The kids hate it, but every year we drag them to the doctor for a physical, and because they have relative free schedules, we always make the appointments over Christmas break. You can imagine how excited they get over the potential for immunizations right before Christmas. This year we delayed it until just before New Year's Eve, when the only one who might be inconvenienced by post-inoculation pain and malaise would be Alex. We're fair parents like that.

We dragged them out of bed early today, shoved them each toward a shower, then fed them, and amidst a plethora of complaining pushed them into the car and took them for the annual end-of-the-year exam and emotional torture. They've seen the same pediatrician since birth, and while they grumble the entire ride, once they're in the waiting room (the same place where Alex once dropped his pants to demonstrate that he was 'a big boy') they're fine and at least partially animated. They go in one at a time; I stay in the waiting room with the kids not being examined and Char goes in with the kid being poked at.

The waiting room was loaded with kids today, mostly hacking and wheezing kids with snot dripping down their faces. Alex sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, watching them with bareky contained repulsion, and I realized this kid was head and shoulders above most of the people in the room, parents included. He tolerated it because he had to be there, but he wasn't happy about it.

Kevin went in first, followed by Rachel; when it was Alex's turn, he asked Char if she would mind if I went back with him. She tried not to grin; she expected it and could hardly blame him for not wanting to strip down to his underwear in front of her. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of sitting there in his briefs with me in the room, either, but that was more tolerable.

But, we were both met with the unexpected; instead of turning left once through the door the nurse took us right, and settled us into the doctor's office instead of an exam room.

It's time, the doctor felt, for Alex to start seeing another physician instead. He was free to stay with the pediatric clinic if he was more comfortable, but the issues he would be facing in the next few years would possibly be better addressed by an adolescent pediatrician, or even the physician his mother and I see. His oldest patients tend to be under 12 (I gathered that after that parents transition their kids to their own doctors) and while he can treat Alex, there are things he may not do as well with (and left unsaid: Alex is 14 stuffed into the body of a 17-18 year old. He probably has more body hair than 10 of his typical patients combined.)

Alex opted to start seeing my doctor; we left there with an appointment for later in the day; once we were there I went to the exam room with him for about 15 minutes, After the doctor came in and introduced himself to Alex, I was invited (pushed) to go back to the waiting room.

Whatever they were going to discuss, I was not going to be a part of it. I was well aware that I could insist on staying, or speak with the doctor after the fact, but Alex made the move to a new doctor for a reason, and I can respect his privacy.

Not that I didn't ask him on the way home how it went.

Same old shit. Breathe deep, exhale. Touch your toes. Turn your head and freaking cough. Does he make you do that? I only had to do that on sports physical before.

He was assured that yes, I have to do that. And was relieved he's far too young to worry about a prostate exam.

Still. Today was another reminder that he's this much closer to being an adult. The kid who dropped his pants in the waiting room when he was two said goodbye to the doctor who hadn't intended to get that sort of response to his questions twelve years ago.

He's another inch taller. He's 6'1". He hit 165 pounds, and it's all muscle.

He needs a haircut, but I'm reticent to suggest it, because that thick moppet hair is about the only thing that suggests he's as young as he is.

This whole getting older thing kind of sucks.

Best part for all the kids: no shots this time.

Around seven years ago Alex wanted a K'Nex set for Christmas. Char was less than thrilled with the idea and kept trying to steer him towards other things, and finally decided that he had a wish list long enough that if he didn't get one, he'd still be happy and she wouldn't be faced with dozens of little toy pieces laying around the house.

Where she saw clutter, I saw construction; I also saw a six or seven year old me wanting Legos in a desperate way and not getting them because I was incapable of picking my stuff up and putting it away, and my mother was just as against those as Char was against the K'Nex set. So I did what any father would do.

I bought them anyway. Only I danced on her last nerve by getting him several sets (tape together so it was technically one gift) and wrapping them before she had a chance to protest. Her tight you did not do this and dammit there must be ten thousand pieces to this smile was tempered by Alex's Christmas morning excitement and she forgave me, though I was farily certain I was not getting what I really wanted for Christmas later that night.

He was good about picking the pieces up when he was done playing and we rarely had to really get on him about it. There were the odd times when we'd step on something in the middle of the night (she could fume; I was not allowed to complain) but nine times out of ten he either left what he'd built connected and in his room, or he deconstructed it and put things away.

Kevin coveted those K'nex toys. He never asked for any of his own (which was good because I was never able to replicate the sets I originally purchased) but occassionally pestered Alex to pull one or two boxes out and let him play with them. I never saw Alex let Kevin have them outright for even an hour; they always built things together, but it was no secret that Kevin wanted those badly.

This afternoon, after we returned from Brad's house (painting is done, thank God) Kevin asked Alex to help him reach toys on his closet shelf, and for a moment I thought Alex was going to refuse. He was tired, he wanted to take a shower, and he was going to be late walking over to Stephanie's if he didn't start getting ready.

He peeled himself off the sofa and told Kevin he had something better for him to play with, as long as he swore to keep the pieces picked up, because if he didn't, Mom would throw them out. He disappeared into his room for a minute, and when he came out he was carrying most of the boxes of his old K'nex sets and told Kevin he'd get the rest in a few minutes.

You're never allowed to give these away. Someday our kids are going to play with them.

For Christmas we gave Kevin a drum set (I know, what were we thinking), an art set he's wanted for nearly a year, and reservations for a dance camp. Yet I don't think anything meant as much to him as getting those toys from Alex.

I also don't think Alex realizes what he did for his little brother. He dumped everything in Kevin's room, took his shower, yelled at Kevin to get out of his way once or twice, and then left for Stephanie's house. Kevin spent the rest of the afternoon in his room and had to be practically dragged out for dinner. He finally put everthing away half an hour before bedtime and came out to get a snack; we sat at the table with him and listened to him jabber on about Alex this and Alex that, until Alex actually came home.

There are worse heroes Kevin could have, as long as he avoids the lure or the ink.

Holiday lessons learned:

• People do not accept the explanation Ummm...Santa must have thought I had a cold when they find out you got menthol cough drops in your stocking.
  
• There is no explanation for the cough drops that you can give your oldest son, nor your father-in-law, that sounds believeable.
  
• When there are ten other people in the house, you are not alone with your wife even when you think you are alone.
  
• Next time, wear looser sweatpants.
  
• My father-in-law can actually sputter.
  
• The right gift can make my wife cry.
  
• World of Warcraft costs money every month, not just for the software itself.
  
• Waddling pregnant women still make me laugh.
  
• I really should have told Nika that Stoner can open the refrigerator, and meat left on the lowest shelf is fair game.
  
• Half a ham split between two dogs makes for a very Merry Christmas for them.
  
• Happiness is a surprise new template from an old friend.
  

In years past, the house would be quiet at this time of night; the kids typically headed for bed soon after coming home from Christmas Eve Mass, while Char and I settled in the living room to wait for them to be definitely asleep. In our own Rockwell moments, we curled up on the sofa, mugs of hot chocolate in hand, bathed in the lights of the Christmas tree. It was the time we considered to be our Christmas with each other: just being there together in the quiet, no expectations beyond hushed conversation, and while we always discussed the kids and their excitement over the holidays, it was also the time when we took stock of everything we had to be grateful for. And without exception, the thing we have always been most grateful for is each other.

Foolishly I expected the same from this year. We went to an early evening Mass and when we got home the kids rushed toward the kitchen to make cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate, and when everything was ready they invited us to join them at the table. I presumed the conversation would be centered around what they hoped for tomorrow, but I was off the mark by a long shot.

They were certainly talking about Christmas Day, but what they were most excited about was that their grandfather would there when they got up in the morning, with Nika and Peter in tow. Erin and Miko would follow, and they couldn't wait to see how Travis would react to his first Christmas and whether or not Toni would squeal in that high pitched way little girls can.

They sat through the consumption of nearly two dozen cinnamon rolls (hollow teenage legs) and Char made more hot chocolate, and eventually I tried to herd them off toward their bedrooms.

Go to bed so Santa can come.

I was answered with laughter; I could not possibly be serious. Didn't Kevin admit already that he's got the whole Santa thing figured out?

All right. Go to bed so that Santa can, too.

More laughter, and spirited jabs at my age and need to go to bed before sundown.

I just wanted to spend some time alone with my wife.

Char didn't seem to be in any hurry for them to go to bed, and it hit me when the board games came out that this is just the next step in our familial evolution. We can still be wrapped up in each other in the moment and take stock of everything we have to be grateful for. Everything that matters was right there in front of us.

Right now Alex is playing Scrabble with Kevin and Rachel is helping Char get some of the food ready for tomorrow. I'm in the corner (where I belong, according to Rach) watching them all. This is something I could get used to as a new holiday tradition, for however long it lasts.

After the kids have grown and moved away, Char and I can pick up where we left off, on the sofa with each other, wondering how we got so damned lucky. I doubt I'll ever have the answer for that, but I don't think I'll ever shake the feeling of deep gratitude that of all the men she could have chosen, she chose me. And the thankfulness that goes with her still being here.

To all who followed along my agony right after her accident, I thank you for all those prayers and good thoughts, because that surely helped me have exactly what I have tonight. And for those who found this blog after she began to recover, thanks for sticking around.

I hope for all of you to have even half of what I have, because if you get that, you will be rich beyond measure.

Merry Christmas!

My father in law's house is not huge; I'd estimate it to be about 1500 square feet of uncomplicated space. The kitchen is connected to the living room and the floorplan is absent a family room, which suits him well enough. He bought it following a lengthy visit here, when he decided he wanted to live near his daughter and grandkids; he was goaded into it a bit by my father, who really only wanted a playmate, someone to hang around the bar with. That was over a dozen years ago and he's never done much with the house. He had plans, but never got around to anything, until now. We needed a way to drive home a point to Alex, and Brad had an instant helper getting the house painted and getting the carpet ripped up.

The problem with this is that Alex is enjoying the work far too much; he wasn't terribly enthused with taping the rooms off prior to paint, but he hasn't minded at all the coats of primer followed by a plethora of color (I'm sorry, but Brad has horrible taste in color, and when we're done it's going to look like Revlon jerked off in there and unloaded on the walls.) We're 90% done and Alex shows no signs of slowing down, and is asking questions about how to install the wood floor that's next on the agenda.

While he and Brad are painting, I've been in another room pulling down drywall; Brad wants the wall moved back 5 feet to expand the master bedroom. It will effectively turn one of the other bedrooms into a walk in closet and seriously impede the resale value of the house but he seems certain he's going to die in this house, and then it will be Char and Nika's problem.

Part of the time I've been sitting on the floor, making notes about the things we need to do before we actually tear down the structure of the wall and relocate the electrical; I don't think Alex realizes I can hear them talking from the other room, and I haven't told him. I rarely get to hear him in those unguarded moments, when he's not putting up those walls that all boys do around their fathers. I've been catching snippets of conversations about girls (they have this in common: they're both dating and can't figure out the women they're with) and hearing the questions Alex has that I am not (in his mind) equipped to answer. After all, I know nothing about women, having hatched from a rock at the age of 22, whereupon I immediately married the first female I laid eyes on, and then ten years later pulled another one out of a cracker jack box.

Alex has been vaguely aware that his grandfather has had a few girlfriends over the years; he's been shielded from the sheer volume out of common sense, but there have been times when Brad has has one foot into a relationship and allowed the kids to meet the women. Multiple women equates Grandpa knows.

I've heard a few surprising things (apparently my son has an appointment to lose his virginity on his 16th birthday; good luck with that, son) and some non-news (women are frustrating) but the thing that had me rooted into place, before Alex shared his 16th birthday plans with Brad, was when he began fishing around for definitive advice on birth control.

Exactly how does one use a condom? When does it go on? Pre-lubed or not? Do they come in sizes, or what?

I stayed rooted into place, very quiet and eavesdropping, because I knew what Brad did not: Alex has been armed with the answers to every question he asked for a very long time. While he and I clash more often than we should, we have always been able to talk about this, and any time he's had a question, I've answered it. When it comes to sex, he's asked the same thing more than once, in varying degrees of interest. Early on, it was curiosity; as he's gotten older, it's preparation.

Alex was not asking his grandfather for information on condoms; he was trying to make the old man squirm, and it worked. I rarely hear Brad speechless; he can bullshit his way through anything. But he had no idea what to say to his grandson or if it was something he should even address.

He sputtered. He let Alex go on and on and sputtered while he tried to think of what to say, and in the end only managed, "Just keep it in your pants, son."

When I finally got up and went in there, Alex was damn near laughing his ass off and asked "You can tell me. How does a condom work, Dad?"

How the hell should I know? I've tried one once. And it got stuck. It was this glow in the dark...

Brad put his paintbrush down, grabbed his keys, and said he'd be back in half an hour with lunch.

It's his own fault for not painting when Alex was 4 or 5, I think.

Alex understands why we are so unbelievably annoyed with him right now, but he doesn't regret what he did, and he's not exactly repentant about it. His take, seemingly, is that in this case it was better to ask forgiveness than permission; he knew that not only would we say no to even the idea of a tattoo, but that getting one isn't exactly legal at his age. He also was well aware that he could pull off acting older long enough to get it, but he didn't consider the consequences of his actions, so far as the artist was concerned.

If we decided to make a huge issue of it, we could have the guy shut down. If we sued, we would likely win. None of that is on our agenda; Ian dragged Alex down there at noon today to get the tattoo artist's side of the story, and the guy was, Ian says, completely horrified, embarrassed, apologetic, and contrite at what had happened. He never once blamed Alex and accepted it all himself; there's nothing that can be done, though, because whether we like it or not, Alex has a nice red cross embedded in his skin for the rest of his life. He did pull his records to see if Alex had written down an ID number, and he did: his school ID card number. At least he did not try to pass off a fake ID, something we were minutely concerned about.

Even though there's nothing we can do about the actual tattoo short of expensive laser removal that would likely leave a scar (which we won't do; let him live with it, good or bad. There will be reactions from other important adults in his life soon enough) we can't just let this slide by. Alex is a wonderful kid, he's usually mature and thinks things through, but in some things he tends to view himself as an adult and with it comes a sense of entitlement he hasn't yet earned. That bothers both Ian and I, but more than that, we're bothered by the complete disregard for a rule he was very well aware of, and the decption employed to get the tattoo and keep it from us.

My father's house has been badly in need of interior painting since he bought it, but he's never had the time, and the idea of doing it all was a bit overwhelming. He has also wanted to pull up all the carpet and lay down wood floors; for the next couple of weeks, while Alex is on Christmas break, he now has a set of much younger muscles to do all the grunt work. It was the only reasonable thing we could think of; just grounding him wouldn't have an impact, and we're hoping that if he spends what he had hoped was going to be a carefree three weeks working harder than he ever has, he'll understand just how much this bothers us.

The only problem with it is that he's also liable to enjoy the work and the time spent with my dad (and his own; it looks like Ian is going to help since my Dad wants to move a wall.) It may not be the work he does for his grandfather as much as getting to his other obligations that will drive the point home; he still has to help Rachel and Kevin with their TKD (he promised, and this does not absolve him of that) and because he is not technically grounded, he has to find time to pay some attention to his girlfriend, and he has responsibilities in his own home.

If, in the end, he thinks it was all worth it, we'll embrace the tattoo. But he's going to have to suffer for it for a while; those adult decisions he thinks he's entitled to have adult consequences.

He will get Christmas Eve and Christmas day off. We're awful, horrible parents, but we're not mean.

Alex is intelligent. This isn't simple parental bias: Alex's intelligence is quantifiable and has propelled him to do things sooner than other kids his age. He spoke early, he walked early, he potty-trained very early. He was encouraged to skip grades from second grade onward, but resisted until junior high. He understand things I cannot begin to comprehend, and he has the ability to speak about those things on a level that astounds adults who share his intelligence, and he can translate most of those things into simple English that the rest of us can understand.

We take Alex's intelligence for granted; the boy is smart, he understands logic and rules, and even if he disagrees with those rules, for the most part he doesn't give us a hard time about them

So I am having a particularly difficult time understanding how someone whose intelligence has been described as "scary smart" can so something so utterly, profoundly stupid, and then believe that he could hide it from his parents for the rest of his teen years.

Alex, fourteen year old Alex, got a tattoo.

While I have serious issues with the artist who did this, I have bigger issues with my son. I know (and Alex knows) that he doesn't look fourteen; he can easily pass for seventeen, and if he hasn't shaved, he looks older.

Two weeks ago on Friday he was running late and didn't shave before school; I got a call from the office to bring him a razor, but it was already after lunch and I politely declined. One afternoon of stubble was not going to bring the school to its knees. Saturday morning he didn't bother shaving; he had plans to go shopping with a couple of friends, and his girlfriend thinks it's cute when he has stubble.

By Saturday afternoon, he obviously felt like he could pass for old enough.

Today, two weeks later, I walked into the bathroom after he had showered and found a container of Tattoo Goo on the counter. It did not register at first; after all, Char and I both have ink and have used it. It didn't occur to me for nearly an hour that that last time either of us needed tattoo ointment was last May.

My fury erupted with my realization; I'm not proud of it, but I totally lost my shit over this. I've never spanked any of the kids, I've never thought of hitting them; I don't grab, shove, push or pull them. But this afternoon I barged into my oldest son's room and pulled him off his bed by the front of his shirt and told him to take it off, or I would.

On the back of his left shoulder is a nearly healed red cross. If he were eighteen, I'd have absolutely no issues with this, but he's only fourteen. He knows better than this and he had to know how I would react.

His response to why?

You'd just say no.

No shit, Sherlock.

I have no idea what we'll do from here, other than making him cancel his date for tonight. Yes, I'll be having an up close and personal discussion with the person who did the tattoo, but there lies less blame there than with Alex.

Really, how in the hell did he think he could hide it for the next four years?

The dance school Kevin attends had their Winter Recital last night; it was not holiday themed, but rather a simple chance for each of the students to present something to their families. Kevin was not expecting to perform in it, given teh short amount of time he's been taking lessons there, but he learned that every student was expected to do something, either in a group or solo.

Since he migrated from ballet to performance dance, he was caught in the middle; the students he joined had already planned out what they were doing, and the ballet students he'd been with could have included him, but it would have been obvious that he'd been an add on. He didn't want to perform solo, so three older students volunteered to dance with him, as long as he came up with a concept, the music, and a basic idea of how the choreography would go. Where he could not think of more advanced dance routines, they would help.

Kevin is a bt of a ham, and he had his TKD to fall back on; adding to his excitement was that these older students (two girls and a 13 year old boy) had been dancing from 4-6 years old and had real skills. He wanted to incorporate some of the jumping skills from TKD into the dance, and they would have no issues doing them.

Watching him perform last night only confirmed for us that he made the right decision to back off TKD and explore dance. He created a dance number that had costumes that looked like they were fron "Cats" and they performed to the Stray Cats "Stray Cat Strut." It was funny and colorful, and Kevin held his own with the older students; I honestly don't think anyone who didn't know him would guess that he's a raw beginner in this school.

Over Christmas break he and Alex and Rachel plan on spending a significant chunk of time training for their upcoming black belt tests, but after the test Kevin wants to take a break from it and concentrate on dance as well as drums, and he's expressed an interest in voice lessons.

How could I possibly say no? The kid has real talent and deserves to see how deep he wants to get into it. The TKD he did for me; he loves it and loved doing it, but in the beginning it was because I required it of my kids. It has to be his turn now.

When Alex and Rachel were still practically babies, Char and I decided to head off potential child-oriented holiday greed by limiting how many gifts they would receive from us. We explained to them each year that the baby Jesus received gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh, so we would give each of them three gifts. Because it was all they knew, they accepted it without challenge.

Granted, Santa always brought a couple of presents, and there was no curbing the grandparents, but there was also no petitioning the grandparents for specific things. The lesson we hoped to drill home with them was gratitude for what you get and graciousness if it frankly sucked.

Living out in the sticks helped. By the time the kids were back in school after Christmas break (nothing PC here; they're in a parochial school, and it's definitely Chistmas break) and with such an extended break from friends there wasn't a lot of comparing holiday loot.

This year, the kids and their friends are talking. The concensus from their friends seemed to be that our kids are royally ripped off; the concensus with our kids is that their friends are somewhat spoiled and have expectations that are unrealistically high.

This is a good thing, I think, as long as they keep a condescending attitude out of it. They're all old enough to understand our logic (and we have explained why we settled on what we did) and they're all old enough to get as big a thrill out of giving as they are getting.

And now that they all understand Santa, they also understand we were never as rigid in the three gifts rule as they supposed. Still, they are not expecting anything more than three gifts each this year, but "if Santa wants to fill our stockings, that's cool."

The traditions we started 14 years ago have begun to fade already; Santa aside, even more than last year the kids are missing my dad right now. They don't miss his gift-giving generosity; they miss what little shit he could be. My dad never gave them gifts outright; he gave them hints and sent them on a wild hunt around the house--sometimes two houses--to find what he was giving them. They miss his nearly-evil laughter and how much fun he had tormenting them.

Truth be told, I miss it, too.

I wasn't done learning from him.

Even so, as much as we miss him, we're all looking forward to this Christmas. The house is going to be overflowing with family, and it hasn't escaped any of us that this year had the potential to be worse than last; the kids are determined to celebrate the fact that their mother is still here, and that she's now about 85% healed up.

While I will miss my dad's manical laughter, he would kick my ass if I didn't embrace this Christmas as something special.

Now if only my wife would give me a farking hint what she wants this year. Besides me.

Once we moved into the new dojang space, parents began asking about the resumption of Saturday classes. There are too many things going on after school during the week right now with school holiday concerts and programs, and Christmas shopping, that many of them wanted to be able to shift one of their kids weekday classes to Saturday. We had over 35 requests, so today we scheduled two classes: a beginner/intermediate class at 10 a.m. and an advanced class at 11:30.

Two students showed up for the beginner class; Damien (who is actually working hard on personal accountability and responsibility, perhaps because his parents confiscated his car keys and license until he gets his shit together) and a new adult student (who was obviously terrified at the lack of other students to hide behind and the possibility of so much one on one attention.)

In the advanced class: Alex, Rachel, Kevin, and a brand new brown belt who was over the top excited about the amount of instruction he was going to get. Alex worked with Kevin and Rachel, helping them hone the forms they need to test for black belt, and I focused on Ram... that's his nickname, obviously; he earned it in the first few weeks of training that involved contact, when his primary self defense technique was to ram his head into the stomach of his attacker. He's small for his age (he and Kevin are close in age and physical size) and he just went with what he thought would work. The other kids started calling him Ram--which to him was a badge of honor--and it stuck.

Initially, I was annoyed at the turnout this morning. So many parents begged for us to have classes on Saturdays, at least through the holidays, yet they couldn't be bothered to show up. My annoyance was tempered by the reminder from my better half that we would have been at the dojang either way, since the kids wanted to work on their forms; we have black belt testing slated for the middle of January, and Kevin and Rachel have made it their goal to be ready by then. Alex is eligible to test for his 2nd degree but isn't sure he'll be ready by then (he will be; he's harder on himself than anyone else could be) but he's working on it to keep his options open.

In the end, it was nice to have the time to focus on just those few students; there's a lot to be said for small class sizes. It was good for Damien to be in a class alone with an adult female student; he worked over time on how he spoke to her (I lost count of the number of times "ma'am" came out of his mouth) and he was eager to help her learn her form. It also gave me a better idea of how to work with him: most of the time that kid is full of shit and tries too hard to be the big guy, but without anyone else around he's friendly and helpful, and I was amazed at the respect he knows how to display. That gives me something to tap into.

Ram is a fun kid to teach. He soaks everything up like a sponge, and the sweat equity he's putting in on learning is just fun for him. He doesn't complain about the fifth set of pushups or the burn of lunges; he just does them so that he can get to the real class. He loves learning new forms and accepts critique so well that it doesn't feel like teaching.

All in all, it's a shame we can't give that kind of individual attention to each and every student.

We've only been in the new dojang for a couple of weeks, but we're already looking at having to cancel half the classes through the end of the year. This is Tk's school now, but TK took his ex up on an invitation to spend three weeks with his kids. Yes, he would be an idiot to pass it up, but it would have been nice to have this information before we moved and altered the class schedule, and I changed my life to revolve around my own kids' activities and not the dojang's.

Char can't take up TK's slack; Alex can teach a few of the beginner classes, but I still have to be there. Fortunately, Char is driving now and can get Kevin to dance classes and can take Stephanie home when her dad gets off work.

That in itself should be interesting: Stephanie and Damien in the same dojang.

If I sound irritated at all, it's because there's a part of me that thinks TK isn't coming back. Or if he does, he'll be bringing the ex back with him, and frankly, I have no kind words for her yet; she was Char's best friend, but I doubt Char would even look at her twice.

Yes, getting way ahead of ourselves here. It's what I do.

Akex figured out the whole Santa thing when he was three years old. Rather than relate the whole tale, I would direct you to something Thump wrote several years ago (and thanks for digging up the link for me, Thumps.) He was very good about never spoiling the whole thing for Rachel, and later Kevin, but on a parental plane, not having that with him was something we later realized we missed.

Now Kevin has admitted that he's figured it out, too, but he won't spoil it for Toni and Travis--and he now understands why Alex saves money fanatically all through the year, only to spend it all in one giant shopping trip after which he comes home empty handed.

He wants to go with Alex this year; he's got exactly $16.45 in his piggy bank, but he wants to spend it all on a toy and then donate the it (Dad will sneak him a little extra cash, but he won't know that until we get to the store.) Alex's only reservation in Kevin tagging alog was whether or not it would bother me: this is something he and I have done together for the last 11 years and he wasn't sure if I would resent it if he brought Kevin into it.

Hardly. I hate shopping but I am looking forward to this. Once established that I didn't mind this shopping trip not being just Alex and I they invited Rachel, too, but she declined, understanding, I think, that I might want to have something with just my boys.

She would be correct; still, I would also like to find something that's just for her and me (that doesn't involve shirtless werewolves and sparkling vampires) but she's a hard read sometimes. She's sweet and genuine, but she's also close to turning 13 and is smack in the middle of everything that brings with it.

I'll figure it out.

I guess the point really is that my kids get it, and they got it without much input from me. I'm not sure how I could be any prouder of them for how generous they inherently are.

Witout intention, we seem to have kicked off the holiday season with giant doses of sexism. On Thursday the men were banned from the kitchen (except for Travis, who welded his weapon of cuteness to be allowed in) while the women cooked dinner, and yesterday Char, her sister, and Rachel were up at 3 am to hit the Black Friday sales. This has never interested Char before, but Nika wanted to, and Rachel was inexplicably excited about it.

While they shopped, the rest of us stayed at home and ignored the To-Do list that was left on the kitchen counter. Instead, Alex and Kevin took the dogs to the park while Brad helped me winterize my bike (his help consisted of him standing there with a beer in hand, pointing out to Peter everything I was doing wrong and ho he'd be doing it if he was doing it--but he wouldn't be doing it because he rides even when it's cold.) By the time Char got home, Brad had the grill fired up and was grilling ribs, which kept her from grousing about having her list ignored.

They were gone until almost 4 o'clock yet didn't get much actual Christmas shopping done. I'm not sure I want to ask what they were actually doing, because I'm afraid I would get a lengthy explanation of each of their shopping techniques.

I'd hoped they'd get it all done to spare me from being dragged out later, but no such luck.

This coming week is going to be busy as hell, started off by Kevin and Rachel having another ortho appointment. We haven't told them yet, but we're going to let them hold off until after the holidays to get their braces put on. Kevin doesn't seem to care all that much, but Rachel has been stressed about the idea, and if Alex is right, half the reason is because she doesn't want to have brand new braces and the accompanying headaches right now because of all the holiday choir concerts, and the other half is because of the junior high Christmas dance. She doesn't have a "date" to it, but some squeaky thirteen year old has apparently already asked her for the first dance.

I think I should offer to chaperone that dance.

Last year, we mostly ignored Thanksgiving. My dad had recently died, and no one felt like celebrating without him; it was one of his favorite days of the year, and for days leading up to it the house echoed with his absence. There was no doubt that we had much to be thankful for, but it almost felt like a betrayal to him to do anything more than watch the football game on TV.

This year felt very different. He never stepped foot (or rolled his chair) into this house, but we could all feel him here. The things we feel thankful for feel multiplied; the kids are are healthy and far happier here than they were living out in the sticks, we see more of Char's father and my niece and her husband, and Char's sister plopped out of nowhere and is a constant in our lives. This close family is even closer; our kids don't just tolerate each other, they like each other. They protect each other. They laugh at jokes no one else could possibly understand; they respect each other. They treat us with respect, even when they're making fun of us.

If that was all I had today, it would be enough.

But July first changed everything. I had come a little too close to losing Char once before, and Rachel with her, but July first was monumentally, uncomfortably close. So close that by all logic that Brad and the kids and I should have spent today drenched in our grief. Today should have been agony.

Instead, today was filled with lightness and life. I woke up today not dreading the day but excited about it; my house was going to be filled with the sound of kids laughing. My father in law would be here giving my kids crap about Santa. My niece and her husband would be here with my grandkids. My sister in law would be here with her fiance, helping Char cook while threatening Brad and me with sharp objects if we took one step towards her pies.

As cheesy as it sounds, I woke up feeling my father's approval. He would have been overjoyed today, and would have helped Brad whip the kids into a holiday frenzy. I still miss my father so much that it does often hurt, but today I could feel what he would have wanted me to.

Mostly, though, today I woke up next to the woman who should not be here, and I watched her sleep until the sound of Kevin slamming the pantry door shut woke her up. I watched her stretch, and then smile just before she curled up against me. I started today holding one of the most precious things my life will ever have.

I have so many things to be thankful for, but today I am most grateful for that. I am beyond my ability to give thanks for just the simple act of being able to watch her breathe. I could not be more thankful that I have the chance to spend many, many more years with her, to grow old with her, and to spoil a dozen grandkids with her.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Char heard the phone ring, but we've learned to not make much of an effort to answer it; if we do, we nearly get knocked over by either the teenager or the almost-teenager in their zeal to get to it first, just in case it's someone who didn't bother to call them on the cells. Even though it never is.

No one came to get her, so she assumed that for once it was for one of them, and went back to the book she was reading.

Twenty minutes later, now curious about the level of quiet that didn't feel right, she went into the kitchen and Kevin was sitting at the table doing homework; the phone was off the hook and lying on the kitchen counter. Puzzeled, she asked him why it was not hung up.

Uncle Craig is on the phone.

Why didn't you come get me?

He wanted to talk to Dad. I said I would tell him he was on the phone.

Your dad isn't home, Kevin.

I didn't say when I would tell him...

I'm not sure what's funnier: that Kevin left Craig hanging like that, or that my idiot brother was still on the other end, waiting.

I owe Alex.

In a moment of massive not-paying-attention-to-the-actual-request, I promised Rachel I would take her and several friends to see New Moon after school today. They're 12; I don't just drop kids off at a theater, I suffer through whatever it is they want to see, but when I realized what I had agreed to, I was tempted. Very tempted.

Rachel squealed to Alex that she and her friends were going and he must have seen the look on my face, and told her that Stephanie wanted to see it it, so would she mind if they tagged along? Rachel was all for it; anything is better than squirmy Dad in a theater.

Before they all poured out of the car Alex set the ground rules: he and Stephanie would sit behind them, no talking after the previews were over, no squealing when the shirtless boys showed up on the screen, no going to the bathroom alone, and no talking back if he asked them to pipe down.

Good job.

He has a date tomorrow; they're going out for pizza and are meeting friends there. I think to show my appreciation, I'll pop for the first pizza. I'd pay for the whole thing, but I've seen Alex and his friends eat, and I could go broke.

(This is where I have to admit that moving has turned out to be a good thing all the way around; I actually get to go home until he calls for a ride, rather than finding a place in town to hang out.)

On the Kevin Front: he's not taking ballet anymore. Instead he's taking stage & production dancing, as his teacher thought he would enjoy it more, and it will incorporate some ballet. The kid really likes to dance and she sees a little performer emerging and wants to help him find what he'll both excel at and love. So far, I think she's on the mark. He's sticking with TKD, too, and will probably test for his black belt around his 11th birthday. Yes, I caved on the age issue. TK wants the minumum to be 10, and since this is now TK's school, 10 it is.

We've got the dojang moved and classes have resumed, the kids all have things going on now that require parental taxi service, for some reason I am expected to be sociable, we've been to a wedding, visited two students in the hospital, had meetings with several parents of TKD students in need of a little extra help, one dog that ate an entire box of bran cereal, major cleanup of carpets because of one dog that ate an entire box of bran cereal, and an argument over who left the damned box of cereal where Tank could get to it, and why the hell do we need bran cereal anyway? I need a clone. One who can clean up runny dog shit without gagging.

You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them.

~Bishop Desmond Tutu

In the wake of my kids discovering that I'd been married before and feeling the need to apologize for publically calling my ex bat shit crazy, Char has been emailing back and forth with her.

This isn't a complete surprise; before my parents moved out here she and Kathy spent some time together on visits back home, and they got along. I never would have expected it, but they liked each other. So now they're swapping email and stories about what our kids are up to and the things her now-grown step-kids have been doing. I get it third hand, because, to be honest, it all feels a little weird and I'm not keen on trying to forge a friendship with my ex-wife.

I hope she doesn't take that personally. It's not meant to be; as stung as Alex was by the revelation for my first marriage, he would be hurt if he ever found out I was talking to her, and that's a pain I don't wish to inflict on him. And while I like my ex...I am just not compelled to sit down and fire off an email to her.

No, I don't mind that Char has formed a somewhat unique pen-pal type friendship with her. I have gotten some insight into things that left me baffled when we split up; she didn't want kids, yet turned around a married a guy who had six kids of his own, and custody of all of them.

By then I had long moved on and Char not only had wrapped me around her little finger, but we had already gotten married and had Alex; it was still a little off putting to realize that it wasn't that Kathy hadn't wanted kids; she didn't want them with me.

There was amusement wrapped up in the WTF feeling; she had little experience with small kids and was suddenly surrounded by them.

Over the last couple of months, Char and Kathy have talked about this; whatever Kathy told her, Char understood in an estrogen-soaked way, comprehending Kathy's thoughts in a shorthand that I've come to think only women understand.

That's not a slap against women; it's an admission that men in general don't always get the way women communicate, especially with each other.

Basically, I didn't get it.

Then this morning Char handed the latest Reader's Digest to me with it held open to the above-mentioned quote by Desomnd Tutu. This is what she means; it's what you already knew. You two were together to hold a place for the families you were destined to get, not the family everyone expected you to create.

I can accept that. I'm not sure I believe it 100%. Our familes may be God's gift, but to use someone else as a placeholder, especially when hearts are on the line and there is so much inherent expectation, feels a little bit cruel.

But what do I know?

If we were using each other it never felt intentional. And in the end, we're both much happier people now, with our priorities lined up in an exponentially more mature line. We're where we want to be. It was worth the pain to get here.

I can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

There's a park nearby where Alex takes Tank for walks, and where he and Kevin go to shoot hoops. It's also about halfway between here and Stephanie's house, so most of the time she meets them there and intentionally loses game of 'horse' to Kevin (I am sarting to really like this girl.)

Yesterday Alex had both dogs and his little brother with him; he was a bit preoccupied controlling all three, so Damien's sudden presence didn't click with him at first. (Stephanie was not there this time, but I suspect Damien was looking for her.) The basketball court was somewhat crowded, though Kevin had one of the short hoops to himself while Alex walked Tank and Stoner back and forth; he was about fifty yards away when it registered in his brain that Damien was talking to Kevin, and he looked like he was sneering.

He ran with Tank's leash in hand, and ordered Stoner to follow. Stoner is too old to run much, but he follows directions well, so Alex was sure he would follow as quickly as he could.

When he was within fifty feet he let Tank's leash go with the command to block Kevin. That was a bit risky as Tank has been more difficult to train than Stoner ever was; Stoner would hear the command and be directly in front of Kevin in half a second. Tank just might lop over and head butt someone completely uninvolved in the crotch.

Tank obeyed this time and sat right in front of Kevin, a large furry wall between him and Damien. Stoner picked up his pace and was next to Tank before Alex could get there (which had to be painful for him.) Alex was ready to do whatever he had to, but when he was close enough, he realized Kevin was laughing.

Damien was not sneering at Kevin out of threat; he was sneering because he had just admitted that Kevin could probably wipe up the basketball court with him. He was there because he had seen Alex at the park and stopped to apologize to him, and wanted Alex to meet him at Stephanie's so he could apologize to her, as well (I think he had hoped they would both be there, so there's no telling how it would have gone down if they had been.)

Alex is not stupid; he called me to come pick him up and to go with him to Stephanie's. Char followed in the SUV to collect Kevin and the dogs--her first solo drive, I might add--and take them home.

On the surface, Damien's apology seemed sincere. He promised to leave Stephanie alone and claimed to be sorry that he had frightened her. His intentions seem genuine.

That doesn't mean I trust the kid. I don't. He got caught in an uncomfortable position with his parents and his TKD instructor breathing down his neck, he's being drug tested, and likely dragged off to therapy. That doesn't begin to address his apparent lack of impulse control and immaturity, nor does it suddenly instill in him a respect for women that he obviously lacks.

Stephanie's dad doesn't buy it 100% either. She accepted his apology, but as soon as Damien was gone my warning to both her and Alex was to not let their guards down. For the immediate future she's still leaving school with us and will be at either our house or the dojang until her father gets off work.

But, it might be a sliver of progress. With all the adults in his life keeping an eye on him, he might come around. I still think he's redeemable, but it's going to be a giant pain in the ass, and that's with the presumption his parents can keep him in TKD and remove him from the influence of some questionable friends.

They want to know what they've done wrong; I don't think it's that simple. You can do the bet you can do and still your kids make their own choices. Individuation is an important part of adolescent growth, but it doesn't always manifest itself in the ways we might choose.

My kids drive me a little nuts with the teenage angst and drama, but I can live with that.

While Rachel and Kevin were suffering through school, dreading their ortho appointment this afternoon, Char and I went in search of a gym. The dojang pool has been drained and the weight equipment sold off, so we need a place to work out (home pool isn't adequate for her needs; not enough walking space before the deep end starts, and it's cheaper to join a gym rather than keep the heat as high as she would need it all winter.) I haven't been a gym member for 15 years, and the last time I was a member of one it was wall to wall steroidal meatheads and aerobics bunnies dressed like cheap whores.

We found a couple of those, but I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of gyms out there now. Most of them I would have been comfortable working out in, but Char nixed several because the womens' locker rooms were dirty (gross times ten) or because the pools were too cold or in disrepair. We wound up at what used to be the quintessential muscle head place, Gold's Gym; it's now family friendly, classes the kids can take if they want, Alex can work out with the weights, any kind of weight system I can think of, the locker rooms were spotless, and the pool met Char's standards.

We picked he kids up a little early for their appointments (Alex tagged along beause I didn't want to have to go back to get him; Char can drive but she doesn't want to drive alone just yet.) It looks like Kevin will be in braces longer than Rachel, but that didn't make her feel any better. She's taking all this very personally, and I'm a bastard because I don't seem to have much sympathy.

I likely do not have as much sympathy as I could, but it's not as if she was going to have to wander aroun in headgear for the next year. Half the kids she knows have braces; she'll fit in just fine.

It's not the Lexus convertible I wanted or the sports car Alex was hoping for, but we're back to two cars and now that Char is driving, we have options. (This isn't even the actual car, this is a picture I pulled off the Internet, but that's what it looks like.)

She has no intention of giving up the SUV; she says she feels safer in it, and if that's all it takes to make her feel better when she's behind the wheel, I have no problem giving it up. Safe was the main reason I bought it; the convertible I had at the time freaked Rachel out and the bigger vehicle made her feel better. Now it makes Char feel better. So it's all good.

Still, I'm the one who gets to take Kevin and Rachel to the orthodontist tomorrow; and even though Rachel suddenly feels "sick" unless there's a royal fever involved or she pukes blood all over the place, she's going. I can't seem to make her understand she's not coming home tomorrow with braces, it's just the initial exam, but she's positive that life as she knows it is ruined forever.

It's only ruined for about two years, and maybe the mouthful of metal will keep those squeaky boys away for a while.

Today I reaffirmed my position as World's Meanest Dad. The kids had dental appointments and Rachel and Kevin got the news they kne was coming but wanted to pretend they'd never actually hear: they need braces.

To Kevin this is an inconvenience; he doesn't want them but he'll deal with it. To Rachel, the world is going to end on the day when she has to have them actually placed in her mouth. And I am the cruel bastard that refuses to tell te dentist she doesn't really need to see an orthodontist on Friday, and failing that I'm supposed to tell the orthodontist that her life will be ruined if she's forced to have a mouthful of metal for two entire years. Jacking up the level of unfairness is that Alex has perfectly straight teeth and he has been spared the indignity of having to go through this dental hell that she's being dragged kicking and screaming through.

The next couple of weeks are going to be so much fun.

Rachel is fairly passive; she was a holy terror when she was a toddler, but she outgrew it by the time she was four or five, and is now sweet and funny, and typically agreeable and fairly quiet. Don't get me wrong; she's a tough kid, but she doesn't talk back and she listens to reason.

Alex will argue, Kevin will argue; Rachel just doesn't work that way, so when I heard her arguing with Char last night, I was frankly surprised and determined to stay out of the way. I kept my ass glued to the sofa and watched TV with Alex and Kevin and pretended I didn't hear a damn thing.

It worked until Char came out, and with a look that said don't you dare agree with her told me to go talk to my daughter.

It's never good when the kids are "my" kids.

I didn't get two feet into her room when she erupted It's not fair! Alex was shaving when he was twelve!

WTF?

When Alex was twelve, he didn't have a choice. He had enough facial hair that he was violating the school's dress and standards code.

But why was I being dragged into an arguement over shaving? So of course I said the most stupid thing I could. You don't have a mustache.

Give me credit here; I heard them arguing but I didn't know about what, and I am not usually witness to the removal of unwanted feminine body hair. It's not something I typically think about. You say 'shaving' and I think of the routine I go through every morning only because Char wants me clean shaven these days.

My daughter now thinks I'm a moron.

I am a considerate moron, because when she lifted a pants leg and said Look! I have a forest growing here I didn't laugh at the baby fine peach fuzz. All I could tell her was that if her mother said no, then the answer was no.

I don't see the harm in letting her scrape away hair no one else can see, but Char assures me Rachel doesn't need to and should not start shaving yet. I'm also warned that the next fight will surely be over the wearing of makeup, and if she comes to me and I tell her it's fine...

That's all I got, the trailing voice and a finger pointed at me. It's accompanied by that look, so I know where she's going with that thought.

It's wrong that I am somewhat amused that Char and Rachel are going to start butting heads over stupid shit the way Alex and I do, isn't it?

We make a point of trying to not run interference in our kids lives any more than is necessary; we’ve given them the tools to cope with bullies and people with whom they have disagreements and we’ve given them the foundation of socially acceptable behavior and manners. We’ve also given them a healthy respect for the adults in positions of authority over them. If they have doubts about those adults, they know to come to us.

We also understand that there are times when kids will not, for reasons that can only be understood by others who have not yet fully developed cognitive reasoning, go to one of their parents or to an adult they can (or should) trust. We understand the hierarchal system of the teenage caste, and the truth that he who rats out another will become a social pariah.

The dojang has been closed for the last week and a half while we move into the new school space. Without the three or four day a week reminder and ingrained fear, some of our students will devolve into old habits; those who were especially timid prior to beginning training will feel isolated and allow the shyness to creep back up on them, and those who had tendencies towards bullying will find themselves inexplicably picking on old targets.

Most of the time we hear about incidences after the fact; when we’ve been closed for repairs or for much needed time off, students come back whispering about each other, and we overhear. We use those off handed tales as structure for lessons to be taught and learned, and it doesn’t take long for them to snap out of the delusion that they are always completely right or completely wrong, and to get back to the business of learning to control themselves.

That is what this is mostly about, after all.

It should have come as no surprise that one student, who has not been training long, would fall back into old ways quicker than others, and that he would be thoughtless enough to carry that behavior off school grounds. Give a kid a driver’s license and a car, and you give him the world; you also give him the ability to drive over to someone’s house whereupon he can renew his harassment.

Damien is sixteen going on twelve; he’s now completely terrified of Alex but he is also hung up on Alex’s girlfriend and is still smarting over the fact that she would not even considering going out with him. In his stunted brain, if she could not see his overwhelming charm and personal worth, then there must be something wrong with her; if there is something wrong with her then it must be exploited and turned against her. If she is humiliated and cries, all the better.

This kid can’t seem to think beyond the impulse; he has followed her home from school and stood near her front door making masturbatory gestures, he has circulated rumors about what he wishes she had done with and to him as truth, he has lied to her friends about things she did not say about them, and he continued to taunt her with mooing sounds as she walked through the school hallways (but only when Alex wasn’t around.)

Over the last week he has made school for her a miserable and degrading experience; none of the kids involved would go to the principal, and Damien has been careful to instigate these personal attacks when he knows there will be no one to readily spring to her defense.

I don’t believe he has the guts to lay a hand on her; Damien is a bully who does not have the temerity to follow through; his bravado is linguistical and he’s too afraid of the pain of being hit to risk anything more. Still, he’s not smart enough to know when he’s pushed one time too many, and he may not be smart enough to realize he needs to take a step back. He may get physical without intent.

Alex has a considerable amount of self control; he has a healthy respect for the rules. He is also a teenager, and had no intention of sharing the details of what was tanspiring with his parents, or with anyone other adult who could help him. He intended to handle it himself, though how he expected to accomplish that was never quite clear. We only know about it now because Stephanie rode home from church with us this morning, and Damien was crusining up and down her street; when she saw him, she burst into tears. When Alex saw him, he wanted to get out of the car and beat the holy hell out of Damien.

No, I didn't let either of them out of the car; I wanted an explanation. When I finally got one, we turned around and took her home with us. This afternoon I found myself giving Alex permission to bring Damien to his knees if the situation requires defending Stephanie. If he lays one hand, one finger, on that girl anywhere near Alex, I will not fault him for acting on it.

To that end, too, Alex, Rachel, and I spent the afternoon in the old dojang with Stephanie; she needs to learn at least basic self defense. Teaching her where to hit and how, and what stereotypes in defense might best be avoided is the easy part. The difficulty lies in making sure she understands that she is worth defending, making sure she has given herself permission to fight back, and to hurt him if she has to.

Too many people, women especially, have never given themselves the permission to put themselves first, even in defensive situations. It’s one of the sad facts one learns in teaching women; typically women are not willing to do some of the more effective defensive techniques because deep down they don’t want to hurt anyone, not even the person attacking them.

But, that’s another issue and one I grapple with daily.

Stephanie’s father is on board with this. Until the dojang is reopened and I have Damien under my instructional thumb again, she’ll come home with us after school and wait there for her father to get off work. We’ll spend time working on self defense and keeping her and Alex a healthy distance from each other.

What I will not do, what her father cannot understand, is kick Damien out of the dojang. He’s immature, irresponsible, reckless, thoughtless, and a first class bastard, but he is redeemable.

One step out of line, though, and he’s at Alex’s mercy.

Up until now, on Halloween we packed the kids into the car and drove them into town to trick or treat, usually a few houses around Brad's, and when Erin and Miko bought a house we cut them loose in their neighborhood. Until Kevin was eight, we stuck close, but the last couple of years we let Alex take Kevin and Rachel around and handed out candy while Erin and Miko took Toni out.

This is the first year the kids have lived in a neighborhood where they can go out without the long drive get there and the long drive home; it's also the first year both Alex and Rachel and felt they're too old to dress up and trick or treat. Rachel could get away with it; Alex looks older than he is and would probably get people yelling at him.

Their school hosts an annual party for the high school students, a very not-subtle way of keeping them out of trouble on a night when trouble is almost a requirement. We assumed Alex would be going to this and had already decided that Char would stay home and hand out candy while I took Kevin around the neighborhood (as much as he would like, no, he is not going out alone.) But yesterday afternoon I overheard Alex telling his girlfriend that he would go, but not until Kevin had been out to trick or treat.

I always take him out and he's only going to do it for a couple more years.

Last night I told him he could go to the party when it started and I would take his little brother out; no, this is their thing and he doesn't want to miss it. I'm welcome to tag along, but he's going out with Kevin.

Rachel wants to hand out candy, which leaves me only being needed to drive Alex and Stephanie to the party after he and Kevin get back, and to pick them up a couple of hours later.

We hit a parking lot and Char drove around it for about half an hour; she was doing so well I suggested she ease out onto residental streets and try that--not a problem. Tomorrow afternoon we're doing it again, this time with help from Alex. He's going to throw empty boxes in front of the car to test her stopping time. I don't think it's going to be a problem; she was able to cleanly stop every time I yelled stop at random intervals, but she does want to test Alex's method as well. She wants to practice the ret of the week; I think that if she's feeling confident enough, we may go car shopping this weekend. Anything she wants.

Char asked Alex how he liked their first ballet class: it was Kevin, ten little girls between eight and ten, and me. How do you think I liked it?

From where I sat, where there were five or six teenaged girls watching Alex take that class, I think he liked it just fine.

Kevin thought it was "okay." During the first part of the class the teacher was talking about how flexible they would get over the next year, and before they knew it they'd be able to do splits and balance on one leg; the other half of the class they got to try to balance with one leg in the air. Alex and Kevin both had their feet head high and stood stock still, prompting giggles from the girls. She then asked if either of them could do the splits and they both dropped to the floor. From the look on her face I couldn't tell if she was impressed or now worries she has a couple of show offs.

Alex is only committed for two weeks, which is four classes. I suspect that's all he'll be taking. Kevin is committed to six weeks; we'll see how he feels about it then, but he's flexible enough for it.

Tomorrow I'm taking Char out to try driving in an empty lot for a bit. She's worried about running the car into a lamppost; I figure it's just a car, so no big deal. We'll see if she's talking to me by tomorrow afternoon, though.

Randomness, fueled by insomnia.

Just to see if she could, Char threw a side kick at me today. It landed with a dull thud on my thigh, but it didn't hurt her. It didn't hurt me, either, but that's not the point; she got her leg up without someone bracing her and was able to balance. She's a long way off from being able to get back to TKD, but it's something.

Some time during the week we're looking for an empty parking lot so she can get beind the wheel and see how well she can maneuver the car. She has no illusions about being able to drive in traffic, but this will give us a better idea of her driving reflexes. Lately she's made rapid improvement in her reactive times, enough that I don't see it being more than a few more weeks before she can drive.

I still owe her a birthday.

I'll think of something eventually.

Blogger needs an iPhone ap, just to make it erasier to sit here and kill time while I wait for Alex and his girlfriend, seemingly every freaking Saturday night.

Kevin had his mind made up before we actually got to the ballet school yesterday; he was supposed to watch a class and then decide, but in his little brain he was already dancing. The reality of the school, though, caused a few nerves to fire up and he asked Alex if he would take a few weeks of classes with him, just long enough that he wouldn't be nervous about it anymore. I braced for the "no" answer and was pleasantly surprised by "yeah, sure, it might be fun." The beginner's instructor seems to have a sense of humor and doesn't mind that one of her new students is a head taller than she is and older than the average by about six years.

Neither kid is happy with what they have to wear during class--very short shorts and skin tight t-shirts--but it was quite a bit better than Kevin's ultimate fear: tights and a tutu.

This afternoon Kevin hid in his room, and I was afraid he'd changed his mind and didn't want to say so, but they don't start until next week so I intended on leaving him alone and letting him work through it. He poked his head out long enough to ask Alex for homework help, and half an hour later Alex came out to get me; he had the real reason Kevin was upset and knew we definitely needed to address it head on instead of waiting.

One of Kevin's classmates informed him this morning that his birth mother could change her mind and undo the adoption and take him back. He's been agonizing over the idea since ten o'clock this morning, and we didn't find out until almost four p.m. I didn't know what to think at first; I wasn't sure how Kevin could even believe this but he did because the kid who told him swore it had happened to his cousin.

Char practically crushed the phone in her hand while she dialed it to potentially ream the kid's mother out. While she gritted her teeth and tried to get to the bottom of it, I sat on Kevin's bed with him and worked like hell to convince him it wasn't possible. Even if she regretted giving him up to us, one--she doesn't know where we live, she only gets updates about him through Char's dad and two--the judge signed the final papers when he was six months old. It's a done deal.

He wanted to believe us, but the only thing that really made him feel better was Alex swearing that she'd have to get through him first, and there was no way he was letting a total stranger get anywhere near his little brother.

Char did get to the bottom of why Kevin's classmate said what he did; his adopted baby cousin was indeed returned to his birth mother when she changed her mind a week later. Whatever state they live in has a time set wherein a birth parent can reclaim a child; I don't know what it is, but I doubt it's more than a few weeks or a month or so, certainly not ten years.

We couldn't do more than reassure him that there's no scenario where we would even allow this to happen without making it seem to be a legitimate concern. We left him in his room with Alex and listened from the hallway for a few minutes; he asked Alex a few questions about what he thought his birth mother might be like, and would she even like him if she met him. Alex's answer was a firm, Of course she would, you're an awesome kid, and he eventually steered Kevin back into talking about starting ballet next week. That's when we stopped eavesdropping

We've mostly prepared ourselves for the questions he will inevitable have (and has had) about his birth parents, but this was never on our radar. How could it be?

The kids have half days all this week; the high school and junior high are having midterms Monday – Wednesday and on Thu & Fri meetings with their counselors to go over their educational objectives for the remainder of the year; I would think the objective is clear: pass everything or face the wrath of Dad, but the school wants them to think beyond grades. Imagine that.

Yesterday we picked them up early and decided to take them out for lunch, and Kevin fidgeted like his ass was on fire until Rachel told him to just ask us already, we weren’t going to stab him with forks and then throw salt on him. He looked to Alex for help, and all Alex did was shrug and tell him to spit it out.

What Kevin wants is to take ballet. Neither of us was surprised; he’s drawn to the arts. He loves to sing (and he’s pretty good), he loves music and is having fun exploring the drum. He's also athletic. I can see how he's drawn to the idea of blending his interests and at least exploring ballet, and possibly other forms of dance.

He worried about asking because his friends assured him my reaction would be Hell No. Boys don't take ballet.

He also worried because his PE teacher questioned whether or not he was already too old to start and excel at it; she didn't say this because she's mean, she said this because she understands that when he approaches something like this, he wants to be better than good, and he gets frustrated if he's not. Frankly, that's my only concern. He wants at least a chance of becoming very good, and if 10 is already too old he should at least be forewarned that he doesn't stand a chance of becoming the next Baryshnikov.

I am inclined to let him try, regardless.

Part of me wanted to press for the reasons he's so interested all the sudden, but I didn't want to make him feel as if he has to justify his interests. They are what they are, and if he can reasonably explore them, it's my job to make it possible. Alex and I talked while he helped me hang pictures last night; I was a little curious what he thought, and wanted to make sure he wasn't going to tease Kevin for wanting to take ballet (he won't; he understands its appeal to his little brother and he has his own interests in learning to dance well.) He did have one good reason why Kevin wants to take lessons now.

Her name is Elizabeth, and they seem to have a mutual crush on each other.

We have an appointment at her ballet school tomorrow afternoon, and I'll take the checkbook. Go Kevin.

Halfway down the hall I heard Alex and Ian talking, and as I got closer I could hear what they were saying.

Alex: Girls do that?
Ian: Why are you surprised? You do that.
Alex: Yeah, but…I mean, maybe, but…are you serious? How?

I’m 99% sure I know what the topic of discussion was, so I turned around and went the other way. I am so not ready for this.

We've been busy as hell this week; between driving the kids all the places they wanted/needed to go, getting Char to and from PT, babysitting, finishing the sale on the old property, and negotiating new space for the dojang, there hasn't been much time to just sit and chill out.

But, the grandkids are back with their parents, the kids don't seem to have much on their schedules this coming week, the property is officially no longer ours, we got a lease for new dojang space, but the big one: Char has been released from PT.

Everything they can do for her, she can do on her own, and has proven to her doctors that she's motivated enough to do it and not wait and see what happens. Without stairs to confront at home, she's safe here and doesn't need me around all the time (to her relief) and if she does need help, it's a phone call and five minutes away.

The next step is getting her reflexes back so that she can drive; she lags about a quarter second behind her thought processes, just enough to make driving something she shouldn't do. Barring that, she still flinches at certain things when I'm driving, so that's another hump to get over. She worries that she may never regain needed reflexes, and that is a remote possibility, but she’s certain that the flinching will wind down to a minimum (and she has gotten a lot better about that.)

We’ve discussed our options for if she simply can’t drive and I go back to work; I’d guess in that case we’d see what it takes to get Alex a hardship license. No, we have not mentioned this to him. Yes, the idea drives me just a little insane. But if kids in ND can drive at 14, why the hell not?

I'm not sure what was more absurd: seeing the kids and grandkids all crawling down the hall from youngest to oldest, or that I had a strong impulse to join them.

Between our three kids, an exciteable first grader, and a baby that crawls faster than I can blink, this week has been busy as hell and it's only half over. No complaints, though, because we're all having a blast with the little ones; Alex and Rachel have changed diapers and given baths, and Kevin finally has someone he can help with homework. It's been funny as hell to hear him explain basic addition to his cousin; I can hear the exact same phrases coming out of him that Alex used four years ago when he helped Kevin.

It's been a good week so far; we have to give the grandkids back tomorrow, but that's all right because I'm fairly sure that Travis will be teething soon, and part of the grandparent deal is not having to babysit when they're teething.

But no, this still does not make me want to adopt another one.

I don't think the last week could have been much longer than it felt; I got all my dad's stuff separated and then what we didn't need to keep (completely different than want, as I was inclined to store it all) we sold to someone who does estate sales.

The property was surveyed and the houses on it inspected, and we'll close on that this coming week; part of me is relieved, but part of me still isn't convinced that once the kids are out on their own we won't regret it.

TK found a decent location to move the dojang into and we've been wrangling with the lease on it; the deal is done and some minor renovations need to take place before we can move equipment and offices over there, but we should be in within 2-3 weeks.

Alex went to the homecoming dance, which meant utilizing Dad's Taxi Service; I have to admit, I minded this less once it hit home that I wouldn't be driving him 45 minutes to pick his girlfriend up, waiting in town all night, and then driving back. Three minutes to her house, ten to the school, and I went home until he called to be picked up. I wound up carting three couples home, and from the loud backseat chatter I think they all had a good time. A sweaty time, too, based on the amped odor level in the car.

But the big thing this week was Char. I still keep waiting for that other shoe to drop and thought it had when she remembered the entire accident; since then, however, she's slept soundly. No nightmares. I've been lying there awake waiting, but she's sleeping. I would still like her to talk to someone, but I can't force her to, and she doesn't see the point.

Starting tomorrow we get Erin's kids for 4 days while she and Miko take a short kidless vacation. The house is going to be loud and we have to block off the kitchen and master bedroom from Travis's crawling explorations (access to the pool from both) and have to keep him from helping Tan and Stoner eat, but it should be fun.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Char has moved past simple remembering of odd things about the accident; at 2 am she flinched out of another nightmare with every single detail right there in front of her. She remembers the sound of the truck plowing into her car, the crunch of metal and shattering of glass, searing pain, seeing the front end of the truck that hit her just inches away from her head, tasting blood, and sheer terror that the hissing she could hear meant the car was going to explode before anyone could get her out. She remembers hearing voices around her, the sound of someone pounding away what was left of the driver's side window, the grunts of physical stress of someone trying to pull her door open and the squeal when it finally gave way; she can feel the agony of being pulled out of the car and dragged to a distance someone uttered was "safe enough."

She can see it all in her head, through half closed eyes clouded with blood and terror, and she can't get away from it. So now, now she needs to see someone, because I can't fix this and she can't live with it.

Nika stayed the night, and was available to drive Char to pick the kids up from school; it gave me the entire day to deal with sorting through my dad's things and deciding what to keep for the kids for later, what to donate, and what will wind up in the eventual estate sale (though I don't know if it's technically an estate sale, but it's close enough that's what it feels like.) After six hours of dealing with it I went to the dojang and taught two classes and then headed home; I opened the door and Rachel was curled up on the sofa doing homework, and Alex was on the floor playing with Kevin, snapping Lego blocks together. I could hear Char and Nika in the kitchen and the smell of what they were cooking hit me at the same time all the laughter did.

That sound held me in place until Stoner and Tank ran at me and the kids noticed I was home. I don't think in all the years Char and I have been married that I've done the stereotypical Dad coming home after work thing, with Mom in the kitchen cooking dinner for everyone (it counts even if she had considerable help from her sister) and the kids sprawled out in the living room. It's always been picking the kids up from school, taking them to the dojang, then scrounging dinner for them while they try to cram homework in before bed. What was playing out in front of me was what Char and I wanted all those years ago when we realized we were going to become parents and we had everything we wanted at our fingertips. I'm not sure how we wandered away from that, but we've got it back and we don't have enough years left to give that to our kids. But at least we have it for now, and I'll be damned if I'll let go of it now.

I never thought I would see the day when I would feel compelled to have a required in-dojang seminar on sexual harassment, with the attendees all between the ages of 10-18. Yet, that is what we’re going to do. I don’t know if I simply haven’t paid close enough attention over the years of if the boys have become that much more disrespectful towards girls, but I'm hearing more and more untoward things spilling out of my male students' mouths, and I've had it. I have no say no what goes on in these kids' homes, but in the dojang I am the final word on acceptable behavior, and I don't ever again want to hear one of them say something so mean, intentionally or not, that makes the girls feel uncomfortable,verbally attacked, or defensive. I don't think that someone of them grasp that it is not all right to tell a girl to suck their balls to grab their crotch and say things like "you want this." I don't think some of them understand that their comments about weight, height, skin tone, etc, make the girls feel bad about themselves. But frankly, I am tired of it; I also know that if these kids are saying things to my daughter, the other girls are likely hearing much worse.

The parents aren't going to like it, but if they don't make their boys attend, they're gone. This is as (or more) important than anything else we have to teach them.

Alex and Kevin will be required to be there, but they already know what happens if I ever hear them speak to a girl the way I've been hearing the other boys speak lately. That is a particular wrath neither wishes to incur.

Living within a real neighborhood evidently means I have to start being social. The start of this was letting the kids invite a few of their nearby friends over, and Char decided it would be a good time to meet all the parents. I could have lived without it, but relented because it was an excuse to pull out the grill and buy a case of beer. It was also a chance to see how open minded the parents of the kids our kids go to school with are; we’ve had decidedly mixed results with this in the past and frankly we were both a little concerned with how Alex’s girlfriend’s (her name is Stephanie, btw) father would take the realization that the white kid he thought he daughter was dating isn’t exactly white.

He’d met both Char and I, but that doesn’t always make things click. We were both curious about his reaction when getting a glimpse of the entire family. Brad, Nika, everyone. Some of the parents had that initial look of confusion when being introduced to Brad and Nika, but it passed and was no big deal, as it should be. Brad got a few sideways glances from a couple of single moms, but Char assures me that was more because he’s not bad to look at and he’s a flirt, an available flirt, and he was making the availability known.

I still worried about Stephanie’s father, because it would matter to Alex more than how he’s been treated in the past. He really likes this girl and I suspect she’ll be around for a while. I quit worrying when I opened the door and he was there with his girlfriend, who is Asian, and her son, who is biracial.

This neighborhood is so damned white it’s damned near blinding, so I admit I had my own preconceived notions about exposing my kids to the potential bigotry around them, but at least among their friends, there’s nothing obvious there to worry about.

I thought it was kind of funny when, after my accident and I was coherent enough to think straight for 3 seconds, that Thumper was online a lot with her IM window open whenever I got online, and that she gave Ian her cell phone number incase I wanted to text someone in the middle of the night. It wasn't as funny the last few days when I kept my IMs open and had my phone set to push IMs to it it, just in case she was awake at odd hours and wanting someone to talk to. I get it now, even though Ian thought it was "cute" and reminded me that she had Mike there taking better care of her than we could through IMs and text messages. I think she and I are both very, very lucky to have these men in our lives. I'm not sure too many would drop everything to play nurse, and they both did. Really, Thump, we need to find a way to thank these guys ;)

All right, I'm ready for Char to be 100% mobile and driving, because if I have to take another kid clothes shopping, I may go just a little bit insane.

Boy, if you're going to sneer at a girl suck my balls you better be sure her father isn't standing behind you, and you'd be wise to not say it at all when he's your TKD instructor. I hope you fucking enjoy the next three classes spent doing pushups.

Lesson learned: the correct response to What would you do without me? is not "masturbate."

Erin and Miko are literally just blocks away now, close enough that I can call and they can be here in five minutes. I know this but it didn't quite click until Ian put the phone in my hand, told me to not do anything physical, and he went to pick the kids up from school and then took them to the dojang. This afternoon was literally the first time I've been alone since the accident. I keep telling him it's fine to leave me alone for at least short periods of time, but I think he had convinced himself that two seconds after he walked out the door I was going to try butt-surfing down the stairs. Now that there are no stairs, he's relaxed. And this was his idea; I hadn't asked him to leave me at home and was ready to go with him, but he handed me the phone and reminded me Erin was close by and knew I'd be here alone...and he left.

I thought I'd be thrilled when I finally got some time to myself, but honestly, I spent the first hour barely moving and nearly afraid that I would get up and fall, or get away from the phone and realize I needed help. I sat on the couch and listened to the dogs breathing across the room, and sort of hid myself in the quiet until the phone rang and scared me so much that I tossed it over by Stoner; then I had to get up to answer it. I had to laugh, because it was Ian, telling me he had a feeling I was just sitting there and it was all right to get up as long as I didn't try to pick anything up. I know he realized the phone ringing had startled me because he was laughing, then he told me he loved me and he'd be home in two hours.

He is so upset about the piano, and the kids are, too. Alex was angry and Kevin felt bad, but Rachel cried when he told her it was broken badly enough it couldn't be fixed. The oldest two have waited for a long time to be given permission to play it, and both were probably less than a year away from Ian letting them. We can replace it (it was insured and the move was insured, but they'll depreciate its value) but it may be the only material thing Ian actually treasured, so I imagine it will be a while before he's even willing to think about it.

After we got married it took a long time for Char to get used to the idea that whatever was in the checking account was hers to spend. When she finally did, she went big. The first expensive thing she bought without my input was a gift for me, a beautiful slick black baby grand piano. I'd wanted one for over twenty years but could never justify the expense; I had a perfectly good upright piano and when in tune it carried a crystal clear sound, so there was no reason to replace it other than simply wanting to.

She was nervious as hell about it; it didn't matter how many times I'd said to spend whatever the hell you want, as long as the bills get paid I don't care. I waited for it to click with her and assumed that one day I'd come home and she would have finally hit the mall with Becks and melted a credit card. I never expected that I'd come home one day and find her pacing the porch with Alex on her hip and worry painted on her face, and never expected to hear don't get mad and then have her open the door to show me what she hoped I wouldn't be upset over.

That piano was more than an impulse buy, more than a way to challenge me over my insistence that I didn't care if she chewed into the checking account; she simply wanted to give me something she knew I had always wanted, something I would have never gotten myself. Every time I sat down and played it, I could feel exactly what she wanted for me. When Alex and then Rachel learned to play (on the old upright) I looked forward to the day when they would sit at that piano and find the music hidden between the notes.

Today I watched four movers lift it to set it on rollers, and today I watched them drop it down the porch steps. There's no fixing it, and to say I'm pissed would be an understatement.

Kevin has taken serious delight in wandering around singing I Kissed A Girl because it annoys Alex to no end. Alex has tried to get him to stop by reminding him that it's a song about one girl kissing another; Kevin shrugs it off and doesn't care. Alex tried a new tactic to get Kevin to stop tonight; his little brother was mostly singing under his breath, probably habit, but Alex pointed at him and said There. Right there. That line is "I hope my boyfriend won't mind." Do you have a boyfriend? Are you GOING to have a boyfriend?

Kevin looked up, grinned, and said mayyyyybe.

He caught Alex off guard, but he regrouped within a few seconds and asked if Kevin had any idea what that meant; Kevin shrugged and then nodded. I was sitting right there, determined to stay out if it, until Alex gestured toward me and told Kevin if he ever brought home a boyfriend I would explode.

Would you? Kevin asked.

Any possible boyfriend would be as welcome in this house as a girlfriend. I asked Alex where the hell he got the idea I would be upset if any of my kids was gay; I just thought because you're so old...

He shut up before he finished that thought.

No, he doesn't care if his brother is gay, straight, or undecided. He's just tired of hearing Kevin sing that damned song (and frankly so am I but I know better than to say anything.) Alex wandered off to find Tank to take him for a walk; I asked Kevin if he thought he would wind up with boyfriends instead of girlfriends. He says he just likes teasing Alex and really likes girls.

I'm not as sure and honestly do not care, as long as one of my kids pops out with a biological grandkid or two.

And I really hope Kevin picks a new song to sing endlessly soon.

When I was a kid, if you landed a girlfriend, you gave her an ID bracelet with your name on it; today it seems to suffice to give her your well worn gym t-shirt with your last name on the back (I presume Alex washed it first.) Last evening the kids went out to explore the neighborhood which consisted of timing the walk from here to the house where Alex's girlfriend lives; Rachel reported that she was wearing Alex's shirt and they held hands the entire time. She also showed them a nearby park when they can take the dogs on walks, with a playground, tennis courts, and basketball court.

This weekend they're having friends over to swim (I hope they don't mind freezing because the water hasn't heated up all the way yet) and Char and I are going to do as little as possible, other than feed them all. Packers were here today and finished a two day job in one, and Monday everything will be loaded and moved.

If Char and the kids stay as happy about this as they are, it'll be worth the major pain in the ass it's been to get this done.

Pulled up to the school to pick the kids up and they were standing together, laughing so hard that Rachel was leaning against Alex. When they saw the car they rushed to jump in and immediately the sound level jacked up and they were talking over each other; I never did find out what was so damned funny, but I wish I had a photo of that moment.

I realized something Monday when I was sitting on Alex's bed talking to him. He is about half an inch taller than his bed is long, and unless the top of his head is jammed against the headboard his feet hang off the end. He's never complained about this and I'm not sure he's ever really noticed it. After we picked the kids up from school we took the boy genius shopping for a new bed and wound up getting beds for all the kids (because, as Char put it, we bought the ones they have before they were even born, God only knows what's growing in those mattresses.) I'm not sure why a pint sized ten year old needs a queen sized bed, but Alex argued on his behalf that he won't be so short forever (I think he might be, but let's give the kid hope.)

Char made the mistake of flopping down on one of those Swedish memory foam beds and marveled that it didn't hurt to lie on her left side on it. I'll sleep on anything, so why the hell not. But then came adding in frames and headboards and delivery and I realized I was only there to hand over the debit card as I stared blankly at the total. Once I blinked Char told me that really my purpose in life was the paycheck, but now that I'm not working, I need to find something else to give my existence meaning.

The beds will be delivered tomorrow and utilities and cable are on, which prompted the kids to declare that was enough to essentially move into the new house, and for them to request that we skip the dojang today and go home to pack enough clothes, sheets, towels, and food so that they can sleep there starting tomorrow. The interior painting is done so I didn't have a good reason to tell them no, but it does mean while they're at school tomorrow my ass will be hauling shit from one house to the other. In the interest of marital harmony (because I will not let Char help move a damned thing no matter how much she protests) Theresa will take Char to PT and then shopping for other house stuff that I have no interest in. Bed shopping was bad enough but if I have to pick out curtains I will blow my damned brains out in the middle of Curtains R Us or Drapes Drapes Drapes or whatever the hell they call those stores. When she wants to shop for a lawn mower, I'm there.

The kids were warned that at some point we were going to go into their rooms and pack up a few things, but they apparently didn’t believe us. After Ian got home this morning we decided to tackle Alex’s room first and grab all the dirty clothes to wash before packing, then box up whatever he might need the first few days in the new house. While I poked through his closet, Ian got down on the floor and started pulling things out from under the bed. I expected a ton of trash but Alex has actually kept his room quite tidy, including a very neatly stacked pile of old Playboy magazines.

There was a momentary debate, leave them there, pack them away, or make them magically disappear, but Ian set them aside and once we'd gotten the clothes we thought Alex would need packed, he took the Playboys into our room and shoved them into a dresser drawer. When we picked the kids up from school Ian mentioned in an offhanded sort of way that we'd pulled all the stuff out from under their beds to get the dirty clothes; we didn't put anything back, so there were a few piles they needed to deal with before bed tonight. Alex was conspicuously quiet until we got to the dojang, and was equally quiet on the way home.

As soon as we got home all three kids raced to their room to survey the damage (it wasn't much, toys in Kevin's room and books and CDs in Rachel's) but Alex never came out to complain that anything was missing, not that we expected him to. He suffered through dinner, squirming every time Ian looked at him too long, and he cleared the table and helped with dishes without any prompting. After Kevin went to bed Ian pulled the magazines out of the drawer and took them into Alex's room; he was in there for a long time but says his message to Alex was mostly to keep those where Kevin wouldn't find them.

I know Alex isn't a little boy anymore but finding those did throw me for a little bit of a curve. I'd rather not think of him thinking of that; on the other hand, it opens the door for his dad to talk to him (and yes I leave most of that up to Ian, because somewhere inside I still giggle over words like 'wiener' and there's no possible way for me to discuss female anatomy with my son.) I can handle the idea that he's looking at pictures of naked women, but if we ever find condoms in his room, I might not be as understanding. I know I should be, but I don't know if I can.