Honea Express

Archive for the ‘parenting’ Category

“If the stars were any closer I would fight them,” he said.

“The stars are not the problem, it’s the people between them that are causing all the trouble.”

“Then why is it called Star Wars?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

He stood there laughing in his pajamas, seeming so much smaller than a moment before.

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“The doctor called,” she said. “They say she only has two months left. Maybe three.”

“Holy fuck. How is she? How is he?”

“They aren’t good,” she said into a phone far away. “They found out on Friday, but you were in San Francisco and we didn’t want to bother you. There was nothing you could do.”

There still isn’t.

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“Is a cable car the same as a trolley?” he asked. His hands were grasping polls on either side and his feet were firm along the running board. The hills were fickle, climbing high then falling forever. The street was a blur beneath his dirty blue Converse.

“Are you having fun?”

He smiled against the wind and watched the peak rise to meet us.

“I am,” he answered.

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“We are shutting it down,” she said.

“Oh.”

“You have been here from the beginning, and this is hard,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” she added.

“I know.”

I walked for a while after that, lost in thought beneath a sky too blue and trees with the audacity to bloom.

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The thing about winning a major award without any sort of advanced notice is that you’re often caught with your virtual pants down and something difficult to explain in your hand. Seriously, have you ever tried to explain the perfect glass of bourbon? It’s not easy.

So it was that I received an email announcing that I, or rather this site, was ranked in Babble’s Top 50 Dad Blogs, while Honea Express was sitting here neglected, loading funny, and covered in reviews.

Still is.

However, being listed is pretty nice, especially since I haven’t been posting here nearly enough. It happens.

I’d like to say thanks to Babble, and more importantly, thanks to you. If it wasn’t for you nobody would give a crap what I did in this space, and I appreciate that every day.

I suppose this is kind of a lame post to have up on the blog now that I’m getting ones and ones of extra traffic, but I’m tired, Tom Waits is on the radio, and I’m thinking about drinking in the dark until the night takes me home.

This is what winning looks like, people.

I don’t think any of my other parent/professional blogging was taken into consideration for the list, but that’s what pays the bills, so if you have a moment please click below:

Kids Should Skip School (The Stir)

In Defense of Boys (DadCentric)

Occupy Childhood: Invest in Futures (BabyCenter)

Parenting on a Budget (BabyCenter)

Halloween and Other Scary Things (BabyCenter)

 Top 5 Superhero Movies of ALL TIME (JoeShopping)

Maker of “Word With Friends” to Launch Gaming for Acquaintances (Insert Eyeroll)

Thanks for all that voodoo you do, so well.

There is a story there, beneath the fallen tree. Perhaps it sings like wind or runs deep like roots.

There is a story there, in the bright, green sea. It is full of trash and imagination.

The world keeps spinning and the stories blur between lives lived and souls squandered. There are those that do nothing but care, and those that do everything but. They all have their reasons. My job is to show it fairly and explain it just. Mine is not to justify.

I have hands held tightly in mine, and they are small and trusting. There are eyes on mine and they are sharp and watching. I find it hard to expand upon the ignorance and meaningless of it all.

The good comes easily enough, and we only need walk a moment before we find the wonder. It is the sunlight between the branches, the rain against our feet, a sky deep in all directions and the smile that should always be there.

Innocence is only fleeting because we choose to let it go.

The journey is not starting and it is not ending. It is a notch on a timeline filled with risks and careless stumbles, safety nets and milestones. The peaks are mirrored by so many valleys, each staggered with steps that sink and spiral, and the timeline folds and crumbles upon our back. We watch for rocks accordingly.

The peaks give to bend, but never break. From a distance the valley is a hammock swinging lazily, and the sweat beneath it pools and glimmers like an oasis. We have no choice but to kneel and drink. The salted waters taste of lessons and the sea.

The night is short on hours and long on longing. We have walked far and seen much and their world is as big as it is contained. I tell them what I can and strive to show them more. Most stories are never told, and mine are told too often.

Then there is proud and there is humbled and there are dances around the awe.

There is a story here, and I do not know if I am the hero, the villain, the reader or the writer, but we are all the characters, every one.

People often ask me what it is I like to do in my free time. To which I say, mind your own freaking business. If I wanted you to know about it I would put it on the blog. Or Twitter. Or Facebook. But probably not Google Plus.

But then it dawned on me that I do not have a moment of free time, hence my inability to answer. Sure, some might say that writing a blog post is “free time” and I get that, but I’m just taking a break from writing something for money. That’s a job, people. Some smoke on their breaks, I blog. Also, pornography.

Basically, I wanted to touch base with you, the reader(s), and let each and every single one one of you know that I truly appreciate your kindness in what was (and continues to be) a very tough time for us. But we’re making due and getting by, and the good (deity of your choice) willing, maybe we’ll win a few games.

I’ve been keeping busy. Limey Yank Productions is a full-time job without all the hassle of benefits or paychecks, and I’ve been posting random bits of parenting woes and whoas all over the designated play area of the Internet. I’m also trying something new: humor. It’s like funny.

My wife is enjoying her new job, the boys like their new school (the youngest started kindergarten last week!) and the dogs seem happy to be happy. I don’t know what the hell the cats are up to.

And in the meantime life is bits of love and leisure wrapped tightly between inboxes and deadlines. We spend our days working and our nights trying to catch up. The boys bounce barefoot from beach to branch, leaving a trail of sand-covered Magnolias in their wake.  The days fly by us like we’re standing still, but we are moving fast in all directions.

The wind is a chorus of whispers and promise. Free time is but a kite in the distance.

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Thank you for reading.

And here are the links I couldn’t fit into the paragraphs above. You’re welcome:

Atticus and the Lion King 3D Premiere (video)

Public schools outlawing peanuts

Disney’s D23 Expo recaps, Day 1 and Day 2

This old house is now an obstacle course full of twists and turns and too many boxes.  But it is new to us, and what we see as an overwhelming feat is overwhelming much smaller feet with adventure and promise. Overwhelming, it seems, means different things to different people.

There are stairs that never cease to go up or down, and light switches that turn day from night and shine small shadows upon walls unscathed.  Once there were echoes, but they are now endangered by a floor slowly covered with the filling, filling of so many things.

This old house was once a barn. The yard was once a ranch. The creek outside the backdoor was once running rampant from heavy winter rains. I am told it will rise again. I plan to place a wall between us and the now dry bed before two curious boys learn too many lessons. I have enough to worry about without the threat of sweeping currents.

There are rolling hills and countless canyons. There are coyotes, lizards and snakes that sound of a baby’s playthings. We have left the forest for the desert and instead of bears in our trashcan we now have spiders in our everything. Instead of clouds that sit heavy across the brow we have sunshine that leaves the skin warm and always blushing.

This old house snaps and pops like Bob Villa’s breakfast. The air is thick with the memory of horses. The trees moan against breeze and boredom as they coax the boys onto branches and tire swings. They have more to give than shade and apples. And it is good.

There are dreams quietly waiting and others that go boldly into the night. I have a seat beneath a window, nothing to say and words to write. Now and again I see a smile pointed in my general direction. And sometimes there are waves involved.