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.