The Home Office is my Down-Fall

I was thrilled when my 15-year old son came home about a month ago telling me he had made the freshman baseball team. I knew this was something he really wanted, so I was excited for him when he came home after the week-long tryout with a jersey in hand.

I was less than thrilled when he told me that the entire baseball team was required to stay here for Spring Break. After the 3rd worst winter in Chicago history I was really hoping to go some place warm for a week. Staying in Chicago in late March was NOT AT ALL my plan. To make matters worse the Spring Break baseball schedule was a little “helter-skelter” in that games and practices were at different times almost each and every day, so getting into a routine or a consistent carpool with other parents was easier said than done.

AND to simply complicate things further, a lot of the mom’s decided that they had had enough, and were taking their non-baseball playing kids and heading out of town. All sorts of my friends spent the first day of Spring Break driving their wives and other kids to the airport so that they could board planes to Florida and Arizona and Mexico. Apparently mom’s enthusiasm over the kid making the baseball team had its limits, and sticking around in 40-degree late March weather was the breaking point. “Good luck, play well, and I’ll see you in a week,” was pretty much the mantra of many mom’s during Spring Break in my town.

So I wasn’t surprised at all when the emails from the other dads started flying about driving to and from baseball. We were on our own, and we were going to have to figure this out and make the best of it. However I was a bit surprised when most of the emails seemed to be directed AT ME . . . as in a number of the dads were asking ME to carpool the boys to and from practice. And a few more emails came my way asking me to make sure the boys got lunch, and/or had something to keep them entertained when they weren’t at baseball.

My good pals were basically asking me to be the chauffer and the entertainment director during Spring Break while they went to the office. I was so surprised by this that I actually shot off an email bemoaning the fact that they were taking advantage of me because I don’t have a “big job.” And then one of them emailed back saying it has NOTHING to do with my job, but rather the fact that I work out of the house.

And then it hit me . . . . my home office has become my down-fall.

When I decided to work from home . . . alright I didn’t “decide” anything . . . it wasn’t a choice to work from home . . . it was the only option . . . a lot like staying home for Spring Break this year . . . I figured my new life would be manly. No boss controlling my time. Self-motivation. Utter freedom. I would be a man of intrigue; no one would ever be sure where I was. There would be mid-afternoon workouts and mid-afternoon sex. I would work from mountaintops, South American beaches and sailboats.

Instead, I am in a small room in my house, wearing sweatpants, a hoodie and the underwear I slept in, which is the underwear I wore yesterday, which if I don’t shower soon will be the underwear I wear tomorrow. I have examined the contents of my refrigerator 50 times, I have watched a fair amount of porn, and I spend time each week wondering what recorded shows I can erase in an effort to increase my “Recording Space” to at least 60% on my DVR. Although I have not smoked any marijuana, it’s unclear how my day would be remotely different if I had.

Sure working from home is plenty masculine if you live in a log cabin and are a lumberjack. That’s because you’re not working from home, you’re working from outdoors. But I’m actually working from home. From the place with the washing machine, dishwasher and vacuum cleaner, all of which I sometimes use in between work calls.

Offices are full of metal and partitions and machines that print or scan or vend. My house is full of pillows and beds and glass things that I occasionally break and then have to hide from my wife.

And the problem is simple . . . my surroundings have domesticated me. I thought that being home all day meant my friends would invite me to baseball day games or to play tennis or to drive to Vegas. If they needed my help, I figured they’d think of me as Jason Bourne, available for crime-fighting adventures. Instead they think of me as Alfred. People need to be picked up from airports, and because I work from home, I am in the privileged position of being able to rearrange my schedule to do it. I can wait around for the cable guy and electrician. I can pick up and drop off things before the stores close. I am pretty sure that soon a friend is going to ask me to go to his kid’s parent-teacher conference for him. In fact I just recently took my friend’s son to a doctor’s appointment. When I was there I started wondering what I was going to do if the doctor came in and asked the kid to drop his pants and cough. Do I stick around for that? Do I look away? This isn’t my kid. I don’t even know if this is legal. Can you take someone else’s kid to the doctor’s office??

I feel myself becoming a put-upon 1950s housewife, eager to hear my friends’ lame office stories. No, I don’t miss sitting in meetings where the boss talks about himself while I pretend to be amused. I don’t miss co-workers stopping by my office to tell me their boyfriend problems. I don’t miss people asking me to donate to their kids’ school fund-raisers. But I do miss having women in the office to flirt with. I have no office wife. No crush on the woman on the fourth floor who wears the tight clothes. I am forced to seek out that ego boost by flirting with the women on my street. And flirting with the married women on your own street is probably as sad and pathetic as flirting with a stripper.

It turns out you need annoying co-workers and unreasonable bosses to complain about, because otherwise you turn soft. I’m turning soft. I spend my day staring at my 14” computer screen and walking the dog. No one ever circumnavigated anything from home. No one ever railroad-baroned from home. No one ever defeated the Spanish Armada from home.

Sure Steve Jobs and Bill Gates both created empires from home, but at least they worked out of their garage. That seems way more manly than what I’m doing.

You know it turns out that if you’re allowed to do whatever you want with your time, you will do very lame things . . . well or drive your friend’s kids to a lot of baseball practices.

Spring Break . . . This Too Shall Pass

There is a particular saying which I tend to remind myself of whenever the shit is hitting the fan.  Or whenever I’m in a bad situation.  Whether I’m sitting in the dentist’s chair about to have a root canal procedure or whether I’m in my boss’s office getting reamed, or whether I’m on an airplane cruising at 30 thousand feet and we hit a patch of nasty turbulence.  If I’m in a bad spot I simply like to remind myself that “This Too Shall Pass.”

Sure it’s nothing more than a silly saying, and at the end of the day it certainly doesn’t end whatever misery I’m going through at that particularly time, but for whatever reason I am able to calm myself down, even just slightly, by reminding myself that “This Too Shall Pass.”  I guess it’s simply my way of taking a deep breath and relaxing the nerves for a couple seconds.

But it does work, and because it seems to work I don’t take it lightly.  I don’t overuse it.  It’s almost like I don’t want to waste the power of the saying.  I don’t walk around telling myself that “This Too Shall Pass” when I can’t find the TV remote control, or when I realize that there’s a fresh box of Zebra Cakes, but no milk.  And I don’t yell out “This Too Shall Pass” when I put multiple serves into the net during a paddle match (though I have been known to yell something altogether different when that happens).  It’s a special saying which I save for specific occasions . . . . though I will admit to muttering “This Too Shall Pass” while watching one of my son’s Instructional League baseball games a few years ago . . . . but that was only after our shortstop fielded a ground ball and turned around and threw the ball to our center fielder . . . to this day no one has actually been able to explain that play to me . . . and I’ve never seen it duplicated.

But last week when I reminded myself that “This Too Shall Pass” while my family and I vacationed in sunny Florida, I began to wonder whether I was using this saying haphazardly or whether I was dealing with a situation that in fact justified the use.

Now I have made no secret of the fact that I’m somewhat puzzled over the whole spring break thing.  I’ve written about it at least a couple times here in this blog.  It seems to me that we all bolt out of town for spring break only to get to our destination and long to be home again.  We have taken all of our baggage (and I mean that literally and figuratively) and simply changed the scenery.  Kids still fight with one another.  Couples still argue.  No one is able to agree on a “family movie” to watch.  No one is eating their vegetables with dinner.  No one puts the toilet seat down . . . which you of course don’t realize until you sit down in a dark bathroom at 2:00 AM . . . at which time you realize that not only did the last person not put the toilet seat down, but they also CHOSE NOT TO FLUSH.  And no one likes going to bed on time.  It’s all of your normal, every-day problems, but you’re simply dealing with them out of state.

And I guess that’s fine.  At the end of the day, I will admit, that warm temperatures and a sunny beach does seem to cure a lot of ills.  I am certainly not walking about the beaches of Florida muttering to myself “This Too Shall Pass” just because my yahoo kids are fighting over who gets the better sand castle tools.

But people are funny when it comes to spring break.  In their desperation to get out of town, they will agree to stay with relatives and in-laws and friends even if that means living FOR A WEEK in fairly cramped quarters while putting all of your family issues on public display.  It’s funny, most people can’t really afford to go away on spring break, and yet they do anyway because all you need is some fairly inexpensive round-trip airline tickets, and a friend who lives in Arizona or a brother who lives in California or a father-in-law who lives in Florida and you’ve got yourself a spring break.

My family is no different.  For the fourth year in a row we spent our spring break down in Fort Meyers, Florida at my father-in-law’s place.

Now let me just say that I really like my father-in-law.  And I’m not saying that because he reads my blog.  He doesn’t.  Dear God I don’t want him to.  And if for some reason he’s Googled me and found the blog (I could see my father-in-law doing a quarterly Google Search on me just to make sure I wasn’t wanted in some state) I sincerely hope he hasn’t read some of my past blogs.  And if he has and one of them was “Operation Boyfriend Girlfriend” he should take a far amount of comfort in the fact that my quest to have sex with his daughter multiple times in one day was an EPIC failure.

That all being said, as much as I like my father-in-law, living with him for eight full days is tough.  More to the point, living with him, my wife AND my two kids for eight days is . . . well . . . I think it was after day five . . . which was my third day on the air mattress originally intended for my 13-year old . . . he of course couldn’t sleep on the air mattress, so he got my spot next to my wife in the queen sized bed . . . when I first told myself that “This Too Shall Pass.”

And I feel bad about it.  Maybe that’s the difference this time.  When I’m in the doctor’s office as he searches for my prostate I’m supposed to be saying “This Too Shall Pass.”  But when I’m enjoying my father-in-law’s generous hospitality at his beautiful condo in gorgeous Southern Florida I probably shouldn’t be saying “This Too Shall Pass.”

That’s awful.  And yet . . . . kids fighting over the XBOX, the wife telling me she’s not having sex with me while her father’s in the next room (for some reason this never seemed to bother her in high school, and yet after 17-years of marriage it’s a problem), my father-in-law eating my double stuffed Oreo’s (I know it was him . . . I think he did it on purpose . . . maybe he’s reading my blog after all), kids arguing over who gets what swim goggles, and only one TV . . . and suddenly I find myself saying “This Too Shall Pass” despite what has otherwise been a wonderful week in Florida.

So maybe the answer is that “This Too Shall Pass” is simply too strong for something like spring break which has plenty of good to outweigh the bad.  Maybe I simply need to come up with another key saying that can be used for occasions like spring break.  Something like “It Could Be Worse.”  Or “At Least The Doctor Doesn’t Have a Finger in My Ass.”  Or “Thank God That Kid who Played Shortstop Isn’t My Son.”  I don’t know?  Maybe sometimes I just gotta remind myself that I’m pretty freaking lucky, and that if spring break with my family at my father-in-law’s place has a few hiccups . . . well then life is pretty good, and I hope it doesn’t pass by too quickly.

The End of Spring Break

I think it hit me as I was in the pool with my son Jack having a contest to see who could spit pool water farther.  It had been a fantastic day up to that point.  We had all rolled out of bed late.  My wife and I had taken a long walk while the boys stayed back and played video games (we don’t travel without the XBOX . . . that would basically be like traveling without your photo ID. . . why bother?).  After a nice breakfast we all put on our suits and headed to the pool (which is just walking distance from my father-in-law’s place).  While my wife worked on her tan, I horsed around with the boys in the pool.  What’s not to like?  The perfect spring break day.  I was in a great mood, and looking forward to a relaxing night and then more of the same the following day.  I had nothing but this silly pool spitting water challenge standing between me and a warm towel and a pleasant walk home. 

Jack spit his pool water first and then I spit second.  It was close.  But I was purposely keeping it close.  No sense in crushing the kid in the first round.  Jack’s second pool water spit didn’t go much further than his first one, but once again I kept it close.  Then in the third round I decided to end it once and for all, so after Jack’s turn I sucked in as much pool water as I could possibly hold in my mouth and then unleashed a stream of water that must have gone 10-feet.  Really quite impressive.  There was nothing Jack could do.  He was defeated and he knew it.  I flashed a confident smile his way and swam to the side of the pool.  As he and I basked in the sun while toweling off, Jack turned to me and said “Dad do you pee in the pool?”  I looked at him and said, “Of course not, Jack, that’s gross.”  “Well I do,” Jack said very matter-of-factly, “And I just peed in the pool twice.”

And with that I realized two things:  #1 – Jack was the TRUE winner of our pool water spitting contest, and #2 – Spring break could be the one thing in life that goes from extreme highs to crushing lows in a matter of just seven days. 

Think about it for a second . . . spring break starts with a lot of excitement and a little anxiety.  In fact, it actually starts with a fair amount of build-up and anticipation.  Heck, I know some people who start planning and talking about spring break a full six to eight months ahead of time.  The week prior to spring break is like the week prior to Christmas for a young kid.  It’s possibly the slowest week of the year.  It just can’t end quick enough.  All you can do is sit there patiently waiting for spring break to officially start.  And of course once it does start it’s pure bliss.  You get to your destination, and you’ve got nothing but choices in front of you.  Maybe you go to the pool or maybe you go to the beach or maybe you take a long walk, or maybe you go out for dinner, whatever.  It’s all good.  Whatever you don’t do today you can just do tomorrow.  There’s no need for a calendar or a schedule.  You barely know what day of the week it is.  It’s spring break after all. . . . there’s no wrong answer.

And yet as things progress some of those “casual decisions” are becoming sticking points in your daily conversations with your spouse and your kids, and some of those “care free” attitudes are causing problems.  Suddenly you’re saying things like “Well, if we don’t get to the beach tomorrow we may not make it there at all.”  Or you’re telling the kids to choose between mini golf and a movie, because you simply don’t have time for both.  And as you start to think about the repacking efforts you’re complaining about all the unnecessary things you originally packed, and how you “will never pack like this again.”  Sure it’s still mostly smiles, but if you were to peel back a few layers you’d see a small fire ready to rage.

Which brings me to the end of spring break.  You and your spouse are barely talking to one another.  You’re questioning whether there’s going to be any kind of a spring break the following year, and at this point you’d like to know why the family has been using SPF 50 sunscreen this whole time as you’re convinced no one looks tanned.  You’re trying to eat all the food that you purchased when you first got there as for some reason you just can’t fathom throwing out a half-loaf of bread, and you’re incensed that you have to do this many loads of laundry just to get all the beach towels clean.  I say it every year as spring break comes to a close, “Just Get Me The Fuck Out of Here.”

Hell even the plane ride home feels different.  The plane ride there is “perfect.”  The plane could literally barrel-roll and you’d tell people it was a “great flight.”  But on the way home if the plane hits a patch of turbulence you’re holding on for dear life and frantically searching for the air sickness bag.  You can’t get on solid ground fast enough.

I don’t know.  Maybe I’m being silly.  At the end of the day I admit that I’m already looking forward to next year’s spring break, so maybe I’m totally wrong here.  But I’ll tell you what; I can GUARANTEE YOU that I won’t accept Jack’s challenge to spit pool water next year.  Nope.

New Spring Break Routine

As I predicted in my last blog, I did indeed breathe a sigh of relief as I walked through the door of my house late last night.  Actually because of a three-hour delay for no apparent reason, I didn’t actually get home until almost 3:00 AM, but I nonetheless heard myself say, “It’s good to be home.”  Again, I really think spring break could be the one holiday where people can’t wait to leave to start the trip, and then can’t wait to get home again at the end of the trip.  I probably just take those feelings to a whole new level.  At least the getting home part.

I think it has a lot to do with the fact that if I’m not in Northbrook, I’m totally lost.  I mean literally lost.  I’m directionally challenged as it is.  As I think I’ve said before I’m probably the only guy who has his home address programmed into his car’s navigation system so that I can find my way home.  Well, now put 1,000 miles between me and my “home town” and see how I get along.  It’s not pretty.  I took my son to hit golf balls at the driving range within my father-in-law’s complex and I got lost walking there.  My father-in-law’s place is laid-out in one big circle.  It’s a gated community.  And I got lost.  So the whole spring break in a far off place is extra hard for me to handle.

Then there’s the whole sun burn thing.  I burn.  I burn badly.  Now that’s because I don’t use sun screen.  At all.  Don’t believe in it.  So I’m burnt after day one.  Day two, and I’m starting to complain.  Day three, and I’m screaming like a small school girl who’s just lost her kitten.  Day four, and I’m just pissed and miserable.  Don’t even ask about day five.  We went to the beach on day five.  Not a cloud in the sky.  Lets just say that what skin isn’t peeling off is now starting to turn a nice, dark brown color.  Basically I look like a leper with a decent tan.

Then there’s the whole interruption of my normal routine.  I’m all about the routine.  It’s the routine that keeps me going.  That keeps me happy.  Frankly, much of the routine revolves around me sitting on the couch with one hand down the front of my pants while I search out movies on TV that I’ve seen countless times before (and no, I’m not really doing anything with that hand, it just honestly feels better sticking it down the front of my pants – I remember seeing the Al Bundy character on that TV show Married With Children do this, and I thought “you know what, this fucking guy is on to something”).  It’s not a complicated routine.  But that whole routine is thrown off on spring break.  The kids are there and need to be entertained almost nonstop.  For some reason they’ve gone from being lazy sods to hyperactive kids who need constant stimuli.  The wife wants to take daily walks.  The father-in-law has CNN going 24/7, and though my wife would say otherwise, I’m actually doing my best to juggle all this.

And speaking of CNN, have you ever noticed that according to CNN the world is basically on the verge of ending – is there a more depressing channel on TV than CNN?  If the world’s nations ever decide to nuke one another, I think CNN would break the story with a simple “I told you so, I knew this was going to happen.” CNN is pretty much the farthest thing from Tommy Boy and Dumb and Dumber and Black Sheep and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, which is really the type of mindless entertainment I’m looking for. 

So instead of “my routine,” I’m the guy who’s playing video games with the kids or swimming in the pool with them or digging out sand castle moats at the beach.  And I’m trying to keep up with my wife on all those damn walks which is not easy to do, especially when she gets into “a zone” and starts pumping her arms and moving those feet (I know I’m slow, but those spring break walks with my wife make me feel bad about myself).  And I’m the guy who’s sitting on the couch (not with my hand down my pants) with my father-in-law discussing whether CNN is a biased news source or not. 

It’s a different routine come spring break, and though in the end it’s a pretty nice routine and one that I actually look forward to repeating in the future, change is not always easy for me to accept.

So I think going forward, my wife and I simply have to have an understanding about spring break.

#1 – I need to be better prepared and more easily accepting of the new routine.

#2 – She needs to slow down on those morning walks.  It’s embarrassing.

#3 – Her father needs to get a few HBO movie channels.  He’s got a pretty good sense of humor, and he’ll get a chuckle out of Tommy Boy. 

#4 – We may need to bring the XBOX 360 with us next year.

#5 – We need to buy more aloe vera gel because I’m still not using sunscreen.