CHRONICLES: "Cars", Food, and Chores

Lyss left town Thursday to go to a raver's reunion back in Denver. That's left Bart and Malcolm and me to fend for ourselves, and while it's probably a horrid thing to say, I've gotten a tremendous amount of stuff done since she's been gone. We ran to the dump this morning, as well as stopped off at the shop to email off some sticker designs to Denver. Then Bart left and went to do stage-work for First City Players, and I stayed home, did dishes, cleaned the front hall, took Mlcolm outside to check out a boat, and caught up with my friend Ryan. The plan for the evening is to get some grub, pick up a grll, maybe do some burgers and what not, and just enjoy a nice Alaskan evening. We got an invite to go to the Monthly Grind out in Saxman. That's a local variety show of sorts, and tonight's is hosted by our friends Jenn and Claire. Claire stopped by on her way in, looking a '60's-era fabulous. However, Bart and I have been looking forward to some down time. Malcolm took a short nap in the car earlier, so we're hopin he passes out early.

We supplimented our movie collection with the first "Cars" movie, a very refreshing change of animated pace. I got a little sick of the second one.

Phew.

All of this stuff going on, and I still feel very empowered knowing that I'm doing a pretty good job being a single dad for a week. In some ways, it's even a little easier than negotiating the typical marriage lines. Of course, in other ways, it's substancially more difficult.

But, we humans keep plugging away, yes?

CHRONICLES: Molars Ain't Molars Until They're Strep...

So Malcolm's alleged "molar" issues aren't those at all. After anoth night full of fits and bad sleeping for everyone (Lyss on the recliner with the boy, me on the couch at the ready), we took him to daycare. Jenn said he had an epic nap, sleeping from 9:30 to 1:30 this afternoon. Cat had said that this wasn't a nap as much as it was a temporary coma. When I picked him up after work, I noticed a rash. When I got home, Lyss insisted that we call the sawbones. After a detailed conversation of me answering yes/no questions, the conclusion was drawn that we take him to the emergency room. After a relatively short time with an awesome, knowledgable doctor with a tie-dye t-shirt and a very cool nurse with SpiderMan stickers, the diagnosis wasn't molars or an ear infection... it was Strep Throat! Apparently, his tonsils are swollen and white, and the rash and fever he's been devoping are side effects of his immune system cleaning house. Poor guy.

The positive note is that I'll get to spend my afternoon with him tomorrow, and I will probably get to watch twenty one hours of geeky movies (Star Wars and Lord of the Rings). Plus, the bittersweet side effect is the fact that the triedand tested theory of daddy being joy and mommy being comfort is starting to evolve... the comfort of daddy is becomming somewhat more prevalent (much to mommy's shagrin).

With a kid, every day is an adventure. My friend Ryan once told me that the Hebrews believe that a man isn't really a man until he's fathered a kid. Any male can do that, but I'm finding that really being involved with the process is as much a testament to that statement as pregnancy is to a degree. Women are typically cited with the brunt of the burdon, but this boy has taught me how much a dad can mean to a kid, and how much a man can grow as a result.

CHRONICLES: Wrath of the Molars

My weekend has been a challenge. I was going to use the word "epic" to describe said challenge, but that word, like the words "adventure", "awesome", and petty much any cuss word, has been overused, it's meaning nearly negated by such. There was once a time when a person would be upset enough to cuss, and that's when you knew they meant business. Now people cuss all of the time. Everything is awesome. Trips to the local burger joint are epic. A successful shopping trip is an adventure. What happens if someone's driving acrossa hot desert, breaks down, and has to walk and all they have is a half a gallon of water and an extra shirt? If a burger is epic, then this must be an experience only dwarfed, perhaps, by the book of Revelations as considered factual... but I'm getting way off topic.

My challenge has been a lot more personal. It's now seven minutes after midnight. I finally broke Malcolm's fever (again), but he's wide awake. We napped for a couple of hours earlier this evening, but we've been awake since 9:30.

I suppose if I'm going to claim my entire weekend as a challenge, I should start at Friday night. After work, we went to the Tucker household for our inagural "Friday Night Burger Night". Bart had mixed ground beef and ground buffalo, and Jeremiah grilled them ever-so-gently on a charcoal grill. I had some sharp cheddar and pepper jack melted onto mine. The burgers themselves were heavy, round, and juicy. Delicious. I placed mine on a slightly-steamed bun, pre-dressed with mayonaise, and topped it with three strips of bacon, lettuce, red onion slices, catsup (I'm going to try to bring this spelling back), and spicy brown mustard. It was almost identical to Bart's, but he had avacado slices on his, too.

To garnish my plate, I filled the little space not occupied by this burger with some Bush's baked beans and some classic Lay's bbq chips. To was it down, some sort of blueberry lager with an 8% alcohol volume. All in all, it was a fabulous meal. Not epic, as nobody died cooking it, but really, it was pretty damned tasty. Afterwards, we hung out, put Mal to sleep, and enjoyed some adult time.

Saturday was relatively non-eventful. Lyss went to work for a few hours. I had kicked around taking Mal into town to catch a glimpse of the first cruise ship of the year to arrive in Ketchikn, but he was in a pretty clingy mood, so I opted for some simple playing time outside with him. When Lyss got home from work, Bart and I went back over to the Tuckers, and we played a game of Risk. I mistakenly misread the rules, assuming that new packaging, game pieces, and setup rules meant a radically different method of play. Almost 2 hours into the game, puzzled, I reread the rules and discovered to my shagrin that I messed up. We went back to old-school style of playing, and Jeremiah, who had been amassing armies under the new rules (showing high adaptability, it must be noted), quickly routed Bart and Cat. I, the last holdout, was swept in the next turn.

At about 11:15 last night, we went home to a crying Malcolm and stressed out Lyss. After briefly discussing his fever, I gave him some ibuprofin and read Hop On Pop. He mellowed out quickly. I forgot to mention that he was up with me at 3:30 that morning. We fell asleep on the recliner around 1:30 this morning. We woke up again 3 hours later.

Today, I did some dishes, and then Steve and I helped Cannon move some furniture to his new apartment. Two truckloads up three flights of stairs and around the back of a house. Then I came home, and the rest of the story is the beginning of the blog.

The title lends itself to the fact that Mal's fever seems to be related to the molars he's cutting in the back of his mouth. I gave him some benadryl tonight, both to help with some of the hives he's had, an to (hopefully) help us both sleep a relatively full night. He just passed out about fifteen minutes ago. It's 12:30. I'm going to bed.

CHRONICLES: Keeping up with the Chaos

The chaos of being a father, husband, and brother is starting to turn itself into normalcy. I don't find myself bitter that I haven't had the appropriate amount of breaks or time for myself to do stuff like blog and journal. Instead, it's been an issue of simply plugging away at the things that need to be done. Cleaning. Eating. Bathing the kid. Filling the gas tank. The mundane stuff needs to be getting done, and I have the capacity to do it. I know I do. I had one hellish week last month where I did it all by myself, and I did it. It went just fine. So what is there to complain about? Everyone's as supportive as possible. The show on krbd continues to be successful, even if "Hurricane Irene" from Craig called about 30 times last night to tell me all about her experiences at the Hill Bar. But Malcolm is happy. Lyss is managing. Bart is staying busy. Life isn't really that bad. Work has kept me going at least 40 hours a week, and that's never bad for the pocketbook. If only I could shake this illness, then i'd be square. The illness is for chumps. The headcold is all but gone, but the cough makes my lungs burn until just before the next, brutal round of hacking. Mucinex, tussen, all of these are barely making the symptoms tolerable. I'll get through though. I'm a Schleicher. That's what we do.C

CHRONICLES: Observations of Childhood Dreams in the Making

The general mood of this Sourdough hasn't really changed much, although the quality of life hasn't decreased, and so, for that, I am thankful. The Easter celebrations were relatively benign. We went up to our friend Claire's, a remarkable young lady who owns a local salon. She's got a big yard at her place, and a bunch of the kids, inluding Malcolm, got to run around her yard and find all of ther plastic eggs. Malcolm did well for a few minutes, before he pulled a Speed Racer and started trying to figure out new and exciting ways to ride lawnmowers, calling them "cars" as they have wheels. I'm relatively certain that I'll have to invest in that kids future by making sure he has a go cart, a 4-wheeler, and a tool kit. He's two years old, and he knows more about what he wants from life than I do. He's got it all figured out. When he woke up the other morning, before he even opened his eyes, he said "Seatbelt? Seatbelt? Key? Key?..... Drive!" When we were in Colorado, and had the opportunity to go to the park every day, all he wanted to do was chase cars down the street.  What I wouldn't give for that sort of focus and, for lack of a better term, drive.

Simplicity. I'm envious.

A State of The Chronicles

I'd like to be able to share some big epiphany with you, but I haven't had one of those in months. I'd love to be able to tell a story of some neat and hard-to-get-to place I've been, but aside from a trip to Colorado to see the family, I haven't left the house in months. Except for work, which I love, even if it's a typical, young professional-type 8-5 job. I would be thrilled, tickled even, to believe that I'm a DJ on a hip radio show that everyone listens to, but the only callers I've ever had are a former co-worker and some weird guy in Metlakatla who's called to tell me about how beautiful the moon is and how people who don't read books won't be able to tell when the aliens get here. I want to write this from an off-the-grid cabin or a yurt, but I live in a townhouse with all of the ameneties. My travel funds pay the rent and the utilities, and they buy me clothes I don't need. Paycheck to paycheck. Crisis to crisis. My thirtieth birthday less than three months away. A son who has been gone for more than 6 years. Another one who scared me with a 103 degree fever Saturday and nearly seized when I gave him ice water. (Yes, he's just fine now, thank the Gods.)

Life comes at you fast. My brother, who's 19 years old, is here trying to figure his stuff out. He's me ten years ago, five years ago, and tomorrow, maybe five years from now.

But there's hope. There has to be hope. Why would we be put here if we all didn't contain within us some magical key to unlocking a new world, a place with joy and contentedness? They say we were made in God's image. That means that we all have the potential to be gods in a way, yet, through lack of courage, will, or happiness, we just sit on that. We can get to that stuff later. We can follow through tomorrow. I don't have to do that thing right now. I'd rather cuddle with my son on a recliner, watch the same movie I've seen umpteen times, and have another cupcake, another beer, and when he falls asleep, another cigarette.

There is hope, right? There is some bigger picture that I'm not getting? Some clue? Or maybe I've gotten it, and I just didn't understand what it was when it was holding me down and punching me in the face? I don't know. All I can say with any certainty is that there is always love, and despite the chaos and the unfulfilled dreams, there will always be love. I love my boys. I love my sons. I miss both of them every day, despite the fact that one is with me for at least 12 hours a day and the other is with us all, all the time, a heart-breaking and empowering truth. It's the kind of truth that kicks your ass and leaves you there on the ground, not even wanting to get up, except for when another truth gives you no choice. I find myself stepping up to be a good dad, clinging desperately to the idea of what a good husband is, maintaining with some sort of luck the good employee/son/brother image, and all the while having no clue what I'm really supposed to be doing.

While I look for a path or a sign or a direction to go, I know deep down that I have always had the controls, the power to take my life where I wish, and have been simply following an easy path this whole time.

I'm writing still only because I haven't come to any real conclusion. This is a classic instance of what a good friend once said was "writing a whole bunch but not really saying anything". Maybe that's a fact, but I suspect there's a truth and a definition of said truth within these words. The truth is always here, waiting for us to blow the dust off of it and actually use the damn thing. Am I really that blind?

Am I really that blind?

Nothing is certain. Perhaps I am digging too deeply for this blog entry. But he words just keep coming, and I feel compelled to write them down with my two very coordinated thumbs.

The truth is not a mystery. The things that we do to prevent ourselves from seeing it, those are the mystery. When it's simple, it's glorious, and it's the factual self, not the constructed self.

Put down the complexities and wrap yourself up in the simplicity, the honesty, the work, and the appreciation for the raindrops, the wind, the flowers, the trees, the horizon.... we do too good a job at holding on to all of this crap and then defining ouselves by it. It's time to stop.

It's time to stop.

It's time to really, honestly, and sincerely begin. As yourself. As myself. As souls. As spirits. As gods. As contributing members of society, loving members of a family, loyal friends to good people.

It's time.

CHRONICLES: Another Day, Another Dollar

Malcolm came home from the Tucker house today, and it was like he was fed speed! After a long and productive day at work, this kid has just been go, go, go! We've been hom now for a couple of hours, and he's been wired this whole time. My hope is that, after a little while, when he crashes, he crashes hard. But, as Jayne Cobb says, "...if wishes were horses, we'd all be eating steak." Fatherhood. Every day is an adventure.

Bart and I were very busy at work today, and for the forseeable future, it looks like. The summer tourist season has started early his year. In he span of a couple of weeks, the amount of work has doubled, and even hiring Bart, we're still barely breaking even on the workload. It's a good feeling to be worn out, though. It sure beats going to work and simply waiting for 5:00 to roll around.

We've put Star Wars on, and I'm sitting here pondering what may lie in our future. With any luck, this summer will bring lots of fishing, hiking, and whale watching.  Phew... it's been a year, and I still love Alaska.