Why and How and Thank You Very Much

Over the last four years, I’ve shared stories with you of birth and death, sickness and health, not to mention bodily functions, birthday parties and bubbles. I’ve shared elated and somber, and all else in between, just as is the normal flow of life’s constant waterfall.

Why I’ve done this requires a twofold answer:

1)   To have a record of ups and downs that my boys will hopefully want to read some day to restore memories they were probably too young to hang onto.

2)   To scratch the left-brain itch that brought me from Ohio to Los Angeles 15+ years ago to become the TV writer I never became.

But how I’ve done it is a different story, and one I’ve never really talked about. It’s not that it’s a secret, but rather I must admit that it’s only recently that I’ve realized that I’ve taken this privilege for granted: every word I’ve published in the last four year has been possible due to one person, and she’s known around here as Mrs. Dude.

Today my wife Shana turned 40 years old. We were just kids when we met, if you consider 27 the tail end of adolescence. Now a dozen years, a couple kids, 5 homes and an incalculable amount of joy she’s brought me later, I want to present her with a small fraction in return.

When I’ve had deadlines she’s never blinked an eye while I’ve sequestered myself with my digital quill and ink until the task is complete. Oh, and those incredible conferences which have literally changed my life? My wife is the one who encourages me to go, despite my entirely-self-imposed guilt, even knowing how much extra work it means for her on days when I’m not home to get the boys fed and delivered to school on time in the morning, make dinner or get them bathed and bedded for several days in a row. Needless to say she carried and bore the two Junior Dudes, too, which are tasks obviously way out of my wheelhouse. 

And for all this, I say thank you, Shana.

Through nearly eight years of wedded bliss and stress, plus another four of dating/engaged trepidation, I’ve been beyond fortunate to have the world’s most calm and patient partner by my side. When I get frazzled about being late to a 3-year-old’s birthday party, she’s the one who restores logic to the equation and reminds me that no one will ever remember or care that we arrived 10/20/30 minutes late. Clearly this is an unintended side effect of marrying a math teacher.

I tend to be my own harshest critic and those moments when she returns me to earth often make me feel not only like I’ve just discovered an endless canteen while lost in the desert, but also that I didn’t know water even existed.

Though I know she’ll likely not see these words, given how hard she works at her full-time job, tutoring other kids on the side AND co-grooming two of the sweetest, yet most devilish, boys on earth, I felt compelled to share this for her, and for our boys, and for you to know how we all got where we are today.

It was legendary rock concert promoter Bill Graham who once said “They’re not the best at what they do. They’re the only ones that do what they do”, about pioneering jam band the Grateful Dead. Excelling at any chosen task is a challenge. Blazing a trail and doing things unlike they’ve ever been done before requires patience, vision and endless supplies of energy. I was beyond fortunate to hitch my wagon to someone who has off-the-charts levels of all three and who helps instill those traits in our family on a daily basis. For this, I am grateful and I trust that my boys will realize someday how lucky they are to have such an incredible mother and role model.

I’m even luckier to call her my wife.

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I Don't Hate My Family

I have a confession to make. It’s something that’s not easy to say, but it’s been on my mind for a while. I’ve hesitated because I don’t want to become a pariah wandering aimlessly in the blogosphere, but I simply have to get it off my chest.

I don’t hate my wife or kid.  

Why is this hard to admit, you might ask? You might think that not hating your family should go without saying. Or at least that’s what I always assumed. But it seemingly goes against what I read from a surprising number of parenting writers on the web on a very regular basis.

There are thousands of amateur and professional parenting writers/bloggers floating around the Internet. I believe each is entitled to express their own opinion in their forum, just as I do. But I don’t agree with what a shocking number of them actually write.

These parents may not flat-out admit their distaste for what you’d expect would be their “loved ones”, but it is a common theme that I’ve read more times than I care to admit.  And it infuriates me every time.  Just to be clear, most people don’t come out and directly say “I hate my daughter” or “my husband is an idiot”, though I have seen both of those statements written on several occasions. It’s usually an off-hand remark about what a pain their spouse/kids/stepkids/siblings/parents are, and more often than not, it’s followed up by a comment about “needing wine”. I’m not a wine drinker, but on the rare occasions that I have had a glass, I know that the only thing it usually does for me is cause drowsiness.  That has yet to help me parent better, so maybe I am not doing it correctly?

I’ve noticed this trend for a while, but it was when I saw this Tweet a few weeks ago that I really became disturbed:

I sent this reply to the Tweet and here’s the response I received:

That may be true. I’m not in her specific position so I don’t know. I do know how challenging parenting one active 2 ½ year old can be and that the only substance I usually rely on is caffeine to help keep me going long enough to finish everything I need to do for him, myself, my wife and our home.

Raising kids isn’t easy. Neither is marriage. I don’t think they are supposed to be. There are built-in surprises and trapdoors to keep you on your toes as you traverse the path of life.  Believe me, I speak from firsthand experience.  If I had any more unexpected plot twists in my life over the last five years, you might think that my story was an episode of LOST.  

If you “Like” me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter, you’ll know that I joke around. A lot. The things I usually joke about are funny/annoying/strange things that happen to me and/or my family. They are usually tinged with obvious sarcasm.  Whatever they are, I always take into account how my wife or son would feel if they read them.

On the long list of hats I wear, long before I’m a writer, I’m a father and a husband. And though I may kid about the annoying and frustrating things that happen in life, like how the Little Dude recently started waking up an hour earlier every day and I’m beyond exhausted from it, I don’t think anything I write is overtly mean-spirited toward him. Sure, I’d love to sleep in more. Who wouldn’t? (Beside him, obviously.) But that’s what parenting is, sacrificing for the betterment of our families. If you aren’t interested, don’t sign up. But when I read that someone (or a lot of people) publically berating their family or is driven to drinking by the challenges of parenting, it makes me sad. Sad for them. And sad for the child. 

Rockin' Friday: Anniversary

This week's Rockin' Friday tune was an easy choice. 

Five years ago tomorrow Mrs. Dude and I had our first dance as Mr. & Mrs. Dude to 

Norah Jones' Come Away With Me. 

Enough Said.

Happy Anniversary to my one and only: 

What song did you have your First Dance to?