Tim and Jenni give a quick Oscars recap before they find out that, for the first time in podcast history, the kids AREN’T in bed. Next, they talk restaurants: they’re early experiences as parents, the neverending search for the perfect “family friendly” restaurant, and Tim’s big ideas to improve the restaurant industry. Don’t forget to Subscribe!
Read Tim’s latest piece, My Business Trip
Tim and Jenni opened bottles of LamarcA to record their Oscars Special, and it showed. We recommend opening your own bottle to join them in discussing all things Oscars and movies.
In this episode, Tim and Jenni discuss their love of the Academy Awards, how becoming parents added a gap in their movie knowledge, their favorite movies and performances of previous winners, their predictions for this year’s awards, and Tim’s impromptu acceptance speech.
Read about their trip to the Gone With The Wind museum.
Background Photo by Samuel Ramos on Unsplash
This week, Tim and Jenni discuss getting up early, Tim’s chase for a speedwalking world record, Jenni’s hilarious practical joke, the best age for Disney, and their weekend at Grand View Lodge. Make sure to subscribe and find out where Tim will have a breakdown next!
The Kids Are In Bed Episode 3 – Tim and Jenni discuss Tim’s latest piece, “Letting Go,” their latest strategy for keeping their kids in bed, what couples most commonly fight about, and all things “Grease.” Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe. New episodes every Wednesday!
Listen here or watch on YouTube @theofficialtimtalks
He feels the warm morning sun on his face through the blinds in his bedroom, followed by her warmth as she presses against his back, draping her arm over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and catches a faint scent of her perfume from yesterday.
“I think today is the day,” she whispers, gently into his year.
With that, his eyes open, and he is awake. He rolls over to see the bright, smiling face of his wife, Catherine, framed by her long blonde hair. He is always caught off guard by how the smallest moments remind him how lucky he is to have her in his life, convinced his heart will explode out of his chest.
I can’t wait to tell my Dad; he is going to be thrilled, Daniel thought.
“Have you felt any contractions?” He said, trying to disguise the concern in his voice.
“I think I felt one a little while ago. It was faint, but something tells me, today is the day,” she said with a smile, then concern flashed across her face, “Regardless, I think you need to do it today.”
“I know,” he said, rolling to his back and wiping the sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. You’ve been preparing, and just think, once it’s over you’ll get to meet your daug…” Catherine said, cutting herself off when she realized what she had started to say.
“Wait. Daughter? We’re going to have a baby girl?”
“Don’t be mad. When I went in for my last check, the nurse accidentally told me and…”
“Mad? Mad?! How could I be mad? We are going to have a baby girl, a little you. I have never been more excited in my entire life.”
He gave Catherine a kiss, got out of bed, and made his way to the shower. He needed to get in touch with his Dad; the sooner, the better.
Sharing big news with his Dad is one of his favorite things to do in life. He had a knack for providing a reaction that matched the moment’s gravity. Never underwhelmed, never too much enthusiasm, always just right.
He smiled as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair, recalling the day he got his first hole-in-one. On a late August evening, he got off the golf course just before sunset. He ran to his car to call his Dad, ignoring the yells from his friends reminding him he had to pay for drinks inside the clubhouse.
“Hey buddy, what’s up? Your Mom and I are out for dinner in one of those restaurants that consider it rude to have a conversation above a murmur,” he whispered.
“Oh, uh, sorry, maybe we can just talk tomorrow,” he said, hoping the disappointment wasn’t evident on his face.
“Hmmm, something tells me I want to hear this news right now.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt.”
His Dad stared at the phone with a knowing look.
“Alright, alright. Well, I just got off the course, and I got a hole-in-one on fifteen,” Daniel said, trying to keep his voice at a respectful volume. He realized his Dad hadn’t moved as he broke the news and said, “Dad, are you there?”
Then he saw the corners of his Dad’s mouth start to curl into a smile threatening to touch his ears as he said, “Gotcha.”
Then he stood up, knocking his chair over backward. Then, in the middle of the quiet and crowded restaurant, he yelled, “Woooo! Attention everyone: my son just got his first hole-in-one, and the next round is on me. Let’s go!”
The once-silent restaurant erupted into cheers as Daniel heard his Mom attempting to tell the other customers it was a joke, but it was too late. That would go down as the day Daniel hit a hole-in-one, and his Dad ran up a two thousand dollar bar tab.
He dressed, made himself a cup of coffee, and sighed dramatically.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call your Dad with you, sweetheart?” His wife said.
“Yeah. I need to do this on my own. Your focus should be on your contractions, and if anything changes…”
“Go straight to the hospital, and don’t interrupt you.”
“Very funny. I mean it. If anything changes, I want you to come get me. You and our baby, our Daughter, are all that matter today.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a salute.
She watched him walk into their home office and shut the door. She immediately grabbed her phone and made a call.
“Hey, it’s me… Yes, they started about an hour ago… About 20 minutes apart… No, no, not too painful yet… Listen, he just went in to make the phone call, and I think it would go a long way if you were here when he finished… Yes, a theatrical sigh… Okay, great, see you soon,” she said, hanging up the phone.
She stared at the closed door, hoping it would turn out better than expected.
He sits in his office, staring at the cursor hovering over the New FaceTime button, mentally preparing himself.
“You can do this,” he said to himself, finally clicking the button.
As usual, the call connected after two and a half rings, and his Dad’s face appeared on his screen.
“Hey buddy, how’s your day going?” His Dad said.
“Good, Dad. Really good, actually.”
“That’s what I like to hear. What is making my son’s day so great this morning?”
“Catherine started having contractions about an hour ago. They are still pretty far apart, but it seems like today will be the day I meet my Daughter.”
“Daughter? Daughter? I thought we would have to wait until the baby was born to find out.”
“Me too, Dad,” he said with a smile, “a nurse accidentally let it slip at one of Catherine’s appointments a few weeks ago. She told me this morning.”
“You know, I wanted you to be a girl. I was so sure you were a girl. I bought all sorts of pink clothes and toys and hid them from your mother. It wasn’t until you were a few weeks old that I broke the news to your Mom. The look on her face when I told her I didn’t save the receipts was priceless. Of course, I wouldn’t change a thing now. Being your Dad has been the absolute best part of my life. I am so proud of you, buddy. You’re going to be an amazing father.”
“I learned from the best,” he said, fighting back tears.
“Who? Me? Oh, c’mon, keep going,” his Dad said, beckoning his son to keep the stream of compliments flowing.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, buddy. What’s wrong? You seem far too sad on such a special day.”
“I just, well, I’ve got to…”
“You’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s okay. I remember the day you were born. I was so sure you were a girl…”
The same story. This had become a more common occurrence and one of the primary reasons that today would be the last day he spoke to his Dad. He read his notes about how to do this properly as his Dad continued his story.
Be direct. Don’t worry about feelings. Irrational lashing out is to be expected.
“… anyway,” his Dad continued, “I know you will be an amazing father. And I am going to be an even better Grandfather. I cannot wait to meet my Grandaughter.”
“That’s the thing, Dad. I have to tell you something.”
“Uh-oh, this doesn’t sound good.”
“You’re not going to meet her,” he said, bracing himself for the reaction.
There was a long pause as his Dad’s face cycled through emotion from devastation to fury. It looked as though all of his facial muscles were working independently of one another, trying to find the rhythm.
“I. Don’t. Understand.”
“Here’s the thing, Dad, you actually…”
“I don’t understand,” his Dad interrupted, his voice filled with anger and hurt, “how my own son. The child I raised… No, the man I raised has the balls to tell me I can’t see my own Grandaughter. Do you know what this is going to do to your mother? Did you ever stop to consider…”
“Dad, Mom is going to be fine. She will come to the hospital first thing after the baby is born.”
“So,” his Dad began, chin quivering, “I don’t get… What did I do?”
“Dad…”
“No,” his Dad interrupted through a sob, “Just tell me what I did. Tell me what I did wrong, and I will fix it. I will do whatever it takes. Please, I am begging you, buddy, don’t do this to me.”
“Dad, I can’t… there isn’t anything,” he tried to get the words out, but the dam had burst, and tears began to stream down his cheeks.
“Hey, buddy, don’t cry. Whatever it is, we will fix it. I’ve got your back. I’m always here for you, no matter what. You know that, right?”
“Of course. I ju- I think I hear Catherine calling for me; I’ll be right back. Just a sec.”
He walked out of the office and right out the front door. When he was on the front step, he took out his phone and dialed.
“AI Love You, how may I assist you today?” A friendly woman answered.
“Hi, this is Daniel Wilson. Will you connect me to Devon Wright, please?”
“Just a moment,” the woman responded, placing the call on hold.
At AI Love You, we believe in love that lasts forever. Losing a loved one can take a toll on your health and well-being, but it doesn’t have to. Stay on the line, and a representative will help you keep that special someone in your life for…
“Hi, this is Devon. How may I assist you today?”
“Hi, Devon, this is Daniel Wilson. I am ready to terminate my membership.”
“Hi, Mr. Wilson, I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you sure there is nothing we can do to keep your bus..”
“Save it. Like I said the last time we spoke, I am done. You took advantage of me when I was most vulnerable, and I have been stuck in this purgatory, pretending a computer program is my Dad for over a year now. I am having a baby, and I must move on with my life,” he said, trying to avoid yelling into his phone, “and now, your fancy program is making me despise my Father.”
“My apologies, Mr. Wilson, but as I explained the last time we spoke, our AI rendering of your Father has limitations. Since you never disowned him in real life, there is no data to predict how he would have reacted,” Devon explained, attempting to sound sympathetic but missing the mark.
“For the last time, I am not disowning my Father. That thing is not my Dad. I want to terminate my membership.”
“I understand. Just bear with me one moment. My system is a little slow today… must be a Monday,” Devon said, keyboard keys clicking in the background, “aaand, just have to make sure… yep, there we go. Alright, Mr. Wilson, when you return to the call, you will now see the END MY RELATIONSHIP button. As a reminder, once you have ended the re…”
“Stop saying I am ending the relationship. Cancer killed my Dad sixteen months ago, so I am not ending the relationship with my Dad. I am terminating my membership with your company.”
“Yes. My apologies. Please remember that once your membership has been terminated, all your supplied data will be permanently deleted. There is no recovery process.”
“I understand,” Daniel said.
“Excellent. Your account is ready to be terminated. I want to thank you for calling AI Love You. If you have the time, I would appreciate it if you would stay on the line to complete a brief surv…”
Daniel ended the call. It took every ounce of self-control not to throw his phone into the street. He took a deep breath and went back inside.
Catherine was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking concerned.
“Hey,” he said, moving toward her with his arms open for a hug, “I’m okay. We knew this was going to be complicated. I just need a couple more minutes, then we can focus on finally meeting our baby girl.”
He gave her a kiss and walked back into the office. His Dad’s face remained on his computer screen, blinking every three seconds, expressionless.
“Hey, buddy,” his Dad said happily when Daniel walked into view, “What took you so long?”
“Look, Dad,” Daniel said, “I need you just to listen now, no talking, okay?”
“You got it, buddy. Whoops, this doesn’t count. My lips are zipped.”
“I love you so much. I miss you every day. I hate that my Daughter will never get to meet you and have fun with you the way we did when I was little. When you died, I thought my world ended too. The world turned into this drab place of existence for me, and I was desperate to get you back. Signing up for this thing was a mistake. I see that now. I need to focus all of my attention on Catherine and our Daughter. I can’t keep talking to a ghost in my office. I want to be the Dad to her that you were to me, and losing you taught me not to waste a moment doing anything else other than watching her grow into the wonderful woman she is sure to be,” the cursor was hovering over the END MY RELATIONSHIP button, “I love you so much, Dad.”
“Not as much as I love you, buddy.”
Daniel clicked his mouse, and the call ended. A survey was on the computer screen where his Dad’s face was just moments ago.
On a scale from 1-10, how likely would you be to refer a friend to AI Love You based on your call today?
He clicked ‘1’ and put the monitor to sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up from his desk, ready to meet his Daughter.
He opened the door to see his Mom waiting for him.
“Mom? How did you…”
“Catherine called. She thought it would be a good idea if I came over, “she said, “Don’t worry, I’m not coming to the hospital until the baby is born, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
With that, he buried his face into his Mom’s shoulder and finally cried the way he should have sixteen months ago. She pulled him in tight, shushing in his ear and making him feel safe the way only a Mother can. Once he settled down, she pulled away.
“I brought you something,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a flash drive.
“What’s this?” Daniel said, grabbing the flash drive out of her hand.
“As soon as your Father got his diagnosis, he started making videos for you. We would sit in the living room reading or talking, and a thought would hit him. He would drop everything, go to the office, and record a video for you,” his Mom said, a single tear falling down her cheek, “he was so worried you would be sad, so whenever he thought of anything, stories, advice, or even just a joke, he wanted to record it so he could be there for you in case you needed him.”
After a moment to compose herself, she continued.
“I planned to give it to you the day you told me about AI Love You. It was probably a mistake, but I thought it better to let you grieve in your own way. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get in the way. There are hundreds of videos on there, but there is one that he would want you to watch today,” his Mom said with a knowing smile. They called for Catherine to join them in the office.
Daniel sat in front of the computer and plugged the flash drive in. He opened the folder when it appeared on his screen, and it expanded to dozens of sub-folders for different occasions. “Golf Tips” and “Don’t Do This” were some of the folder names. His Mom pointed at the folder that said: “How to Dad.” He opened the folder to over a hundred videos for parenting milestones and challenges.
“This is the one,” his Mom said, pointing to the first video title, ‘If it’s a Girl.’
He double-clicked the video, and the Quicktime application opened. There was his Dad, his real Dad, sitting in his old office chair with a lit cigar in his mouth.
“Hey, buddy! Sho I her itsh a girl,” he said, the cigar making it hard for him to annunciate. He took it out and placed it in an ashtray as he clicked his tongue, trying to rid his mouth of the taste, “ugh, I’ll never understand why people like these things.”
Daniel looked at his Mom as they both began to laugh.
“Congratulations, buddy. Did you know that I wanted you to be a girl? I was so sure…”
Find The Kids Are In Bed on Spotify
In the inaugural episode of The Kids Are In Bed, Tim and Jenni reminisce about the early days of their relationship, including how they met and their first memories together. They also discuss a car accident they were involved in and reflect on the impact it had on their lives. The conversation then transitions to their current obsession with the TV show ‘For All Mankind’ and their thoughts on its storyline. The episode concludes with some lighthearted banter and a promise to check on their children.
You know the old saying: If you agree to officiate one wedding, be prepared to officiate more.
That’s not a saying, but it doesn’t make it untrue.
This past September, I officiated my brother’s wedding. You’ll be disappointed to know I wasn’t sobbing alone the morning of like I did for the last, well, first, wedding I officiated.
I wasn’t void of emotion. Instead, I was mistaken for someone who knows how to plan a wedding ceremony. I don’t know how that happened, but I was willing to take on the task despite not knowing what I was doing. It was a welcomed distraction, one I hoped would prevent me from turning into a sobbing mess on the day of the wedding.
The previous wedding I officiated had a wedding planner who told everybody what to do. Someone who organizes hundreds of weddings a year. All I needed to do was go where I was told and read the ceremony I wrote.
Unfortunately for my brother and his bride-to-be, I was the wedding planner. To make matters worse, the weather was gloomy and rainy, leading to a last-minute change in venue from a lakeside wedding to inside a restaurant that wasn’t built with wedding ceremonies in mind.
Before the rehearsal, the bride told me she would like my help making sure everyone knew where they should be and when. I agreed, confident that when the day came, she would make all of the decisions, and I would play the part of emotional support officiant.
I was wrong.
She was overwhelmed on the day of the rehearsal, so I decided to take charge and pretended as though I had officiated thousands of weddings.
I pulled her aside to get a clear picture of what her vision was for her big day. I decided to start simple.
“What side are you going to be standing on?” I asked.
She stared back at me, eyes wide.
“What side am I supposed to stand on?” She asked.
Is there a right side for her to stand on? Is one side a faux paux? Is this like one ear being the “gay ear” people talked about back in high school?
“You decide,” I said, gesturing to where the ceremony would take place, “when you look there, where do you see yourself standing?”
“Right,” she said.
“There you go! Now we’re making decisions.”
I could tell she needed confidence, so I faked having a clue as to what I was doing. Fortunately for both of us, I spend my life faking as though I know what I am doing. I put together a wedding ceremony on the fly.
When I spoke, people listened. When I told them where to go and where to stand, they listened.
You can get drunk power like that.
I woke up the morning of the wedding less concerned with officiating and more concerned that I had put together a terrible ceremony. Instead of focusing on that, I spent my morning reading over the words I wrote repeatedly. I resolved to knock it out of the park on that front in case there were questions about who planned the particulars of the wedding.
The wedding wasn’t without its hiccups, but I’d venture it went as well as it could have, given the limitations of our space and my limitations as a wedding planner.
If you need an operational definition of hiccup, here’s a quick rundown: both flower girls left their baskets at home, forcing us to turn around when we were halfway to the wedding to get them. The bride lost her vows, leading to a last-minute ceremony re-write. My brother, the groom, forgot to bring the rings, forcing them to use mine and my wife’s wedding rings during the ceremony.
You know, hiccups.
Fortunately for me, the change in venue, the space, and the hiccups tied in perfectly to the theme I chose to base my officiant speech around. As the bride entered the aisle, my nerves shifted to excitement.
The theme? Chaos.
I knew what I had printed in my hands would murder.
When I got my first laugh, I glanced up from my binder to see my brother weeping like a child who dropped his ice cream cone. At that moment, I knew it was going to go well.
Come to think of it, he cried almost through the entire ceremony, and he really lost it when he gave his speech during dinner.
For the record, I didn’t cry a single time that day. I cried the next day and the day after that, but not the day of the wedding.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a victory.
After the first laugh, it’s a blur of euphoria.
Following the ceremony, I knew I had done well. I was proud of myself, which is rare for me. It felt amazing. Is this how normal people feel all the time?
I wasn’t prepared, however, for the compliments people threw my way following the ceremony.
I’ve never been good at receiving praise or compliments. And following a wedding, people are obliged to tell me good job. So, while the compliments were terrific, they couldn’t match the buzz coursing through my body. Something new was set in motion.
Indecision is a mainstay in my life.
Question: What do you want for dinner? Response: I don’t care.
Question: What movie should we watch? Response: You pick.
Question: What book will you read next? Response: I have no idea.
Following the wedding, I was struck with the most significant certainty I’ve had in my 39 years on this planet.
I need to do more of that, I thought.
To be clear, the “that” I am referring to is reading the words I have written in front of people.
So be it if it takes officiating a few weddings to do that. However, if you consider asking me to officiate your wedding, you should know I am done officiating pro bono.
Unless you ask nicely, that is. I’m a pushover.
The day after the wedding, I decided it was time to stop talking and thinking about my dream and finally pursue it. I knew exactly what I needed to do…
Quit the job I have had for the past sixteen years.
Easier said than done.
On my first day back to work following the long wedding weekend, I found myself alone in my office at 3:00 PM (a common occurrence that aided my decision to leave, but that’s a story for another day).
The morning prior, I had resolved to give my CEO notice I would be leaving. At that moment, I knew it was the correct decision. It needed to happen.
As time moved forward, anxious doubt slowly flooded my body and mind. Those old, familiar thoughts came crashing down on me.
Are you going to give up your income and benefits? What kind of husband and father does that to his family? Who exactly do you think you are, some undiscovered talent the world is waiting to find? You don’t have any talent. People who say they like what you write are just being friendly. You are going to disappoint everyone who cares about you. You are going to fail and end up in another job you hate. You are going to be forced to give up fun. Well, at least as a starving artist, you’ll drop a little more weight.
It’s pretty neat between my ears, don’t you think? I especially enjoy how I can still add a skosh of body shaming on top.
The weight was more than I could bear. Hands shaking and short of breath, I sobbed for 45 minutes. At least I’m consistent, right?
“I don’t know what to do,” I said to my empty office.
A softer, gentler voice responded from a deep corner of my brain: you know what to do. It’s time to leap.
I sat staring at my CEO’s contact on my phone screen, working up the strength and courage to press the ‘Call’ button.
Finally, I pulled myself together enough to press the button. I explained that I would stay on as long as necessary to fill my position and that I was leaving to pursue my dream.
“Congratulations,” my CEO said to me earnestly.
I viewed quitting my job to pursue writing as taking a leap with nothing but hope that a net would appear to save me from slamming into the ground.
Currently, I am still in a free fall with my eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the net to catch me.
Over the past couple of months, I have learned that incredible people surround me. Not a single person has expressed doubts or worry. Well, at least not to me.
The support the people I love have given me is stunning.
I wish I could say the same for myself, but as I write this in a coffee shop down the road from my house with tears rolling down my cheeks, I can assure you I am terrified.
I’m doing this for my children. I want them to know nothing ismore important than going after what will make them the happiest version of themselves.
I’m doing this for my wife, Jenni, who supports and encourages me daily.
I’m doing this for my family and friends because I’d like to introduce them to the Tim who is truly happy and fulfilled.
Above all, I am doing this for me. I am doing it for Timmy, writing a short story about a basketball player in 5th grade falling in love with the feeling when the words cascade from brain to fingertips. I am doing it for Tim, who heard, “You have a real writing talent,” from a professor during his first year of college but ignored it because writing as a career isn’t practical.
Driving home from work one afternoon this summer, I knew I needed to make a change. I also knew myself and figured I’d never work up the courage to do it when “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine started playing. I sang along to it five times in a row with tears streaming down my face because the lyrics hit different that day.
I am done with being terrified of what other people might think or say about me. From here on out, I am going to do what makes me happy.
This.
In the incomparable words of Florence and The Machine, “And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t, so here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope.”
Cheers.
“You’re an asshole,” my wife, Jenni, said to me walking into our townhouse in Maple Grove, MN, upon returning home from work.
A smirk was fighting through her incensed facial expression, letting me know she meant it lovingly.
If a happy marriage means not regularly calling your spouse vulgar names out of love, I don’t want it.
“What did I do?” I asked.
I suppose I could have made some guesses, but that only would have reminded her of the dozens of other reasons I am an actual asshole rather than a loveable asshole.
“N, I, T,” she said.
“What about it?”
“Not in tournament, tournament,” she said, impersonating me.
After a moment, a smile slowly began to form on my face as a distant memory jumped to the front of my brain.
About a decade earlier, when we were teenagers, Jenni asked, “What’s the NIT?”
“It’s another end-of-season basketball tournament. It’s like a consolation tournament.”
“What does NIT stand for?”
Without hesitation, I said, “The tournament has been around for a long time. At first, the tournament board tried to compete with the March Madness tournament we know today. Still, good teams would choose the other tournament invite for whatever reason. So they’ve always gotten teams not invited to the big tournament. I can’t remember what it was initially named, but people used that tournament to make fun of rival schools by saying they were playing in the “Not In Tournament” tournament. People quickly abbreviated it to NIT, and the tournament board decided to lean into it.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Isn’t it? I’m surprised you’d never heard that before.”
I laughed to myself at the time. We moved on from the topic and never talked about it again.
“I had a lunch meeting at work today. I was the only girl at the table, and everyone was talking about basketball. The NIT came up, and someone asked what NIT stood for,” Jenni said, face flushing as she recalled the embarrassment. “I was so excited to contribute to the conversation and told the whole story about how it stands for ‘Not In Tournament.'”
“No, you didn’t,” I said, laughing.
“I did. I thought I was sooo smart until someone else at the table told me it wasn’t true.”
Doing this is a habit of mine. I will provide reasonable-sounding answers to questions based on my pre-existing knowledge and an educated guess. I am surprised by my own answers from time to time.
I don’t do it with malicious intent. There are two reasons I will do this.
One: If I’m talking to someone I care for, I will do it as a private joke for myself. If that person catches it, we both laugh. If they don’t catch it, I laugh. I laugh again if they embarrass themselves by re-telling my fabricated fact and then tell me it happened.
Two: If I’m talking to strangers or acquaintances, I will do it to prevent an awkward silence in the conversation. If there is one thing I hate more than hearing about other people’s dreams, it’s an awkward silence during a conversation with someone I don’t know.
This may be a learned behavior.
When playing golf with my brother, PJ, recently, he tried it on me.
“Killer whales won’t eat humans,” PJ said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yep. Don’t like the taste of ’em,” PJ said.
“You are so full of shit,” I said, laughing.
He could’ve had me with a little more explanation.
If the roles were reversed, I would have gone into a detailed explanation of why they don’t eat humans.
Something like: Marine biologists have varying theories as to why instances of killer whales eating humans are so rare. The most common explanation is that the humans they encounter wear SCUBA suits since killer whales are primarily found in colder ocean water. They may be intelligent enough to know the suits are not digestible. Still, it may be as simple as not liking the clothing texture.
I’ve learned that the more detail you provide and the more technical jargon you use, the better your chance of avoiding follow-up questions.
Some may have moral qualms about doing this. Granted, it is inherently deceptive, but is it better from a social standpoint to say, “I don’t know,” and reach for your phone to Google the answer?
It’s not as though the information on the internet is much more reliable. I am not attempting to sway people’s political opinions, take money from them, or provide medical advice that could endanger their lives.
Often, I will read headlines or hear facts on TikTok that are too good for me to research further. I don’t pass these things off as facts. Rather, I provide a disclaimer either at the beginning or end of the anecdote: “I don’t know if it’s true, but I saw/read it and am choosing to believe it is.”
If the idea of doing this has piqued your interest, and you have children, you have a perfect place to practice.
I don’t look at it as lying. It’s an excellent way to slow the flow of questions being hurled from the car’s back seat in rapid succession.
Questions like: Daddy, how many cars are there in the world?
Daddy, what if the road was made of water?
Daddy, why are there traffic lights?
Daddy, was everything black and white in the world when you were a kid? You know, in the olden days?
“The olden days,” the nerve… as if I needed a reason to fill them with misinformation.
There is one story I am determined to make both of my kids believe and repeat.
There is a power plant in Becker, MN. We drive by frequently on our trips up to Brainerd, MN. When the temperatures get frigid in the winter, the stacks’ steam makes it look like a cloud factory rather than a power plant.
And that is precisely what I tell my children it is: a cloud factory.
On cold, clear days when no steam comes from the stacks, I’ll say, “Oh, no wonder it’s so sunny; the cloud factory has the day off.”
I hope a day will come for my children when someone says, “There isn’t a cloud in the sky today.”
And they’ll respond, without hesitation or irony, “The cloud factory in Becker must have the day off.”
Maybe that day will be the first day my children will come through the front door and call me an asshole.
A Dad can dream…
As the years have passed, Jenni has gotten brazen in her attempts to fact-check me when she believes I am up to my old tricks.
“You’re just making that up,” she says.
“Look it up,” I’ll say.
What happens next has turned into a good way for me to gauge her mood towards me on a given day.
I know she is really in love with me when she responds, “You know a lot of things.”
Conversely, when she’s irritated with me, she quickly picks up her phone to search for the answer, or if we’re at home, she’ll shout, “Alexa!”
It works out in my favor almost every time. When Jenni decides to be a fact-checker, I am often surprised to find out my answer is either correct or at least accurate enough that it is brushed away because I missed the mark on minor details.
What keeps me at it and what makes it worth the mental energy are the times my answers go unchecked. Those answers are usually those I am confident would expose me as a liar.
It makes me feel like Timmy Appleseed scattering jokes down the path of life, which will grow into future laughs. Never knowing when one will sprout and force my wife to start a conversation with, “You’re an asshole,” in a loving way rather than filled with contempt like how all of our other conversations start.
Cheers.
I am a “get to the airport 2 hours early” type of guy.
I grew up traveling with my parents, who are get to the airport a week before your flight kind of people.
As an adult, having done quite a bit of travel with two children under seven, I get it now. You have to be prepared for the bathroom breaks, the frustrations, and teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown at all times. And we are in the age of iPhones, tablets, and screens on the plane with a suite of movies, shows, and games.
The travel I did as a child pre-dates those things.
This isn’t an “it was different back in my day” rant.
Getting to the airport early in the nineties as a kid meant you were in for some next-level boredom. There are only so many connect-the-dots you can do. I’d inhale the treats my Mom packed in my backpack to help with the pressure change (gum, orange Tic-Tacs, LifeSavers, etc.) before we boarded the plane. I had no interest in watching CNN on the silent airport TVs.
Things got better when I leveled up to bringing a Gameboy and Discman.
However, having a Discman meant you must bring CDs along as well.
One year, a friend gave me a hand-me-down case that could hold up to 120 CDs. I had less than half that amount, but I can’t describe how cool I felt the first time I brought that CD holder through the airport.
On the inside, the CDs were held in plastic trays, like the cases they were sold in. It made the most satisfying noise when you paged through, deciding whether to listen to Ace of Base, Alanis Morisett, or Jock Jams Vol 1. Click-clack, click-clack.
The outside of the case was a hard plastic that closed with a plastic locking mechanism rather than a zipper.
You must know that when I entered the airport with my parents, hours before the flight, it was time to move like we would miss our flight. The idea was to avoid being any sort of inconvenience to the other travelers around us. Whether we were waiting to get boarding passes, going through security, or walking to the gate, any misstep was met with one of the top punishments my Dad doled out. “The Look,” as it has been named in our family, was a sudden change in my Dad’s facial expression. He used it to let us know that he would go to extreme lengths to teach us a lesson if we weren’t in public.
Of course, I cannot remember when my Dad got even close to laying a hand on me in the name of punishment. However, that fact didn’t matter as “the look” drilled into your brain and let you imagine a profanity-laced trip behind the proverbial wood shed.
The pressure turned up when it was time to board the plane. The stress would turn up a notch. Something about a line behind my Dad spiked his anxiety. Knowing this, I did my best to go unnoticed by all around me.
When it came time to board the plane my first time with my new CD carrying case, I switched to a new CD as we got up to get in line.
Everything went smoothly until my arm snagged on my headphone cord, pulling it out of the Discman. I was walking behind my parents, so I took a moment to plug my headphones back in. After a bit of fumbling, music started playing again. I put a little hop in my step to close the gap between myself and my parents. My increased pace was more than the plastic lock on my CD case could handle. Halfway down the jetway, the case opened, and twenty CDs fell out, scattering in all different directions.
I dropped to my knees, scrambling to pick up the CDs from the course-thin carpet as quickly as I could without smudging or, God forbid, scratching the discs. I could see the feet of the line forming behind me. I felt the blood rush to my face. My heart pounded in my ears. It was time to face the music after all the CDs were back in the case. I stood and turned to see “the look.”
I deserved it.
We all have moments as adults when we catch ourselves behaving like our parents. The combination of genetics and learned behavior is sometimes impossible to overcome.
Because of this, I have spent most of my life anxiously arriving at airports too early and rushing for no reason.
My wife, Jenni, usually has enormous patience for me.
I am confident I am given this grace because she has also traveled with my parents and witnessed the controlled chaos firsthand.
In high school, she joined us on a trip to visit my sister in Maryland and spend a day in New York City. On that trip, it didn’t take more than a hundred yards for the stress level to rise to an unreasonable level.
My parents started, err, discussing correctly navigating the route from the parking ramp to the baggage check.
We followed along, quietly laughing at their back-and-forth while naively thinking we would never be like that.
Ah, to be young.
We reached the boiling point heading up an escalator. My Dad was confident he was doing the correct thing by going up. My Mom wasn’t so sure, although she only voiced this once we headed up the escalator. This led to a loud, umm, debate being volleyed from the top to the bottom of the escalator.
Stuck in the middle, Jenni and I decided to match the pace of the escalator, waiting to see who would be the victor. We did our best to stay halfway between the two so as not to show allegiance to either of the parties involved inadvertently.
I cannot recall which direction was correct, but we did make it to the flight in plenty of time.
Despite bearing witness to this early in our relationship, we are not immune to our airport debates.
As a matter of fact, on July 19, 2019, we came as close to a divorce as we ever have in the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport.
We were headed to upstate New York for our summer vacation.
Sweat poured from my forehead in the Park’ N Fly parking lot as I worked to get both car seats out of the car in time to catch the shuttle. The shuttle parked directly behind my vehicle. A shuttle filled with people waiting to get to the airport, watching me. Suddenly, it was as if I had never taken a car seat out of a car. Panic started to rise.
“Take your time; we’re fine,” my wife said as I swore at the car seats under my breath.
We’re fine. We’re fiiiine. Easy to say that when you’re not taking the car seats out in an oven, I thought to myself.
Eventually, the car seats were removed from the car, and we got on the shuttle and made it to the terminal. Of course, the kiosks allowing you to print your bag tags were not working. We were forced to get in a ridiculously long bag check line with our 3-year-old and 7-month-old—somehow, it was more hot and humid inside than outside.
When traveling with two children under three, checking bags doesn’t lighten the load as much as you might think. We got through security with four carry-ons, a car seat, a stroller, and a diaper bag.
You should know that when Jenni announces she is hungry, it means she needs to eat immediately.
I knew this at the time. I knew I had mere minutes before Jenni became “hangry.”
There is a grab-and-go-style restaurant as you enter the G concourse in the MSP airport.
“Let’s get some food before we go to the gate,” Jenni said.
“Why don’t we go to the gate first? Then we can come back and get some food,” I said, thinking gathering food without two children, four carry-on bags, a car seat, a stroller, and a diaper bag would be easier.
Logic is ineffective against Jenni’s “hanger.”
If we could survive without food, Jenni and I would never fight.
We whisper-fought in the busy airport concourse. Neither of us wanted to become a spectacle to people passing while simultaneously wanting to win the fight. I’m sure we were simultaneously recalling the escalator battle of 2002 somewhere in the deep recesses of our minds.
We got the food before going to the gate, of course. We walked to the gate separately. Jenni didn’t allow us to get within thirty feet of each other. All of the seats were taken when we got to the gate, so we were forced to sit on the floor of the hot concourse. Jenni wouldn’t look at me or talk to me. When I tried to talk to her, she behaved as though I didn’t exist.
There was a brief moment I thought my marriage was over.
It wasn’t until we were flying over Michigan that she acknowledged my existence. I’m confident the sole reason was so I could take this picture of our daughter on her first flight.
Since then, we I have become much more relaxed when entering an airport. Though, thanks to the Delta Sky Club, I will always be the guy who gets to the airport way too early.
I also have inherited “the look” from my Dad. I do it often, especially to my son in public places. It feels like I look like my Dad when I do it, but I’ll never know because the kid in me doesn’t dare to look in the mirror and see it.
Cheers.
There are so many things to dislike about being a parent of two little kids. A seemingly never ending list of ways that they mess your life, as a fully semi functioning adult, up.
They don’t listen to a single thing you tell them. Unless there is something in it for them, of course. Otherwise, they will just go happily about their day like the pitch of your voice is at a frequency that their ears cannot hear. You are forced to repeat yourself until you are on the verge of a psychotic break.
They leave messes everywhere. If my children have clean plates, that means that 80 percent of the food is on the floor. They will dump a bowl of goldfish crackers on the floor and walk on it. They don’t even slow down or wonder what they may have just stepped on.
If they want to play with a single specific toy, they will upturn every bin in the house filled with toys like the FBI serving a search warrant. Half way through, they’ll forget what they’re doing and just exit the room.
The two previously mentioned scenarios separate parents into two groups:
Once you’ve gotten through all of that fun, then it’s time for bed. Someone reading this, maybe even you, just thought, you just have to have a routine.
Well, we do have a routine. “Five more minutes of show” is repeated 4 times. “Time for bed” is repeated 3 times. My daughter throws a fit and cries because she wants mommy to take her upstairs or she wants to be first up the stairs. “Brush your teeth” is repeated 5-10 times. And after about an hour and half the kids are asleep… and usually my wife as well. I stay up way too late and fall asleep on the couch halfway through shows or movies. It’s routinely chaotic.
Around 2:00 AM, there are two little bodies sleeping in different directions. I have been slapped in the face, kicked in the crotch (one time 5 days after a vasectomy), my face has been sneezed on, and my mouth has been coughed into.
They are the absolute worst.
Last night, after putting the kids to bed, my wife and I were up together on the couch and I didn’t know what to do. I realized that we hadn’t been up together with our kids in bed in over a month.
There is one thing that they do, that I truly hate. It’s something that will drive me to tears, literally. I am typing this through tears right now. This is the one thing that I can never forgive them for.
They grow up.
Every time they do something to make me frustrated, every spill, accident, mess, bad bedtime. When the dust settles, I remind myself that it is one step closer to the last time.
As my kids get more independent with each day that passes, I am reminded that soon there won’t be anyone for me to eat their dinner or not jump on the couch. Soon the only messes in the house will be my own. Every bedtime story I read is one step closer to the last one. And that eventually, I’ll stop hearing little feet walking into the bedroom to get into bed. I won’t get to laugh with my wife in the middle of the night when a dream makes my son laugh hysterically in his sleep.
If you’re a parent with younger kids in the middle of it. I feel you. It’s not easy. It can really suck sometimes.
It’s important to embrace the suck. Try to enjoy every little moment because those moments are ephemeral.
I love my fucking kids.
Cheers.
1My wife keeps an immaculate household always (despite me) this was an example drawn purely from my imagination. She is also an exceptional mother and she is beautiful.