A Talk With Mr. Pendleton

There's no aliens here, cept you know. But that's everywhere in this country now, thank you libs. Are you a Democrat? Wouldn't surprise me if you was, being a creative type and all. 

That's fine, that's fine. I'm not hardcore one way or the other. I don't know what I am. Can't say I know for certain much of anything cept there's no aliens here and Freddy Duke is a drunk. Did he tell you he still drinks? Probably he was drunk when you talked to him. 

That son of a floozy grew up just like we all knew he would. He had it all in high school just like his mom did. Nobody knows who his dad was, hell JoAnn Duke probably don't know. It's not just me. The more people you ask the more you'll see. 

I took her to prom back in 1992. That was my senior year and she was a sophomore. Damn. 

I've not thought of that in a long, long time. She looked so dang pretty, let me tell you. Outside of the day I married my wife, I never seen someone so pretty. Jo had her dark hair all curly, a peach dress that come off the one shoulder like this. 

She probably weighed more then, have you seen her now? She don't look healthy. She is a fierce twig of a woman now, but that's what a life like that will do. 

I had a crush on her before then and I told myself that if she went with me to the dance that I'd ask her to be my girlfriend. So pretty, man. She could've had a different life, you know?

It's funny how people get themselves down in the dumps about where they're at or better yet, where they ain't. I mean sure her story sounds sad and all, single mom her junior year and a dropout the year after. But she never really tried after she got knocked up with that little curse. She just kept drinking and laying down with anybody. Don't sound like someone that really wants to change themself. 

I feel responsible a little. No, no. I never slept with her. I wanted to till she run out on me that night at prom. She said she was going to the bathroom, but she ducked out with RJ Lawler. There's a scumbag you ought to talk to. RJ Lawler, I think he's on his fifth wife now. Forget him though, I'm telling a story. But I think what if? Maybe I'd not have my wife now, maybe I'd a never married Jo, maybe all she needed was me at that point and she chose different. 

Twenty plus years man and still I think about this, her. That's got to mean something. 

But no, there's no aliens here. Freddy Duke is a drunkard and a killer. He's no damn orator. The only things he sees he needs whiskey to see. And that's all I need to tell you. 

I Am Not That Person Anymore

 Along the side of a country road I found a pair of leather gloves. No. There was nothing special about them. Just some gloves I happened to notice driving by. I knew exactly what they were the instant I spotted them. 

For some reason I felt inclined to stop and so I did and for that reason I guess you can say there was something special about them. Why did I notice them?

Well, my friend, I think they call that fate. I parked my car right over there and got out and walked back. I came up on them and crouched down like so. Touched the one, the right handed one, I don't know why I remember such a detail. Weird what you remember, huh? I'd bet there's a reason to that too. 

Anyway, I'd just picked it up and that's when I heard the first noise. It was, I don't know, like a zippy gunshot. 

Ziiii-akkk! Ziiii-akkk!

I rolled right over on them gloves. Hit the ground flat. Whatever it was flew right by me. Right over me. 

Phsheww!

Don't know what would've happened if I'd have been standing. I don't believe I'd be here right now, that's for sure. They'll tell you that the holes in my car were from a shotgun. They'll tell you I had a horrible drinking problem back then. They'll say that I'm the only one who talks about this and so why believe me?

I guess they got a point, but why don't you listen to what I'm telling you and the way I'm saying it. This isn't about the gloves, man. This isn't about who I was then. 

They're here. 

They were here and they chose me. I didn't think I was the person to do this. Be a liaison between species? Wow. My mom would've been surprised. 

So yeah. That's why I come out here like this every night. When you ask them about me, use my old name. They don't know me as The Orator. 

Freddy Duke. 

That's all you'll hear about when you talk to them, Freddy Duke. I am not that person anymore. You cannot judge my word now on Freddy Duke's actions.

Remember, I'm the Orator. 

A Crawling Princess

She's mobile.

My Princess. My only daughter. My precious, last-born, baby girl.

She hit a big milestone today. She's crawling. I never realized all the things I needed until now. A sturdier entertainment center in the living room. A better vacuum. Hairless pets. An alternative route throughout the house for the boys. Hard to believe I've been through this before, it seems so long ago since Emery depended on me for everything. Nowadays, he and Bunny can make their own lunches, they're only slightly less messy than I am.

It seems like Randi is growing up way, way too fast. Maybe it's because I know what to expect. Maybe it's because I know she's the last one I'll have. I would assume it's a mix of those plus being older, but I would appreciate if it would slow down some on occasion. Abby and I were talking during our morning coffee and she said,

 "Can you believe in three years we'll have a fifth grader, a third grader, and a pre-schooler?"

I thought about it all day. She's right, it's crazy how fast things go. I'm still having a hard time believing that in two months I'll have a 7-year old, 5-year old, and a 1-year old.


If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go spend the rest of my night crawling around the living room with Princess.

Still a Writer

Dedicating myself to being a writer has been a few things. It's been fulfilling to finally see myself recognized as something I've always secretly hoped to be. It's been amazing to put my ideas out in the open for hundreds and thousands of people to read and be accessed by countless others. In the past year I've published my first book (which sold an astonishing six copies, seriously no sarcasm there I didn't think it'd sell one), I've become a published newswriter for two different and legitimate sites (Liberal America and Re:Decatur), and I'm getting published this month in my first literary magazine (Voluted Tales). This is all not to mention getting paid to write in other aspects through a few freelancing jobs as well. Calling myself a writer has done wonders for my actual writing itself.

The other side of it is that I now have this even stronger urge to keep writing. Unfortunately that's where this blog comes into play. I am still a stay at home parent and for the past few months I went from having one child (Bunny) everyday for four to five hours by myself with Emery coming on a set days to now in the summer I've got three kids here everyday, two of which stay here everyday, for eight hours. By myself. This is where the frustration comes in.

Don't get me wrong. I love the time I get with them. It's amazing, it's wonderful, it's inspiring, and I could not be more blessed, but not very many people really understand. I used to get a couple hours of down time every night to write and blog and research and what not. Now by the time the little ones are asleep, I'm ready for bed myself. And I feel like I'm failing.

I refuse to fail my children, no matter how stressed I am. No matter how unfulfilled the writer in me is. I try my hardest and move forward, but summer has been wretched on my writing side. I get asked what I'm doing with writing, I get emails about articles that I wish I could take, but I cannot. Re:Decatur in particular has been tremendously patient and I cannot thank them enough nor apologize quite right for not being as big of a contributor as I hoped to be.

Please, please do NOT interpret this as me being unhappy or unsatisfied with my life, because I am absolutely not. This is a place for me to be honest and frank and that's all I'm trying to be. I am in love with the life I have and I am very happy with it. I've got more to be thankful for than to complain about, but sometimes it's good to get things off of your mind.

In closing, I'd like to ask if any parents (especially stay-at-home) feel similar? If so, how did you channel your individual interests when your children were young? Thanks for checking in, Randi's up from her nap so I've gotta go.

Gaming Through Grief (Part 2): The Day

Day 10,429 (Part 1 of 2)

He was gone.

Today was the day.  Forever I would remember.  We all would.  We, the children of Randy and Kim, were burying our father.  So alive mere days ago, yet now only living in our memories.  Nothing could have prepared me for how I would feel.

Family came together, I saw cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends I had not seen in years.  Holdings us, all of us, in each of their hearts, their minds, and in their prayers.  I can't do this, I thought on the way to the funeral home.  I'm just going to keep on going.  Get some coffee and in a few hours we'll realize how much of a mistake we made.

He's not gone. 

Be he was.  Dad was gone.  Dad is gone.

The visitation was minuscule, because that's all that was covered.  Yet even in the minimalism I could only see a blur.  The face of an aunt.  Hi, thanks so much for being here.  Hug and a kiss on the cheek.  The outstretched hand of an uncle.  Damn, you guys are all so grown now.

The five of us (Cory became extended offspring a defalta through his lifelong relationship with Dad) stood for a moment of silence in front of this non-significant box that housed my father's remains.  Silence.

I looked at each of them with tears welling and pain lining their eyes, noses, and mouths.  I wanted to hold each one and tell them it wasn't real.  We had our moment, each of us touching the closed casket hoping it would substitute for actually touching him.  It did not.

We filed out slowly into the foyer, ready to complete the next part of this nightmare.  Burial.

I tried to spark conversation, however fruitless.  Nic and I walked down the hall and poured ourselves coffee.  We pretended to be able to sip the scalding blackness, muttering nonsensical syllables between each other as we returned to our positions flanking the gathering area.

You're Big Randy now, someone said to me.  I don't remember who, as I said everything bled together that day.  I looked back into the visitation room.  The river of carpet stretching out between pews ending with a stand that my Dad's casket was perched upon.  

Just a second, I told Abby motioning toward the funeral home workers, tell them to hold on for a second.

I walked back down to Dad's box.  I touched it with both hands and felt the escape of tears as they dripped onto his casket, leaving dark wet memories of the pain in my heart.

It's on me now, Dad, I said, I know you died with worry.  You worried about everything.  I'm an adult, hell, they're all adults now with kids and families, but you can trust me.  I'll be there for them like you would have been.  I'll love them, I'll keep my shit together so I can always help them like you would.  Don't take that worry with you, Dad.

I cried.

I love you, Dad, I said before kissing the box, I miss you so much. 
Already.

(to be continued)

Gaming Through Grief (Part 1): The News

Day 10,426

To be honest with you, I've been dreading this post.  Four days and four months ago my life was forever changed with the unexpected and sudden loss of my namesake, my father Randy Stewart.

Before the phone call from my sister I would have told you that my 28 years of life had seemed more like 56 with the mountain-peak highs and Death Valley lows in conjunction with the amount of experiences I've witnessed.

"Randy!  Randy!"  Cera wailed in the phone.

"Cera, what the hell?  What's going on?"  I thought she was going to say one of her kids was hurt, that someone had stolen something, a pet died.  Not my Dad, though.  He hung tough, despite the missteps and redundancies, my Dad would always be there with a sarcastic comment and a full flavor cigarette.

Cera's sentences were jumbled, sounding like a singular, manic word instead of separate syllables.

"IcalledLathampolicebecauseDad.  Jesus Christ. Dadstillwouldn'tanswermycalls."

I responded in silence.  I knew what she was going to say.  

Dammit Dad, I thought, you didn't take your meds.  You had a seizure and hurt yourself.  You could've called someone.

"Theyhadtobreakdownthedoor!"

"What?  Where is he?  How bad was he-"

"Randy," there is a suspended silence right before a tornado rips a house into shreds, a sliver of time that the winds and rain go quiet and a false sense of luck sweeps over you before the sound of wind's fury bears down in ear popping, locomotive pressure.  That fake relief washed over me quickly before I realized the worst was coming in the next few words my sister whispered.

"They found Dad in there, he's dead."


My jaw tightened.  Cera exhausted every ounce of her strength to force those words past her lips and melted down, succumbing to the terrible sounds of tragedy.  Of anguish.

We cried together on the phone for a few seconds until the reality rushed out of my heart and to my head.  Panic.  I had to get off of the phone, I had to focus, I needed to get home to Abby, my brothers I needed to tell them, we needed to talk and be together and focus and, I had to get off of the phone.



"Why are you crying?"

Gunner.  In the backseat, a silent observer to my breakdown.  I sucked in and wiped my palm across my face.

"I'm sorry, Bunny, I'm sorry you saw me like that."

"But why are you crying?"

"A bad phone call, buddy.  I got some real bad news, really sad news."

He and I drove in silence.  He spoke again a few minutes later when we pulled into the driveway.

"You don't have to be sorry for crying, remember?  You told me that."

I laughed through composed tears.

"Thanks, Bun."

"It's your heart isn't it?  Your heart hurts?"

"It does."

"My mom will hug you and I'll hug you and when Emery gets here he will hug you, too."

I leaned back and held his hand trying my hardest not to burst again.

"That means everything to me right now," I said, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

-to be continued-

Playoffs? Playoffs?!

Thank you Jim Mora for your timeless rant.

Being a football fanatic, my family gets wrapped up in my passion so today we did a blind drawing for each family member.   Everyone received one team from each conference.  Let's see how it turns out.

 Abby/Randi :

NFC - New Orleans Saints

AFC -  Denver Broncos

Emery :

NFC - San Francisco 49ers

AFC - New England Patriots

Gunner :

NFC - Carolina Panthers

AFC - Indianapolis Colts

Me :

NFC - Seattle Seahawks

AFC - San Diego Chargers



Not sure what the winner will get, but Gunner and Emery have already commenced the trash talking.  Check back later for "Gaming Through Grief."  It is a write up on how I have began dealing with and moving forward from the passing of my father.  Take care!

Welcome Back

It's been a long, long time. Unfortunately, I won't be writing a long one tonight.  The little ones are sick and Daddy has to work in the morning. I just wanted to touch base with everyone and welcome you back to the episodes of my life as a Daddy, a writer, and a student. A lot has changed since I last posted.

In September I experienced the most divisive range of emotion I've ever felt in my life. My own father passed, suddenly and unexpectedly.  It is a stabbing pain in my chest that still I struggle with.

Ten days after my siblings and I crowded in North Fork Cemetery to say our final goodbye to our father, Abby and I said our first hello to our beautiful daughter. If you followed my episodes before you'd be expecting to be introduced to Elsa, but we changed our minds upon seeing her.

The newest addition to our family is a gorgeous little girl that honors both sides of her family in her name. Randi Janice, my little princess.

Thanks for stopping by.

Good night!

Secret Mission: Hulk and the Impossible Chair

"Here,"  the little blonde boy says to me.  He sticks out a half piece of lined notebook paper torn from his mother's notebook.  There are scribbles in different colored Crayon all over one side, I turn it to see the other.  He has scrawled his name in capital letters, "GUNNER" with seven "N's" written on the bottom.

"I'm leaving," he continues,"this is a letter so you'll remember me."

"Where are you going?"

He looks hard into my eyes as if I couldn't understand even if he told me.

"You won't understand."

He does an about-face in the hallway and goose steps to the kitchen counter, sighing at the unknown mission ahead of him.  Mumbling to himself, but purposefully loud enough so that I can hear him he says,

"I've got so much to do.  I still have to write a letter to my Mom and Emery," the chunky house dog interrupts his sentence with a loud snort, he looks down at her and then back to his papers, slapping his forehead in dismay, "I knew I was forgetting someone."

I watch him work.  He is enveloped in writing these notes of departure using the care of a surgeon to make each line precisely the way it needs to be with exactly the color it was meant to be written with.  First the scribbles on one side which are by no means anarchistic, but instead a chaotic display of proper placement. Then, in a flash he flips the paper over.  G, new color, U, new color, N, new color in a pattern until his name is spelled out and all the extra N's are in place.


"So,"  I say, " where are you going?  You can tell me.  I have a security clearance."

His head shoots up, his forehead wrinkles as he tries to decipher my angle.

"What's a clearance?"

"It means I can know secret stuff."

Gunner is not satisfied with my explanation.

"Super.  Secret.  Stuff."

He eases a bit, sets down his blue Crayon gently and takes a long sip of juice from his Justice League cup. Young Justice he calls it.

"Okay," he says, "you can know, but first you gotta promise."

"Anything,"  I say, "consider it promised."

"You gotta promise if I don't come back you'll take care of Nickel and my Mom."

"Absolutely."

I move in close, slowly.  Carefully.  I slide into the seat next to him and offer a gummy worm to win his favor. He accepts and chews it delighted.

"Mmm.  I love green worms.  They taste so," he says, "green."

I can't help but laugh and he does too.  He grabs my arm in a second, though.

"Wait, this is serious,"  he grabs my face and holds me still to prepare for the graveness of the situation, "There's zombies out there, Emery told me about them.  They're going to come in here if someone doesn't stop them."

It is torture to fight laughing this hard.


"So I have to leave.  That's what the letter says.  Keep it forever and tell my Mom to keep it forever, too."

"I will, Bunny,"  I say. "But don't you need a weapon or something."

In a blink he rips off his shirt and leaps down from his chair, smashing the floor with both fists.

"I am a weapon!"  he says.

Penny snorts and jumps up, "running" away from the kitchen and back to my bedroom where she hides wrapped among her quilt in what I can only imagine is primal fear of the four year old superhuman she shares a house with.  Gunner's face grimaces as he breaths in and out deeply through clenched teeth.

"Someone's got to stop the zombies," he growls, "someone like the Hulk."


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In other, non-zombie related news Elsa's room is finished!  I will upload the pictures tomorrow, the boys were helpful.  Overall, I am really pretty proud of how it turned out.  Abby did a really great job putting the final touches on the decorations and we got everything put together and moved into it.  Except the damn glider, of course.

We bought it on clearance way, way back like when we first found out about being pregnant and it did not come with bolts or instructions.  Since I nor her are proficient in French, the customer service and website were no help.  I've scoured the interwebs far and wide for a solution, but to no avail.  I took it to Decatur Bolt last week and thought I had a breakthrough, but turns out I was wrong.  If anyone knows magic we'd sure appreciate our chair being mystified back together.

Good night!

From the Mouth of Em

Emery discussed his future business plans today while we waited in line at the Wendy's drive-thru.  I needed to share them.  (Emery is italicized and I am bold, for clarity.  Enjoy!)

"You know what would be better, Dad?  Faster food where they don't forget your toy all the time."

He paused for a second.  I could hear the wheels spinning in his head.

"I should just open my own restaurant, you know?"

"Yeah," I said, "What're you gonna call it?"

"Fancy, Fast."

"That's a pretty good name, says what people wanna hear."

"Oh no," he said, "It's not what they wanna hear, it's what they'll have.  I'll make my workers go through tough training.  And you know what happens if they're late three times?"

"What?"

"Gone.  Outta there.  You know what happens if they forget a toy or they mess up your food?"

"Fired?  After one time?"  I asked, "That's a little harsh."

"Pssh, not if you wanna work at 'Fancy, Fast.'  I have to be the best so McDonald's and Wendy's can't be around my restaurant."

"Aren't you my little capitalist?"

He was obviously confused.

"What?  Does that mean I'm gonna have the best restaurant?  Then yes, I'll be a capitless.  Will you come work for me, Dad?  I'll pay you twenty bucks, two times.  And you can have free lunch."

"Ha, ha, sure, buddy.  I'll work for you."

"Awesome!"  he became very serious before he said, 

"Don't be late."

Good night!  

What a Heart Looks Like on the Outside (Part III): Abby Marie

Babydoll-


Today is your day.

It is the second birthday of yours that I have had the luck to spend with you.  Whatever I have to thank for this time with you, I can't sing it's praises enough.


The definition of "magnificent" is impressively beautiful and striking.  I can't think of a better word to describe you.  Even now over a year into "us" I see you walk into the room and I am struck by your beauty.  I am still in awe of you.

You are my partner, something I never believed could exist outside of blood ties.  I am more "me" with you than I've ever been at any time in my life.  We talk nightly for hours about everything, anything, and nothing and that's exactly what I want to do because I'm doing it with you.  Your smile illuminates my world, your eyes lock mine into place and I feel at home.



I could (and am) write stories everyday about the way you make me feel.  Together there is no wall unbreakable, no obstacles immovable, and no way either of us will ever have to do anything alone ever again.

The road we took to get here was unorthodox to say the least, but Montagues were murderously embittered by Capulets yet Romeo found Juliet.  Throughout time the greatest romances sprang from unlikely places and sadly some do not ever find what I feel with you.  You're my June Carter.  My best friend.




All of my life I always felt I was looking for something.  Something better.  Something somewhere else.  I'd been around the world twice, yet I came back here still searching.  I began to believe searching was just what I did, what I was supposed to do.  Then, we found each other.

I'm not searching anymore.  I'm living.

Happy birthday, baby.  You are my partner.  My best friend and support.  My other half.  My infinite.  My heart.  I love you.

Forever yours,

-Me

Back At It

Whew!

It's been one heck of a crazy busy week.  I've finally got some down time to write tonight.  The Decatur Celebration was going on downtown this past week and Abby spent a crazy amount of time working.  If you don't know her and I only have one car. When she works from the morning (9-11 AM) until closing time I am limited in where I can get around to during those days since I live between two very busy roads and have at least one small child trekking with me at all times.

On top of that, Abby's birthday is today.  I have an insatiable love for surprising people.  I plan meticulously and spread myself as thin as possible to ensure the recipient of my gift(s) is genuinely astonished.  My big present was to paint and decorate Elsa's room in total secrecy through the week even though my artistic talent resembles that of a snail and I've never painted a room before.

Oh. . .and Bunny physically cannot keep a secret.  Emery is a little better, but he really fancies being the "cool-in-the-know" dude so he may keep your secret for a little bit before he sneaks over to whisper it to Bunny.  When I say that Bunny cannot physically keep a secret, I mean he looks as if his insides are writhing in anxiety because he has the launch codes to start World War III when all you asked him to do was not tell Emery that I took a sip of his chocolate milk.  The truth sets Bunny free.

I'm not really complaining.  I'm glad it's not the other way around for the most part, but when you only have six hours out of the house in a week that you have to get paint, brushes, tape, decals, etc. it makes for an incredible inconvenience.  Explaining to a four year old that he can't enter a room, but not being able to say why is confusing.

  

"What is goin' on in Elsa's room?"  Bunny asked.

"Oh, nothing."

"But I hear you in there when I'm layin' down.  And something is stinky."

"Oh, you know.  Spiders."

"Spiders?"  He started to push the door open.  I quickly pulled it shut.

"Big ones.  They stink."  I said.

"We should tell my Mom."  He pointed up in the air and jumped like an overreactive detective solving a riddle.

"No, no.  We shouldn't do that.  She'll be too scared.  She needs to rest when she's home, it's a busy week this week, buddy."

"Hmm," he very clearly disapproved of my approach in dealing with imaginary, giant arachnids,"ooooh-kay."

I caught him a few times laying on the hall floor, peaking under the door, heckling the imaginary pests.  At some point he got brave and went in Elsa's room unbeknownst to me and witnessed all of what I'd been doing.  On Friday night as I put him to bed he was holding his ribs and very restless.  He needed to tell me something important.

"I told Mommy about Elsa's room."  He confessed.

"You did?"

"I'm sorry.  I was in there and I told her 'come look, Mom.'  It was an accident."

I promised I wasn't mad and kissed him good night.  At that point, I'd only accomplished getting part of one wall and some trim around the door done.  I would be lying if I said I wasn't very disappointed, but after a cup of coffee and some hard studying, I took it as a challenge.  Now I would surprise both of them.

Saturday night we had a bit of a scare.  Abby had pretty tough contractions and we went to the hospital immediately after she got off of work.  We were up there until about 4 AM.  Thankfully nothing was wrong, she was a combination of overworked and dehydrated and so we were sent home.  I told her that I knew she had already seen Elsa's room.  Unfortunately, she had not.  She said that Gunner had begged her to come in and look, but she wouldn't.  I felt like a jackass.  

Elsa's wall before.

After returning home I took her in the room and showed her.  Her tired eyes lit up and she loved it.  Part one of my mission was accomplished.

The next morning I stood in the living room and listened to Bunny sneak in.

Elsa's wall after!

"WHOA!"

He sprinted out to me, bewildered.

"Did you know that a tree grew on Elsa's wall?!"

Good night!