The 5 Stages of Abandonment

Kiki and my wife recently (1) returned from a long trip to Japan.  This was very welcomed by me, as well as my co-workers, friends, and neighbors, as I had started to become, well, weird.  See, with my family departing every 6 to 8 months for a multi-week stay in Japan, I have noticed a very reliable and somewhat disturbing unravelling of my behavioral patterns.

Stage 1 kicks in 12 to 25 hours after the family departs, and lasts 6 to 10 days.  This stage is marked by a noted increase in cycling activity, sleep, and general quietness.  Generally the subject's behavioral changes are unnoticed by others.

Stage 2 follows hard on the heels of stage 1, being recognized by an increase in social activity, a continued high level of cycling activity, and a notable accumulation of desserts, namely cake (2).  This stage lasts 4 to 7 days, depending upon the size of the cake.  Other than a faint odor of frosting, others are unlikely to notice this stage.

Stage 3 is notable for a sudden and massive increase in productivity around the household, being recognized by activities such as cleaning out closets, organizing pantries, repairing household appliances, and generally doing all the shit that has been ignored since the last time the girls were gone (3).  This stage generally lasts 6 to 8 days.  The frequent phone calls, emails, and texts inquiring about social plans and a general willingness to do anything (4) as long as it involves another human makes this stage easily recognizable.

Stage 4 is much feared and, thankfully, rare, as the family knows they cannot be gone too long.  Stage 4 finds the subject, having steadily ratcheted up the cycling activities through the previous stages, considering a 300 mile week, while working a full time job, as perfectly normal.  Having exhausted all social connections, completed all household tasks, and polished off the cake, subject begins to become... well... weird.  Subject will be found talking to himself in empty rooms.  Subject, having watched anything worthwhile on television, will become addicted to bizarre Japanese knockoff cartoons on YouTube (5) and devour them by the hour.  When observed, subject is skittish and odd, seemingly unsure how to interact normally with other humans.  A certain bizarre element begins to appear in outfit selections, as the lack of a wife to keep things in line leads to brighter color choices, bolder combinations, and a penchant for wearing questionable t-shirts in public.  The total duration of this stage is unknown, as subject has never been allowed to progress to an as yet theoretical stage 5 (6).  

But the good news is the girls are back, my cycling has been dialed back, the pantry is a model of organization, and there is not a cake to be found in the household.  Life is good.

(1) Erm, by recently I mean 6 months ago.  Been a bit busy what with travel, work, and a certain 3 year old and have been neglecting the ol' blog.  I apologize and swear to do better in the future.  Unless, well, you know, I don't.  And yes, I know this footnote is entirely out of order and I should have gone back and renumbered them all but I have about 15 minutes while Kiki watches Caillou here and want to post this before another 6 months pass. 

(2) Whenever the girls are gone I buy myself a cake and proceed to eat the whole damn thing.  Over the course of a few days.  Hey, I'm not a pig or something.  I've tried some alternatives (pie, cookies, ice cream) but have settled on a cheap, supermarket sheet cake as my go-to multi-day bachelor dessert of choice.  Preferably a discounted one for little Jimmy's 6th birthday that was never picked up.  The sorrow makes it even more delicious.

(3) And cycling.  Don't forget the cycling.  It's a bit of a constant.

(4) e.g. helping someone throw away their old, moldy and spider infested hot tub cover.  Because hey, human interaction!

(5) Who knew there was an anime knockoff version of The PowerPuff Girls as teenagers.  I do, that's who.

(6) Sociologists and abnormal psychologists theorize that stage 5 would be noted for an abandonment of traditional western clothing, with a sudden and unsettling appearance of loin cloths, and the creation of a personal language for communications, consisting mainly of grunts, hiccups, and obscure cycling references.

Master of Delays

While putting my daughter to bed tonight, she uncovered a new and almost endless way to put off sleep.  

You see, we are engaged in raising a budding insomniac.  She would happily stay up until, well, forever, if not forcibly put to bed, typically through the liberal use of those age old tools of coercion, picture books and kisses, a technique first applied by the alguacil of the Seville tribunal of the Spanish inquisition (1)(2).

Anyway, my daughter discovered that her dad is a huge nerd (4), and by asking simple questions like "what is the moon" or "why does it get dark" or "why are there stars" she can set ol' Dad off on a 20 minute rambling, mildly accurate-ish explanation of theories of satellite formation, orbital periods, and gravitational attraction and the cosmic scale dance of nuclear fusion.  Thus, by only asking, seemingly innocently, "can I ask three questions" she can defer bedtime by at least an hour.  

Now, I tell myself that maybe I'm somehow kind of educating this small human that lives with us, but let's be honest, I just love talking about science.  Now I just need to figure out how to sneak recordings of Carl Sagan lectures into her bedroom without my wife noticing.  Although the giggles and squeals of delight emanating from Kiki's room well after midnight may give the game away.  Also, Kiki may make some noises too.
(1) Yes, I have decided to insert utterly useless and random historical factoids into the blog to make this appeal to an even smaller and more particular (viz. strange) audience.  Yes, I'm talking to you.  Hello.  Thanks for reading!
(2) And I've also decided to replace my repeated parenthetic phases with footnotes, cleaning up my main point and giving my mind much more freedom to randomly explore (3).
(3) In the margins.  Where, let's be honest, my brain usually belongs.
(4) I know, shocking, right!

New numbers

My wife has been working on counting to 10 with my daughter. She is a woman of almost infinite patience, she has managed to put up with me after all. Tonight Kiki wanted to show off her new skill. It was... interesting.

"Kiki, let's count to 10 before bedtime!"

"Okay! Ten!"

"No, no, Kiki, how do you start?"

"Ten!"

"Kiki, what is the first number?"

"Eight!"

"Kiki!"

"One!"

"Yes, and then?"

"Two!"

"Then?"

"Pillow!!!"

"Then, wait, what?"

"Blue!"

"No, Kiki, what comes after two?"

"Pillow!"

At this point I may have made the tactical error of laughing, which to a three year old is a clear message to do whatever it is you just did again and again.

"Pillow pillow pillowpillowpillowpillowPILLOWPILLOWPILLOWPILLOW!!!!!"

So now we have given up on numbers and are focusing on teaching her that one plus pillow equals blue.

Intellectual Bullying

Yesterday morning when we went to get in the car, much to our surprise we discovered that the garage door was open and had been all night.  

Thankfully nothing went missing, however, being that I was the one who had let the dogs out the night before it was decided by the family that I was the guilty party.  I feel this was not exactly a just trial since there were no witnesses and no DNA testing was undertaken, but no one wanted to hear my alternate explanation of a one-armed man and a malfunctioning black market garage door code breaker.  But, being as our family has a less then ideal justice system (no one likes my idea of an independent DNA testing facility in the basement) I accepted blame, took my lumps, loaded in the car and figured that was the end of it.  

...

About 4 minutes into the trip, I hear a small voice from the carseat in the back chirp up,

Kiki: "Why was the garage door open?"

Me: "Because I forgot to close it, honey."

K: "But why?"

M: "Because I let the dogs out last night and didn't close it when they came in."

K: "But why?"

M: "Because I forgot, I was cold and it slipped my mind."

K: "But why?"

M: "I don't know, I made a mistake, it was an accident."

K: "But why?"

M: "Because I didn't remember to close it."

K: "But why?"

M: "Well, I guess because I am dumb, okay?"

K: "Okay."

I turn to see her looking out the window with a smug smile on her face as if to say "hey, you said yourself you're stupid, not me... stupid."

Aches & Pains Pt. II, The Son of Aches

Well, over a month later and my knee is still maintaining its stubborn rebellion against cycling.  I have found this whole matter mildly irritating.  Also, it's driving me fucking nuts. 

Basically, my knee is 100% okay, so long as I don't ride my bike.  Skiing? a-okay.  Kickboxing? No problemo.  Squats? More please.  But push a little pedal in a circle? No fucking way! What the fuck is wrong with you?!?!

Now, several friends, family, coworkers, cyclists, and complete strangers at the bus stop have suggested that maybe I just don't, you know, ride my bike.  Now, this does make sense, but much in the way a steady diet of vitamin pills and unflavored protein mush makes a good diet, neither one is going to work for me.  

Now, I did take a solid two weeks off the bike, tried a little ride to find the knee still tender and took another week off.  I even broke down and went to a doctor about it, to thankfully be told that I'm basically a jackass (it's a medical term) and over did it.  The solution is... well... don't ride my bike.  

No, well, stretch my quads, strengthen my hips, and ice my knees is the long answer, but the short one was "stop fucking doing that if it hurts you idiot."  Thankfully, my doctor happens to also be a cyclist, so much like selecting a morbidly obese dietician, I found someone who would ignore my bigger issues and instead try to solve the peripheral ones.  So, hopefully this will work out, otherwise I'm going to need to find some stronger painkillers.  

Aches & Pains

So my wife and daughter are in Japan.  Have been for two weeks.  What, you may ask, have I been up to while they were away?   Unsurprisingly to loyal readers, I have been riding my legs off.  And nature seemed to play along by giving me 60+ degree days in the middle of January in Ohio.  Taking advantage of this perk of global warming, I rode about 115 miles over the weekend, after not riding at all since mid-December.

Unsurprisingly, my body was not happy with this sudden change in intensity.  The rebellion was led by my knees, who started things off with shooting pains.  The rest of my body was slow to join in but, as in most revolutions, a tipping point was reached, apparently sometime Sunday night while I was sleeping, and I awoke Monday to a sore back, stiff neck, wrist pain, a hot and throbbing knee, and a headache.  To be fair, the headache may have been related to the concussion and stitches in my head received in Japan, but that's another story.  Being a stubborn bastard, I sought to crush this uprising through a combination of pain killers and more cycling, determined to show my body who is the boss.  This did not go well.

Now I find myself like a dictator holed up in a panic room with a dwindling supply of food and water.  I know the revolution has succeeded, I have not ridden my bike for the past week, despite no family and 50 degree sunny weather.  The only question now is whether I will face a trial for my crimes or be allowed to sneak out to a friendly neighboring country with a fake beard and the clothes on my back.  What does that mean?  I don't know, I've lost my way in this analogy and my wife/editor is across the Pacific and no help in reigning it back in.  Suffice to say, I have kowtowed to my aches and pains and hope my tendons get the message and release their strangle hold on my biking ability.

Happy day

Happy birthday my little mermaid.

Old Man

I awoke this morning, a Sunday, with nothing to do.  My family is overseas, I finished my "honey-do" list, the house was cleaned and ready for their return.

I literally could do anything (or nothing) with my morning.  I could have donuts, bacon, and scotch for breakfast.  I could lay around in my pajamas eating candy and cake while watching 14 hours of NFL playoff coverage.  Instead, I found myself eating grape nuts with chia seeds, flax seed powder, and unsweetened rice milk while prepping vegetable stir-fry for my dinner.

I am so fucking old.  Oh, also pathetic.  Don't forget pathetic.  And lame.

I literally don't know how I can proceed from here.  I'm not even 35 yet.  What will I do at 40, 50, 60?  I figure I'll just check myself into the nursing home in about 8 years and patiently await death.  So at least I've got that to look forward to.