Kiss and Tell

A guest post from Buster:

It was the beginning of my eighth grade year in a back-to-school assembly. The student emcee called down several jr. high boys to the gym floor. Then the emcee asked them to name their girlfriends, who were also then asked to come down to the gym floor. I really didn’t have a girlfriend (I would like to think it was because I had more than one), so the stupid girl announcing the assembly just picks this girl named Lucy that was a friend of mine, but certainly not my girlfriend. I was very uncomfortable with the whole thing, and I was not happy about this because everybody knew the other guys had their girlfriends, but LUCY WAS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND (I think I even had a crush on somebody else at the time and didn’t want to ruin my chances with her by having my love for Lucy publicly and falsely proclaimed against my will). The emcee proceeded to have each of us boys blindfolded. Then, much to my discomfort, she said that each of the girlfriends was going to kiss their respective boyfriends, and then the boys were supposed to rate the kiss on a scale of 1 to 10. I was blindfolded, angry, and mortified. I’m surprised I didn’t wet my pants. I could hear (but not see) as the crowd hollered and whistled as the emcee counted down for the girls to kiss their boyfriends. Was this almost-stranger Lucy really going to kiss me?!? Right in front of the whole damn jr. high study body?!? (Keep in mind how awkward those jr. high years were.) “3! . . . 2! . . . 1!” and sure enough, I felt a pair of lips press against mine. WHAT THE HECK! Was this really happening?!? Aaaagh! (Just thinking about this is making me want to lose my lunch still today.) Still blindfolded, the judging began. Studly jr. high boyfriend #1 joyfully exclaims, “10!” Studly jr. high boyfriend #2 exuberantly repeats, “10!” Studly jr. high boyfriend #3 raucously yells, “10!” Then to me, pseudo boyfriend #4. I panicked. What should I do? I don’t want everybody in the whole stinking jr. high to think I’ve got the hots for Lucy, but Lucy is a nice girl and I don’t want to hurt her feelings. My pride won out as I said in the microphone, “6.” The crowd groaned. A 6? What was I doing? The kiss wasn’t that bad, but I had to keep my options open. I had an entire school year of flirting ahead of me! I couldn’t ruin it by pinning my hot lips on Lucy! At that point, the emcee said we could remove our blindfolds, which we did. Due to the bright gym lights and the blood in my bright red, flushed face, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but then I saw her standing in front of me . . . my mom! That damn emcee had set me up! I thought Lucy had really kissed me. I don’t know who was worse off, me having ranked my mom’s kiss as a 6, or the other idiots who had ranked a kiss from their “mommies” as a 10! The whole thing stunk to high heaven, unless you were sitting in the puberty-ridden jr. high audience laughing your butt off.

Water Time-Out

My junior year in high school our basketball team made it to the Nevada State Tournament in Reno. We were excited, and a little nervous. I remember the eight hour drive from Alamo, how big the arena felt and how intimidating the crowd seemed as we began our warm ups prior to the game. For starting lineup introductions the starters were on the bench and the other players lined up on each side. The starters, after introduction, would go to the middle of the court. I was the last to be introduced and eagerly jumped up and headed to mid court to high five and chest bump the four other starters. I remember thinking as I was running to mid court that it would be a bad time to trip or fall. I then remember thinking that I might be running in a little fast to get shut down in time. What happened next was somewhat a blur. Somehow, while trying to stop and turn simultaneously, I tripped/lost footing and piled it up into the other four players, taking one down with me. I remember how quiet it was as I lay there in a heap trying to figure out what in the hell just happened. Thankfully my wit has always been somewhat better than my athletic ability. I immediately sprang to my feet and motioned to the ref that a towel was needed because there was water on the court (which there now was because my chubby little face had just slid 15 feet across the floor). The ref came over to inspect, motioned to a staff member, and like that two towel boys were on the court cleaning up the “arrant water” that had clearly caused my fall. The game was delayed about five minutes because of the ordeal.

Mrs. Leavitt, I Presume

During my senior year of college I worked as student director of the center for politics and public service at SUU. We sponsored a debate between then Governor Michael Leavitt and his challenger on campus two weeks before the election. I greeted Governor Leavitt’s entourage as they arrived at the event and chatted briefly with the Governor. He wanted a room to get ready, so I showed him to his prep area. As I was leaving the room he asked that I see that he was left alone for a few minutes prep. After closing the door I realized I had forgotten to give him my business card with my contact information if he needed anything. Standing outside his door I could not decide whether to go back in and interrupt or just forget it. Just then a middle aged attractive lady came down the hall and asked where the Governor had gone. I recognized her from the entourage and was positive she must be one of the staff. I informed her that he was inside the door but had requested to be left alone. Then, seeing a chance to fix my dilemma, I asked her, since she worked for the governor, if she could be so kind as to give my business card to the Governor once he was finished. She looked at me somewhat confused and then began to chuckle. She then introduced herself. It was Jackie, his wife. I was so bright red she must had felt bad for me. In a half hearted attempt to break the awkward silence she informed me that it was not a big deal, and that she viewed it as a compliment since most personal assistants were so young these days!

I had about 30 minutes before I was on live TV to recover! Once again, Sean at his finest.

Grand Canyon Adventure 2008

Over a year ago I was approached by my old boss and good friend about joining their group on the annual rim to rim Grand Canyon adventure in 2008. With my eternal optimism and procrastinating attitude the response was a no brainer. Of course I was in! What the hell, it was a year away! What could be more exciting and challenging than hiking from one rim of the Grand Canyon to the other (approx 24 miles) in one day? That night I informed my wife that we, the adventurers that we are, were joining the 2008 hike. Kate was pregnant with our son at the time and gave an amused chuckle. “Here we go again” she replied. “You Sean Stewart, have never hiked a day in your life. You are actually going to train for this?” I knew what she was getting at. There was some history to her comment.
Three years ago we had been invited by the same group for the same adventure. Like this time, I had agreed to join. However, I then conveniently blocked out the memory of the whole thing until two weeks before the hike. I would say forgot, but that would not be accurate. There were many times during that year while I was inhaling a dessert or gorging myself at a buffet that I would think, hmmm.. I should be training for that hike. I would then commit to start training the next day. The next day I would simply repeat the same process. It worked very well in keeping me relaxed and calm…and I gained considerable weight.
Kate, on the other hand, had trained for the event (even running a half marathon in preparation). She was very frustrated with me and my rather unusual training regime. Two weeks before the hike, after a humiliating trip to the running store, she declared me ineligible for the event (still not sure who gave her the authority to do so, but deep down I was thankful) and we were forced to bow out. We ended up going on the 2006 hike as drivers who moved the cars from the north rim to the south rim, and then picked up the hikers at the trail head. I thoroughly enjoyed the trip. My wife, on the other hand, is still bitter about it.
Ah yes, the running store. Probably an adventure I should share. Kate, the runner, found a running store in Las Vegas that carries every shoe known to man. The theory of the Grand Canyon was that, because of the distance, you want the most comfortable shoe you can find. Kate recommended that I go the running store and have their friendly sales staff fit me with a custom shoe. She explained that they had a treadmill and would film me running (ok walking) and then fit me to the shoe that best supports my walking style and movement. She went on an on about the professional staff and their commitment to the sport.
I took her advice and dropped in to be outfitted. Luckily for me it was close to my favorite frozen custard shop. After stopping for a triple scoop of chocolate I strolled into the running store ready for action. With my wallet in one hand and a dripping chocolate cone in the other I sought out someone to assist me. I immediately noticed that every worker in the store was male, early twenties, and all were very fit. No wonder this was Kate’s favorite store! There were two other patrons in the store, both women. From their build I would assumed these women were long distance runners who had not stopped to eat in several months. Despite Kate’s stories of an encouraging staff eager to assist, no one approached me. When I approached one of the staff he quickly exited to the back of the store mumbling something about an inventory check for another customer.
After licking the side of the cone I surveyed the room and found and employee at the register. As I approached him his expression changed to that of a confused and nervous employee who was unsure whether to listen to me or call security. I explained that I was preparing to hike the Grand Canyon in one day and needed a comfortable shoe that would support my feet for 24 miles. In a confused tone he asked, “You are doing what?” I tried to explain the Grand Canyon, my need for shoes, my wife’s explanation of a treadmill, and filming, and comfort, but cut it short when I realized he was not really processing anything I was saying. He politely explained that the treadmill (for me) would be a waste and that what I needed was a “beginners” trail shoe. He also explained that I needed to look into that hike because it was a very advanced and people had died on the trail. I thanked him for his brutal honesty, took another lick of the custard, and calmly got the hell out of there.
Wow, did I digress. Back to one year ago, my living room, and Kate challenging my commitment. I explained to Kate that I had learned my lesson the year previous, that I was committed, and would not let her down. She rolled her eyes and that was the last I thought about it until June of this year.
In June we were at a friend’s house who had agreed to accompany us on the trip and drive our vehicle from the North Rim to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. For fun we looked up online information on the hike. We were excited to find a whole section on the rim to rim hike including scenery we would see, the terrain, animals, views, etc. All was going well until we read the red bold lettering stating that you should not attempt the hike in any time period less than three days. Three days! The article went on with a message from rangers stating not to, under any circumstances, attempt to traverse the canyon in one day followed by a list of those who had died trying and a count of those airlifted via flight-for-life in the past couple of years. A sick feeling came over me. Maybe I should train… I sipped a cola as I thought about the danger.
In early August my wife mapped out four hikes for us to prepare for the rim to rim. The first was a three mile, followed by a five mile, then a ten mile. The week before the rim to rim we hiked 16 miles. Each hike left me sore and doubting my ability. Each week I would recover with the aid of Vegas buffets, soda by the gallon, and ice cream. Kate was slimming down. I was bulking up. My hope was that the stored energy would come in handy somewhere in the bottom of the canyon.
Soon enough the weekend of the hike arrived. We left Vegas with our spirits high and headed for our hotel on the North Rim. Of course I had procrastinated booking our rooms on the north rim and so the only available lodging for us was a shanty town just outside the park. The online booking indicated they were individual cabins, but in actuality they were individual cabins divided in four to maximize occupancy. The room was equipped with a double bed (which was a tad small for me….let alone my wife and I), and a connected bathroom. There literally was not enough room to turn around between the bed and bathroom. The floors were elevated and creaked with every movement. To say the walls were paper thin would be an exaggeration. Paper would have deflected much more sound than these walls. We could hear any of the four rooms moving, coughing (bathroom stuff), flushing bathroom stuff, washing, whispering, and almost thinking! It was a long night!
The next morning we got out of bed at 4:30am (I would say woke up, but that would imply we actually slept) in order to dress and drive the half hour to the drop point. Anticipation was high and we were excited to get to hiking. We started hiking around 5:30, and used head lamps to navigate the dark for the first couple of miles. As it began to break morning I quickly realized that the Grand Canyon was a lot bigger than I remember it being. We had descended a couple thousand feet but it appeared we were a long way from the bottom! Panic set in as I realized I may be in over my head! However, ignorance was bliss and I trudged forward.
There is really no way to explain what it feels like to hike 12 hours. I had been warned of the pain, and was popping ibuprofen like skittles, but the ache of the wear on the body, especially a slightly rotund body like myself, cannot be medicated. I hurt early on and often. 14 miles into the hike we arrived at the bottom of the canyon at what is called Phantom Ranch. I was somewhat sore and tired, and looking for a place to sit. To my dismay every bench and seat had some tree hugging granola eating nature enthusiast and his five friends crowded around visiting on the beauty of the canyon. To me, at this point, the beauty of the canyon would be getting out of it alive! One in our group made the comment that Phantom Ranch is where this group of reality hikers stopped being polite and started getting real!
At this stop I changed my socks and ate yet another Cliff Bar to keep the energy up. For those non-hikers out there, it appears there that granola is the main ingredient in all food. Cliff bars are simply put, granola on steroids. They are a one inch by one inch, five pound snack of granola and other chemical compounds guaranteed to conquer the hunger. Distractions are the disgusting taste and the fact that, by looking at the texture of the bar, you realize it is going to clog you up like a block of cheese. My theory, upon observing this substance, was that it had to be the official snack of the park restroom facility managers and staff, because there was no way anyone eating this stuff would be making any restroom stops for at least a week.
We left Phantom Ranch shortly after 11am. I remember feeling confident we would be out of the canyon by 2 or 3. After all, we had completed 14 of the 24 miles! Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I didn’t realize for another mile or so that the last 8 miles was straight up! The views at the bottom of the canyon were amazing, and the Colorado River was breathtaking. Kate took between five and ten thousand pictures on the hike, and I will forward.
Mile 19 was the point at which things started to deteriorate for me. At this point we were headed straight up, switchback after switchback. For a mile or so my calves and quads started to tighten and then full on cramp. Each step hurt and I was out of drugs (or Kate was hiding them from me for fear of an overdose) After hiking for what seemed to be 20 miles we finally arrived at Indian Gardens, a water stop and camp ground four and a half miles from the top. I remember the defeated feeling as I stared at the map stating that we had only come 4.7 miles from Phantom Ranch and still had 4.5 miles to go. Staring over the map to the mountain it appeared as if the top was so high up you couldn’t see it. I choked down another cliff bar, complained a lot to my poor wife, and we headed out. I wasn’t sure we would make it, but there truly was only one way out!
The last four and a half miles were brutal. A mile or so in my quad muscles began cramping with each step. Kate suggested I try to stretch them. As I stood on one leg bending the other back (can you all picture this awkward scenario) my muscles on the back of the leg began to cramp and I screamed out “I am going down!!!” It now is quite funny.
During the last three miles my rational thinking was somewhat diminished. I was mean to the day hikers we were meeting who were gleefully descending for a short hike. I contemplated the repercussions I would face verses the immediate benefit if I was able to successfully rip a rider from the mule train and dash away aboard the trusty stead. I also began to think that I would do better if somehow I could discard everything from my backpack! Considering my 280 lb frame and the fact that the backpack weighed at most 25 lbs, the logic was not sound. However, I was convinced this would help me make it to the top. I drained much of my water and we pressed forward. Ironically, I wasn’t the only one going crazy. One of the other hikers had the same thought and began feeding the food to the wildlife. At one point he found himself feeding his Cajon trail mix to some friendly squirrels. He felt bad about the gastrointestinal problems he undoubtedly gave the squirrels, but enjoyed the decrease in weight.
Several hours later we finally limped out of the top of the Canyon. I am not afraid to admit that I was even a little emotional when I finally hit level ground. We were exhausted, had very few muscles operating correctly, and were dying for some form of substance not containing granola!
That night, after a hot meal, we limped to our rooms for a long anticipated rest. We were sore the next morning, hardly able to move. However, we had agreed to meet the entire hike group for breakfast and were determined to show up looking strong. I devoured four ibuprofen, gritted my teeth, and after fifteen minutes or so made it out of bed and onto my feet! I was so proud!
One week later the muscles have stopped hurting, the blisters have disappeared, and we are actually thinking about next year! Of course, next year is an easy commitment; it’s still long way out!

Ego.

Five months ago I agreed to do something so stupid and foolish that I am sure to this day I must have been under the influence of some type of drug. Fifteen days from today, approximately 360 hours, or 21,200 minutes, Kate and I (and a few close psychotic friends) will be hiking the Grand Canyon. When I say hike I don’t mean a day trip on the rim or down to the campground near the bottom, we are hiking rim to rim, 24 miles, in one day! I know what you are thinking….our fat friend is going to die… and I agree. Let me explain how I got into this mess!

Two years ago my boss approached me about a rim to rim hike he and his wife had done a couple of times and had planned to do again in October of that year. It was January of 2006 and I was pushing record body weight (a record that has since been broken many…many times). My wife was training for a half marathon and I thought what the hell, sounds like fun! He cautioned me that I needed to start training then, and updated me somewhat as to how the hike would be. I excitedly booked our rooms, bought some good hiking shoes, and then forgot about the whole thing until about mid September. (Update Interruption: 21,193 minutes and counting till death march 2008). Kate, on the other hand, began training and was so excited about the event. Each morning she would get up and run while I slept. She stuck to her diet while I expanded the waste line. Sometime in September, while holding my 44 oz Pepsi in one hand and peeling off the wrapper to a Twinkie with the other, it dawned on me that I was supposed to be hiking the Grand Canyon in a couple of weeks. To show my dedication and willpower I ate only half the twinkie and logged on to the Grand Canyon website to read about our upcoming outing. Fear and panic set in as I red article after article about the rim to rim adventure.

The site cautioned all hikers to allow a minimum of 48 hours to traverse the canyon and warned hikers not to enter the canyon without having reservations at the campgrounds in the canyon or at the lodge because of the frigid night temperatures. Night temperatures? I remembered my boss saying that we would hike all the way through in one day! I then saw the red capitol lettering toward the bottom of the site that warned all to not attempt to traverse the canyon in one day and went on to list the names of those who had died trying. DIED TRYING? My stomach began to churn and I realized I needed an excuse, and fast. (Update Interruption: 21,183 minutes and counting till death march 2008).That night I had a heart to heart with my wife and explained that I was certain I would not survive. She agreed, shared with me her disappointment in my lack of willpower to train or even diet for the event, (as I was finishing the last twinkie in the box) and made me promise that I would go to my boss the next day and explain why we were canceling out. The next day I explained honestly to my boss about the ingrown toe nail, pulled hamstring, and flu I was experiencing that threatened to eliminate us from the hike. He, shockingly, was very understanding and asked if we would like to go as drivers to drive the vehicles around the canyon from the North Rim to South (a four hour trip.).

And so we did, in 2006, participate as drivers of the group of hikers. Kate was bitter that we were not hiking, but I thoroughly enjoyed the trip. We dropped the hikers off shortly before 5am and most of the group finished on the other side around 5:30 that afternoon. While waiting for the hikers at the trail head Kate and I read on a plaque about the hikers who had died in the canyon while attempting to go rim to rim. One was a marathon runner. Another plaque indicated that rangers air lift out hundreds of hikers each year. As they began to arrive, our group, most very fit and well prepared, were completely give out, barely able to walk to the car. It looked painful. One hiker, a scout master and outdoorsman, did not make it out until just before midnight, As a result of the hike he lost three toe nails and was unable to walk for two days. I was very glad to have been the driver! (Update Interruption: 21,172 minutes and counting till death march 2008).

So, having witnessed the pain and agony of the hike first hand, one might wonder why in the world we would agree less than two years later to once again give it a try? EGO. It is all driven by ego. Five months ago my old boss called me and said, I know you were too much of a wimp to do it two years ago, but we are going to hike this year and were wondering if you would like to come. Like to come I said, how about like to lead the group? He asked if I intended to cop out and drive like last time. I told him over my dead body! (which may prove to be prophetic). It was on!

Well, similar to two years ago, five months have passed and little has been done. Kate is ready (as usual) and I am….well….getting warmed up. I have dropped a few pounds, put the twinkies away for a season, and resorted to drinking diet soda. Two weeks ago we actually went hiking. I hiked for what seemed forever, was winded, and turned to my wife to tell her we ought to turn around or we may be returning in the dark. She disgustedly informed me we had been hiking for 18 minutes and that the truck was still in sight below us. In my defense it did feel a lot farther. (Update Interruption: 21,153 minutes and counting till death march 2008).

So I ask you to remember me on the morning of Saturday October 3, 2008, some 21,150 minutes from now, as I depart on a journey I am quite sure I will not finish. When you remember me, don’t just think of the pepsi and twinkie, remember the chubby face behind junk food with a good heart yet uncontrollable ego which led to his untimely demise.

Working Vacations

A brilliant man once told me that work is play and play is work. I first discounted the phrase because the man was from Idaho, (never trust a spud picker) but have been thinking a lot about the saying after returning from our vacation last week. I have never been so excited to get back to work so I could rest up from vacation. Can anyone relate? Let me explain.

Vacations at the Stewart home are more like a pilgrimage. To my recollection we have never vacationed within 500 miles of our home or for less than four days. Most often it involves international flights, multiple time zones, in-air diaper changes, and at least five major meltdowns. That is why I was so excited to hear that Kate (my adorable side kick/wife) had planned our vacation this year in Southern California at the beach. I almost felt a rush of excitement as she described to me the resort right on the beach with nothing to do but watch the waves cooling the toasty California sand.

However, knowing Kate, I was somewhat skeptical that I would be spending my days under a palm tree sipping lemonade and humming a Kenny Chesney song. Kate is a planner and what I refer to as a “militant vacationer”. I knew there would be an itinerary. There always is. However this time even I underestimated her ability to cram a month of activities into a few days.

Our vacation began at a car dealership in St. George. Kate had sized up the luggage, four kids, and two tag-along Phillip’s siblings, and decided our oversized Expedition was no longer adequate for our needs. She had told me of our “need” the week previous, and after a few days of my standard “you’ve got to be kidding me” and “this is ridiculous” and “we cant afford it” and “you are being irrational” I relented to the pressure and drove as a willing participant to the dealership. Kate, after a few upgrades, change in color, and four test drives (this will have to be another update in and of itself) found the car of her dreams. She was so happy. I am so broke.

The eight of us (Kate and I, four kids, and two in-laws) and our luggage crammed into the new Yukon XL and headed for California. The sting of the butt kicking I had just endured at the car dealership was starting to wear off, the DVD was playing, kids were semi quiet, and I felt amazingly comfortable behind the wheel of this multi-ton death trap.

Upon arriving at our destination (or the destination as determined by our new yet slightly dysfunctional navigation system) I found myself staring at a beach and the ocean, but no hotel. The navigation kept blaring “make the first available legal u-turn” as I edged along hoping somehow the sand would suddenly produce our hidden beachside villa. Cars were honking from behind and passing me on both sides at high speeds. I then noticed a train approaching between the highway we were traveling on and the beach. My wife began talking to me but I couldn’t hear a word she was saying as the train rumbled past us on the tracks. At this point I stopped in the middle of the road in a bewildered stupor. “Where is the hotel?” I asked. She pointed to the opposite side of the road and asked me politely to make the u-turn. Turns out our beachside villa was not so beachside. It appeared to me, in order to reach the beach from our beachside hotel, we would have to exit the hotel driveway, traverse four lanes of highway, railroad tracks, a security fence, and a small campground! Not exactly the backdoor onto the beach I had envisioned!

Although it was late, Kate and the kids had to try the beach. I stayed with the little one as the four of them headed out. I watched from our balcony in terror as they maneuvered their way to the beach. To my delight, none were struck by the freeway traffic or the Amtrak trains! The mood was dampened later in the evening when the crew returned to report that the sandy beach was not so sandy. In fact my oldest was limping from a rock he stepped on in the water and wife’s toe had sustained a direct hit to the coral. Any optimism I may have still had was now gone.

Upon reviewing the itinerary I realized the week was a busy one, with trips to Lego Land, the San Diego Zoo, Old Town, Deep Sea Fishing, a Padres Game, and a trip down the PCH. While away on one of our numerous side trips, the relatives found a new beach five miles away. With the exception of the five minute drive, half mile trek down the mountain, dollar an hour parking fee, and the rip tide, the beach was fabulous! I even found time one day to suntan (which will have to be another update as well…).

We arrived back home at 3:30 am on Saturday morning six days later, tired yet content. I have definitely had my fill of California for at least another season!

The Cost of Speed

Do you ever find yourself with a list of ten things to do and only time to complete one or two? I have noticed that most people approach this dilemma in one of three ways. Let me explain the three approaches complete with examples and never before revealed insight! (Erik loves the drawn out drama).

The first group neatly lists all of the “to do” items on a sticky note to be posted in a general location for all to see. Afterward, they analyze the list, planning in detail the most strategic approach. During the planning stage they realize there is not enough time to complete the “to do” list and panic sets in. Realizing that the list cannot be completed, the first group then decides to start a totally different project unrelated to any of the original “to do” items they had set out to accomplish. My dear sweet and absolutely gorgeous wife is a “group one”.

It is not her fault; she inherited it from her grandma Bernice Phillips. In fact we refer to the group one behavior in our home as “Bernice-ing It.” Grandma Bernice was a dynamic woman who I really admired. In her later years, she would get somewhat distracted with the task at hand. It was not uncommon while visiting Grandma Bernice to be offered ice cream. On more than one occasion she would scamper off the kitchen but fail to return. After five minutes or so the awkward silence in the living room would be broken by the sound of a vacuum in the back room. Upon investigation it would be revealed that Grandma was out of ice cream. Instead of a quick trip to the store or an explanation that she had run out, she would simply decide to vacuum a back room. Hmmmm.

My wife prefers cleaning the bathrooms to vacuuming. Any time she is in a crunch for time, or the pressure is on with a daunting deadline, she simply changes her cloths, grabs the rags, and starts cleaning the bathrooms. If I come home from work and she is cleaning the bathrooms I instinctively know that she is up against a young women’s teaching deadline, or she needs to be somewhere soon and she feels she doesn’t have enough time to make it. At the end she is still stressed, but our bathrooms are always spotless!

The second group analyzes the time versus task dilemma and immediately resolves to do nothing. The third group looks at the list, acknowledges (usually audibly) that there is no way in hell to complete all the items in the time allotted, and then proceeds to plow into the list with great speed but little to no attention to detail. Instead of completing two or three tasks, group three individuals leave their mark on each item completing nothing and usually leaving a trail of carnage and destruction causing much more harm than good.

Unfortunately, I am a hybrid of group two and three. I never create a list or plan a sensible attack. Most often, if I feel I cannot complete everything I need to in the time allotted, I do nothing. Sure, it would make much more sense to do one or two and then try again the next weeknight… but I prefer to do nothing all week and then Saturday attack all of the stacked up items from the week with a vigor an resolve that is 1% brains and 99% brawn. On occasion I am successful. More often than not it is disaster. Let me share with you my latest Saturday experience.

As I was leaving the office Friday night (speeding as usual to try and catch the second half of Duston’s little league game I was thirty minutes late for) I was contemplating my Saturday plans. I love Saturdays…it is a needed change in pace from the week at the office. My mental list (no way in hell I am writing it down!!!) consisted of the following.

Saturday AM – transfer water on ranch from east ditch to west ditch, move cattle to east side, air up tires and change batteries on loader, successfully “borrow without them knowing” parents John Deere Gator from parents garage in town for my use in the PM, take away trash to landfill, fix two flat tires on motorbikes, mow lawns at the old house, repair pipe leak, clean out garage, water down track for afternoon activities, get fuel from gas station in town for ATV’s, and walk through landscaping plans with Kate at new home.

Saturday PM – Watch second half of playoff game and go motorbike riding with the boys on the mini-supercross track strategically placed where Kate’s landscaped yard is supposed to be (that is another story…)

After reviewing the events I realized there was no way to complete the morning agenda without spilling into the afternoon, which would undoubtedly affect my motorbike ride! Just then the phone rang. It was a “helpful” fellow church member letting me know of an “opportunity” for service. I grumbled. Church really does interfere on a regular basis. They needed a load or two of water and coincidentally I have both a water source and a water truck!

As I am discussing the details with the caller another call rings through. It is Kate reminding me that I have the kids in the morning while she attends a meeting. As I protest she reminds me it has been on the calendar for months. The calendar is strategically placed in the kitchen and is intended to coordinate our busy lives. It is a good idea, I must admit, but I never look at it, let alone attempt to coordinate. As a result of my lack of effort to coordinate, the calendar is her trump card to any scheduling dispute. She had me. I could do nothing but acknowledge my fate.

Being the eternal optimist, though, I dreamed about how to still get it done with the distinct handicap of four midgets, one of which must still be nourished every three hours through a bottle. I knew it could be done; I just had to work faster!

We started early. I piled the kids into the truck and lied to them about a fun filled day riding around the valley with dad. Our first task was to take a load of water to the “needy”. As I started the water truck I notice the front tire was quite low. It had been leaking for months but I had not found the time to fix it. It was faster (in my mind) just to add a little air each time it was used. The problem today was that the air station was on the other side of the ranch and the well used to fill the truck was in the middle of the ranch, right between the house and air station. Most sane people would pass the well, go fill up the tire, and return to the well for water. It would take at most 30 extra minutes. However, I was in a hurry! My plan was to fill the truck, drive slowly on the low tire to the air compressor on the other side of the ranch, inflate the low tire, and then deliver the water.

We made it to the well and filled the truck. The tire, with the added weight of four thousand gallons of water, appeared have a lot less air in it than I had originally thought! At this point my voice of reason said it would be smart not to try and drive the truck, but to simply walk the half mile to my house, get my pickup and small air compressor, and return and air up the tire. My adventurous (much less intelligent) side screamed go for it, we are running behind already!. Well, I (and the four kids piled on one seat next to me) followed the voice of adventure! We made it about 50 feet before the tire lost all remaining air and we began riding on the rim.

I told the kids to stay put and ran (ok walked briskly) to the house to retrieve my truck and air compressor. However the air compressor was not putting out enough air to re-seal the tire to the rim. I needed a bigger air compressor and Jesse James was hungry. I loaded up the kids and headed to town for more air and a warm bottle.

After feeding the little one we raced to my uncle's house to borrow his portable air compressor. I was in a hurry and loaded the unit in the back of the truck. I didn’t bother to put up the tailgate… I intended to drive slowly and water truck was just a mile or so up the highway. Jerett, my five year old, ask me why the tailgate was down. I responded that I left it down and that everything was going to be ok. My five year old and I then had a mental Olympics (which I dominated) over whether or not the air compressor was going to fall out. In order to keep him occupied I told him to look out the back window and let me know how the machine was doing on the trip. As I started out onto the highway I watched the unit from my mirror. It didn’t move an inch. That will show the five year old!

I began to accelerate and my son suddenly exclaimed, “It’s moving!” followed by “There it goes dad, it's unloaded itself onto the highway!” I looked back just in time to see parts exploding across both lanes of traffic and what was left of the air compressor tumbling down the center of the highway. I pulled off the road and began to pick up the pieces. To add insult to injury, a local stopped to help me but had a hard time assisting because of his continuous laughing as he described the event from his vantage point behind us. He then asked, “Why didn’t you put up the tailgate?” I bit my tongue and hoped that my five year old could not hear him.

It took me the rest of the day to change the ruined tire and deliver the load of water. As I drove home at dusk I realized that, besides ruining a $250.00 tire and $800.00 air compressor, I had not accomplished much. I still had the same “to do” list on my mind.

At that point my “second group” mentality kicked in. I realized there will always be a next Saturday.

Power Naps, Politics, Weight Loss, and Routines

Little Jesse James Stewart is three weeks old today. I have to be honest, I feel like he should be approaching his one year mark! I don’t know how it is possible, but you forget how much work these little people are.

How do we forget? Most people burn themselves on a stove once. From then on they look at the stove and think, damn, that hurt. As a result they avoid the stove. Childbirth, on the other hand, does not follow the logic. We have a baby, we think, wow, this is a lot of work! The baby starts to walk and bam, wife decides it is time for another “bundle of joy”. Bundle of joy?

Don’t get me wrong, I love the little guy. But these creatures are machines. He wakes, he eats, he burps, he squirms, he fusses, he fills his diaper, he passes out. He wakes he eats… you all know the routine. And our Jesse sticks to his routine. Every three hours, like clock work, he begins the process. The process (milk from mouth to diaper) takes approximately one hour. That leaves two hours before it repeats. It reminds me of a version of Groundhog Day, minus Bill Murray.

Now for some needed clarification; I am not there for most of the routine. I hear about it in tired phone calls and texts from the GM of Domestic Affairs. I only really experience it in the night. Most nights I simply have to wake long enough to nudge the GM out of bed. Friday night, Saturday Night, and on occasion one night during the week are mine. My think positive approach to the “routine” was that I am simply trading my night of sleep for three, two hour power naps. Three weeks later my optimism has given way to the bloodshot eyes and grumpiness. How long must this last!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We received the doctor and hospital bills for the delivery. Kate informed me we have “crappy” insurance and that I should bring it up with my boss because it just isn’t right. I, (Thinking but not saying), …

Wait a minute… I guess I had better take a moment to explain that concept. I have a cousin Tory who is very animated and loves to tell a good story. While very lively, these stories often contain exaggerations and half truths. To sift through the entertainment with some hope of separating fact from fiction, we instituted the phrase “thinking but not saying”. During his frequent rants it is perfectly acceptable, if one hears something unbelievable, to interrupt by asking the question (thinking but not saying?) and he, or the story teller, has to stop and clarify whether he or any other person in the story was actually saying what he has indicated, or was simply thinking that at the time without verbal expression. I encourage you to implement this truth finder in your own lives.

Ok, back to the story.

(Thinking but not saying) Great idea Kate! I will tell my boss what I think of our crappy insurance today, as we are entering a recession, where job cuts are becoming frequent, and where the world has about 2 million too many attorneys as it is! As I was traveling into work today I was listening to the news about John McCain giving a speech on immigration, affordable health care, and taxes…which party is he with? I mean really. The most powerful country in the world with an intelligent, motivated population of millions and JOHN MCCAIN is the best we can come up with for a Republican nominee? As I listened to him fumble through some joke with Letterman about your shorts filling up with air in a Jacuzzi I finally had to turn the channel out of embarrassment for me, my party, and the American way. Ok, that’s all on politics…well almost.

Back to the McCain speech on health care; Health Care has to be affordable for everyone was the message (ironically also the message of the democrats, the socialists, and communists world wide who, again ironically, prefer to come to America for health treatment….hmmm….) McCain was making. This reminded me of the conversation I was supposed to have with my boss that I was likely going to think but not say. My insurance (according to the GM of Domestic Affairs) was crappy. I had to pay out of pocket approximately $800.00 for the little guy. That seemed like a lot, until I remembered that I had just spent $807.00 on a new set of tires for my work truck at Discount Tires. Ironically, my new son’s birth and Wife’s care had cost the same as a new set of tires. Is that really expensive considering the context? Should a child’s birth and wife’s care cost less than a new set of tires for the automobile you bring them home in? Welcome to my deep thoughts at 5:30 am, forty-five minutes north of Las Vegas on a Monday morning.

Last night as I was feeding the little guy I turned on my new favorite show, Biggest Loser, and nestled in for an entertaining last hour. I am sad to say that such a show is now the highlight of my once daring and unpredictable life. I am intrigued by the contestants and their desire to lose weight (and of course win some cash) and how weight loss has changed their lives. I was still pouting somewhat from earlier in the night when my wife, while scarfing down some peanut M&M’s, turned to me and said that WE really needed to commit to lose some weight. At the time she said this I was at the table choking down one of my Nutri-System meals and dreaming of a double bacon cheeseburger. (Thinking but not saying) What the hell was she talking about? Could she not see my pain and anguish each day as I am literally starving myself to death?

Later that night as I slipped into bed she muttered in her sleep about how proud she was that I have actually lost thirty five pounds and then added that I only had thirty more pounds to go! (Thinking but not saying) Could have done without the additional reminder of the long road ahead.

Babies, names, surprises, and that damn hospital!

A week ago last Friday I was minding my own business working away when I received a frantic phone call from my wife, who was in St. George for a routine check up. She was due the 31^st of March and was now in the weekly checkup range. For those of you who don’t know, Kate is very much so a creature of habit. She seeks out predictability, and does not like surprises. Hmm...that reminds me of another story.

Over four years ago (can you believe that???) after finishing my last requirements of the institutional hell we called law school, I decided it would be fun to surprise Kate with a trip to Hawaii. After all, she had single handedly raised our two hellions for three years while we were being systematically beat into submission by the Socratic Method. I was careful not to let on about the trip. I made arrangements for everything, the babysitting, hotels, message, helicopter tours, beach time, luaus, …I thought of it all! On the morning we were to leave I woke her up at 4am and proudly announced that she had two hours to pack her bags… we were headed for the islands! I will never forget the look on her face. She was furious! You are kidding she blurted. You expect me to be ready in two hours for an island trip in dead of winter? She exclaimed, “I have no time to get a swimming suit, or to tan, or to get needed supplies, or………” the list was endless. She kept repeating, please tell me you are joking. After two or three times of the question I was also wishing the whole morning was a joke. We made it to the airport on time but she did not speak to me until we were half way to Honolulu. After a rough first day we had a wonderful trip. However, I learned then to hold off on surprises.

Surprises today go something like this. (Early January) Kate, we are having our 10^th anniversary in December and I am going to plan a trip to the Carribean. Does that sound fun? How does your calendar look? Can you tell me if we have anything planned at this point? Boring I know, but safe. Safety, harmony and happiness in my marriage are fundamental.

Ok, so back to the phone call. Kate was frantic and not making a lot of sense. She informed me her doctor had checked her and she was at a three and sixty percent effaced (I have no idea what that means) and that she was likely to have this baby within the next week if not sooner. He demanded that she return on Tuesday of the next week with her bags, if she had not yet had the baby. Kate, in true fashion, told the doctor that would not work. She had a piano recital on Tuesday night, had not finished cleaning the house, had not assembled the new stroller and car seat (why is it that women need new strollers and car seats for each baby? I mean, can’t the same baby use the hand me down model?), had not finished washing the baby clothes, had not received the play set ordered on line yet, and most of all, had not scheduled to have the baby until the 24^th, which was her induction date (oh yes, she has chosen to be induced on each child for the predictability of the birth date..). The doctor had just smiled and told her to be here Tuesday. As she was talking to me on the phone she was arguing with the receptionist on whether she was required to be there Tuesday, or whether she could just keep the previously scheduled and planned for weekly checkup on Friday and totally ignore the sound advice given by a medical professional with 10 years of schooling and 29 years experience (and was annoyed that the receptionist found her questions and resistance to obviously sound advice somewhat humorous).

My immediate thought and almost action was to, as I was listening to one half of the verbal standoff between my wife and the receptionist, yell out loud, “Hey Kate, how in the hell do you intend to hold this baby off if he is on his way?” However, nine years of marriage experience prevailed and I bit my tongue, calmly indicated that I was tied up in an important conference call (yes it was a lie, but justified considering the circumstances) and ask her to call me when she got it all sorted.

After nine years of marriage I have learned that it takes my wife approximately three hours to process and completely come to terms with new information. I liken it to a computer lock up and the infamous hard reset. Yes, it is a major pain to sit there and wait on the re-boot, but once it has done its thing you are usually get back to where you needed to be with minimal damage. Almost three hours to the minute I received a rather calm call from my wife indicating that she was now scheduled to be at the doctor on Tuesday (four days) and that she was going to have a baby that day, that she had scheduled a recital for Monday night, that the play set order via UPS would be there Saturday morning, that she was on her way home to finish cleaning, washing and packing, and that I was to clear my calendar for next week because I was going to accompany her to the hospital on Tuesday morning.

Of course the timing for me could not have been worse. My boss was to fly in to Vegas on Tuesday and be joined by his boss from the UK on Wednesday for meetings Wed and Thurs on succession planning, budgets, legal overview, etc. I made a half hearted attempt to explain to my wife that I would need to shuttle back and forth at least one day to please corporate. I could hear the emotion in her voice. I was dealing with a hormonal, highly emotional, and highly volatile time bomb that I wisely chose not to set off. I made the calls removing me from the weeks activities and likely guaranteeing a 50% cut to my bonus this year. I bit my tongue, smiled, and remembered that hell hath no fury like a women scorned.

The weekend was comical for us. We have never experience labor pains at home like this because of the inducement route my wife had chosen. We were used to cruising over to the hospital on the day of inducement with some snacks, a DVD player and Kate’s top five love flicks, hooking Kate up to the drugs and epidural, a little sleep, a few movies, BAM, baby is here. However, this time she was having some pretty strong contractions and we were not sure whether we should be on the road, or resting, or what. It was comical. Tuesday morning we arrived at the doctor’s office with great anticipation only to find out that she was at a 3+ and the same effacement as before. The doctor told us she was having some pretty good contractions and that he recommended we go do some shopping and enjoy the day and get checked at the hospital before we left town that night because he was still nervous that this baby was closer than anticipated. Kate and I were furious. Kate was mad she had made all the arrangements for no reason. I was mad because the doctor suggested we go shopping all day. Damn that wretched doctor.

After seeing my wife’s disappointed face, I decided to be a sport and endure the shopping. It is not often I get to spend a day with my wife…how bad can it be? After the third glare from her I even shut off my blackberry and devoted the day to her. It was husband of the year material.

The shopping began rather light, choosing a new pair of shoes for her at Nordstrom. It then got a little more heated with purchases at JC Penny, Sears, Deseret Book, JoAnn’s, and Michaels. Our bank account balance was dropping faster than Bush’s approval ratings and I could smell disaster. (Trish, we now have, thanks to you, Dyson Vacuums, Models 7, 15, and 14 because Kate informed me, with little tears in her eyes, that you told her the 14 was by far the best model and that she was not happy with the performance of the 15 so far….) I needed an alternative plan, and I needed it fast.

Then it came to me. I said, Kate, do you really want to have this baby today? Of course she did. I suggested then we do a little walking to speed up the contractions and get the old heart pumping. She was willing and we headed to the Dixie College track where there was nothing to buy and plenty of room to walk. We did two miles, grabbed lunch, and then hit two miles in the afternoon. The contractions were coming on like gang busters and she was excited. We headed to the hospital for a check, feeling fit and still with enough money to get home if necessary.

The subject of checking…. We are all adults here, and this must be addressed. Until this pregnancy I did not fully notice the number of time my wife was “checked” by nurses, staff, doctors, other random people that wonder by, etc. I mean, every time I turned around someone was preparing to “check” my wife. I mean, stop the madness! How many checks are necessary? How much is there in...well… there… to check? Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to do the checking, and I have no idea what I would be checking for… but my hell, enough is enough. All I am saying is that I think there should me a moratorium on checking.

To make a long story shorter, she was admitted and we had little Jesse James at 2am Wednesday morning. Jesse was three weeks early weighing a light 7lbs 3 oz and 19 inches long. Jesse had a few initial breathing problems. The NICU unit worked him over for a half hour and then monitored him for 12 hours. We were glad we hadn’t tried a home birth like all of our freak friends try to promote these days.

And for natural birth, not a fan of the idea. No offense, but I consider the fact that doctors and pharmaceutical companies kill thousands of rats perfecting pain killing drugs natural and I am perfectly content to pay to have my wife drugged up good for delivery, and I might even steal a pill or two when no one is looking to help dull the pain of the verbal abuse I take from my dear sweet wife while she enduring the final moments of labor.

The name. Name was my idea. All of you avid admirers of the LDS faith and bloodlines will appreciate the story behind. Both are family names. Unfortunately, the same family! Kate and I share a great great great (nine times) grandfather. His name was Jesse. Kate loves the name Jesse.

Jesse had a son named James who had two sons, Henry (my Holt family) and George (Kate’s Holt Family). This was all revealed at our wedding when my grandmother (who was a Holt) sat down with Kate’s grandfather (who was….yes you guessed it…a Holt) and charted this thing out….a hidden blessing of genealogy is that it easily identifies the in-breeding.

To make a long story longer Kate really liked Jesse but felt obligated to have a James since it was a “family name” on both sides (her brother, my brother, my uncle, my grandfather, and both great grandfathers). She came to the conclusion that we would need to have at least two more boys because she couldn’t decide. Seeing the predicament I was now in I simply waited until the epidural was in and the pain medication was dripping into her veins and had her sign a few dozen consent forms authorizing the combination of the two names into one! So far she has not caught on.

Besides, the kid is destined to be a champion WWE wrestler with a name like that.

Mom and Child are doing well. Dad is tired.

Mid-Mid-life Crisis

Motorbikes, bikes, whatever.

About six months ago a friend and I decided we were experiencing what we referred to as a pre-midlife midlife crisis (although with my health chances were it was simply a midlife crisis). Our answer was to buy a couple of motorbikes and become champion desert riders. I presented my plan to Kate and got the standard “where the hell do you come up with this crap?” look. She argued that my logic on this one was somewhat skewed, if not insane…(her argument points were 1. I have never ridden a motorbike in my life. 2. I have always professed to be afraid of the “death traps”. 3. I am so out of shape I would likely injure myself starting the thing. 4. We were in the final stages of our house (which ran considerably over budget) and really could not afford the addition of yet another ATV) 5. Every friend I have with a motorbike at that time was nursing a major injury). I saw no validity to any of her points. Besides, we had built a three car garage and only have two cars, so what did she expect me to put in the other space? She rolled her eyes and I continued to argue my case/whine/beg.

After many days of Guantanamo Bay like pressure she finally conceded to endorse my motorbike fantasy if I would first lose some weight thus ensuring a few more years of life and a better than average chance of starting the bike without coughing up a Twinkie. I eagerly agreed. I too felt it might be time to shed a few pounds. My 6’3 frame had expanded to just north of 300 lbs, my pants were painfully difficult to put on, and most of my shirts had a spandex look that I was pretty sure was not the designers intentions. I was motivated! I could feel the wind in my hair and there was nothing that could stop me….

Except lunch that very day at work where I found myself backed behind a rack of ribs and 44 ounces of Pepsi. I couldn’t resist. After 3 hours on the diet, I broke free and ate like a fat kid on fast Sunday. It was a sad day.

After the harsh reality that I could not diet, I decided to just buy the thing and deal with Kate’s wrath at a later date. I learned early on in our relationship that it is better to ask forgiveness than permission. I contacted a good friend or mine (a professional rider for KTM) and asked him what he would recommend. Being the fanatic that he was (and possibly because he had just wrecked in Utah at a race and ended his motorbike career) he suggested that me and my friend buy his two race bikes. He agreed to a complete tune up and free mechanic work for a year if we would buy them off of him (thus allowing he and his wife to eat another week). Oh yeah, what better bike could a first time rider ask for than a completely equipped KTM 525 completely decked out with every aftermarket part available to team KTM desert racing! I made sure both had an electric start to avoid the work of kick starting (and coughing up a twinkie). I was so excited…until the first ride.

My recollection of the first ride was that it was like someone had harnessed 2 tons of TNT into the bike and all I had to do to ignite the explosion was to turn the handle. The exhaust was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, and every time I tried to take off I would either kill the engine or wheelie for 100 feet (before killing the engine). I tried to act like I was having fun to my friends, promptly excused myself to change my shorts, and then found a nice quiet spot where I could curl up in the fetal position and cry. It was that bad.

Then I had to face Kate. Word had spread in the small town and she was ready when I returned home (yes, I was trying to hide the bikes at a friends house…for how long I am not sure…maybe a year of so…) I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was livid. What made it worse was that I agreed with her at that point…..she was right, what the hell was I thinking? No, I hadn’t lost a single pound like we agreed (in fact up three if I remember right…) and yes I had done this same thing before so I wasn’t really sorry! She muttered she would get even. Wow, I had no idea.

The next day when I returned home from work Kate was happy…REALLY happy. I thought that was weird but didn’t want to ask any questions. She told me it had been an extremely fun day……hmmm, I thought…. Has she had an affair or something? This was strange but I had not the courage to inquire any further. If she had found another man I probably deserved it.

Five days later I stumbled upon the source of her excitement and change of attitude. Kate had decided that if I could waste money, she could too. Armed with the high speed interned and a couple of credit cards Kate had guesstimated the total cost of the bike (multiplied that number by two as near as I can tell) and bought as many furnishings as the fleet of UPS trucks could haul. We began receiving paintings, furniture, kitchen appliances, book stands, lighting fixtures, shutters, etc. etc. etc. I stood there and watched delivery after delivery. I wanted to comment. She dared me to comment….I went downstairs to watch the basketball game.

She was having a lot more fun with her splurge than mine. The man side of me could not allow that. I knew what I must do….get back on that beast and learn to let the clutch out without killing the bike or wheelieing over and thus killing myself. I spent hours practicing in the back. Damit. I was going to have fun! I slowly got better. I was still very scared but mustered the courage to ride around the house so my wife would see me. She didn’t. She was busy hanging pictures.

In a twist of irony my wife later tricked me into a weekend at the makeshift fat farm and I finally losing a few pounds. It has made riding easier, and my shirts are a lot looser (although severely stretched out in spots…). Until two weeks ago I actually thought I was getting pretty good on that bike, that was until the ride with my son and the visit of Buster…

But that, my friends, is another story.

Redneck Thanksgiving

I have no blog…no life really under the IT Nazis here. Therefore, I am wondering how Thanksgiving was for everyone. Below is a brief summary of our crazy week. We miss you guys! Is it time for a reunion?

We moved into the new home two weeks ago. It was an exciting time followed by frustration, cursing, and endless hours of honey dooos that has me near insanity. We still don’t know what switches go with what lights and if I hang another picture or toilet paper holder so help me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It really is nice though to have the extra space and realize that this is likely our last move for a while. The unpacking is the unpleasant part. And seriously, where in the hell did we get all of this crap?

Unfortunately it turned cold right before the thanksgiving, which killed any plans of outdoor activities (I was still able to do a hot lap or two on the KTM though). Our family has grown so much lately (mom and dad, four children and spouses, and eight grandchildren = 17) that my parents moved dinner into the garage. OK, you might be a red neck if thanksgiving dinner is in the garage! It was interesting; you could almost hear each other over the steady humming of the propane heaters. Good times.

As we were preparing to leave for Thanksgiving dinner we had quite the event at our house. I was busy loading the back of the Expedition. The builder had just installed the garage door openers and this is quite an attraction for the boys, especially the adorable ball of constant energy Jerett, our second born. I had opened the back glass and had loaded a few items, but decided to open the back cargo door to the expedition for easier access. Instead of closing the glass first I simply opened the door as well. Picture if you will the door open to about 6 feet with the class open another two feet up from that. As I turned to return to the house I was informed by Jerett as he is pushing the button that he is opening the garage door for me. I screamed no, but it was too late, the door was on its way up. At this point I now realize that I had three viable options. 1: I could stick my foot in front of the sensors and hope that the door stopped its upward decent. 2: I could pull the red release cord directly above my head that would have disconnected the door from the chain driven track pulling it upward. 3: I could have ran to the button and pushed stop. 4: I could foolishly turn and try to pull down the glass door before the garage door reached it and risk severe injury with breaking glass if I was not quick enough intercept the impending collision of glass and garage door.

Well, yes, I chose number 4. Just as I go my hand on the back glass the garage door made contact and the back glass exploded like a bomb spraying glass in every direction. This explosion would have made any Palestinian proud. As I surveyed the garage Jerett began to scream you're dying! The glass had cut up my face and hands and the blood was beginning to flow. I tried to console him that everything was alright, but he was not buying it. He ran into the house screaming “I killed moms car and dad is dying!” Needless to say this got Kate’s attention. I was somewhat flattered by the attention until Kate told me to get out of her house because I was dripping blood on her tile. She has a way with words.

Well, we picked the glass out and bandaged the wounds and were off to Thanksgiving dinner. I am still picking glass out of the skin. I haven’t looked this bad since the infamous haircut three months ago!

Hope all is well with you all. I would love to hear the latest. If any of you are in the area come visit us. We actually have a guest room now and Jerett can help you with the garage doors!

Gotta run. I need to call my insurance agent.

Diet Intervention

Diets…. Who the hell came up with this concept? I really hate diets. The only thing I hate more than diets is my doctor (again, sorry Erik…nothing personal I swear). Here is a little history:

About three years ago, when Kate and I actually started to generate an income, Kate insisted that I get a big life insurance policy. While I was quite sure she was planning to have me eliminated, I too thought it was a good idea to make sure that my children did not have to rely on Kate’s future new boyfriend for financial support. I contacted the insurance agency and they sent out a mobile nurse (a male nurse no less) to my office to poke my finger, weigh me, and perform other more offensive and degrading tests.

At the time, my office was in the atrium, which was a large room decorated like the African safari with taxidermied animals everywhere (I am pretty sure Taxidermied is not a word, but neither is strategery, and I use that regularly). As you entered the atrium there was a giraffe to your left, a tree with a leopard in the middle of the room, a couple of lions and a zebra in the back, and of course, a pack of hyenas in front of my door (the owner thought that was so funny….I laughed too because I really needed the paycheck….) There were offices around the perimeter. The walls to the offices were made of glass and I often felt that I was the zoo, with the stuffed animals, other offices, and visitors staring in at me. Hmm… that reminds me of another story…..

Because of the unique layout of our offices, and the amount of animals on display, tours were given to the public once a week. We even employed a man from South Africa who gave the tours and explained the animals in great detail. I would literally be on the phone or typing away and look up to see a parade of Japanese tourists peering in at me like I was the new panda cub at the Las Vegas Zoo. One day I looked up just as a man was snapping a picture of me. The flash off of the glass blinded me for a moment. As I was sitting there, trying to get my eyes to refocus, I audibly wondered what in the *&$% he saw in my office that was worth snapping a %&#@$%^ picture! I was so mad I stormed through the double doors (painted like a large and majestic tree) into the owner’s office. I was going to tell him how ridiculous this whole office was. Upon seeing his face I remembered how bad I needed a paycheck. It just wasn’t worth messing with the man….ok back to the story….

As Mr. Nurse was poking and prodding I could see my colleagues starring in. To top it off he couldn’t find my vein, and after 6 failed attempts I pleaded with him to try the other arm. Finally, he succeeded and was off, leaving me with two bruised arms, and strong feelings of humiliation. Little did I know this was just the beginning.

One week later I received a call from my agent stating that they could not insure me because of “medical conditions”. What in the hell could be the problem, I wondered? I am a 28 year old energetic (slightly pudgy) Caucasian male. I wanted answers!

I was informed that the results could be released to my doctor. I did not have one, so I took the advice of the owner (yes, the one that put Hyenas outside my office!) and set an appointment with his doctor.

Doctors make me nervous (see previous story on ears) so I just don’t go. My last visit was for a physical before my mission. Hmmmm, few years back. I was extremely nervous but made it to his office anyway. I could tell we were going to have issues from the moment I saw him. He was spindly, sickly looking man with milky -never seen a day of sun- skin and a disturbing child molester like goatee. He was sarcastic and loud….(did I just describe [unnamed fellow law school classmate]?????) well…like that.

He opened his charts and read the report from Mr. Nurses visit to my office. The report showed a fatty liver. I asked, “What in the hell is fatty liver?” He told me it was a condition of fat people. I asked, “How you get”….tried to stop mid-sentence but too late… and he replied, "by being fat." He examined me, asked a few questions, and then pronounced, “The problem is that you are fat.” “Hmm” I said, “Very observant!”…….. He put me on the scales, called a nurse over to verify, and then gasped as he wrote down the weight. He commented that I had gained a lot of weight since my physical report of 9 years ago. At this point I was ready to swing. I asked him how we were going to fix the fatty liver so that my wife could get additional insurance on me so that I could be killed at any time. He told me I was going to lose weight. I asked what was the best way. He responded to eat less and exercise more. I asked him if I really had to pay for the consultation. He smiled and told me it was an exam… much more pricey. I grumbled out of the office.

I am not sure why, but I almost liked the little twerp. He told me to lose 20 lbs in six months before my next appointment. I was determined to show him. I made a trip to the health food store and stocked my work fridge with fresh fruit and vegetables. I was motivated… until a friend invited me to lunch. Three weeks later my secretary cleaned out the rotten produce from my fridge. I canceled my six month appointment, and then the yearly. Time really flew by. I gained an average of 12 lbs a year (one lb a month is good right??) over the next three years. Six months ago my doctor called and stated that if I didn’t schedule an appointment he was going to cancel me as a client. I asked, “Are you threatening to fire me?” Damn right, he responded. I asked if he could really do that. He said, “Watch me”. I kinda like that guy (who is no longer my doctor…..)

My wife has pleaded with me to stop the “growth” as I refer to my ever changing figure. She has made promises (a new motorbike, hunting trip, other unmentionables…) if I would lose the weight. After trying somewhat with diets I just bought the motorbike and scheduled the hunting trip. It was easier. Last month she told me that when we were married she didn’t marry two of me and she was taking a stand!! Blah blah blah…, pass the Twinkies and a Pepsi.

Three weeks ago it all came to a head in Prescott, Arizona. Yes, I said Prescott. We had gone down to see some good friends and to hang out in their 6,500 square foot mansion in the foothills. We were companions on our mission and later in life have become business partners. I thought our business ventures were struggling somewhat, but now I had real questions (hmm… future email update material here…)

Shortly after arriving my friend (well, former friend) brought in three large boxes of nutri-system food and began to explain that this was the diet that Dan Marino was on, and he had tried it and lost 25 lbs, but couldn’t do it anymore because some other excuse so he wanted to give me two months of food for free to try. Hmmmmm…….. I was immediately suspicious. I asked why he had two months worth on hand. My wife looked nervous. I could smell a set up! KATE HAD TRICKED ME INTO A WEEKEND AT A MAKESHIFT FAT CAMP!!! The whole weekend it was, Sean, the food is great!.. I wad never hungry… you can do this… blah blah blah. I just wanted a Twinkie.

After 48 hours of torture I relented to giving the diet a try. I told him (and his wife and my wife who had been transformed into a makeshift cheerleading squad) that I would do it but would only take the food if I could pay for it. He said, no, taken care of. I argued that the food is $400 a month and that I wouldn’t just take it. That is when I caught him looking at my wife and both trying to play it cool. It was obvious that this had been already discussed and that it was very likely that I already owned the damn stuff. Damnit I screamed! I already bought this stuff didn’t I? Neither would admit. I will find a receipt sooner or later.

I was bitter all the way home, like drug addict after an intervention. However, Monday morning I gave it a try. I don’t know if you have ever seen the food, but it is revolting. There is no way in hell Dan Marino ate this crap. Breakfast was an orange, a spoonful of oatmeal with protein added, a liter of water, and a fat free yogurt. Lunch was some small cup of nothing and a big salad. Dinner was a slice of lasagna that looked as if it was prepared by the staff at GNC. I was so hungry I could feel my large intestine eating my small intestine! Near death, I struggled to my room hoping to dye peacefully in my sleep. It was the most miserable day of my life. Kate followed me upstairs wondering if I was going to work out. Work out, I screamed, I don’t even have energy to brush my teeth!

The next day I decided that, if I had to do this anyway, I might as well make some money. I organized two biggest loser contests, one at each office, with $20.00 entrance fees. I conveniently failed to mention that I was on the fat camp diet. The pot is up to $1,000.00! Suddenly, I have gained strength. Money is a powerful thing.

To be continued….

Under the Influence

I don’t have a blog, or blog spot, or site spot, or chat room, or whatever the hell it is called. In fact, I can’t even access your “sites” due to my company’s “no fun at any time for any reason” motto, so I am sitting down this morning with the mission of giving the Stewart update. Hope all is well with you guys and that the new year will bring success, happiness, more kids (or the first in some cases) and all the other touching emotional crap you see on cards this time of year.

To begin, sorry Lynds for the length of the email. In your November 26^th decree you asked “who still writes lengthy emails?” (referring to your far superior blog page I assume). Well, I do, and you should be honored and touched by the length due to my lack of typing skills. You all remember my sheer speed in typing that was displayed during law school. Remember my typing exercises? That is why it is hard to believe that I finished so far ahead of you all in class rankings….weird huh?

Anyway, the Stewarts have had one crazy holiday. I will try to send one of the many stories each week to keep you amused. This one is likely the longest, so read at your leisure. We miss you all.

Two weeks before Christmas I began to experience a little pain in the right ear. I have always dealt with ear infection issues so to me it was not a big deal. I gave it the normal home remedies that had worked in the past and kept on going. I hate doctors (sorry Erik) and prefer to suffer alone as long a possible in hopes that it will simply go away. By Thursday morning of the week before Christmas I was so miserable and in pain that I was consuming ibuprofen faster that Hugh Hefner downs Viagra. That morning at work my eye started to swell shut. The swelling had gone from around the ear, down the neck and over the face to my right eye. To top it off I had a lunch appointment with Tom Thomas of Thomas and Mack, a well known and filthy rich real estate family in Vegas, concerning a law suit they were getting ready to file against us. I am sure I looked gruesome. I made it to lunch. Couldn’t hear much of what he was saying and he kept looking at me like “that is so nice this company would give this severely disfigured individual a chance at a life and career.” It was pitiful. I am not even sure now if I ordered anything. After returning to work my secretary told me I looked scary and should go home. Upon arriving at my house my wife said I looked like the guy on Goonies. You remember Goonies I am sure. Around 3 am that next morning after watching 23 consecutive sports centers (did you know they do like three episodes and then just run them over again???) my eardrum burst. That was not a pleasant thing. I said bad words and devoured another bottle of Ibuprofen.

The next morning I drove myself over to the emergency room. There is one large mountain range in between with an elevation change of about 3k feet. I took our two year old for moral support. I screamed all the way up and down that damn pass. She told me to stop screaming and drive faster. I was so glad she was there to help. The PA was amazed at the extent of swelling, severity of the problem, and kept repeating “I have never seen anything like this” which brought much comfort to me. She needed to look into the ear so she shoved some object as far as she could down the ear canal but it was closed completely. She then ripped it out and at that point I screamed “go get your boss, a real doctor!” Three came in. One would shove that damn thing down my ear and I would scream and he would look and then he would pass to the next guy and he would jam it down and I would scream and he would look and then rip it out…. At that point I suggested rather loudly that they shove the thing in, leave it there, and each take a look while it was still in there!

It was apparent by the look on their faces that they now classified me as hostile. They all left the room and then returned with two more men, making the ratio five men against me. They quickly explained that they were going to have to insert a stint into the ear to slowly open it up over the next week or so and that it was going to hurt a lot and therefore the men were here to hold me down. I was so sick at that point I gave little resistance, just a lot of screaming. My daughter passed the time kicking one of the guy’s legs and shouting “leave my dad alone!”.(Fuel to the hospital, $18.00; Hospital Visit $40.00; Watching 2 year old daughter kick the doctor, priceless.)

They had told me that once the stint was in it might relieve the pain and pressure somewhat. Unfortunately if just felt like the same miserable ear with something wedged in there. I told them I wanted drugs and I wanted them now! Unfortunately we had a 45 minute drive back to Alamo so I couldn’t pop the first percoset right away.

It was a quick ride home. I popped the first pill about 15 miles out of town. I couldn’t feel any change in the pain level so I popped two more. I then read the label which said one pill every 6 hours, DO NOT EXCEED DOSAGE. Woops. I will tell you though, by the time I pulled into the metropolis of Alamo I had NEVER felt so good. It took me almost a half hour to make it the last three miles to my house. I was concentrating very hard on the road….

I pretty much remained in a drug induced comma for the next ten days. We spent time at Kate’s parents’ home, which I found extremely enjoyable. I hung out with Kate’s sister who I cannot stand when I am sober. It was great. Ah, the power of drugs. Kate made me detox on new years eve. It was a sad day. I plead my case that there were still pills in the bottle and that you should always finish your medication. She was strong. New Years Day was miserable, but I am over it now. Percoset is a magical drug!

Well, my ear healed and I am back to 90% hearing. I learned two valuable lessons: 1.) usually infection and pain does not go away with time; 2.) I could easily be a drug addict.

Hope all is well with everyone. Sorry I can’t read your blogs or join your private networks. I am a simple man with limited technology.

Sean