Rob the Fisherman

An old friend of mine, Chris, facebooked me to go fishing yesterday. My family owns a two acre, completely stocked pond off Lee’s Summit road. Chris is one of those compare-to-people when speaking of outdoorsy men. Wanting to show off my adorable new husband I insisted Rob join us for the evening. He seemed mildly hesitant but in the end agreed. It took us an hour or so to load up the golf cart with our "fishing needs”. They consisted of multiple lawn chairs, pop, juice boxes, an entire five pound jar of Jelly Belly’s, bread to trick the fish, and fruit snacks. My husband and I loaded the golf cart because we are too lazy to make multiple trips up and down a hill less then 50 steps away. Chris walks up with his 3 and a half year old son, Jackson. Chris is loaded with four, count them, separate poles…just in case he wants options. His mini-me is handling an adult looking pole and possibly his own tackle box. I immediately remember to go grab our fishing gear as well. Rob and I have one pole each, in case we can’t figure out three of them. Two of these being orange and blue Disney poles from the 80’s. The kids are loaded with fake worms that are still on the hooks from when Tamera and I were little. His three and a half year old is practicing his casting skills while my 4 and 6 year old are dipping their “worms” in the water and jumping back when a fish comes near them. I am staring off into space considering these fish fighting over two decade old plastic, when I hear Sophia giggiling excitedly. She has caught a fish! I glance over and notice that Chris has taken his proffesional fisherman about 30 feet away and is merely surveying our scene. I wrongly assume my 32 year old husband is capable of handling such an event. I watch as he leans over and grabs the fishing string of the pole. He is standing a clear distance away as to not get splattered by anything. The look on his face is pure panic as he is questioning what to do next. He squints his eyes as he tries to wrangle the fish off the hook with his bare hands. I fear a hook removal emergency room trip while wondering why he isn’t using pliers. After a minute or so, Rob walks over to the edge of the dock and dips the fish back in the water. “Rob, what are you doing?!” I jump out of my chair and walk towards him. My stepfather, Mike, is standing silently next to him, staring into the water, shaking his head. Rob smiles a weak apologetic smile at his obvious disaproval. My husbands “inexperience” in outdoor activties has handicapped him before. My father and brother in law routinely “forget” to ask him for help with any construction project. But it’s become a loving teasing trait that we laugh about. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” I asked. He looked insulted and was quick to reply, “I have too……….once.” I assume it was as a child with the help of an adult. Chris and Jackson have been watching in pure amusement. “Want some help?” he yells over, trying not to laugh.” Rob, still not wanting to accept defeat, wrestles with the idea of walking over there while dragging the fish through the water. He finally accepts some pliers from Mike and attacks the hook while cringing with fear from the slimy, now dying thing attached. After he threw it in the water I leaned over to see if it was floating. By the end of the night, Rob had successfully removed 6 or so hooks. Cameron made friends with Chris’ son, and Sophia threw her pole into the water to signal she was done fishing. We are now down a pole. I love my husband even more for sticking it out and not throwing up in front of everyone. I was so thankful that my brothers and Dr. Bell were not there to witness. It would have been placed next to the pocket-knife story when, after receiving two varies size pocket knifes for Christmas, Rob looked at my father and asked, “Is the little one for when you dress up?”

Basketball and Glitter

Saturdays used to be the best. Rob and I could lay in bed all morning while the kids watched cartoons. We could pretend we couldn’t hear the constant stream of screaming and tattle-telling that followed. Until someone drew blood, the day wouldn’t even begin. Then I enrolled the children in basketball. My love of doing nothing on Saturdays was the precise reason I enrolled them in Friday evening classes. They attended one practice before I received the email regarding the schedule change. It seems it’s not easy to find instructors willing to teach 3-5 year old basketball. I can’t imagine why as my daughter spends the entire practice face down on the floor refusing to play. The lack of instructors has resulted in a class consolidation on Saturday mornings at 8:30 am. The email was short, sweet, and ended with “Thanks for being flexible.” This means every Saturday morning for the next six weeks will be a debate between Rob and I of who has to take them. This involves waking up at 7:00 am, on our day off, getting Soph and Cam dressed and feed, and enduring 55 minutes of 10 screaming chaotic children. In addition, we have now paid for at least 3 classes that Cameron may not be attending due to his custody arrangement. Since I stayed home last night while Rob played poker with friends, he offered to start the trade-off. I spent 20 minutes trying to brush some unknown sticky substance from Sophia’s hair. I finally gave up and pulled it into a tangled mass of a ponytail. I finished dressing my children in mismatched clothes and threw them out the front door. Sam and I went back to sleep, taking advantage of the rare silence. I awoke an hour later to find myself in the land of Fairytopia. Everything in our house from the flat screen TV’s to the hardwood floors were covered in a thick coat of glitter. My daughter stood proudly in the middle with a huge smile on her face. I could hardly look at her as the reflection of glitter on her entire body was near blinding. Rob had come home and stayed long enough to drop the kids off before heading to the store. While I slept, Sophia had found my $40 glitter puff from Victoria Secrets and emptied the entire contents around the house. The more I wiped at it the worse it got. I was sure I had hidden the damn thing after she completely glittered Sam last weekend. I had to bring him to a baby shower looking like he had just spent the morning at the strip clubs. I had just finished wiping the glitter off my laptop when I spotted Sophia standing atop the railing looking over the stairs. The count down from 5 warned me there was a plan of jumping. I tripped over the coffee table and grabbed her before she reached 1. I then had to explain the difference between Victoria Secret body glitter and fairy dust. One of them does not allow you to fly. She stomped off angry and yelling. My thoughts turned to my first trimester of partying before I finally got a positive pregnancy test with her. At least once a day I question my children having brain damage. I'm sure I'm not alone.

Chucky Cheese is for the Birds

Oh, Chucky Cheese. As a child I adored Chucky Cheese. Everything about that musical mouse was magic. My sister and I used to look forward to visiting our grandparents in Kansas City, where we no doubt would visit our rodent friend. All I remembered was great music, fantastic pizzan and games galore. Then I became the parent.

I had two hours to kill in Kansas last night. It was Cameron's night with his mother, who lives off Metcalf, half an hour from us. I had offered to watch my 3 year old nephew, and needed something "kid friendly" to pass the time. I remembered my friend, Renee, mentioning there was a Chucky Cheese on Metcalf. Oh, the luck! As Gloria had no plans for Cameron, we decided to take all 4 children, Soph, Sam, Cam and Blake, to play. A mass of screaming children ages zero to way too old to be there greeted us at the door. We were given "invisible" black light stamps to ensure our children's safety. I waited in line 15 minutes to buy my "bargain" package of 4 drinks, a pizza, and 100 tokens of fun for $45. I handed my credit card to the 13 year old behind the desk who immediately wanted to know what kind it was. "Credit" I replied. She looked at me like I was stupid. "No, I mean Visa, Mastercard...?" I returned the "your stupid" look and encouraged her to look at the massive Visa logo on the front. After finding a table to park our pile of coats and car seats, I handed the kids all 100 of their tokens. Shortly after Sophia started passing them out to random strangers, I decided to take them back. I spent the evening sitting across from Rob's "baby momma" making small chit chat about our kids and checking out the high class of meth moms in tub tops and dirty long haired baby daddy's. The mechanical singing animals were not even close to the magical friends I saw as a child. Instead, they were broken down, chipped, pieces of crap. Their chopping movements and eerie singing was something right out of a horror movie. After watching Gloria panic over the kids running freely out of sight, I assured her that Chucky Cheese had taken precautions to protect our kids. Our invisible stamps were to be matched at the door before we were allowed to leave. I was excited to see our pizza arriving as I hadn't ate all day. Another 13 year old set down a $20 reheated frozen pizza that they had taken the time to burn the shit out of. It took some time gather the kids, get them seated, and convince them that the food in front of them was, in fact, a pizza. We let them play for another hour or so before checking out the prize selection. This is where Sophia decided she had to go to the bathroom. Gloria offered to take her as I had my hands full with Sam and coats. After ten minutes I started to grow curious of their whereabouts. Glancing towards the door I saw Gloria frantically waiving at me. I guess the delicious pizza didn't sit well with Sophia. I entered the restroom to find her half naked with diarrhea running down her backside and legs. Gloria's arms and hands were covered as she had tried to clean up the mess herself. I ran out to my car to grab Blake's overnight bag, praying that Kate had packed extra clothes. After washing Sophia in the sink, we redressed her in Blake's pajamas and shuffled the kids back to the prize selection. I took our tickets to the cash in machine where I began shoving crumpled paper into a vacuum made by NASA. I was too worried about the thing eating my hand to notice it wasn't counting my tickets. The damn thing ate 15 or so before I noticed it was broken. I then waited in line for an additional 15 minutes for the only working machine in the place. I was wrong to assume the kids would have their prizes picked out by the time I got finished. After an additional 10 minutes of trying to explain why we couldn't buy anything on the "5000 tickets" shelf I made a fast selection of crap. For 126 tickets you may buy, a bracelet made out of twine, one fake tattoo, a plastic miniature frog, and a sheet of 4 stickers. I divided up the prizes and we made our way to the exit. I immediately panicked when I realized during the chaotic bathroom cleanup Gloria and I had accidentally washed our invisible stamps off our arms. The 14 year old they had on security took a quick look at me and said, "I trust you." As he removed the red rope out of my way I screamed in my mind "You do?! Seriously?!" I had spent the last two hours convincing Gloria the kids were fine because there was no way employees of "The Cheese" would let them leave with a stranger. All trust I had in my children's protection was washed away with those three little words. I left Chucky Cheese, tired, broke, and dying for a cigarette. My kids feel asleep in the car talking about all the fun they had and the fantastic prizes they won. I had to smile imaging a young Tamera and I riding home from what must have been our parents day of hell at Chucky Cheese. When we pulled into the driveway Sophia asked me when we were going back. I told her as soon as her Nanni and Papa wanted to take them.

Rob and I were married 3 weeks ago. It was wonderful and insane all at the same time. I think planning a wedding with 3 kids under 5 is the main reason to wait until marriage. But the whole experience made me realize how much Rob and I depend on each other. And if we had waited, we never would have found each other. As single parents, we found it nearly impossible to date. Rob and I signed up for eharmony in 2007 and the rest is history. Between 3 kids, my family, and running this house, life is never boring.