Saturday Mornings -- Playing House

Except for the winter months, my wife Ann works on weekend mornings. That usually means that I'm home with Joey, my 15-year-old son, and Nicole, my 5-year-old daughter.

It also usually means that Karlee, our 13-year-old neighbor and my "emergency backup daughter," comes over as well.

Karlee was only a couple of years old when her mom died. Her father has done a respectable job bringing up Karlee and her older sister Kim. Both girls are mature beyond their years, probably due to life's hard knocks forcing them along. They both seem lonely somehow.

I'm not going to even pretend that having been a single parent of two boys for three years is anything like being a widower, but Karlee and Kim soak up family time with us. We enjoy having them here, and consider Karlee and Kim as part of our clan.

However much she might pretend to hate it, I know that Karlee loves it when I grab her and forcibly hug her. She smiles and squeals, half-heartedly tries to get away, but always ends up squeezing me tight and putting her cheek on my chest. I don't think she is used to getting hugs. Once in a while, when nobody's looking, she'll even come up behind me and put her arm around my waist. That's her way of asking for a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead.

So, getting back to the point, Saturday mornings have become somewhat of a tradition with me, Joey, Nicole, and Karlee. The kids make a huge breakfast, and I supervise. I treasure the time spent with these kids.

My sole job is to turn up the music (BB King, Clapton, Dave Brubeck ... you know, Saturday morning stuff) and get out of the way. I watch, glow with pride, and chuckle in amusement. The kids "play house" without realizing they're doing so.

Nicole, being an adorable little girl, is the center of attention. Karlee dotes on her, and Joey takes on a stern "dad" role. Karlee cooks the bacon, Joey and Nicole mix ingredients for pancakes from scratch ... then add experimental ingredients. Karlee decided that this Saturday's experimental pancake batter ingredient would be food coloring. She had us each put a few drops in our mouths. I got yellow, Karlee green, Joey blue, and Nicole red.

Karlee good-naturedly pushes Joey out of the way when the mixing begins, orders him to take over the bacon duty, and stirs the pancake batter with Nicole. Joey finishes cooking the bacon, Karlee "steals" a piece or two from Joey, then Karlee cooks pancakes while Joey asks us how we all want our eggs prepared.

It's noisy, chaotic, and a mess. It's absolutely wonderful.

My wife calls Nicole "Baby." Karlee picked up the habit, but I think she does it because she likes playing the part of a mom. She's trying it on for size, and enjoying it. Even if it's only playing house, I think she needs it.

When Karlee was walking out of my house this morning, she suddenly turned around and came bounding back in like only a coltish teenage girl can, gave Joey a hug, Nicole a kiss, and me a squeeze that almost cracked my ribs. Then in a flash she was gone.

Until next Saturday morning.

I'm so deaf that it doesn't matter . . .

Every day I play drums when most people take their lunch break. Let's not get heady about this, I fully admit that I suck.

I've only played in front of an audience once, and, um, it wasn't great. I kept the beat very well with the bass drum (the "prime directive" of all drummers), but missed horribly just about every riff and cymbal highlight on the song I played. For the life of me, I can't remember what song it was. I'm pretty sure it was a Stone Temple Pilots or Pearl Jam song, since it was in the early '90's when I used to hang around with an employee and friend of mine that was in a band that frequented the haunts in and around Frederick MD.

I play the drum set with my iPod Nano earbuds implanted as deeply as they'll go, and crank up the volume to the maximum setting. I'm losing the ability to hear the songs as I play along. I'm deaf, getting more deaf, and it's disturbing.

My kids and wife laugh and joke about my inability to hear things. That's cool. I understand the humor about it. I can hear high pitch tones (like, thankfully, a fire alarm or that very unique squeal made by a moisture-laden log in a fire place), but not conversational discussion.

But losing my hearing is very upsetting.

Getting back to the point of this blog after a wild tangent, I've been trying to master Joey Kramer's drum part on "Falling in Love" by Aerosmith.

It's a real challenge not only because I suck, but I can't hear the song even with my iPod at maximum volume.

Great Star Wars Spoof

I'm a big fan of the Star Wars films, and an equally big fan of Adult Swim. Here's a brilliant mixture of the two.

The "Good Luck Goatee" Experiment

I'm not a big fan of bearing facial hair. No, hold on a second ... let me be honest. I detest it. Facial hair itches, I find myself absent-mindedly pulling or scratching it, and I feel downright unclean. I'm often scruffy, but not downright hairy.

For the readers of this blog with facial hair (and I hope you're all men), I want to clarify that my bearded experience is my own. Some great men have proudly shown their beards. Abe Lincoln, Jason Varitek, and Jesus are merely three.

I don't know how they stand it.

About five years ago my buddy Mark from Oklahoma sent me a t-shirt featuring the "Okie Noodlin'" contest, an event which has gained some minor notoriety recently. Rednecks free dive in an attempt to seek out massive catfish, put their hands into their mouths, and pull them ashore. Fingers are frequently lost to the huge catfish, which often outweigh a 14-year-old boy.

As a return favor I grew a goatee and sent him a picture of myself imitating (to the best of my ability) an "Okie Noodlin'" contestant.

When the Red Sox beat the Indians to reach the World Series, I grew a "good luck goatee" in honor and support of the players with facial hair on the Sox roster ... Varitek, Lowell, Papi, and so forth.

Since we swept the Rockies in the Series, I decided to keep it for the Colts / Patriots game. I headed to Columbus Ohio this weekend to see my Buckeyes beat Illinios ... but then my goatee jou jou ran out.

Maybe it wasn't long enough to handle the load. Maybe more Ohio State players need facial hair. I dunno. I draw the line at growing dreadlocks.

Either way, I'm shaving the goatee off in the morning, and I can't wait.