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.

I jolted awake an hour ago with Ian holding me whispering that everything was fine and I would be all right. This is just the latest in a series of bad dreams that I can’t remember when I wake up. They’re obviously bad enough that I’m waking him and most of the time I’m sweating so hard that I feel slick against his skin, but he doesn’t think I need to press to remember what I’m dreaming about, not yet anyway. He thinks it’s all accident related and I’ll work through it one way or another, but if he gets too sleep deprived from being woken up he may dump me out of bed with an annoyed “Enough!”

Now he’s in the shower trying to wake up all the way so he can drive the kids to school (no, he did not want company, as ice cold showers don’t lend themselves to, as he puts it, my insane libido; I refuse to apologize for that) and make it back in one piece. I feel bad because I kept him awake late last night and woke him up an hour and a half early, and while he’s getting breakfast for the kids and taking them to school, I can climb back into bed (and I probably will, if he promises to wake me up when he gets home.) It’s tempting to cancel PT for today because I know he won’t want to drive out there again yet if I do he’ll probably blow a gasket.

I have time to weigh the merits versus the risks of that ;)

Oh and don’t let him fool you; he doesn’t have moobs and he’s not sprouting so much hair he needs electrolysis. He’s just a hotter version of his younger self, even if he’s annoyed by it all.

Fifteen years ago I had a single chest hair. Char plucked it out. I wasn’t sure I would ever forgive her for that, because I’d waited thirty five damned years for chest hair, and within a blink Mz. Horny Hands ripped it right out.

I realized when I turned forty that it had grown back. So did a farking forest of other hair. Now instead of being annoyed that she plunked one wayward hair I’m wondering how badly it would itch to engage in a full body shave.

Fifteen years ago I also had roughly 3-5% body fat and the idiotic assumption that as long as I maintained the same level of activity, as long as I continued with martial arts, weight training, and running, that Char would be able to bounce quarters off my ass well into my eighties. Today, (because I married the food nazi) I eat better than I did fifteen years ago and I am just as active, I’m still in shape, but the six pack has faded to four and my navel has depth to it, and I’m a cup size away from having moobs.

My weight hasn’t changed much, which is marginally comforting because face it, for every 30 pounds you gain your junk loses an inch and I’m certain that would bother Char more than the moobs.

The only reason I’m thinking about this right now; Char has been going through photographs she’s taken over the years (she is a gifted photographer) and showed some of them to the kids. She shot a series of photographs of me not too long after we got married. And in most of them I’m shirtless (no she did not show that picture to the kids), working out, or jogging. At first none of the kids believed that was even me, but once Char convinced them that the exhibitionist in the photographs was their father, Rachel looked up and asked me sincerely What happened?

Someone remind me again why I wanted kids so badly. And someone give me a damned Ding Dong. If I’m losing the body I might as well enjoy it.

Miko called at nine this morning wanting to know if we could babysit; he and Erin had a couple of non-kid friendly errands to run and it would just be easier to not cart them around, but fine if we couldn’t watch them. With no Saturday classes to get in the way and nothing on our schedule, we jumped at the chance to spend the day with the kids.

Char’s dad showed up at ten to take the bikes out (why Rachel has no problem with him riding, I don’t know, but she was in tears last weekend when she thought I was going to ride) and stayed for lunch (prompting a few “huh” moments when Toni said “Grandpa” and we both answered. He’s just used to answering to it, but it made Toni giggle so much he kept it up all afternoon.) When the baby had a massive diaper blowout, though, he suddenly had to go out to the garage to make sure he hadn’t parked the bikes too close to the lawn mower.

I have to admit, this was one of those afternoons that makes me think moving is going to be a good thing, as much as I haven’t felt like I wanted to. It’s such a long drive from Erin and Miko’s to here that we don’t get to babysit as much as we would like, and once we’re in the new house they’ll be three blocks over and we’ll be able to see the grandkids much more frequently.

As a complete aside, my sister (and I hope you’re reading this) really screwed herself over when she kicked Erin out. She’s missing out on every major moment her grandkids have, and she handed them over to me. I get to experience the sheer joy of Toni’s innate sweetness and Travis’s insane giggling fits. I get to be the one who hears “Grandpa” in both tears and happy squeals, and I get to be the one who gets the crayon scribble pictures and ribbon-tied puffs from their first haircuts. My sister has two incredible biological grandkids, and she’s missed it all and will miss it all. I don’t know if Erin will ever completely recover from it emotionally, but she has family who gives a damn, and Char has been able to help her wade through a lot of the feelings of being abandoned by her mother.

Totally aside from anything.

We spent the day playing with the kids, or watching them in the back yard playing with each other. Alex and Rachel humored us by playing Simon Says and Tag with Kevin and Toni, and even the dogs got it on it. There was a lot of laughter surrounding us today.

When Erin and Miko came back to pick up their kids, she pulled Char and I aside to tell us why they needed some time without an inquisitive little girl along for the ride. They needed to confirm something.



Sometime in May, I get to be a Grandpa all over again.

Now I want to move.

Homecoming is looming on the horizon, and with it comes a Homecoming Dance. Alex has already asked his girlfriend if she wants to go and has secured transportation in the form of one sleepy father who grunted sure before getting any details.

On the way home from the dojang this evening he mentioned that while he can dance, he has little experience slow dancing, and he understands this will be expected of him. Could you, he asked his mother, help with that?

Before she could answer I pointed out that she’s not ready for anything like dancing, but rather than leave him feeling defeated suggested he practice with Rachel. I’d forgotten about the sibling cootie factor; neither of them has any intention of dancing with the other. They'll spar each other, but dancing?

Char suggested I teach the kid to dance.

Alex was supposed to protest with the same grossed out hell no he protested the idea he and Rachel dance together, but being the pain in the ass he can be he decided I would be an acceptable substitute for his mother, and after dinner I found myself in the living room slow dancing with my six feet tall fourteen year old son.

It would have been less uncomfortable without the howling laughter coming from the other two kids, and without the amused smirk on Char’s face. I also could have done without Alex putting his head on my shoulder and telling me that I’m awfully cute.

I now understand why Char dislikes whisker stubble so much. The prickliness on my shoulder has convinced me I might want to occasionally shave if I expect my face to graze someone else’s much more tender skin.

Alex was in my office this afternoon, humoring me by letting me read over a paper he has to turn in tomorrow, when Rachel came in to tell him his “best friend” had just walked into the dojang. I’ve met Alex’s best friend; the kid has no interest or inclination in stepping foot into the dojang, and when Alex sighed hard, I looked to Rachel for an explanation.

Alex’s new best friend (we’ll call him Damien just because) referred to Alex’s girlfriend as a cow, following her down the hallway mooing, When Alex took exception and got in his face (verbally, no hitting took place) Damien informed him that he better back off because he was “taking karate” and was fucking good at it and if he didn’t back down he would snap Alex’s skinny little self in two.

What ensued, my daughter informed me, was a lot of macho spite talk (“yeah, you fucking wish,” “I can turn you into oatmeal you pasty piece of shit”) but Alex never told Damien that his pasty, skinny little self has been hanging around tae kwon do from birth and training from age six. The bell rang and they parted.

Sixteen year old Damien has been a student here for all of two or three weeks; while he’s been in class Alex has either been in my office doing homework or in the pool swimming laps with his mother. Their paths have not crossed. Today, however, was an opportunity for both boys to learn a lesson, so I told Alex to go change clothes and meet me on the floor.

Damien took note of Alex walking towards the locker room and laughed, telling one of the other students that obviously Alex was afraid and wanted to learn to defend himself. He was filled with cocky confidence, and as teenaged boy tend to do, began talking about how many fights he’s been in and won, and how the first time they got to spar he was going to teach Alex a lesson.

I didn’t say a thing to him but called the class to line up and told them that the younger Mr. Murphy was going to warm up the class, after which we would split into groups and work on front and reverse punches. Then Alex walked in, tugging on his belt to tighten it as he moved to the front of the class.

I have never seen a kid go from cocky to terrified as fast as Damien did. Alex didn’t acknowledge him but began the class as we always do and got them sweating and huffing; when I stepped back onto the floor I brought another advanced student with me and split the class into two groups, Damien in Alex’s group, then stepped back to watch.

I know Alex was irritated, but he swallowed it and never let it show. He corrected wrist position on all of his new students, showed them how to combine punches, and praised them when they got it right, including Damien.

With fifteen minutes left in class I allowed my inner asshole out and had all the students sit around the edge of the floor and had Alex and the other advanced student gear up and spar as a demonstration of how far they can all expect to go if they stick with it. I stressed controlled hits, wanting them to show speed, agility, precision, and creativity, and gave them 3 minutes to go at it as hard as they could without hitting hard.

Ideally, the lesson was about control. I expect control from my students; I expect for them to learn that they can practice hard without killing each other. I allowed questions, knowing that new students always want to know how they learn the control, and if they’re suppose to never hit that hard, how do they learn to do it? And how much does it hurt to get hit? If someone my size hits someone their size, can they even fight back?

I sparred with my son, medium to hard contact, take-downs allowed. I allowed Alex to get inside my guard a few times so that he could demonstrate that yes, it is possible for someone as thin and wiry as Alex to take down someone as tall as I am, someone much heavier.

This is not an unusual lesson; we often show new students what they can expect (though it’s usually TK and Char, and Char will wipe up the floor with him as proof that girls are just as good at this as boys), but I admit, the Jerk Dad (the guy thinking yes, you little shit, my kid can destroy you) part of me wanted Damien to get a clue. If he started something with Alex, he was not going to be able to finish it. It wouldn’t have to be a matter of Alex hitting or hurting him; Alex is fast enough and has the endurance to simply allow someone with Damien’s skills to throw punch after punch and evade until the fight is over due to a complete loss of energy. He can win a fight without ever throwing a punch (which I expect in school situations, and he knows this) and he won’t be the one gasping for air when it’s over.

Alex had more than one opportunity to get in Damien’s face and remind him about how good he said he was at “karate” but he didn’t take it; he treated Damien the same way he treats all the students he trains with and helps to teach. I’m 99% sure that at school tomorrow he won’t mention it to Damien. I would hope Damien would hedge his bet and go apologize to Alex’s girlfriend, but I doubt he’ll clue into the fact that his bigger issue is not laying claim to skills he doesn’t have but complete disrespect towards the girl.

It would be nice if he would clue in and apologize to her tomorrow, but I know better than to expect that much.

Undr is exhausted. He won't admit it, but I think the last few months have finally worn him down. He took the kids to school this morning, came home, and fell asleep on the sofa while waiting for me to be ready to leave for PT (he needed sleep more than I needed to have a 24 year old try to pull my ankle behind my head, so I canceled and let him sleep.) He woke up in time for lunch and dragged his way through the rest of the day, even letting two students teach his class tonight while he "supervised" (which mostly consisted of him standing at one end of the room, pretending like he gave a damn while they practiced forms.) He drove home with the a/c blasting high, hoping it would help him stay awake and had the kids talking to him so he would be paying attention to something besides the sound of the tires on the road, cooked dinner for everyone, and we waited for him to fall asleep with his face in his plate. In order to get him to go to bed early I had to convince him I was tired, and god forbid I should wander up the stairs by myself yet ;)

So now he's zonked several hours earlier than normal, and I turned the alarm off so he can sleep in. Alex will wake me in the morning and my dad will come get the kids to take them to school. I know Ian will be annoyed as hell, but he'll get over it.

We close on the house next week and he's arranged to have it painted inside, once that's done we can move. And I'm hoping that once we're out of here, closer to school and the dojang and my dad, that he'll relax some and not try to do everything himself. I keep thinking, he had a heart attack before when stress was pounding on him, this hasn't been as bad as that, but it's close, and I really don't want him to go through that again.

A few more weeks and things should be closer to normal. Tomorrow, though, he's going to be pretty pissed off if he wakes up late and the kids are already gone.

Tough ;)

Never want to again hear Alex explain to his sister why she just can't barge in on him without knocking and waiting for an invitation into his room.

And the next kid to whine But why is going to meet pissed off Dad.

So far today I have managed to piss off my wife, annoy the oldest, upset the youngest, and make my daughter cry. I either need this day to end, or I need a do-over. And beer.

I think Ian forgets sometimes that we grew up in completely different worlds. In his world your parents were married to each other and your siblings were a matched set, but in mine, your parents might have not even known each other’s names, and you might have three brothers and sisters with different fathers. He grew up in suburbia and I, quite frankly, did not.

Intellectually he knows that Nika and I have different mothers, but that tends to slip his mind. My mother was white, hers was not. My mother left when I was a toddler, hers stayed until drug addiction won out. We both have that ugly scar of having mothers that left, but we had different experiences growing up, even in the same neighborhood. I was uncomfortable enough that I left the first chance I had, and I think she took that as a betrayal. She fit in where I did not and it was hard for her to understand that everyone we knew looked at me and saw my mother. Someone who thought she was too good to live in the neighborhood (my father thinks it wasn’t that, really, but people will decide what they decide, and the people around us decided she thought she was too good for us.) It never helped that I look more Hispanic than biracial, and in that particular neighborhood, that was borderline dangerous.

All of Nika’s anger aimed at anyone white was a product of environment, not of how we were raised. My father was stuck where he was at, but to him people were always just people, and when he I told him I was marrying Ian his only reaction was “that boy better treat you right.” I never heard anything remotely close to disappointment that I wasn’t just marrying a white boy, but one that was so white he damn near glowed in the dark.

Nika was only 16 and already angry and confused as it was. I’d left her behind when she was barely eleven years old, and somehow in her head I left because I was going to be with white people. I left for the money white people had, I left because I wanted to be with people like my mother, I left because I wanted to be white, and marrying Ian sealed the idea in her head. My friends were white (in her head), my husband was white, my life was white, and obviously I didn’t think “my people” were good enough. When my dad decided to move here, she took that as another betrayal. I don’t blame her for it because I can understand how it felt to her. She was headed for college (which was amazing to say the least) and he was supposed to stay home, and keep it as home.

He didn’t have any reason to stay. She left for school, as temporary as that turned out, and the rest of the family he was staying there for either moved on or wound up in jail. But as she saw it, he was being sucked into her big sister’s world of white. Her world had been in a gang controlled neighborhood, and where she heard her big sister called “whitey” every day, and to her that became something to fear, and something to hate. I understood why she was upset when I married Ian, even if he didn’t.

His mental blocks sometimes amuse me. His specialty in psychology is cultural ideologies and differences, but when he’s a part of it, he doesn’t always see it. Nika never hated him, but she hated what he represented to her. When she started wandering the country it didn’t have anything to do with thinking he was The Man, it had more to do with figuring out her place in the world. After all, when your mother abandons you because the drugs are easier and more appealing, what does that say about you? How little are you worth to lose out to a crack pipe?

The last time we saw her she had already started to soften towards him, probably because of her nephews and niece, but she still hadn’t found who she was outside of the neighborhood. She didn’t want to go back there for obvious reasons, and because she believed our dad when he told her she was better than anything she would ever amount to living there, but she just didn’t know who she was. Our dad could have held her in place and made her stay with him here, but he was smart enough to let her go. I know it hurt him, especially when so many years went by not knowing where she was.

Six months after the last time we saw her she got involved with a missionary church. She says she’d been afraid it was a cult, but they were going to Peru, so she didn’t care because she was going to get to see the real world, not something “artificial” created by a bunch of rich white men. The missionary work turned out to be real, and it was hard, and as she moved from Peru to Brazil, then to Haiti, and then to Africa, she realized the “real” world was not a pretty place.

Now she’s back and plans on staying put while she goes back to school, and she brought Peter with her. He almost glows in the dark. ;) He was born in Johannesburg, but has lived in the US off and on most of his life and was naturalized in his twenties. This tickles my dad, because Peter is now the whitest African American he’s ever met (don’t ever call my dad an African American, he’ll get very annoyed and point out that he’s never even been to Africa.) Peter is friendly and funny, but most important, he wasn’t afraid of my dad at first sight, which tends to happen a lot.

I missed Nika while she was gone, and I was angry about it when I stopped to think about how long it had been since we’d heard from her, but it’s hard to stay mad after seeing how much she’s grown and how wonderful a person she is. I want to feel selfish and just be happy that I have my sister back, but I think what might be more important is that my dad has his baby back, and I don’t think he thought he would ever see her again. I can’t imagine being that distant from my kids, I know it was killing him.

If any of my kids ever take off like that, I think I’ll let Ian hunt them down. Sometimes I wish I had let him look for Nika, but seeing her now I think it would have been a mistake. I'm just happy she's here.

Kevin is now totally in love with his Aunt Nika. She took one look at him and said “Hon, you look just like your Momma!” Oddly enough, Kevin is the only one of the kids that really looks like her; he has her coloring and straight black hair, and he has the same eyes, but it matters to him that someone else can see that.

I think Alex is a little taken with her, too. I heard him tell Kevin it was too bad she’s their aunt, because “she’s hot.” Yeah, bud, she’s also sixteen years older, so it wasn’t happening even if she wasn’t related.

It’s no secret that I don’t have the best relationship with my siblings. My brother is a farking idiot and my sister is lacking a most of her common sense genes. As my kids have grown older I’ve moved further away from them emotionally; the final straw was when Erin landed on my front step because she might be pregnant (I admit, my temper slammed the door shut with my sister when I pointed out how old she’d been when she got pregnant with Erin’s brother. Pot, kettle, you know.) Every family has a few odd ones, but I didn’t want my kids to grow up surrounded by their particular kind of crazy.

Char had a fairly close relationship with her sister until she moved across the country to take a job post high school; T’neeka (or Taniqua, tn’nika, or any of a dozen other names; it depended on her mood any given day) was not happy that her big sister was leaving her behind, and she jumped feet first into the pool of teenage you-hate-me angst. When Char married me, T’neeka took it personally; You’re marrying a WHITE boy?

Their mother was/is white, but that didn’t account for much at the time; she was pissed off, and stayed pissed off. She was also trying to “find” herself, and when Brad moved out here to be closer to his grandkids, she took off, thinking she would find what she needed somewhere else. They heard from her here and there, but as weeks and months wore on, her attitude expanded, and she was extremely unforgiving of having been left behind when Char was eighteen and was still angry that Char married “that guy.”

(I am “that guy” to most of Char’s extended family. For most of them, it’s said with amusement.)

Char and Brad never knew where T’neeka was going to be, so keeping track of her became more difficult, and eventually she stopped calling. The last time we can remember hearing from her was when Kevin was just a baby.

Until this morning. Brad called early, before the kids were ready to leave for school. I answered the phone and he asked for Char; this itself is unusual because I usually get one “you bastard” before I hand the phone over, but he didn’t sound upset, so I didn’t press. I just handed the phone to Char. She talked to her dad for a few minutes, her eyes went wide, and then she was squealing.

I left her at home while I took the kids to school, and she spent a couple of hours talking to her little sister. When I got home she told me we were having dinner with T’neeka and Brad, and Theresa would watch the kids. Initially, my stomach rolled; I’d suck it up for my wife and father in law, but having dinner with someone who hates me is not on my to-do list very often. But as morning wore on and Char was still excited, I started to look forward to it, to re-meet the kid (and she was just a kid then) that I think had to force herself to not spit on me before.

I would not have recognized her if she hadn’t walked into the restaurant with Brad. The last time I saw her she was an angry, defiant, bitter person who walked around with her eyebrows practically fused together from the perpetual scowl; the woman who walked in holding her father’s hand was filled with lightness, and when she smiled, I would have recognized it because she has her sister’s smile.

She’s been all over the world since the last time we saw her. She set out to rid the world of white male oppression and instead found herself in third world countries working with the truly oppressed; she’s done everything from teaching basic reading skills to teenagers in South America to helping bring running water to villages in Africa. She’s been out there working her ass off, and working her anger out. Nika (as she’s going by now) grew up.

She’s back in the US, likely for good, and will be living less than three hours away, and she’s getting married next year. She wants to be a part of her family again, and she wants forgiveness for walking away without much of an explanation. Everyone knew why she left in the first place, and now knowing where she’s been and what she’s been doing? Brad missed her and was hurt, but I don’t think he could be prouder of the way she went about finding out who she was outside of the neighborhood where she and Char grew up.

She wants Brad to give her away when she gets married next year.

To a white guy.

I did not laugh.

Between hauling kids around, Char's PT, getting inspections on the house, it's been a busy week and I'm looking forward to a quiet weekend.

There was quite a bit of relief to find out that Kevin's at-home practice drums are electronic and he can plug headphones into them; if he sticks with it we'll need to buy a full set at some point, but by then we'll be in the new house and I can (seriously) sound-proof a room.

We've had the pool inspected, an HVAC inspection, and the general + pest inspection is tomorrow. Monday we have a couple of moving companies scheduled to write up estimates; realistically we an close by the end of next week and move soon after. I still need someone to go through my dad's house, but Char is making phone calls about that for me, since I can't seem to bring myself to do it. One way or the other, it will get done.

The kids were with us this afternoon when we were there for the pool inspection; they stayed in the car but as soon as I was back in the car I got a list of everyone they know who lives nearby, most notably Alex's realization that his current crush is just a couple of blocks over.

Wonderful.

The kids’ goal for today was to go through everything in their rooms and toss out whatever was beyond its useful life and then box up whatever they wanted to donate. We shared in the misery and tackled out closets, but two hours later Char and I came to realization that we’ve done a reasonable job over the years of not accumulating too much crap. The kids had little to throw out and only a few things to donate; Char weeds out the clothes they’ve outgrown yearly, and whatever doesn’t fit someone else goes to Goodwill. Old toys in good shape have gone to cousins and friends, some to a church charity. The upside is that the house is ready to pack up when we’re ready to have it done (there will be no doing it ourselves; I know Char, if the kids and I went at it, she’d be trying to help, and that’s just not happening.)

I need to go through the garage and hire someone who specializes in estate sales to handle the things in my Dad’s house, because I honestly don’t want to try to do anything with what’s left of his things. TK has removed everything from his house; it only needs a good cleaning (not that he didn’t clean; it’s just been sitting there and smells a bit stale.)

The seller of the house we’re buying has a few small things he wants to address before we bring in a house inspector (getting the fireplace cleaned, replacing cracked outlet covers and two shower heads. Small things we could easily do but he doesn’t want risking any hiccups.) We have a pool inspector who will check the pool, as well as a pest inspector, this week. I want a separate HVAC inspection, but it’s not a deal breaker; I just want to know if I need to replace the AC or furnace before we move in.

Char wants to know what we’ll do if the sale on this property falls through at the last minute; it’s a hypothetical because we both know it won’t, but a general what will we do? I don’t think we’d do anything different. The kids are all excited about moving, she’s excited; I’m ambivalent but I see the merits of getting the kids closer to civilization. So we’ll move either way.

On the dojang side, TK is looking for smaller space for the dojang, and if he finds it, he’ll move the school. More transitioning; right now Char and I own 75% of the school, having bought out Dack years ago, but I want to remove myself from anything involving its management. When we opened the school it was supposed to be TK’s baby, but along the way shit happened and he needed breathing room, then Dack wrecked my car and damn near died and never got back to the shape he’d been in. It didn’t seem like a big deal as long as Char was teaching and handling what TK couldn’t, but now we’re ready to back off and hand the reigns over to him completely.

I’ll still teach, but only a few classes a week. The kids will still train (Alex is determined to get to 2nd degree and Rachel is ready to test for first; Kevin is close but as things stand now our criteria for testing for black includes being 12 years old…something I suspect TK will change because he never agreed with me about it.) Once Char is cleared to go back she’ll train, but I’m not sure if she’ll teach again, or if she just wants to do something else or nothing at all.

I don’t know how we’ll handle the official ownership of the dojang; it’s not a monetary thing, but right now everything is tied up under my name, and I’m not sure if we’ll “sell” to TK or just keep the status quo. It’s up to him.

What seems to be more pressing for us is finding out how we operate as a normal family; dinner as a family every night, the kids having time for activities other than TKD. For the kids it’s always been getting picked up at school and taken to the dojang where they do their homework and choke back a snack before their classes, wait around for each other, wait for Mom or Dad to teach, go home, shower, go to bed. Weekends have been the closest thing to normal they’ve had, but being so far from their friends, it’s only almost normal.

Alex wants to play basketball and swim on the school teams. Rachel wants to run track. Kevin just wants time. Up until now they’ve kept that mostly to themselves because they didn’t see any way to get those things (we would have found a way; it would have been a PITA but we would have tried) but now that they see the direction we’re headed they’re bubbling over with the things they want to try. For this, I will be a SAHD as long as I can.

Oddly, none of this would likely be happening if Char hadn’t nearly died on July first.

Char’s PT routine is not limited to work with her physical therapist and walking in the pool; she does a considerable amount of stretching at home, usually in the evening after the kids have gone to bed or are engrossed in homework or something on TV downstairs. The stretching is not comfortable by any means and is wrought with frustration and frequently tears because it still fucking hurts. It hurts enough that she says most of the time she’d rather give birth to a fifteen pound kid every night than go through it, but she sucks it up and does it anyway.

Some of the stretches require help, but for the most part the help is verbal; after a few minutes she wants to quit, and I have to sit on the floor with her and talk her through it, and sometimes I have to be the bad guy and get pushy about it. For fifteen minutes a day she hates me, but I can live with that.

Yesterday I took Rachel and a couple of her friends shopping, several hours of wandering the mall while they shrieked and giggled and pointed at boys they knew and boys they wanted to know. I followed a reasonable distance behind them, close enough to be right there but far enough back they were able to talk without me listening in and far enough that those boys wouldn’t necessarily guess they had a chaperone. I think Rachel’s friends had expected I would drop them off and pick them up later, but they’re twelve. I don’t care what their parents do, my daughter does not wander around the mall without adult supervision. I trust her; I don’t trust other people. When she hits fourteen, maybe then, but for now she’s stuck, even if she hates it.

Half an hour into their marathon shopping the friends realized having Rachel’s dad hanging back wasn’t such a bad thing, because he was willing to carry all the bags of crap they were accumulating. I didn’t mind, but by the time we got home I was exhausted; physically from carrying all their things for several hours, and mentally from all the gossip, giggling and shrieking.

I admit, I wasn’t in the mood to push Char into stretching beyond what she felt comfortable doing; I knew that a few minutes into it she would want to stop, and I also knew that I’d have to bite my tongue until it bled to keep from snapping at her. I think she knew I didn’t feel like sitting there cheering and jeering her on and she tried to opt out for the night, but not doing it isn’t an option, not now.

We both sucked it up, and we were both glaring at each other. Five minutes into it, right about the point of pain and resistance on her part, and right when I could already feel my temper notch up, we heard the boys in the hallway, and heard Alex say Don’t knock on that door, Kevin. Not right now.

I have to ask Mom something

Not now. If you need something I can get it or Rachel can get it.

I need to talk to Mom!

Char started to get up but I shook my head and peeled myself off the floor.

Later.

But why?

My hand was on the doorknob when I heard Alex saying, through gritted teeth, They’re. Probably. Naked.

Oh. He paused and then asked, Well, how long does that usually take?

I pulled to door open and Alex was standing there holding Kevin up, his hands under his little brother’s armpits, so that they were face level. Kevin looked at me, head to toe and determined I was shirtless but not pants less, and he looked back and Alex and said I guess it doesn’t take very long at all.

Alex shrugged, and he didn’t put Kevin down. My temper waned with the absurdity of Kevin’s size 5 feet dangling at least two feet off the floor, and I had to grit my teeth together to keep from laughing.

Char wasn’t as successful and was lying on the floor snickering, but managed to ask Kevin what he wanted.

I forget now.

Alex turned around, still dangling Kevin from his hands, and walked down the hall into his bedroom. Char was on her back on the floor, grinning, and willing to finish stretching. No complaints from either of us. When she was done I helped her up and she arched an eyebrow suggestively and asked Want to find out how long it takes?

Then Kevin remembered what he wanted.

Busy day. Buyer accepted our conditions for the sale of our property and we made an offer on the house we all liked (yes it has a pool but it’s not that house; we found another one that fit us a little better and is a little bigger) and while we gave him until Monday to accept, we had his answer (an enthusiastic yes) by the time we went to get the kids from school.

He wants a closing date “as soon as possible” but didn’t press for specifics, and I’m guessing that’s because he doesn’t want to screw this up. If inspections can be arranged soon, we can definitely close in under 30. The kids have been told this weekend their butts are mine; they’re going to help to go through things and toss out the crap no one uses or wants anymore.

Tonight, though, I played chauffeur for Alex and Char went along for the ride. I have to give Alex credit; the girl is friendly and didn’t seem embarrassed to be hauled around by his parents. He didn’t seem embarrassed, either, and didn’t shut us out of their conversation on the ride to the theater (I probably did at his age.) Char and I went out to dinner while they were at the movie and we spent a little time wandering around a furniture store but she hit her physical limit early so we waited in the car until Alex called to be picked up.

There’s another benefit to moving. In the future I can drop him off and go home instead of having to find things to do.

He had a good time, I think she did too, and I have to give the kid props for not being shy when he walked her to the front door. I’m not sure I give Char props, because when she thought he was a little too not-shy, she honked the horn.

This, though, this is why we started letting kids drive at 16. Having to haul their asses around any longer would just be a pain in ours.

Swimming in inevitability, I formally accepted the offer on our property today, contingent upon us finding another home, as well as reasonable time to move. The person who wants the property has been after it for years, so I doubt he’ll suddenly say no, you have to sell and move right now. Char and I saw several more houses today and took the kids to see two more, and we all agree that the one that sits with all of us is one we took the kids to see yesterday.

Before making an offer I wanted a little more information; the house is listed as a short sale and carries with it the potential to be a protracted sale process. But our Realtor pulled up the records on it, and the seller is only asking 10 grand less than what he owes. It appears that it was originally listed high enough for payoff, but the only offer received was well below asking. What’s owed is directly in line with other homes in the area that have sold; I’m of a mind to make an offer that would bypass the annoyance of waiting months for an answer from his lender that might be no.

Char and I will probably decide tomorrow; the kids were clamoring for me to pick up the phone and call the Realtor before close of business today, but I doubt someone else will buy it before we finalize a decision.

Once we’ve moved, I hope that’s the last big thing that will happen this year. We seem to go in cycles, years without incident, and then months crammed with unwanted drama. I’m ready for quiet.

Thirteen seems like the age for a practice-teenager. Fourteen seems like the real deal. At 10:14 this morning, Alex became the real deal (while he was suffering through PE, running tag lines in the gym, a torture Char found suitable all things considered.) We picked the kids up from school this afternoon and took them to see the two houses we wanted them to see, and then two more that the Realtor had lined up (Alex did have veto rights, because I wasn't making him suffer on his birthday) The kids all wanted to see more, but I finally put my foot down because like it nor not, Alex was not going to spend what was left of his birthday measuring potential bedrooms. We gave him the decision of where to go for dinner (Red Lobster, that's my boy) and then sat back and watched in amazement at the sheer volume this kid can eat.

Birthdays mean no limits; a kid wants to order a second meal he can. He did, and polished it off and was looking for more, but decided to leave room for the nearly half a birthday cake he intended to wolf down.

We were honestly surprised that he didn't seem to mind being dragged to look at houses today; even though he's on board with the idea of moving, who wants to spend their birthday looking at real estate?

We learned why later.

After we got home he opened birthday gifts; a loaded Amazon gift card from Rachel (Alex reads like we're going to run out of words sooner rather than later) and an MP3 player from Kevin. Char and I debated over what we wanted to give him; we're fairly anal about the amount of time the kids spend online and we keep an eye on where they're going online (and I shut the router off at night to remove temptation; we trust them but we were kids once, too.) Alex has never abused his online privileges and he has to spend time online for school projects now, tying up the only computer the kids are allowed to use.

We got him a laptop. He's earned the right to be trusted about his judgment (but, he also knows I have ways of tracking him. And randomly, I might.)

He'd opened his gifts and we were all sitting at the table watching him inhale cake, when he came out with it.

He asked someone out for Friday night, and she said yes. Just a movie, and perhaps a burger after. She has a curfew, it will be an early movie, and her father is only going to say yes if he gets to meet both Alex and his chauffeur. She's a freshman and only 14, in case we worried about a repeat of the 16 year old. And if we want, Char and I can tag along as long as we're in a different theater.

We did say he could date.

I agreed, but we're not tagging along because I doubt he meant that.

I think he had a decent birthday, but now the countdown to 16 begins. He's already thinking about the car he's going to buy.

We told the kids today that an offer was made on the property and that we're seriously house hunting. While they've grumbled about living so far from their friends, I expected there to be a goodly amount of complaining about the actuality of moving; they surprised me. The first thing they all wanted to know was where we were looking and if they would be closer to friends/Grandpa/Erin & Miko/TK/Dack & Theresa. When we said yes, that it made no sense to move and still have them so far removed from the people they want to be near, there were smiled and Alex declared that we couldn't have given him a better birthday present.

I halfheartedly pointed out that meant I didn't have to give him an actual present and expected him to back peddle, but he shrugged. He wants to move. And while he wants to move to be close to all those people, he also wants to move into a single story house because Stoner can barely make it up the stairs anymore, to the point that Alex often sleeps in my dad's downstairs room so that Stoner doesn't try to climb them.

Stoner is an old, old dog, and I doubt he has another year left in him, and when he's gone Alex will be crushed.

But, I'm not bringing that up with him now. The kids are happy, and today Char and I saw two houses we want to take the kids to see after school tomorrow. I'm 90% sure I know which one they'll prefer; it has a huge back yard, with a pool, and they'll still each be able to have their own bedrooms. Best yet, there are two bathrooms besides the master, so they won't have to share all the time. I suspect Rachel will lay claim to one, and I don't think the boys will mind.

Tomorrow is Alex's 14th birthday. In some ways it doesn't seem possible that he's been alive this long, but in most ways it's hard to believe that he's only 14. Aside from a few new-teenager hiccups, he's turned out to be fairly mature and responsible, and I can only guess that he gets that from his mother because he sure as hell didn't get it from me.

It takes a whole lot longer to look at eight houses than I would have guessed. I was grumpy after four; I hope that Char walks into one that just says this is it sooner rather than later, because I don't think I'll be enjoying this at all.