Let Them See Us Love

She took a bite of the limp waffle fry and threw the remaining piece back into the bowl. It was so natural, as if that's what you do when you don't like something you've eaten, you toss it back to the table. That and spitting out the piece you bit off, which thankfully she didn't do. 

"Did you just throw it back in the bowl?" I asked my wife Amy.

Amy thought about it for a few seconds and then started to laugh. I laughed as well. Soon we were both laughing hard, the kind of laughing that brings tears and makes you pee a little. 

"It wasn't crispy enough," Amy managed to say between her crying laughter. 

"Oh my goodness," I said, laughing just as hard. "You just threw it back in the bowl."

Our laughter continues for a few minutes, with our two teens Beatrice and Bryce seemingly oblivious to our funny experience. Seemingly being the operative word, because we know they pay attention to more than they let on. Because they're always analyzing every single thing we do and calling out our mistakes. All. The. Time. 

I rarely take it personally anymore, though. Even when I hear, "Dad, you always do [this] all the time." This being a variety of Dad and guy behavior that I'm judged on daily. Even Mom isn't immune from the call-outs. This is normal development for teens and the beginning of them finding themselves and their own voices.

And now that they're finding themselves they're asking us all sorts of questions about our past -- before we met, when we met, after we met and before they were born. We answer most of them, but not all of them, especially the ones about when we were teens. Our teens are good kids. Amy and I, weren't so much. 

Since we've had our kids, they've watched us and absorbed much of what we do and say. Yes, they've seen us laugh until we cry and nearly pee our pants, like with the recent waffle fry incident. They've also seen us kiss and hug too long for their own good and cry, "Ewwww, get a room!" (Yes, they do know what that means now. Ugh.)

But they've also seen us upset. They've seen us cry. They've seen us mad at them and at each other. They've seen us fight. They've seen many of our high and low moments over the years. A lot of modeling moments, most of which were always grounded in love.

In fact, over 14,207,040 minutes have passed since Amy and I first met one day at the beach. Every minute with Amy and now our children adds to my heart’s coral reef.

And if I've learned anything during those millions of minutes, I've learned to let them see us love. 

A Perennial Bloom

It was a lovely evening. The heat wave dissipated somewhat at sunset and a balmy ocean breeze washed over us all. We don't get many days like this in Santa Cruz during the year. One of the few heat bumps we can get usually comes in late September into October, even with all the drastic climate changes of late. It reminded my wife Amy and I of the late El Niño warmth when we met one day at the beach nearly 26 years ago on October 11, 1997. 

We were hungry but the food truck line moved slowly. We were there with our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, to enjoy the "Block Party on the Bluff" and new climate solution exhibits at the UC Santa Cruz Seymour Marine Discovery Center. We told our friends who met us there with their kids that this was where we were married nearly 20 years ago on October 11, 2003, six years after we met. The wedding ceremony was outside on the patio overlooking the ocean and then our reception was inside the main hall room. We'd been there with our kids since they were little many times since, and it never gets old reminiscing.

When we had decided to get married all those years ago, we wanted to do the wedding ourselves and find a reasonable venue on the water as close to where we met if possible. We had thought about having our ceremony literally on the beach where we met, but the logistics of that and then having the reception elsewhere weren't feasible at the time. There weren't a lot of options for what we wanted. The Seymour Center ended up being the best bet for us being right on the water. Plus, it had a small aquarium that our guests could visit prior to our wedding. 

We sat together at a picnic table with our friends and ate our yummy food truck pupusas. Darkness settled in and it felt amazing outside. It reminded us so much of how pleasant the weather was when we were married. Our friends who were with us didn't know us then, and it was still years away from us changing our minds to have kids. I gazed toward the patio and room where our wedding ceremony and reception were held and again remembered how special that day was. 

We had decorated the reception room ourselves with the help of some family and friends. We wanted to string lights overhead to convey a starry night. With only a few hours to go before the wedding, I was the only one in the room hanging the little white lights, or trying to hang them. Suddenly some of the lights stopped working and I couldn't figure out why or where. I kept fiddling with them, rearranging the strings, and at one point stood at the top of a wobbly ladder holding an extension cord in one hand and a string of lights in another, trying to plug them into each other, and I felt like Doc Brown on the clock tower from the movie Back to the Future. I'm lucky I didn't fall and break my neck, but the end result was lovely. 

And then there was our first dance together at the wedding reception, one that we had practiced and practiced to our wedding song, "The Biggest Part of Me" by Ambrosia. We put it together ourselves and it was such a special moment of loving movement that everyone there could share with us. 

Prior to all that, we were married overlooking the ocean by Amy's father. We had written our own vows, too, and reading them to each other solidified our loving commitment to each other that our two halves made two wholes. That we chose us. Every year since on our anniversary we go down to the water overlooking the beach where we met to read our vows to each other. 

I smiled at these anniversary memories as we finished eating and said goodbye to our friends. These memories, a perennial bloom, poetic place and déjà vu, are relived again and again this time of the year, and throughout the year. We headed home, and I was grateful that we share these memories with our daughters, that they know how deep our love roots grow, from beach to sea to our family. It may be a tad teen cringeworthy for them today, but they're grateful for our love nonetheless. 

The Heck of Awesome

Adjective or Noun.

1. An expression recently used by the B-hive that interjectionally expresses glee about something very cool.
2. Akin to "right on," an 1970's expression Daddy reprised years ago when he's digging cool stuff.
3. An exclamation of encouragement, support, or enthusiastic agreement.

When Bryce spoke the magical words, we laughed. Later, the Mama and I asked each other, "Where did she get that?"

And then I thought, That's catch-phrase gold. I even did a Google search on it -- nothing came up that matched it.

We'd been reading bedtime stories with the girls and they both got really excited about putting play glasses on a dog named Arlo (from the book Arlo Needs Glasses by Barney Salzburg). 

First, Beatrice pointed to the dog visiting the eye doctor and said, "What the heck?"

Then, Bryce pointed to the page full of play glasses to try on and said, "It's the heck of awesome!"

The heck of awesome. Right on. That's exactly how I felt after she said it; exactly how I try to feel nearly everyday with #BhivePower. No matter the stresses of the day, no matter how Daddy Goat Gruff grumpy I may get, no matter what's happened in my life, or what may happen -- there's always the heck of awesome. 

Always.

The Mama and I are all about becoming the awesomer part of ourselves -- two scrappy halves that make up two wholes -- now proud parents proudly displaying all the figurative scars of earned failures and wins it took to get here (and still takes as a work in progress).

We've been together 18 wonderful years, but now that I've hit the half-century mark, that proverbial ceiling of time encroaches on me quickly as if I'm an aged Alice filling a house after drinking the wrong potion. Except I won't get small again no matter what I do, so I either learn to live in every nook and cranny as responsibly and comfortably as possible with my arms and legs hanging out the windows and the doors for as long as I can, or I don't. Of course we prefer the former and work hard on instilling that in the girls for their eventual house filling long run as well.

I'm blessed and I'm grateful. And while I've always joked about drowning in a sea of estrogen, the real truth is it makes me a better man and father. That's why it's all the sweeter when my girls afford me the occasional catch phrase and a daddy manhood rite of passage.

When the Mama and I were married, one of our wedding gifts was a George Foreman electric grill barbecue. I know, I know. For those of you keeping score at home, it's not really a barbecue when you plug it in to an electric outlet. However, we did use it over the years, and it certainly came in handy when the Mama was pregnant with Bryce and would've ripped my arms from their sockets if I would've cooked bacon or any kind of meat in the house.

My dad was a master barbecuer back in the day, but the golden grill spatula was never bestowed on me, and in recent years the Foreman grill usage has definitely dropped off.

That all changed on my birthday when the girls bought me a whole lotta awesome in a super-duper propane barbecue. It only took 50 years, but now my daddy manhood is complete. Somewhere in heaven my dad just shed a tear.

Amen.

Thank you for always being the heck of awesome, Girls. Right on. 

Celebrate the Wham-Bams and All in Between

"Time is passing by
I still want you
Crime is on the rise
I still want you
Climate change and debt
I still want you
Nuclear distress
I still want you
The Earth is heating up
I still want you
Hurricanes and floods
I still want you
Even more than I did before..."

—Brandon Flowers, Still Want You

And just like that, it's 18 years later. This is the part when you measure the magical moments against the realities of your life and a long-term relationship. From that moment of meeting the Mama one day at the beach...

...October 11, 1997. I usually get the words wrong, but our lover lore recounts the fact that the Mama walked up to me and asked:

"So, do you always come here alone?"

And like a fool, I almost didn't answer her; I wanted to be alone actually.

But then, "Yes, I do. And you?"

Within a few weeks we were hopelessly in love...

....to now 18 years later celebrating my 50th birthday party with friends and family on the eve of our 18th anniversary of meeting one another and our 12th anniversary of marriage. In fact, we had the local iconic Surfing Magician perform for the kids and the adults at my party, but dammit, he couldn't make me 40 again. Sigh.

But he did combine two signed playing cards from me and the Mama into one. Right on. My sweet Mama Ace in the hole.

Nearly two decades, two children, a finally refinanced mortgage, a few careers and economic ebbs and flows, and multiple family dramas later -- here we are.

None of this makes our relationship any less romantic, however. Real life may not be as colorfully dramatic and sexy as a novel or a movie, although throughout the years have been peppered with manmade and natural disasters and illness and death and -- good God, tell me to stop.

But there's one thing I know for sure, that real life can be just as super hot for long-time lovers. For example, recently the Mama read to me one of those fun sidebars from one of her Oprah magazines (which I actually had to look through to find again for myself -- ugh):

Overrated Sex: All night long
Underrated Sex: Wham, bam, thank you, man!

Add up those wham bams and you've got one hot lovin' super nova. Through all the years and a few ups and downs that even we have had, intimacy it a critical priority. Early on we made it so and told each other if we ever strayed to never come home. Seriously. Flirtation is one thing, but infidelity is the ultimate killer and actually a symptom of something missing, maybe multiple things, usually passion and intimacy, so our recommendation is don't ever frickin' lose it if you believe in it and long to keep it.

Do whatever you have to do to make that whoopee. Growing up I remember catching my Grandpa grabbing my Grandma's behind and patting it gently as he whispered something in her ear, even after 60 years of marriage. I proudly carry on that tradition today.

Of course real life gets in the way of mutual desire, like a belligerent drunk buddy who steps on your foot and leans over you to hit on your girl sitting at the bar next to you. You sulk away to the bathroom nurse the foot and the ego, and when you recover, you're either too tired or too stressed or too busy or too --

The Mama and I experience all this, but we want make it all work and keep the love simmering to a boil. Later today we'll go down to the place we met on the beach all those years ago and read our wedding vows to each other. It's a way for us to honor our love for one another, a reminder that two halves can and do make two wholes, a loving family, a continuous adventure and being the omniscient narrators of our own Rom-Com movie that goes on and on and on and on.

That's why you should always celebrate the wham-bams and all in between. Always.

Happy Anniversary Hot Stuff.

The Buzz of the Long Run

Sometimes life's a sprint. Full out. Heart pounding. Lungs burning. Legs burning. Sweat flying. From point, to point, to point. (And on the list -- check off, to check off, to check off.)

Even with knee surgery I pushed through it like a dedicated athlete does, no matter the damage done. And mercy, my knee was more blown than what even the surgeon thought before he dug in there. In fact, during my last check-in with him, he ended up draining over 60 cc's of old pre-surgery blood from the tight ball the size of a plum behind my right knee that he thought was synovial fluid from my original injury (meniscal tear and cartilage damage).

Sixty cc's of old pre-surgery blood. Damn. Hey, no pain, no gain.

And yet, even with the bumps in the road, sometimes our peripheral radar is on, cranked super-high, and we capture much of what's happening around us. I say radar because it's not always vision because the other senses are fully operational as well.

We went from Bryce turning four; to my knee surgery; to Beatrice starting kindergarten and turning six; to my 30-year high school reunion; to end of summer beach time; to my almost end-of-the-40's road birthday; to Beatrice passing her first martial arts test; to Bryce being a master card maker and dancer; to travel, travel and more business travel; all culminating in the Mama and my anniversary in fabulous Las Vegas, celebrating 11 years of marriage and 17 years since the day we met, one day on the beach.

Knee limping. Heart pounding. Lungs burning. Life loving. Love longing.

That's the magic of the B-hive. And although there will always be bumps in the road, when we're resilient and mindful, and keep our hearts and heads in shape, may our sprints and the buzz of the long run never wear out.

The night before the rest of my life

There's always a night before the moment that changes your life.

It was a Friday night, October 10, 1997. I don't remember exactly what I was doing, but I'm sure I was just hanging out in my apartment alone watching a little TV, maybe writing a little as well. My life was only then at the beginning of a major transition that I had barely begun to understand.

Maybe that's why the late summer swell of El Niño had warmed the waters of the Pacific, to draw me to the sea below the lighthouse, to be there on that very day at that very moment...

But it was only the night before and I do remember there was an offshore flow warming the air outside on the balcony. One of the most beautiful times of the year in Santa Cruz is the month of October, at least during the years I've lived here, and especially the first one.

I had noticed her for weeks on the beach. Always alone, as was I. She was usually reading, always wearing a baseball cap, and always looking, well, quite lovely in whatever bathing suit she wore on any particular day.

But it was only the night before and I wasn't thinking of her. I was thinking of the wreck my life had become, how I had rammed myself against the rocky shore and then crawled onto the beach fearful, yet smiling.

Then it was the next day, October 11, 1997, on the beach, when we finally met.

I usually get the words wrong, but our lover lore recounts the fact that the Mama walked up to me and asked:

"So, do you always come here alone?"

And like a fool, I almost didn't answer her; I wanted to be alone actually.

But then, "Yes, I do. And you?"

Six years later we were married, on the same date. Five years after that we started a family.

On the night before the rest of my life, I never imagined how happy I'd B.

Happy Anniversary, Mama. I love you.