Realizing a dream

Remember when you were a kid and someone would ask what you wanted to be when you grew up? I do. And, I lied every time.

I would answer with the customary pilot, fireman, teacher, or policeman response. Sometimes, to get a laugh, I would poke fun of my small stature and say that I wanted to be horse jockey.

All were bullshit responses, of course. I, unlike my classmates, knew what I wanted to be since I was a 5-year-old.

I wanted to be the head football coach at our local high school. My Dad took me to a game when I was in first grade and that night was all I thought about for days.

I kept bugging my Dad to take me again and he finally did. Over and over again. All I could think about while watching the games was one day playing on that field and then later coaching on it.

Ten years later, I did play on that field and would for four years. Unfortunately, God dealt me a cruel blow by stopping my growth in seventh grade. I played as a 5-6, 120-pound wide receiver who offered the team very little in my playing ability.

What I did offer was someone who gave it his all at every practice and game and one who became a spiritual leader. While my teammates were doing everything on the field to get us a win, I was on the sidelines rooting and waving a towel to get the crowd involved.

I loved every minute of it, but often was embarrassed about being nothing more than a cheerleader in pads. What I really wanted was the chance to make a difference on the field.

That never happened in high school. However, two years ago I realized my dream of becoming the school's head football coach. With the same enthusiasm that I had as a player, it is now my responsibility to bring the winning tradition back to the proud school.

It's the opportunity I always wanted.

For more Wordful Wednesdays go to Seven Clown Circus.

Calgon for men

I remember being a kid and seeing a commercial with a woman having a rough day with her children. Her only escape was running to her bathroom, drawing a hot bath, and slipping deep inside with a smile spread across her face.

I never got that commercial. What could be so hard about spending the day with your children? You wanted them, didn't you?

Some 30 years and four daughters later, I get it. I get every fucking bit of it.

Kids are nuts and aren't satisfied until you are, too. Do they ever slow down and shut up for two seconds? If I wasn't the one who fed them every meal and snack, I'd wonder what the hell they ate to give them all that energy.

The energizer bunny has got nothing on my kids.

For those who want to offer me advise on how to control my kids or what activities would keep them better occupied without my constant attention, kiss off. I have tried them and they don't work.

Not with these girls. No, they can't seem to do anything without including me or allowing me to do anything without including them. What the hell do they do when I am work? Walk around the house all day calling, "Dad? Dad? Dad?"

They really are pathetic little things. In the four years of being a single father who has his kids as much if not more than their mother, I think I can count four or five times that I have gone to the bathroom without one of them walking in and sitting down to have a conversation with me.

It really is a big joke to them. They seem to get so much pleasure out of watching me get so flustered by their actions.

"Dad, your funny. You always make me laugh," said to me today as I threw my hands up in disgust after the four-year spilled her cup of milk for the fourth time at one sitting.

"Yea, Dad," the oldest one piped in. "My teacher always says don't cry over spilled milk."

Alright, that was funny. We all laughed for a few minutes as I wiped up the mess. Again.

But, it was short-lived. They were right back to causing havoc within minutes.

Like I said, I now know what that old commercial was all about. I totally get it.

So, to the Calgon people and their commercials of women jumping into bath tubs, I challenge you to make a commercial for me. Something that includes a keg of beer, endless amount of pizza, big breasted women that don't talk, and a television that doesn't play Disney movies.

Oh, and no kids.

(For those who haven't read my blog, I love my kids more than anything, so forget about leaving me a comment about how lucky I am to have four beautiful girls. I know how lucky I am, so shut the hell up!)

Surviving the weekend

Single father's survivor guide to a weekend with four girls. A weekend with the satellite TV down and my car out of commission.

Planning is in order to ensure that all five of us will be breathing at the end of the weekend.

1. Stay home on a Friday night and get much needed sleep before the crew comes home at 12 p.m. May be the only sleep you get all weekend. Check.

2. Find website to make packets for each child of coloring pages, ABCs and math worksheets, and word searches. The busier they are the quieter they will be. Check.

3. Find perfect DVD that can be on a continuous loop and keep them entertained while I try and cook meals without eight hands getting in the way. Pick up High School Musical 3 Senior Year on the way home from work. Check.

4. Pray for weekend with no rain. Giving the girls an opportunity to run around outside will tire them and hopefully and have them nicely tucked in bed at 8 p.m. and ready for sleep. Check.

5. Have mental health disorder hotline number on speed dial. Things may get crazy and I want to make sure I am not the one who is going nuts. Check.

6. Establish countdown on desktop that tracks time until bedtime Sunday evening. Being able to see the light at the end tunnel will help get me to the finish line. Check.

7. Create secret hiding spot that I can go to when we play hide and go seek over and over again. Finding the perfect spot may lead to not being found for hours and able to catch a quick nap. Check.

8. Make all important phone calls before girls get here. Nothing worse than starting a conversation with another adult only to be interrupted by having to scream at the girls to stop jumping from the top of the stairs, pulling each others hair out, digging for treasure in the fireplace, or anything that will lead to a trip to the ER or hours of cleanup. Don't want a friend or loved one thinking that I don't have control of my kids. Check.

9. Hide female roommates make-up products, scissors, and permanent markers. There will be no daddy makeovers, uninvited hair cuts, or art work on walls, tables, or hardwood floor. Check.

10. Offer incentive program to roommates to leave the house for the weekend. One took the bait of free utilities for the month by heading to San Diego, while the other will most certainly leave after a few minutes of seeing the chaos the weekend will offer. Can't afford to lose a roommate because they can't handle my kids. Check.

11. Have access to extra-strength Tylenol on hand at all times. Headaches are sure to come early and often. Check.

12. Continue to remind myself that my girls are the most important thing in my life. Their happiness depends on my behavior. Won't always be easy to remember, but I am counting on those moments when one of them says or does something that is so damn cute and perfect that I will have to scoop them and up and hold them as tightly as possible. Check.

Wish me luck as I proclaim myself ready for the weekend. Who knows what will happen, but I am sure there will be something to write about Sunday after they are in bed.

Me and Hannah Montana

I still remember the day I realized that my Dad was no longer cool. It was heartbreaking, shocking, embarrassing, and funny all at the same time.

I was a sophomore in high school and was enjoying a Saturday morning of laying on the couch watching a college football game. My viewing pleasure was interrupted when I received a phone call from a classmate.

The first sentenced that came from him changed the whole perception I had of my father.

"Brett, your Dad is in your front yard washing his truck in speedos."

"What?"

"No lie, man. My Mom and I just drove by and saw him out there. She was laughing her ass off. Just thought you should know."

As I hung up the phone, I hoped that my friend was messing with me and my Dad was not wearing speedos. I knew he owned a pair, however, to actually where them out in public? He couldn't, could he?

When I get to the front window and peered out, I saw that he could. We lived in a neighborhood where so many of my friends lived and he was out there in something that looked like a bottom to a woman's bikini.

Just thinking about that visual causes my stomach to knot up. It is a memory that I hope doesn't come back to me again.

However, that moment made me make a vow to myself that I would always try to remain cool in the eyes of my future children. It is a mantra that remains with me today as the father of four beautiful girls.

In an effort to further my coolhood with my children, I fixed my head on the body of Billy Ray Cyrus in a picture with his daughter Miley over the weekend. I then placed the picture of Hannah Montana and I on the desktop of my computer and waited for my girls to notice.

Their reaction was perfect.

"Dad, Dad, Dad..." yelled Shelby. "When were you with Hannah Montana? Savannah, Alani, come here and check this out!"

As the three marveled at the picture, I played coy in the kitchen while making their lunch.

"Dad, this isn't real,'' said Vannah, the oldest of the three. "Can you do this with us and put us with her? This is cool!"

It worked. I am still cool in the eyes of my girls.

As far as my Dad? He lives 12 hours away now. He can wear speedos whenever he wants and still be cool to me.

For more Wordful Wednesdays go to Seven Clown Circus.

Ready for work

I am tired. Dead tired. Tomorrow my girls have the day off from school and I am glad I have to work.

They wore me out this weekend. I have nothing left. I can't believe that I am looking forward to teaching 200 high school kids tomorrow and not staying home with my precious angels.

There are days where the daily chores of being a single father can be more overwhelming than anything I face as a high school PE teacher. Today, was one of those days.

My girls wanted and needed everything. It never ended. At the end of it all, I felt like I was a pinata with my daughters taking turns swinging at me. They never missed.

Not with the typical baseball bat, but with request after request that hit me hard and often. By 7 p.m., I was ready to throw in the towel and cry mercy.

However, it was to no avail. Even a heart-felt plea fell on deaf ears.

"Girls, please, let me just have a break. I am done. I can't do it anymore tonight. Ok?"

My girls adore me and I really thought my little fit would get them to understand I had hit the wall. I was wrong.

Shelby put me in my place with her response.

"Dad, you are our Dad. You have to do it just like we have to clean up after we play. Why are you getting upset? You chose to have us, Dad."

"Shelby, I am glad I have you. But, I am tired. Can I just have a few minutes to sit down?"

"Sure. But, can you make our dessert first? And, don't forget, you promised we could all play Go Fish. And, I get to pick out the book you read to us tonight, remember?"

"Yea, I remember Shelby. Let's go. I'll rest when you guys go to sleep."

I also remember why having to work tomorrow doesn't seem all that bad.

Help us all

If you turn on the local news in Southern California the last couple of days, you would think that we were under attack.

News vans in every suburban city, residents rushing to the local Walmart to grab supplies, conversations in line at the bank yesterday centered on how long the suffering would continue, and cable/satellite and internet services flickering off and on had it's customers wondering how long it would it last.

What's going on in the land of movie stars, surgically-enhanced body parts, and just your every day quacks that reside with me in one of the most populated regions in our country?

Rain.

That's it. Fucking rain. I am embarrassed to even admit it. Rain is turning Southern California into a scene that resembles one you would find in the movie Independence Day.

It started on Thursday and has continued sporadically ever since. In my desert community, we even had some hail. I even had to pull out a jacket with a hood last night when I went to my basketball game.

Where is Barack Obama and government assistance when you need it?

Already a bitch to drive in and around Los Angeles, the weather has made local drivers even harder to handle. A trip that normally takes five minutes to take, now takes 30 minutes as drivers limp through every intersection at the first sign of rain.

Throw in the want-to-be NASCAR drivers who continue to drive 20 miles over the speed limit and you get a reported 104 accidents in Los Angeles in the first nine hours of the storm. Makes you want to just stay home and watch TV.

The news is what entertains me the most on raining days.

The first 15 minutes of the newscast is dedicated to the weather. The economy and the Senate's impending vote on the recovery plan would have to wait. Forget about getting any real news.

Thanks to TiVO, I couldn't help but continually rewind reporters interviewing residents and how they are dealing with the phenomenon of water falling from the sky. Here is my favorite:

Reporter: "How are you handling all the rain?"

LA resident: "We are trying not to go out in it. I know we need it, but it has just been so much. I am afraid to even go out and drive in it. My husband has been in the garage making sand bags just in case we need it. We just hope we can make it through the weekend."

Reporter: "Well, thank you. Good luck to you and your family."

Make it through the weekend? Are you kidding me? It's rain and according to the Los Angeles Times, LA has had a grand total 1.47 inches in two days. Reports are a new storm is supposed to hit Southern California some time Monday.

Please pray for us as we go through this tough time.