Step right up, step right up. Believe it or not, this week, Tim and Jenni (well, mostly Tim) take a deep dive into the story of Robert Ripley, creator of Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Watch how a 15-second TikTok sent Tim spiraling down the rabbit hole of Mr. Ripley’s life story. They cover the museums and the TV show featuring Superman, Dean Cain. This episode is a behind-the-scenes look at what happens when Tim is interested in something Jenni could not care less about. Despite Tim’s best efforts, she managed to stay awake for the entire episode. Believe it or not.
Shout out to Rik for jumpstarting this episode with his Fact Check article. He has some fabulous “Ramblings,” it is worth your time to poke around and read some of his articles.
Why do we wear costumes? Why do we ask for candy? Where did Halloween even come from? If you have asked yourself these questions but were too lazy to search for the answers, you’ve come to the right place. This week, Tim and Jenni discuss the origins of the holiday we know today. Where it came from, when it started, why we wear costumes, why we threaten people with tricks if they don’t give us sugar – we cover it all along by talking about our Halloween memories, costumes, and traditions. Harvest has ended, and winter is upon us, so it is time to wear your costume and bob for apples!
This is the last week of our countdown through our 25 years together! Will 2023 have what it takes to swoop in at the final minute and steal victory? Tim and Jenni discuss Tim’s 40th birthday party and how Hot To Go by Chappell Roan feels like it has existed forever. They discuss Taylor Swift, the Eras tour, and Rhianna’s Super Bowl performance. Then they dive into their movie games with the box office winners and best picture nominees. For Tim and Jenni, 2023 was a year of travel – Palm Springs, Chicago, Chattanooga, Cabo San Lucas, and Bozeman. Jenni became a soccer mom, and the Severson family started a new tradition of Christmas caroling, but will it be enough to hold the top spot?
This week, Tim and Jenni kick off the podcast by discussing Tim’s recent 40th birthday and the Golden Gopher football victory over USC this past weekend. From there, the pair jump into the year 2022. They recap some of the year’s biggest stories: Will Smith slapped Chris Rock, Johnny Depp and Amber Heard were in court, and so much more. They talked briefly about movies from the year and played their movie games before diving into what was happening for them in 2022. Tim relives his vasectomy; they talk about their trip to Florida and eat all of the Little Debbie snack cakes they could find. 2022 was a good year, but is it the best of their 25 years together?
Good, but not great; decent, but not bad. If my life were a train ride, I’d say I’ve spent forty years rumbling along the tracks, unsure of where I’m headed but always moving forward. My journey has been filled with missed stops, unexpected detours, and many freight cars packed with regrets trailing behind me.
As a tween and teenager, I found myself at Spencer’s Gifts in every mall that had one, always eager for an escape from that train ride. Spencer’s was the store equivalent of jumping off the tracks and sneaking into an R-rated movie before you were of legal age. They were famous for their posters, graphic T-shirts, blacklight-themed decor, and cashiers who sported their best Goth look while being irritated with every customer’s audacity to breathe the same oxygen.
Old habits die hard, of course, so this past spring, when I came across a Spencer’s, I had no choice but to check out how the store has evolved since the late twentieth century.
One of the first graphic tees I saw hanging on the wall was bright red with white lettering, which read: “Don’t Bully Me, I’ll Cum.” It may be the best shirt I’ve seen in my forty years.
I was there to find a specific section I remember from my teenage years, so I browsed the store while “Believe” by Disturbed played over the speakers. I paused momentarily to confirm that my jeans hadn’t turned into the baggy, carpenter jeans designed by Tommy Hilfiger I wore in the late nineties.
As I wandered through Spencer’s, it felt like I had stopped the train for a moment, stepping back into a time when I was blissfully unaware of how fast that train would start picking up speed. I came across the posters, which, to my pleasant surprise, have yet to be updated since the early 2000s. There were posters of the Playboy logo, Scarface, Pulp Fiction, 2Pac, Sublime, The Smashing Pumpkins, and the timeless Pink Floyd “Back Catalogue.”
The blacklight section is still adorned with blacklight mushroom candles and sculptures positioned directly next to the lava lamps.
As I continued searching for the section I was looking for, I came to the store’s back wall, and I froze as I took it all in, mouth and eyes both open wide.
“Do you want me to get something down for you?”
“What? No. No. No, thank you. Just lookin’,” I said to the twenty-year-old sales associate as she glared at me with a look aimed at informing me I had indeed been breathing too much of her oxygen.
The back wall of Spencer’s was adorned with hundreds of sex toys ranging in sizes from beginner to, err, expert(?).
I turned my back to the wall of sex and was faced with the novelty bachelor/bachelorette party gifts. While turning to stare at gummies and straws in the shape of penises wasn’t the exact escape I was looking for, it was an improvement from having a twenty-year-old offer to get a giant dildo down from the top row of the sex wall.
I found the remnants of the section I was looking for next to the “Pin the Junk on the Hunk” poster game.
There was a tiara with “Birthday Bitch” on it, a shot glass with the words “Birthday Bitch” printed on it, and a glitter-colored wine glass that read “Birthday Bitch.”
In high school, the birthday section was stocked with “over-the-hill” gag gifts full of sophomoric humor. I remember seeing a cane with a horn attached to the handle and emergency adult diapers packaged behind a thin piece of plastic with “In Case Of Emergency, Break Glass.” These products were not as sophisticated as adding “Birthday Bitch” to drinkware, but they can’t all be winners.
As I laughed at jokes built from the lowest common denominator with my friends, I would also imagine my life when I turned forty.
Where will I be living? Will I have any of the same friends? Will I have children? What will my hair look like? These are the thoughts that would run through my mind as I rode along the train tracks of youth, oblivious to the steep hills and sharp turns ahead.
I would never have a specific goal in mind because my perception of life has been that I am on a train driven by an unknown conductor headed to an unknown destination. If I am kind, polite, and well-behaved, the conductor will give me a little extra time at stops along the way and, at minimum, will keep the bar cart sufficiently stocked.
Regrets? They fill the freight cars added to the end of my train, trailing behind as I ride the iron rails of this journey through life. Those cars are heavy and without brakes. They make the climb up hills taxing and the trips down perilous. The heaviest car among them is filled with the realization that I could’ve taken the highway.
When the tracks run parallel, I often find myself in my observation car, face pressed to the glass in awe at the freedom people in their vehicles have to stop at roadside attractions or take an exit they hadn’t planned.
If only someone would have written a song in the early nineties informing me that life is, in fact, a highway.
As I imagined my forty-year-old self in a dimly lit store reading gag birthday cards about impotence, I felt desperation for the confidence and knowledge that comes with being that old. I longed for a “boring” life as an adult filled with more certainty than uncertainty.
I wish so desperately that I was writing to inform you that I have finally made it. I would tell you this piece was written from a place of certainty and peace about the man I have become. I’d say to you that those silly self-conscious thoughts were due to the hormones racing through my body, and I am comfortable with myself.
I might make fun of myself for caring so deeply about what people thought of me, both in appearance and as a person. Or, I’d write out prolific life lessons I’ve gotten along the way that would provide you with an unexpected “aha” moment, leading to the last change you needed to round out your already wonderful life.
Instead, while my body has not escaped the effects of the passage of time, my brain hasn’t aged a day.
I know this because I am desperate for your approval, literally. All I want to do right now is give up and leave the words I have written saved in a document as “Untitled 11.” As a forty-year-old, I live my life desperate for a like or share on social media or even a minor compliment as a clue I haven’t completely fucked up my entire life by believing I could make a career from writing.
When those feelings bubble up, my train can become a lonely place. The dark outside makes it difficult to believe I am heading in the right direction. My instincts tell me to pull the emergency brake and get off before the entire thing derails.
Every time I reach for the brake, I am stopped.
The one thing my teenage self was sure of was that my train ride would be much more fun if I had someone on board with me.
Her name is Jenni, and I asked her aboard at 8:05 AM on October 8, 1999.
I couldn’t believe she got on then, and every day, I am equally astonished that she is still here. Because, of course, she doesn’t belong here. She should be on the highway or up in the air on one of those jets I see soaring in all directions.
Yet, no matter how many times I have pointed out these superior options to her over the past twenty-five years, she tells me she loves our train.
She stokes the burners when those cars full of regret start to slow us down. When we sit beside each other in the observation car, she points out the beautiful scenery past the highway. And when we head to the bar car, she makes the people on the road wish they were on our train.
Regardless of how many cars full of regret I have acquired over the years, I would still walk back down the mountains and valleys, through storms and sunshine, and across the two-and-a-half decades to find my fifteen-year-old self and hug him.
I’d hug him because having the courage to ask Jenni aboard this train feels like the most crucial decision of my life.
Over the past twenty-five years, she has brought me our two wonderful children, millions of smiles and laughs, and got me through some of the darkest times of my life.
I apologize if you came here looking for the answers about being an adult I was starving to find inside Spencer’s gifts all those years ago. I wish I had a manual or even the hubris to pretend I have the wisdom to write one, but I don’t.
All I’ve got is this:
However, you choose to travel through this life, whether by plane, train, or automobile, don’t do it alone.
Do it with someone who laughs with you. Do it with someone who cries with you. Do it with the person who knows moving forward is just as important, if not more so, than moving in the exact right direction.
My beard has white hair now, I think hard before doing any physical activity, and I have started to squint while trying to read a menu in a dimly lit restaurant.
But when I look into Jenni’s eyes and she smiles at me, I am a fifteen-year-old again whispering, “Will you go out with me?” into her ear.
Twenty-five years later, if I shut my eyes and listen hard, I can still hear the echo of her whispering, “Yes.”
New trains with faster engines and modern accommodations leave the station every day. It’s easy to watch them zip by and think the trip would be better on a new train.
However, if I do have a bit of wisdom from these forty years, it’s that each time I have taken an opportunity to tour these trains to see what I’m missing, I walk away muttering a phrase only an old guy would coin:
“They sure don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
So, if you need us, we’ll be in the bar car dancing to and singing our favorite songs. We won’t know where we’re headed, but everyone is welcome, and Jenni will make sure it’s the ride of your life.
There are the nights you anticipate, knowing it will be unforgettable. Then, there are the nights that surpass your expectations. On the latter of those nights, the gravity of the experience steals your breath as you realize you are living one of those nights.
In that moment of realization, time slows down. Everything sharpens: the features on the faces around you are more vivid, and their chatter and laughter are more melodic.
Since 2018, I have observed a marked shift in Jenni’s attitude and drive. I might have attributed this growth to the wisdom and experience that come along with years of hard work, but after attending the WaveMaker Awards, I realized there was more to it.
I nominated Jenni for the Community Impact Award, given to women who make giving back to the community and/or youth a top priority in ways that promote the development of others, either through their work or through volunteer efforts. I nominated her because it is astonishing how much of her time Jenni dedicates to various organizations while caring for our family.
When I opened my email on July 12th and saw Jenni had won, my reaction was more relief than shock.
Whenever I tell her, “You are absolutely stunning,” or, “You are so talented,” her response is always the same.
“You have to say that because you love me.”
My desperation for acknowledgment of her hard work had been growing as I watched her excel professionally, complete her Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Minnesota, serve on multiple boards, all while dazzling everyone she meets.
In other words, it was about damn time.
Having never attended a TeamWomen event before the awards ceremony, I didn’t know what to expect. All I knew was that Jenni would receive an award and have a minute on the stage to dazzle the crowd with her charm and intelligence – and I couldn’t wait.
As we entered the elegant ballroom adorned with ornate furniture and gorgeous chandeliers, the buzz of the attendees was palpable. Everyone I spoke with was kind and inviting.
We sat down for the ceremony honoring twenty-two women who would be awarded awards across various categories throughout the evening. Each was given a minute to answer a pre-selected question on stage.
Throughout the ceremony, I was in awe of the women who walked across the stage. Each came from vastly different backgrounds and shared unique stories, yet they were all impressive. Entrepreneurs, C-Suite Executives, volunteers, and even a high school senior all shared valuable insights about their journeys. However, it wasn’t their accomplishments that made them impressive; instead, it is the thing every honoree had in common: their spirit and drive.
At some point, all of these incredible women have been given the message (directly or indirectly) that they didn’t belong because they were women.
And yet, they persisted.
My heart swelled as I sat with our 5-year-old daughter, listening to the empowering stories of women who got what they wanted because they didn’t quit and found a supportive community to give them the help they needed when they needed it most.
“Two more women, then it’s Mommy’s turn,” she whispered to me as she followed along with the ceremony program in her hand.
She beamed at me when her mother graced the stage in her elegant floral patterned dress, looking the part of an award winner. The emcee asked her the pre-selected question…
And Jenni absolutely killed it.
It would be easy to assume she always accepts awards if you didn’t know her. She spoke with poise and drew everyone in. She told a joke that not only got laughs but got an applause break as well. Tears welled in my eyes as she spoke.
Fortunately for my ego, they started to play her off as she began to mention me.
Now, if she had been talking about anything else, I would have gone to the sound booth and clarified to the person running the controls that my wife would get as much time on stage as she needed.
However, it felt merciful when the music started, just as she began to mention me. There is only so much public crying a guy can make it through, you know?
It’s something special to watch someone in their element. It’s even more remarkable when that person is your spouse.
Watching Jenni work a networking room is like watching a prolific artist paint. Her tools become extensions of herself, and every interaction seems effortless.
On these nights, I watch her from across the room. No matter the distance, I see the sparkle in her eye, hear the pitch of her laughter amid the crowd, and fall in love all over again as she makes others fall in love with her.
Thank you, TeamWomen, for providing a place for Jenni to thrive. Thank you for offering a place for our daughter to see that all options are on the table for her in this life. Whether she wants to open and run a brewery, become a professional wakeboarder, lead a company as CEO, or anything in between, she’ll grow up knowing that she can and doesn’t need to do it alone.
Thank you, Clementine, for being your mother’s daughter. As a Kindergartener, you recognized the importance of the night and never wavered in your decision to attend an event with a bunch of boring adults. As I’ve written recently, I love you for that and a million other reasons.
Jenni and Clementine watching the TeamWomen WaveMaker Awards
Thank you, Jenni, for attacking every day, taking risks, and giving our daughter a front-row seat to learn from the best.
Maybe Jenni is right; maybe I have to say these things because I love her.
It’s Wednesday, and The Kids Are In Bed! This week, Tim and Jenni continue their countdown to the 25th anniversary of their relationship by discussing 2021. They talk about Jenni’s first watch of Tenet. They talk about some of the most memorable pop culture stories of 2021: Free Britney, Kim and Kanye Divorce, Bennifer 2.0 (RIP), Taylor Swift re-releasing her music, and Squidgame. From there, Jenni guesses what won the box office, and they discuss the best picture nominees despite seeing only a couple of the movies. Tim talks about losing 70 pounds and growing out his hair, showing off his “Long Hair, Skinny Face” look for the first time. 2021 brought a family road trip to NY, dinosaurs, and the Gophers beating Wisconsin AGAIN. Will 2021 be their best year yet? Only one way to find out!
Tim and Jenni reflect on their family life, parenting challenges, and the unique experiences of 2020, the best year that wasn’t. They share humorous anecdotes about their children, discuss the impact of the pandemic on their lives, and reminisce about pop culture moments from that year. The conversation flows from light-hearted family stories to more profound reflections on the lessons learned during a tumultuous time.
This week on The Kids Are In Bed, Tim and Jenni discuss their daughter starting kindergarten and how Tim sobbed as he packed her lunch before they launch into this week’s topic: 2018. They discuss some of the year’s most significant pop culture moments, what won the box office, and the Best Picture nominees briefly since they haven’t seen any of the movies. They discuss their obsession with Maroon 5’s “Girls Like You” and “Shallow” from A Star Is Born. In 2018, the couple faced various challenges, including a medical emergency, difficulties with prescription medication, and a stressful eye surgery. They also appeared in a campaign ad for Senator Tina Smith and took trips to parks and football games. They moved to a new house, sold their old one, and prepared for the arrival of their second child. It turns out that moving while pregnant makes people busy. Despite the busyness and stress, they found joy in moments like the gender reveal and the Gophers winning the Axe. Overall, 2018 was a year of growth and change for the couple.
“Daddy, this is so much fun,” my daughter, Clementine, said, breathing heavily as we climbed the 49 steps to the top of the water slide.
Yes. I counted them. Mind your business.
Midway through the summer, my wife, Jenni, and I discussed keeping the kids home from daycare before school started.
The prospect of saving money by not having them in daycare was more than enough to get me interested.
If you don’t have kids or don’t live in, well, the United States of America, you may be wondering, what does it cost each week to have a five—and eight-year-old attend daycare in the summer?
$484.19.
I know that number by heart, and writing it still takes my breath away.
Jenni’s primary concern, however, had little to do with our money.
“I just think it’s a great opportunity for you to spend time with the kids since you might not have free time like this again.”
I guess staring at a blank screen, hoping for inspiration to strike, counts as free time these days…
We decided to give the kids some extra fun in the last week of summer before school.
Cha-ching.
“It’s a good opportunity to adjust our bedtime so we are in a better routine when school actually starts,” I suggested to my wife one evening while feeling incredibly confident about my parenting ability.
Ah, the lies we tell ourselves.
On the recommendation of my eight-year-old son, Jude, I decided we would go to Summerland Family Fun Park. He had been there on a summer field trip, and he assured me Clementine would love it. The park has a waterslide, go-karts, mini-golf, and bumper boats, all run by teenagers who, for the most part, seemed unconcerned with park rules.
You’ve seen it before. It’s the place where you say, “Maybe next time,” to your kids when you drive by it on the highway.
A quick Google search showed me that admission to the park was $7.50, so I figured it’d be perfect for the hottest day in August.
Once inside, it was clear the admission fee was a bait-and-switch – everything was a la carte.
I stood looking at the prices for all the activities, attempting to do the quick math, when my wife’s voice popped into my head like a guardian angel.
“You’re not in a rush,” her angelic voice rang in my head.
I must’ve blacked out because the next thing I knew, I was tapping my credit card to pay $148.89. Not bad for three hours of fun, right? Right?! But it’s not just the price. Every tap of the card feels like a trade-off, a decision about where to invest these fleeting moments. Before they’re too old to want to go on water slides with me, time with my kids makes a hundred and fifty bucks feel insignificant.
We walked into the park, $335.30 in the black, and found a table for our things.
Whenever I take my kids to fun places alone, I can’t shake the feeling people think I’m a divorced Dad.Sonaturally, I am forced to overcompensate.
“Mommy is going to be so proud of me when we get home to her,” I said in a raised voice to my kids as I slathered them with sunscreen.
It’s funny how our insecurities come out to play sometimes.
Putting sunscreen on kids at the bottom of a waterslide is like trying to keep two cats in a bathtub. I wanted to ensure I was with Clementine before she got near the water since she is a new swimmer and because, well, she’s my baby girl who needs me by her side.
“Do you want to go down together for the first time?” I asked her as we climbed the steps to the top of the slide.
“No, thanks,” she said, running ahead of me up the stairs, utterly sure of herself.
Since Jude was first in line, I told him to wait for Clementine at the bottom to ensure she got to the pool’s stairs okay.
When the lifeguard gave her the all-clear, Clementine looked at me. She wasn’t asking for permission – just checking on me.
“All good?” I asked with a smile.
She gave me her trademark thumbs-up and wink before launching herself down the waterslide. My heart swelled with pride at her bravery.
I waited at the top, watching her shoot out of the bottom. Of course, she made it to the stairs like she’d done it a thousand times before.
I stepped up and went down the slide to catch up with her.
If you haven’t been on a waterslide lately, do it. I promise you can’t make it down without smiling or feeling that burst of joy in your chest.
As I came around the final corner of the water slide, my adorable baby girl sat in the water on the pool steps, waiting for me. Her face lit up with a smile from ear to ear, and a faint pang of recognition hit me square in the chest.
My daughter looked familiar, but not just because she carries half of my DNA. It was different, like when a stranger’s face catches your eye at a crowded event, and for a second, they seem like someone you know. However, after you let your gaze hold for a moment, the recognition slips through your fingertips like trying to remember a dream.
We went down that slide a hundred more times, and every trip up the stairs, she couldn’t stop talking about the fun:
“Daddy, this is so much fun.”
“This is the best waterslide ever.”
“You’re the best Daddy.”
“This is the best waterslide ever.”
“I love going down the waterslide with you.”
“Who built this waterslide? Because they did a really good job.”
With every burst of joy she shared, I felt that familiar pang in my chest again, like something I was on the verge of understanding. I shook it off as an odd case of Deja Vu.
As we left the park, hot and exhausted, I silently thanked Jenni. She was right. Those three hours at the park riding waterslides, playing mini golf, and riding go-karts were reason enough to keep them home for the week.
A few days later, walking from our tailgate at the first Minnesota Gophers football game of the season, soaked from the rain, I snapped some candid shots of Clementine, expecting her usual cute smile in her Gopher cheerleader outfit.
Instead, I got a runway model attitude and strut, which made her look ten years older.
There’s that pang again, I thought as I snapped pictures.
When the photoshoot concluded, I looked at the pictures, hoping for a clue as to what had brought that odd feeling of familiarity, but I came up with nothing.
On her first day of Kindergarten, her joy was infectious. It reminded me of how I used to feel on the first day of school – that Christmas morning vibe full of unknowns and endless possibilities.
From the moment she came downstairs in her orange-patterned dress (Get it? Because her name is Clementine), the pang in my chest lingered until we watched her walk into school.
If reincarnation were my thing, I’d swear that pang meant I knew her in another life.
Of course, I spent my morning crying as I worried about her being lonely, or homesick, or scared, or nervous, or, or, or…
When she got off the bus, I realized all my tears and worries were for nothing. The pang in my chest returned as she smiled and waved, but this time, it felt more real. Less like a fleeting dream, more like a name you can’t quite get off the tip of your tongue.
On her second day of Kindergarten, we were a little more rushed to get out in time for the bus.
Jenni and I followed our children, backpacks bouncing on their shoulders, out into the cool September morning air to wait for the bus.
We expected the kids to stop and wait with us on the step, just like the first day. The third grader, Jude, didn’t want to do that, so he gestured for his little sister to follow him to the bus stop. He didn’t do it impatiently; he did it with the calm confidence of the stellar big brother he’s been for the past five and a half years.
Tears start to sting my eyes.
Clementine didn’t think twice. She walked right past as I said, “Alright, have a great second day of Kindergarten, baby girl.”
“She didn’t even say goodbye,” Jenni said, looking at me with mock anguish.
And just like that, I understood the pang – like solving a riddle, it suddenly seemed so obvious. The feeling of familiarity was no longer a mystery.
The source of that familiarity stood right next to me as we watched our kids walk to the bus stop.
My daughter’s smile, enthusiasm, confidence, and bravery are the same things I fell in love with when I was fifteen.
Tears fell as I saw Jenni’s reflection in our daughter. But unlike her first day, only a few tears fell this time, I knew there was nothing to worry about. She got the good stuff from my wife—the magic.
The magic of a little girl who knows there are no limits to what she can do – not because she’s told, but because her mother shows her how to be undeniable.
Her answer to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” says it all.
“A firefighter, construction worker, dancer, swimmer, and fashion model.”
She’ll be busy, but I have no doubt she’ll do it all.
You shouldn’t either.
Cheers.
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