IRISHMAN FOR HIRE

Moving is for mad men. You spend hours storing, packing, boxing and purging and once the move is complete, you spend hours trying to figure out what the chicken scratch on the side of each box actually means. It’s pure insanity.

On our third night in the new house, we just had to quit unpacking. We brought a heat wave with us and after two and a half days of temperatures in triple digits, a night off to relax in the pool was just what the doctor ordered.

Uncle Walt had been entertaining our kids so we could unpack and probably needed a night off as well. So Stephanie and I left a billion half empty boxes strewn around the house and walked up to the pool as sweat rolled down our faces. I wasted no time as I kicked off my shoes, threw my shirt into a vacant chair and jumped into the pool. As I came up for a breath of fresh air, my body temperature instantly dropped thirty degrees. It was invigorating.

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I could here the crack of the bat as I watched the ball whiz past third base; “foul!” On the next pitch, Josh rifled a single between the shortstop and the third baseman. His first at bat ever and he was on base with a single through the left side of the infield. I gave him the thumbs up sign while I was leaning against the chain link fence on the third base side of the field and he cracked a smile at me as he dug his foot into the dirt next to the bag.

Stephanie and Chloe joined us in the middle of the second inning. It was a sunny Mother’s Day morning but a frigid wind was whipping across the field. It sent chills up my spine but nothing would have kept us away from the field on Sunday. After all of the rain we have had, the first game of the season was finally upon us and Josh had a great game. I was proud of him.

When the game ended, we climbed into the car and quickly whisked Stephanie away to celebrate Mother’s Day. I held Stephanie’s hand while we walked through the Arnold Arboretum for Lilac Sunday. The wind had subsided and the sun was shining down as the fragrances of over four hundred types of Lilacs wafted through the air. I smiled as hundreds of strangers went about their day around us because I was content. I was exactly where I wanted to be with the people who matter the most in my life.

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As I fluttered my eyelids a few times while trying to wake up, I could hear my daughter had climbed into bed with us and was trying to be snuggly. I adjusted my eyes on the picture hanging on the wall, rubbed my right hand over my forehead and then through my hair as I rolled over to see my smiling four year-old staring at me.

“Good morning, Daddy!”

“Good morning, Chloe,” I mumbled as I stared exhaustedly at the ceiling. “What time is it?”

“6:45,” came a response from Stephanie who was still trying to pretend to be asleep on her side of the bed.

“Guess what, Chloe?”

“What?”

“I have a surprise for you today. Go see if you’re brother is awake.” And with that pronouncement, Chloe jumped off of the bed and ran into Josh’s room. As the door slammed full force against his bedroom wall with a loud thud, I turned to Stephanie and quipped, “Josh is up now.”

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“Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t it true that when a new President is elected, the First lady designs a new rug for the Oval office?” I asked Seth.

“I don’t know…” Walt replied.

“… I haven’t heard anything like that,” interjected Seth. “I know there was a big deal made about Laura Bush decorating a new rug a few years ago but I am not aware of there being any type of tradition regarding the rug.”

“It’s true,” came a voice from behind us. “Whenever a new President is elected, the First lady designs the rug for the Oval office. This rug is actually the rug designed by Laura Bush because Ms. Obama has not completed hers yet.”

As we turned around to see who was answering the question, we were staring right into the face of the Secret Service Agent stationed in this section of the West Wing. He was physically menacing. He was six feet six inches tall and was chiseled from head to toe. As he was talking to us, I couldn’t help but think that this guy could break me in half with his pinkie finger.

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Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear roars of jubilation, celebrations, singing and cheering?! Do you hear the frustration, the heartbreak, the disappointment and the angry outbursts?! Have you heard it lately? Well if you have, you are not alone; ‘Tis the season for the fantasy football playoffs! The time of the year that is filled with the “thrill of victory and the agony of defeat!”

Depending on the rules of the fantasy football league, the playoffs either started last Sunday or they kick off this weekend. It is the point in the season when an entire year of research, preparation and super fandom come down to one week, one match up and ultimately, one do or die situation. Win the game and continue towards a championship! Lose the game and end another year of one’s life dedicated to building the perfect fantasy football franchise.

I have been a New York Giants fan all of my life. I joined my first fantasy football league in 1987 and from that first season, I have been hooked on this extremely addictive game. But it wasn’t until the mid 1990s that fantasy football really started to grab the enthusiasm of the American public. And when ESPN created an entire gaming division around fantasy sports, fantasy football exploded onto the scene as the premier attraction for men, women and children of all ages!

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I used to play a game in college called “Bet the Bottle Cap.” It’s a simple game that is meant to be played in conjunction with Poker. Here is how you play: place a dollar in the side pot and then affix the bottle cap to your forehead. Once the cap is firmly in place, you cannot touch it. After every hand, if the bottle cap is still on your forehead, place another dollar in the side pot to continue the game. If the bottle cap falls off your head or if you touch the bottle cap, you lose. Last person with the bottle cap still on their head, wins the money.

Every once in awhile when I am watching a sporting event on television, I will open a beer bottle and affix the cap to my forehead to see how long it will stay. It isn’t under the same conditions as when I used to play “Bet the Bottle Cap” many years ago, but it makes me smile as I remember my old college days. It’s like a little trip down memory lane. The added bones these days is that every time I place a bottle cap on my forehead, my kids take the cap off my head and stick it to their own foreheads. Why is all of this important? Because it rained last Saturday!

Rainy days are an adventure in our house. We have two young children who are constantly underfoot and who vie for mine and Stephanie’s attention. We spend rainy days engaged in a multitude of activities and finding a few minutes in the day just for me is always a golden opportunity. It allows me to take a quick breather before “losing” again at games like Candy Land, Monopoly and Uno for the eighteenth time in a row.

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Stephanie and I slow danced and sang along with the band on Saturday night and as we did, I just let myself become immersed in the imagery of the lyric. In a throng of supporters underneath a sea of stars at the Comcast Center, Stephanie and I were dancing with each other while Darius Rucker sang “It Won’t Be Like This For Long” as though we were the only two people at the venue.

The soulful song about a Dad and his daughter enveloped my imagination as I swayed in time to the music. I smiled as I thought about him bringing his daughter home from the hospital and the sleepless nights that ensued as he adjusted to his new life as a parent. I empathized with him as he skipped four years ahead and recounted the fears and trepidations his daughter had around sleep and going to preschool. Vividly, I could see him shrugging his shoulders and asking the teacher for help as he tried to manage the ever changing world of his little princess. And as each chorus brought the reminders from his wife and the teacher not to worry because “it won’t be like this for long,” I could remember the reassurances Stephanie has given me along the way as well. “One day we’ll look back on this fondly and laugh,” she always reminds me and something tells me that one day, we will.

I was reveling in a moment of peace and tranquility with my wife. I was dancing under the stars and as the world seemed to fade away, the song took a new lyrical twist that jolted me out of my daydream:

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“Chloe, want to play Santa Claus?” I asked the other day as I was getting ready to shave.

“Yes!” Chloe responded as she ran to get her stool so she would have something to stand upon.

“Alright, I’ll meet you in there,” I said as I headed into the bathroom, took out my shaving stuff and started to run the hot water.

“Never mind, Dad,” she yelled at me as she waltzed past the bathroom a few minutes later and headed for the back door. “Josh and I are going to play in the backyard! See you later.”

The Santa Claus game started a couple of years ago when Chloe followed me into the bathroom one day and she watched me put shaving cream on my face. “You look like Santa Claus,” she said to me and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I had to agree with her. The shaving cream looked like the white, billowy beard of Father Christmas and before I knew what I was doing, I broke into my best impression of Saint Nick and had a conversation with Chloe as if I was the jolly old elf himself.

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Josh’s goldfish died a week ago. It wasn’t unexpected as “Goldie” had not been looking good lately. Josh was understandably upset and although he wanted to have a funeral for “Goldie,” he wasn’t ready to say goodbye because he was still processing his feelings. So we decided to have the talk about the good memories we have of “Goldie” and that seemed to help Josh and Chloe get through some of their grief.

This past Sunday afternoon, as I was sitting on the porch watching the kids play in the front yard, I thought about the conversation we had with the kids last summer after Grandma passed. We were sharing fond memories of the good times we had with Grandma when we started going around the room and asking, “What would you miss if I were gone?”

We talked about how we would miss Stephanie’s gardens as well as her arts and crafts projects. The world is Stephanie’s palette and her garden is an expression of her love and creativity. Her passion for art projects is an extension of that originality that allows her to share the world’s endless possibilities with the kids.

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Stephanie and I spent last Sunday night on the couch in front of the television. It was a chance for us to finally relax and decompress after a long weekend and as the evening was starting to get late, Stephanie said, “I’m going up to bed. Are you coming up?”

“Not right now. I’ll be up in a little bit,” I responded. “I am going to watch the end.”

“I had a lot of fun today, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me; it wasn’t what I had originally planned but what the heck? We went with the flow today and we had a lot of fun.”

“Well, it was a great day. Just what the doctor ordered but I am tired and need to get some sleep,” Stephanie said as she got up off the couch, gave me a kiss and headed upstairs to bed.

I continued to watch the show but my mind started to wander as I thought about the day we had just spent together. The kids and I started Mother’s Day off by making breakfast in bed for Stephanie. The children helped me make an omelet and coffee. Stephanie was awake when we delivered the food to her and while she ate, the kids inundated her with many, many cards that they had made for her.

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