Birds on a Wire

So the Year of Resolutions thing is going so-so, I have to admit. I haven’t been 100% on my meds and blood sugar testing. Closer to 70%’ish. Just being honest.

I shall get back on the horse, though.

My trouble, aside from my own idiocy/laziness, is that I haven’t been eating properly lately. And when I say “lately,” I mean in the last 18 months or so.

I often don’t eat anything until dinner, and by then I’m starving. This does, however, answer one of the more popular questions I received in 2009: “How did you lose so much weight, Karl?” Now you know.

When I was a teenager, I had barely taken my morning piss before pouring myself a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. I’d munch away on that fruity goodness while still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

Nowadays I can’t put anything solid in my stomach for a couple of hours after waking, and then only after copious amounts of coffee. Coffee, though, is a diuretic…so it suppresses the appetite. After 3 cups of coffee (especially with the jumbo mugs I tend to use) I’m not so hungry.

Eat anyway.

Yeah, I know. Again, working on it. This resolution shit is harder than I thought.

So I’m spending another day in Daytona Beach before heading back home tomorrow. Weird being right on the beach when it’s around freezing (considering I live in FLORIDA), but whatever.

Having a marvy time, enjoying the refreshing and blunt perspectives of people 35-37 years younger than myself. True, there is a lot of drama and some whining, too, but that’s really no different than the bulk of the blogosphere, so I am pretty much inoculated.

Kids have always found me irresistible, even when I hated them. I remember walking through the mall at 19. I’d be casually strolling along to the Corn Dog 7 when I found my leg suddenly heavier than usual. Look down, and there’s a 3-year-old Snot Factory clinging to my leg, giving me a hug.

“I’m so sorry!” the mom would say, “she NEVER goes up to strangers. HATES them, in fact.”

I’d just smile and nod understandingly while trying not to look too disgusted, all the while thinking, “Get this fucking thing off of me!”

Odd that, about a year later, I’d find myself with my own children. Once the twins were born and I held them in my arms the first time, all that changed. Now I love kids, and they still adore me…usually.

I’m sure it has a lot to do with my lack of maturity. Don’t laugh, I’m VERY mature. Just the other night, while dining with 8 or 9 women, I showed a great deal of maturity.

A steak was brought out for one of the ladies, and my Mom said, “Now there’s a nice piece of meat.” I nearly choked, but kept the urge to scream “YOU SAID MEAT!” at bay.

Then, another gal followed up with, “That IS a nice piece of meat.”

To be followed by yet another, “Wonderful piece of meat.”

I said nothing. Aren’t you proud of me? And when one of the ladies saw my Extreme Self-Restraint Look on my face (which looks almost identical to my Extreme Constipation Look), and asked me if I was OK, I just said, “I’m fine.”

But 33% of you women said something about a nice piece of meat. And it’s KILLING ME to stay quiet!

See? Mature.

So when an 8-year-old girl tells me that I’m silly, I have to shake my head in wonder. Me? Silly?

It’s true, though – I do have a unique ability to empathize with children. I understand the strong desire to eat cereal for every meal. I totally get not wanting your string beans to touch your mac & cheese. When a kid is so close to the TV that they’re almost in the fucking show itself, I don’t say what my parents said to me when *I* did that shit: “GET AWAY FROM THE TV OR YOU’LL GO BLIND!” Instead, I say, “I know you really like this show, but you’ll be able to see it a lot better if you back up a bit, babe.” Then, if they still don’t listen, I scream, “GET AWAY FROM THE TV OR YOU’LL GO BLIND!” and I lock them in a sensory-deprivation chamber for a few hours till they smell what The Rock is cooking.

OK, maybe not so much that last part.

To be honest, I’m not used to having to play The Heavy these days. The beauty part is that when kids don’t know you very well, they have no earthly idea what you’ll do (or not do) should they misbehave. There’s a lot of posturing, but a stern look and deepening my voice a little seems to fake them out.

For now.

Course, once the kids realize I’m totally full of shit, I’m screwed.

The other part I totally forgot about with little girls – keep in mind that my own girls are 22 years old at this point – is how much energy they sap out of you. You think I’ve been a NapMaster General up to now? Hell, one day with little kids makes me wish for 2 or 3 naps before I fall into bed and pass out for the night. Little kids do not mesh well with being a night-owl.

But you can’t tell two little princesses that you’re too tired to go light sparklers on the beach. Not when you’ve already promised that you’d do just that. They’re not going to understand my plight.

You can’t back out on a promised game of Trouble just because you’re sleepy. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.

It’s a damn good thing that children are (usually) so freaking cute.