The general message was "our jobs suck, we're polishing up our resumes, the pressure has gotten way worse, and we're all super stressed". Okay great. But I have a new attitude, as having a child re-directs your mental priority and I have the perspective that work is work and not life. I've sort of turned into the guy from "Office Space" after he was hypnotized. And maybe I'm just glad to have a few hours a day to "relax' at work and not deal with a whining three year old.

My first week back at Crossfit felt great too. I feel like I have muscle, a bit of stamina, and I feel generally less fragile. And as I have not worked out at Crossfit for 10 months, I am liberated of that competitive feeling of having a better time, doing more weight, or exceeding my own personal results from prior results. I just had a baby, baby. Its just great that I'm here, right?

Second week back to work, I've started talking to customers. Due to my "Office Space Hypnotism" state of mind, combined with my boss's "I'm too busy to micro-manage you... yet" state of mind, I've had some pretty good interactions. And after three months out, my numbers are the best on my team. As I talk to work contacts, its really interesting to see the three ways that people respond to me telling them I'm back from maternity leave. Here is the essence of the three consistent responses:

1. "I hope you had a fun leave of absence. Anyways, can you help me with this issue?". Yea it was super fun, I pushed out a baby, haven't slept and constantly leak milk. Thanks for dismissing the addition of a human to this planet thanks to me, I'd love to help you book a car at a low rate for your vacation.
2. "Oh you were on leave? What did you have? Name?" Okay, clear evidence that my boss forgot to send out an email about the birth of my baby (which she did admit to me).
3. "Congrats! I have four daughters myself (insert synopsis of their family tree, reminder that "it goes so fast", potential "just wait until they're teenagers" comment, and random advice). I find this one endearing, although redundant.

Second week back at Crossfit and I'm just happy to have control over my physicality and be the sole occupant of my body at this point. Its a place we work out and really, its good for me mentally.

The general message is that I feel human again. I am back doing something mentally stimulating, physically stimulating, and a routine is starting to form. More importantly, my attitude has adjusted. I can't put too much importance on petty things, and I am starting to have control of my time! Now if the baby could just start sleeping through the night on a consistent basis, we can really have some fun.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Jess is compelling me to post

Well, since she alluded to the story and since she basically started this blog for us to do together, I will oblige and tell you about my ill-fated Sunday...

I work in the construction/industrial supply industry, not that I am overwhelmingly handy with tools, but I sell them and have access to pretty cool stuff. One of the products that I ordered for myself is a Rust-Oleum anti-slip floor coating. I have a basketball halfcourt in the backyard replete with a key and a Seattle Supersonics logo painted on it (under the logo I used spray paint, also Rust-oleum, to write R.I.P. for our dearly departed Oklahoma Thunder). I am hosting a two-on-two Basketball tournament/BBQ in a couple weeks and wanted to paint the court with new surface for the following reasons:
1) It will keep you from slipping when it is wet and we do live in Seattle
2) it will look nice for the tournament
3) I wanted experience in applying one of the products that I sell (to make me a better salesman, but mainly #1 and #2)

This anti-slip paint is a heavy duty Industrial epoxy paint which means that I had to mix an Epoxy resin with the paint which has some grit in it. The mixing needed to be done with a Jiffler blade for 3 to 5 minutes (a mixing blade that attached to a 3 chuck drill). So I purchased the blade from "the Depot" and got ready to paint my court. I used Intertape PT14 masking tape (a line of tape that I represent) to mask off the key so I would not paint over the lines. and charged up the battery on my Bosch Cordless Drill/Driver (also a line I rep) to get ready to mix and apply the Epoxy paint. I am feeling good about getting experience with the products I sell and doing something I have never done before (painting with epoxy).

There was one problem, the Mixing blade has a three foot shaft on it and at the end of the shaft was a rubber tip used to hang on a display at Home Depot. Now this blade had probably sat on the shelf for a year and the rubber tip had basically fused to the end. I needed to get it off to put the blade into the drill. It would come off by hand, so I sprayed some WD-40 Blueworks Penetrant (another line that... I represent!) around the shaft to loosen it up. After a couple minutes of letting the Penetrant marinate on there, I tried again... the rubber tip didn't budge. So I got a pair of my LockJaw clapping Pliers (I don't need to say it do I) and clamped onto the rubber tip to pry it off.

I was sitting in a chair in my backyard, blade between my feet, and applied pressure to pull the rubber tip off. The penetrant I had applied before, caused the pliers to slip off the rubber tip and fly up smacking me right in the mouth. Here is the payoff to this longwinded tail (be warned, it ain't pretty):







I will tell you that I have Veneers on my front 6 teeth, so the damage is not as bad as it looks, but I did break my actual tooth under the veneers and needed a crown to be built. Thank you to Dr. Stacy Pacheco for doing the emergency dental work after coming home from eastern Washington on a week that she is on Vacation. Its going to be a long process to get my teeth fixed, I currently have temporary fake teeth on (they look like the real thing thanks to Dr. Pacheco). I have to wait for my gums to heal before we can take impressions for my new veneers. I have a presentation in front of 50 people on Thursday. I just hope my lips heals before then.

I am proud to report that after I did this, I picked up the same pair of pliers and finally got the rubber tip off . I mixed the epoxy and painted my basketball court with a mouth full of broken teeth. If you want to play in my tournament, it is at 1PM on August 14th. I will be the guy wearing a mouthguard just to play some backyard basketball.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Protected by Faeries

This past Sunday was an odd day. As a family we slept in, crawling out of bed between 9am and 10am. I finally went into Tatum's room close to 10am, where she was sprawled out on her bed and still recovering from her stomach flu two days before (another story).

After a morning of lethargy, Kenny decided to tackle the day. But first, he tackled his own mouth. With a wrench. I'll leave that up to him to describe.

Between Kenny's personal Fight Club morning and Tatum's lack of energy, I decided it was time to see if some fresh air could perk us up. I packed the girls in the car and headed to Rhododendron Park, a new favorite of ours.

When I pulled up I saw a man in a maroon silk ruffled shirt: odd attire for a Sunday afternoon at the park. I then saw a woman in a flowing skirt and cape get out of a Mini Cooper adorned with earth loving bumper stickers, including one that said "Protected by Faeries". I thought it was an odd choice of car (Mini) and bumper sticker (faeries) considering the woman was, at minimum, 300 pounds.

As I walked into the park I noticed that a sort of official gathering was being set up in the park shelter that typically hosts children's birthday parties and family picnics. However, the people flocking to the tables were not the normal women in khaki Capri's with cupcakes and a group of kids under age 5. Rather, it was an oddly dressed group complete with flowing capes, floral headpieces, and a number of men in Utilikilts. I parked Maya and I at the closest bench to the picnic shelter to (spy) piece together what was going on.

First: there was a greeter that asked everyone "are you here for the wedding" and had them sign into a guest book. A florist delivered flowers and a number of people brought dishes for what appeared to be the early formation of a pot luck reception.

Second: there were a number of lesbian couples, as well as straight couples. And, a number of children also dressed in the same medieval looking garb as their adult counterparts. It was like the renaissance festival without giant turkey legs and fake jousting. (I couldn't help but hope that their parents don't make them wear cloaks and head pieces to school, our young society just isn't hospitable of that kind of different).

Third: One woman stood out as a possible priestess or officiant of the wedding, as indicated by an intricate flowing cream colored cape, leather bound book and sword.

Finally: many of the men had swords (likely fake ones... I hope).

It was about the time that I began counting utilikilts and swords that I put together, based on my little knowledge of the topic, that this was a Wicken Wedding. As if that weren't entertaining, the photographer began taking pictures of the bride and...bride. A lesbian wicken wedding. Could the day get any better?

Tatum asked me to push her on the swings, which took me away from my listening post. However I was rewarded by a little pirate asking me where the bathrooms were. Yes, a pirate. I looked in the field and low and behold, a pirate birthday party. A dozen little boys with eye patches and swords. Where are the hidden cameras people? I'm used to Dora the Explorer and Thomas the Train parties in this park, and now we have a potential battle royale between the wickens and the pirates. Time to hunker down with the some popcorn.

Just as a woman walking by remarked that the forest was a perfect faery forest, Tatum asked to go home. The curiosity seeker in me wanted to force her to stay and watch the day unfold, but one look at her sad little face told me she needed a good nap. So we packed up the car (much to the delight of a wing-wearing woman in a Subaru Outback who needed a parking spot) and headed home to our toothless daddy.

Now I've done a little research on Wicca (On Wikeapedia... Ha!) and there is, in fact, a relationship between Wicca and Faeries. Wicca is a belief system that demonstrates a reverence for the Earth and her natural order. They study/worship the elements of nature, the seasons, and some circles believe in fairies, or faeries. So I did some research on faeries and found a wonderfully entertaining website called the Children of Faerie. I was particularly interested to learn the following about these creatures:

-Only certain people have faery sight (aka can see faeries). All cats have it. (aha... I'm seeing a correlation here between cat ladies and the belief system). If you want to know where they live in your house, follow your cat.
-Unicorns live in apple orchards.
-A circle of mushrooms is called a faery circle, a sure sign of faery activity. Or, a sign you ate some bad mushrooms which lead to "faery activity" if you ask me.
-Faeries are very fearful of anything made of iron.
-If you make a tea of marigolds and rub it on your eyelids, you may see faeries.
-Don't combine marigold tea eye-rubbing with a mushroom circle and an iron rod. That's called the deadly triangle and you'll see Satan. Okay I made that up, but come on. Its kind of funny.

Okay I'm starting to get paranoid that a faery is going to come replace Maya with a faery baby, which is a changeling. So on that: I love faeries! Especially faeries getting married in the park surrounded by skirted sword-wielding men and miniature pirates.

Good night Mother Earth. -Jess

Thursday, July 8, 2010

As heard by our neighbors

Contrary to what I have convinced myself, wood fencing does not act as a sound barrier. I tend to forget this, as do our house guests, and I wonder what sort of conversations our neighbors have listened in on. Although we have a large wonderful yard, I can hear my neighbors talk in the few times they venture out. We are outdoor people and spend a lot of time entertaining and just hanging out. Today, if you were our neighbor you would have delighted in the following.

Tatum: I'm nudies daddy!
Kenny: You are nudies! Do you like to be nudies? Should I be nudies too?
Tatum: yay! you be nudies TOO!
Kenny: Okay here goes my swimsuit! (pause) I'm nudies too!
Tatum: we're BOTH nudies! yaaaay!
Kenny: Its fun to be nudies on a hot day!

Now before you think my husband is a total creep, let me fill you in on some blanks that the neighbors couldn't see due to the wood fence.

Tatum was in the swimming pool and had stripped off her swimsuit as young children are apt to do on a super hot day. Kenny was playing with her swimming baby doll, and assigning his voice to the doll. He had actually taken the DOLL'S swimsuit off, not his own. Upon realizing the neighbors were out enjoying the weather, he exclaimed in a louder than normal voice:

"That's right! its fun for your baby doll to be nudie too on a hot day, so she took her swimsuit off! But daddy didn't. Daddy's swimsuit is still on, because daddies don't like to be nudies. That's silly!"

Oops. Granted, still mildly creepy to some that he decided the baby doll should be nudie, but consider this. He is a 33 year old man that until the last few months has never played with baby dolls. Cut him some slack, he's a dad of two girls and its a learning process. If he played with the doll in a manner that came naturally, he would have had the doll in some sort of MMA cage match with the Yo Gabba Gabba dolls, or he would have employed her baby to mow the lawn. So he's really doing his best here.

Later, as I sat out back enjoying a nice glass of pinot grigio, talking to my sister on the phone and snuggling a sleeping baby, Tatum opened the door and when I looked at her I said:

Me: "Tatum? Where are your pants? And what's on your legs?"
Tatum(at top volume): "Mommy, there's poop EVERYWHERE! I pooped mommy! I need you to wipe"

Lovely. I went inside to investigate and sure enough she pooped on the potty! Notice I said "on". Not in the hole that is designed for the poop to fall through. On the rim. Then she attempted, in her ever-growing independence, to clean up the poop with half a roll of toilet paper. This clogged the toilet at which time she felt it prudent to loop me into the situation. Enter mommy in time to clean up the toilet, unclog it, and shower her off.

And with that I ask: is ANYONE available to babysit? I need a date night.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Tiny Dancer

Yesterday as I sat in traffic with the theme song from the kids show "Olivia" running through my head (a song that repeats the same word over and over..."Olivia"...I mean how self absorbed can one kids show pig be? I can only figure she is some relative of Miss Piggy), when I decided it was time for some C89 music. This local radio station plays the kind of techno and house music that is reminiscent of my clubbin days in Scottsdale, and brings out a little friend I like to refer to as my Tiny Dancer.

Most of us have one. This is a piece of our imagination that allows us to think we are a spectacular dancer and choreographer. Most of us don't actually dance like our tiny dancer leads us to think we are. This is why bars and clubs don't put mirrors on the dance floor. If we saw that we are more Napolean Dynamite and less Justin Timberlake, we would politely retire to the tables flanking the dance floor and order up a round of shots to cope with the lack of actual coordination.

One time, at a dive bar in Flagstaff Arizona (they called themselves an afterhours club but it was more like a community center selling Red Bull), there was a row of portable mirrors placed on the dance floor for late night crazies like us. When met with the reality of what we looked like, we started to joke around by dancing "badly" and "dorkily", which came easy. We told ourselves and eachother that we were just being funny. What was really occurring is that our Tiny Dancer had run away screaming, since mirrors are like kryptonite to little TD.

Tiny dancers are fueled my loud music and alcohol. Like popeye and spinach, booze makes Tiny Dancer grow in size and seem more real. There have been times after enough chardonnay that I could actually see myself as a professional choreographer. No living room is too small for my tiny dancer, just close the shades. No, not to prevent the neighbors from seeing, but rather to prevent any mirror effect from the windows.

Yesterday as I drove to bookclub I let my tiny dancer hang out in my head. Small though he was she still offered some entertainment for a little while, and I wondered if everyone has a Tiny dancer.

Do you?

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

I'm just an Avatar wooing my flying thingy

Getting to know a new baby is a bit of an odd experience. You meet, and its like "hi, I am your parent. The plan is that we know eachother indefinitely. I will spend hundreds of thousands of dollars raising you, which you won't appreciate until sometime in your twenties, if even then. We will try not to screw you up too bad in the process".

Then a sort of one sided courtship begins. As a parent, I already love the wrinkly squirm buggy with my whole being. But she has a little "jury's still out on you" attitude that will no doubt fully manifest itself in the teen years. I drop everything for the baby. When she cries, I jump. 3am? No problem. Ruin my body for you? Worth every dimple. I would pull out a breast in aisle 8 of safeway if her adorable little tummy so desires. A baby will fart, crap, pee, and barf on you worse than the worst drunk booty call you can imagine and you'll still call the next day.

Meanwhile, this person you are getting to know will initially only want to sleep, then wake up famished and demand to suck on your boobs. Then while you do all the household chores, this person stares at you blankly before falling back asleep, or whining. This may sound disturbingly like other courtships from your past. But unlike an ex-boyfriend, a baby is trainable.

So what's with the Avatar title? At 3am, during a feeding, this analogy seemed totally sensical. My boobs are like the Avatar's braid thingy, and when I am nursing this little baby we are connected on a level unique to our relationship. We were once connected by umbilical cord and now I provide the food that sustains her. She knows my smell and my voice and its the sort of connection that forgives poop up the back, sleeplessness and stretch marks. In turn she forgives my morning breath and grumpiness. Its a very primal courtship and I feel lucky to experience it.

More later, I have to snuggle with my adorable little poo factory.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

facebook posts

It has been a while since I blogged. The primary reason for this is that I was on pregnancy bed rest for nearly two months, which didn't result in a lot of interesting material. My blogs would have outlined my transition between bed and couch and back again. Plus with my enormous belly, there was no "lap" for my laptop. But now I avow to make up for a large gap.

While confined to my blackberry I have wasted an increasing amount of time checking Facebook. I have begun to wonder if everyone's lives are as sunshiney as their status updates indicate, or if their updates are purely selected to portray that. And for those people that don't regularly let us know their daily goings on, are they having a rough time and just don't want to talk about it? I have laughed to myself that if I was totally forthcoming in my status updates, I would be defriended by about 60 percent of my Facebook "friends" and letting a bit too much information come forth.

Here are examples of typical status updates:

"Coffee on the patio and then baseball game with the kids and amazing husband! What a beautiful day!"

"Out with all my BFF's for wine and apps. Great evening with Lisa, Sarah and Marie!"

"Just tried a new recipe which cured my middle age acne, allowed me to run a half marathon in 90 minutes and the food actually washed the dishes when we were done. Thanks food network!"

"Just ran 10 miles while doing bicep curls, then cleaned my house and planted some flowers. All before 9am. Going to be a productive day!!!"

So, if I were to post HONESTLY in the past couple of months, here is what you would find.

"Took a bath to relax contractions. Too big for my tub, almost couldn't get out! Ha!"

"Finished all my laundry...three days ago. Still waiting for it to fold itself".

"Pushed a baby out of my va-jay-jay this morning. Think I will order some grilled cheese now"

"Bleeding nipples. Nuff said"

"I love my husband for being so helpful! My husband is a huge jerk. Ack! Lost control of my emotions! What day is it???"

"Breast fed three times and ate one meal and read 2 books to my three year old. All before 3pm! I think I will go put my contacts in and shower, going to be a productive....ah who am I kidding this day is shot."

"Sore crotch. Ice pack down there. Love percoset"


Hey: I'm just being honest.and don't get me wrong, I love my baby and she is awesome. I have no complaints. But for now, if I'm being honest, I think I will refrain from status updates on Facebook.

More later...

Saturday, January 30, 2010

WANTED: Cushy Job

So I am watching Keeping up with the Kardashians. Make fun, with one kid in bed and one in the oven my social life has taken somewhat of a nosedive. Its weird, I don't get invited to do anything. Ever.

So here is what I take from this. They have so much money, Kim Kardashian can make her own fragrance. Their jobs are to be famous. Bruce Jenner is on the show and he is famous because he was a decathelete who had a lot of pretty kids (and clearly a lot of pretty plastic surgery) and does public speaking or something.

I'm a realist, I realize I'm not a Kardashian. But lets rewind to the era of cushy jobs. Now cushy jobs are like Dodo birds or VHS tapes or phones that plug into the wall. We know they existed at one time, we have a memory of them, but our kids will have no clue they ever existed. I vote we bring them back (cushy jobs, not VHS. Who wants to be kind rewind?).

I am working too hard for too little right now. I am a slave to freakin' corporate travel. If I sign a deal for hundreds of thousands of dollars I get a HUUUUUGE...

high 5. That is not rewardable by money any longer, but it'll make up for business that has eroded away due to the economy and sure that I get to keep my job and maybe get a little bonus. Last year I even got an email from an upper manager saying "great work"!

Recently we have been shopping for a preschool for Tatum. As we both work full time, she will be in full time preschool. The pricetag on fulltime preschool is a little astonishing, but I'm not worried. I showed them the email from the manager telling me "good job" for signing $200K in new business. That should pay for $10K worth of schooling right?

I'm still waiting to hear back.

So if anyone has sighted one of these so called cushy jobs, I will pay a reward. I'd like to put in roughly 30-35 hours of good, quality work. I want to be able to flex my negotiation and business muscles in that time and be challenged, but I don't want to feel the need to work nights and weekends to stay afloat. I want big money for big deals. If I'm delivering, I want payment. And I don't want those big deals to be that hard to come by. Something that people need/want/are willing to spend money on, happily. I want big orders with smiles. I want a car allowance, expense report, flexibility, no micromanaging, and of course 6 figures. If sighted, please let me know.

Thank you.

Big Mouth and Big Boo boos

Oh from the mouth of babes as they say.

Today my lovely daughter told me that I had a big mouth. This is how she explains that I ate more in the same amount of time as her. She said "mama have big mouth. East faster. Tatie has little mouth."

Similarly, when I get her dressed she says "Tatie little boo boos" . "Mama have BIIIIIIIG boo boos".

If the conversation ever gets to our butts she will not be getting new tap shoes for her birthday.

Then I wonder how much her actions reflect what I do and how I parent.

When I arrived home today from lunch with friends, Tatum was on the stairs with her babydoll. Apparently, her baby fell down, so she wrapped the baby in a blankie and put her in Time Out on the stairs. I'm not sure that falling down has historically been a punishable offense in our house but something was interpretted as such. Hmmmm.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Letter to My Gym Owners

Happy Twenty Ten Sitting at Computer people! Here is what I have been doing(in the form of a letter to my Gym):
Hi Guys,
I just wanted to drop a quick email, to Thank You for helping improve my life over the past year
and to relay an example of how Crossfit has actually saved my ass (figuratively, not literally...unfortunately)!

It happened yesterday, I went Snowboarding at Crystal Mtn. for the first time in 5 or 6 years with a group of friends (including Jason Ingersoll). I have been boarding about 5 times total in my life. I am a novice. The guys I went with was a group of skiers and a few snowboarders who have done it regularly over the past few years.

I was concerned that I would:
A) Get stuck on the mountain and have to take my board off and walk down like a defeated guy who lacks enough coordination to figure it out
B) Hurt myself and have to be sledded down by Ski Patrol in one of those sledding canoe things
or
C) Suck so bad at it, that my friends ditch me (because they were sick of waiting for me to make it down the mountain) and I would end up boarding the Bunny Slopes all day by myself.

Well, I am proud to say none of that happened and although I did injure myself, the workouts I do at Crossfit saved me from a more serious injury.

Here is what did happen:
The first run, we took a chair up the mountain and then a second chair up to the summit. I was worried about going all the way up to the top without practice run, but surprisingly, I did just fine and the balance came back to me rather quickly. Don't get me wrong, I fell pretty hard a few times, but I truly could feel the strength and flexibility I have built in my Thighs and Calves at Crossfit helping me with balance and form. My Buddies were happily surprised that I was not holding them up.

Some of the guys were getting tired after a few long runs, but I felt like I could continue til close. The guys that were tired were ready to break for lunch and we had one last run down the mountain. We somehow got stuck on an icy cat track that went on forever (switching back and forth all the way down the mountain) and was treacherous for any snowboarder, but especially me using all new equipment and doing it for the first time in half a decade. The ice was so hard that it was like a hockey rink. I got going too fast and when I tried to slow down using my toe-side edge I began to veer towards the side of a cliff, so I tried to position my feet down hill and use my heel side edge to slow down, that is when I caught my heel side edge before I got my feet positioned and went hurtling though the air backwards and landed hard on my ass. The ice packed hard like concrete. It hurt so bad that I was and am pretty sure that I broke my tailbone (as trained rescuers do you guys know what it means when you hit your tailbone so hard that your sphincter spasms and it feels like you are shooting BB's out your penis? Yeah me neither, but thats what happened). After the fall, I was able to get back up and limp down the cat track which only got steeper and icier. I fell on my Tailbone two more times and felt like crying each time, but this is where I feel lucky to have been doing crossfit. on what would be my last run of the day (though I was not planning on it being the last), I fell hard a total of 10 to 12 times. Because I was desperately trying to protect my tailbone (which happened on the first fall), I was breaking my falls with my hands and came very close to breaking my wrist (and I mean seriously close as I broke my left wrist two years ago). I absolutely credit my training at Crossfit with saving me from a broken wrist. The Hang Cleans, Push Presses and other workouts that have helped rehab my wrist with extra strength and flexibility undoubtedly prevented at the very least a bad sprain.

Today, the last day of 2009, I am standing here (not sitting) writing this email to say Thank You Kirkland Crossfit! You saved my Ass, well nevermind, you save my wrist! Maybe to work on increasing the resiliency of our tailbones we add a workout where you do 100 wallballs with a 70 pound kettlebell under you (you know to build a tailbone callous).

Love you guys,
Kenny