Some interesting conversation with friends in Toronto this evening about addictive behavior. At one point, the focus turned to another truth about people like me: Moderation doesn’t exist.
People like to say it all the time: “Why do you have to give certain things up? Can’t you just have everything in moderation?”
Well, my friends, that’s the problem. Moderation is an alien concept to me. When someone leaves half the food on their plate or a half-glass of wine on the table, I just don’t get it. Period.
There is no middle speed for me.
I either abstain from all flour and sugar or I eat it all. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of something old and stale. It can’t be left on the table when I’m in binge mode.
I either abstain from all the wine or I drink all the wine.
When the latter happens and I binge, everything important in my life suffers. So I either give the stuff up entirely, or I ruin everything for the sake of the fix.
If you can have things in moderation, I say good for you. In fact, I envy you. Unfortunately, I can’t be you.
I’ve gotten to the point where I’m OK with that now. It helps that life has gotten so much richer and sweeter for me without THE STUFF.
I stood around this evening’s event with my hands in my pocket while most of the folks around me had alcoholic beverages. I’m fine with that.
I didn’t have a beer or dessert when the friend I had dinner with tonight did. I’m fine with that, too.
Last night, another friend — worried that his drinking was getting to me — offered to just drink water for the rest of the night so I’d feel more comfortable. I appreciate the thought more than words can say. But you don’t have to do that.
It’s my responsibility to stay sober and abstinent at all times. It’s nobody’s problem but mine, and that’s as it should be.
Still, I’m blessed to have friends around me who care.
Observation: There are a lot of homeless people on the streets of Toronto. It’s a lot like San Francisco, except these guys have a stunning cleverness about them.
You’re asking what this has to do with addiction, recovery and mental health, and here’s the answer: Whenever I travel and see someone living on the street, I’m reminded of just how easily I could have ended up the same way, and how my demons could have taken me there.
Had I not gotten a grip on the OCD and related addictions, who knows what would have happened?
I’ve always been lucky, and perhaps I’m being a bit over-dramatic. Of course, that’s what people like me do. But I look at people down on their luck and think it could happen to any of us, no matter how much money we may come from. We’re always just one step away from the one bad decision that causes us to lose everything.
Fortunately for me, I’ve always been surrounded by people who won’t let me fail.
Anyway, the people on the street around here are interesting. They are surprisingly happy. They take turns sitting on milk crates outside the prime panhandling spots with cap in hand. I walked past one guy and dropped a pocket full of change into his cup. Five minutes later, another guy was on the same crate.
It’s almost like they have a little business going, where they coordinate activity and practice their lines. I can picture them getting together each night under a bridge to take inventory on the daily haul.
Call me something unkind, but I’ve enjoyed talking to some of them. I like their humor. Should they be busy getting themselves off the street and getting their lives in order? Perhaps. But I’m clueless as to the circumstances that brought them to their current realities, so I’m not in a position to judge them.
In a really sick sort of way, I’m glad they’re around to remind me of how lucky I am. No matter how shitty my day is going, it can always be worse. Much worse.
Of course, I’ll bet some of these street walkers look at passers by with some sympathy, because everyone’s imprisoned in a world of corporate pressure and worry about material things.
I wonder if there’s a certain comfort and even happiness to having nothing.
Of course, this whole entry is a case of judging people and wondering who is better than who. I can’t tell if I’m being compassionate or stupid.
But I’m pretty sure that one of these days God will sort it all out for me.
The #SecTorCa security conference finds me surrounded by more booze than I confronted at the RSA conference back in March. But I think I’m learning how to be sober at these events.
A little history: A little over two years ago I gave up flower and sugar and started weighing almost all of my food as part of my 12-Step program of recovery from a binge-eating addiction. But I clung to the alcohol for awhile after that. I used booze as a crutch to keep away from the food, and by late last year I decided it was getting out of control.
Most of the time I’m comfortable with it. But once in awhile I find myself getting thirsty for something hard. Especially when I go to security conferences.
The booze flows freely at these events, and at the RSA show in March I really struggled with that. I drank club soda and Red Bull as everyone around me enjoyed their alcoholic beverage of choice. I found myself unsure of how to act around people.
Fortunately, I have a lot of great friends in the security industry. Many of them read this blog, and they watch out for me. That was the case in San Francisco, and it’s the case here in Toronto. Friends like Dave Lewis, Zach Lanier and Rob Westervelt put me at ease.
The flowing booze tonight tested me more than at any time since the San Fransisco trip. There were moments where I couldn’t help but think of how sobriety can really suck. Part of the problem was that we were in a small and very crowded bar space. Walking from point A to B without human contact was almost impossible. When I get claustrophobic I want comfort. It could be food or alcohol — or cigar smoke.
But in a happy turn of events, I felt a lot more comfortable around my friends than before.
As far as I’m concerned, that’s real progress.
I’m getting better at just enjoying the company of people. I don’t need the glass in my hand.
Sean and Duncan continue to give me a fresh perspective on a world that can be full of trouble. Life getting you down? Feel like shutting out the world? Read this instead.
–Duncan, watching a rack of CDs fall on a girl in the bookstore (the kid was freaked out): “I hope those CDs don’t get a scratch in them.”
–Duncan: “Sean, I’m younger and smaller than you, but I’m also stronger than you.” He failed to lift the Lego draw at the heart of his boast.
–Overheard: Sean: “Pee and Poo are not swear words and are ok to use.” Duncan: “Then why can’t we say crap?” Sean: “Because it’s not appropriate.”
–Sean tells Duncan a joke that uses the words poop and fart. Duncan responds: “That’s absolutely disgusting and innapropriate. But I like it.”
–Duncan: “The people who created lightsabers are morons. This thing (a Tinker-Toy contraption he made) is much better.” Seconds later, the Tinker-Toy weapon falls apart.
–I have a ZZTop concert streaming on the laptop while I work. Sean takes a look and asks if the guitar player is “that @jack_Daniel guy.” (Jack is a heavyweight in the security industry who looks a lot like Billy Gibbons from ZZTop)
–Duncan’s calling Sean H1N1. Sean’s taking it better than Duncan did when Sean was calling him Cupcake.
–Duncan’s calling Sean H1N1. Sean’s taking it better than Duncan did when Sean was calling him Cupcake.
–Sean to Duncan: “Liar liar pants on fire.” Duncan: “That’s stupid Sean. My pants are not on fire.”
–I threaten to smack Duncan in the butt (I’d never follow through). His response: “You don’t want to. You don’t know where this butt’s been.”
–Sean’s Lament: “My workbook project calls for a mural about compassion. Much to my dismay, it makes me want to barf.”
–Duncan kicked Sean for making up a “stupid” song about him. Sean threatened to sue him, forgetting that Duncan just blew all his money on Legos.
–Duncan, in full tattle mode: “Sean threatened to punch me out if I talk during the car ride. Now go punish him.”
–Discovered the password Duncan uses for his online “Poptropica” game is “Farts of Doom.”
–Sean just proclaimed that my iced coffee looks like cow manure with ice cubes on top.
–Said Sean, matter-of-fact-like: “If you don’t want your butt to get burned, don’t live in a frying pan.”
–Sean: “One of the things I really love about Gramma and Grandpa is that they’re so disorganized.”
–Sean just kicked my ass at 3 games of checkers. Now he’s trash-talking me. My revenge will come later, and it will be spectacular.
–Duncan: “I’m always thinking about something, Dad.” With a grin, he adds, “or … should I say … someone.” The boy has a crush. Again.
–Words spotted on Sean and Duncan’s Scrabble board: “smelly” “butt” “fart” “bigbelly” “vomit” “puke” …
–Sean-Duncan playing Greek gods with costumes they made from paper /tinkertoys. They made me a tinker-toy crown that puts dents in my scalp.
–Duncan, realizing he’s going to bed earlier than Sean: “Being younger is crap.”
–According to Sean there are two worlds: Duncan’s world and the real world. According to Duncan, “Sean’s talking stupid again.”
–Wow. It only took Sean till 7:30 to bellow his daily lament of “This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t have a brother.”
–Duncan-ism of the day: “Saying ‘please’ before ‘shut up’ just sounds weird.”
–The kids are very proud that they got their granddad to spent 12 bucks on refreshments at the movie theater. They asked me to tell y’all.
–Sean and Duncan saw “Marmaduke” with their granddad. Duncan loved it. Sean’s verdict: “I’m more of a PG kinda guy.”
–Sean-ism of the day: “Thank God for Dunkin Donuts. There’s always one along the road when you really need to use the bathroom.”
–Duncan, on why he was peeing in the dark: “I kept the light off so I wouldn’t wake Mom.” Note: His Mom is upstairs and he is downstairs.
–As Duncan IDs presidents on his coins, I ask: “Isn’t it great you saw THE Oval Office?” Duncan: “Yeah. It’s also cool I have 19 cents.”
–Bad Sean joke #452 … Sean:”Why did the cop wrap the crook in tinfoil?” Me: “I dunno. Why?” Sean: “Because he wanted to foil the crime.”
–Heard in the other room: Duncan singing, “I am the ice cream man, I keep Twinkies in my pants, when I ring the bell, all the fat guys run and yell…”
–Duncan says he’s the smartest kid in his class because he knows what 8X8 is. Asked to give the answer, he said confidently: 24
–Duncan’s first words to me as I arrive home from NYC: “I missed you, Dad. But I didn’t miss you making my lunches for school.”
–Sean: “I’m looking forward to seeing the White House tonight. Good food there.” Me: “We’re there for a tour, not dinner.” Sean: “Oh well.”
–Sez Sean, because I didn’t look at his computer game fast enough: “C’mon Dad, what’s more important, your son or your Blackberry?”
–Just caught Duncan singing these lyrics: “Hey, you, my name is Bob. I’ll eat all your corn on the cob…”
–Sean, fighting with Duncan: “My life was pretty good till you came along.”
–Sean to Duncan: “You’re really cute for a pest.” Duncan: “Pests are never cute, dummy.”
–Saturday morning: I’m on one laptop, Sean’s on another and Duncan has his DS. It used to be the 3 of us watched PBS kids Sat. mornings.
–Sean scolded me for killing an ant cause “They’re God’s creatures.” Then he found one on his Lego sets, and now he wants all ants dead.
–Sean’s description of Duncan’s breath: “Like a cat climbed in your mouth, peed, pooped and died.” His breath was just as bad.
–Sean: “When someone says ‘you shouldn’t have’ it’s another way to say thank you.” Duncan: “I thought it meant ‘what were you thinking?'”
–Duncan: “Zeus is evil.” Sean: “Nah, he aint evil. He’s just in a bad mood all the time.”
–Sean hasn’t stopped laughing since I told him Bun Bun — the Whites’ dwarf hamster — got caught in Sam’s closet and crapped everywhere.
–After I told Duncan he was a goof: “Of course I am. I’m Duncan!”
–Proof Duncan’s my kid: He grabbed the pepper shaker and poured pepper on his toungue. Proof Sean’s my kid: Buries face in book at the table.
–Overheard from the LR: Sean telling Duncan: “I thinks it’s funny because it’s a little inappropriate.” Better see what he’s talking about…
–Turns out that “inappropriate” thing Sean said makes him laugh is anything with the word “crap” in it.
–Duncan is making Sean furious by constantly calling him Shawny-Sean. Dad is doing nothing to stop it.
–Quote from Duncan, who is holding up a Lego Darth Vader: “Luke — I am your father. Now go wipe the table and sweep the floor.”
–Duncan, to an elderly man sitting in his van smoking a cigarette in the parking lot of Toys R Us: “Smoking’s dumb, you know. It puts holes in your lungs. Also, you forgot to close the back door of your van.”
Duncan and Sean knock a friend on his ass with their razor-sharp toungues
One thing I’ve become somewhat obsessed with in my recovery is facing down specific fears. Public speaking is one example. Now I do that often and with ease. Today I scratched something else off the list.
I’m in Toronto for the SecTor security conference, and before buckling down to work I took a couple hours to walk around and clear my head. Looking up, I saw the tip of the CN Tower, which looks a bit like Seattle’s Space Needle. It looked like a short walk, so off I went.
Now, I wouldn’t say one of my biggest fears was height. I remember going to the top of the World Trade Center in NYC 17 years before terrorists tore it down. That was before my fears came to the service as an adult.
But being up high was something that gave me pause. It used to be that the thought of having to go on an airplane would send me into an anxiety attack.
I’ve also been to the top of the Empire State Building, but that’s a wide enough structure that I could handle it.
But the CN Tower would have scared me away a few years ago. Something about its needle-like structure shooting straight up to the heavens would scare me. Given the thinness of it, I wouldn’t feel as secure as I’d be atop a wider building.
True story: In 2007 during one of the Black Hat conferences in Las Vegas, I was walking around with friend and former colleague Rob Westervelt when we saw the much smaller replica of the Space Needle. Rob wanted to go up. I didn’t, but I kept it to myself.
As we got closer, my anxiety level rose. I managed to talk Rob into doing something else. When Rob reads this, it’ll be his first inkling that I was having an anxiety attack. He shouldn’t worry about it, but he will anyway.
So this morning I decided to vanquish this fear and up I went. It’s truly beautiful up there. It’s stupid to think I used to fear such stunning vistas.
It’s funny when I look back at the last year and all the old fears I’ve smashed into rubble.
Fear of public speaking? I do it all the time now, for work, for my 12-Step meetings, at church and on the recent Cursillo I was on team for.
Flying? I do that all the time now, too. And I love looking out the window and seeing the vast world below me, with sun, clouds and sky mixing into colors that are downright heavenly.
I also used to have fear grip me at the thought of work or family gatherings.
Long road trips used to paralyze me with anxiety. I always had a fear of getting lost and never finding my way back.
This year I’ve taken the whole family on the five-state drive down to Washington DC — twice. The first time, we got a private tour of the White House West Wing for our efforts. That’s a rare experience that fear will deny you.
I still have my fears. They just don’t control me anymore.
And every time I do something small like climbing a tall structure, the fear loses a little more of that grip.
Packing for a trip to Toronto, I caught myself doing some very OCD-like things. Even in recovery, it’s always there, below the surface. Here are a few examples.
Mood music:
What I did: I checked all the contents in my laptop bag last night. Three times. I took the laptop out and put it back in three times. I checked my digital recorder three times. I thrice checked to make sure the bottle of Prozac was where it’s supposed to be.
How it’s better than it used to be: Back in the day, I would check everything too many times to count. I would remove EVERYTHING from the bag and put it back in, then repeat the process up to 10 times. I left work late many times because I wasted time on this sort of thing.
What I did: I obsessively took care of house chores to make life easier on Erin. I took out the trash, made the kids’ lunches, carried down a basket of laundry, and went around the living room picking up toys and making sure everything was just so.
How it’s better than it used to be: In addition to doing these things, I used to pace around worrying about everything to do with the travel: Whether I’d get to the plane on time, whether the plane would get me to my destination without crashing, and whether I would measure up to the work task before me. That was the fear and anxiety eating at me.
This time, the stuff I did was useful and I didn’t worry about the rest. Now I don’t give a thought to the airport stuff. I just go to the airport and smoothly go through security and find my coffee. Instead of freaking out over lines, I’m more relaxed, talking to people in line and even enjoying their company.
I don’t obsessively review the schedule for whatever conference I’m going to. Now I look it over once and then play things by ear once there. I always get at least two stories and two podcasts done, and I don’t get sick to my stomach about getting it done. I just do it and I LOVE it.
The lesson of this post is that the mental ticks never go away entirely. And that’s OK.
Now when I catch myself in the act, I laugh at myself and move on. It’s a gift to be able to do that.
The real damaging, time-wasting and binge-inducing stuff is gone. What’s left I can handle.
People who seek treatment for their struggles tend to go looking for the Happily Ever After. You’ll figure it out and never worry about anything again.
The thing is, that’s a bullshit notion. You’re not supposed to go through life without a care in the world.
My kid sister-in-law told me a friend of hers has admitted to some hefty demons. I won’t mention the person’s name (I don’t know her, actually), but I know where she’s been.
Mood music:
[spotify:track:5F6rwEF15hN1jnhNk2YQHn]
This is a little message for her friend, in the event she someday stumbles upon this blog:
Outing yourself is a hard thing to do. When I did it, I was terrified at first because I thought my mental struggles would be used to define who I was. It gave me an appreciation for what it must be like when a gay person comes out of the closet.
I felt weird around my family at first. Ill at ease might be the best way to describe the feeling. I’m sure they felt the same. That I had OCD and related addictive behavior didn’t surprise them much. As my sister-in-law will tell you, I’ve always had an abundance of strange behaviors.
The people I work with were most surprised. I guess I did a good job of fooling them back in the day. But they have never defined me or treated me differently over what I’ve opened up about. I get the same fair shake as everyone else.
Since people keep their demons hidden for fear of bad treatment at work, it was an eye opener for me when I got nothing but support for coming out with it.
After awhile, it’ll be like that with your friends. They’ll appreciate you more, and they’ll be grateful that you came clean. Some of them will learn from your example, even though they may not know they need it yet.
I understand one of your problems is compulsive lying. There’s no need to feel like a freak over this, because everyone with mental health struggles and addictions lies. I certainly have. Hell, I’ve never met a so-called normal person that hasn’t lied. It’s not something to be proud of or accept. Lies imprison us and make our troubles deeper. But when we can stop living the lie, there’s a new peace and freedom that’s very powerful and hard to describe.
When I decided to stop living lies, I felt 100 pounds lighter. Physical pains went away.
I understand you are looking at taking medication. I take Prozac and it works. But I’m convinced it works as well as it does because I went through years of hard therapy as well. That’s the most important thing you can do: Find the right therapist to talk to. Therapy will provide you with mental coping tools that will make you stronger. By that point, medication becomes the mop that wipes away the remaining baggage.
Things may get worse before they get better. When you start dealing with this stuff, you find yourself learning how to behave all over again. You will still go through periods of depression.
This is when any addictions you may have will tempt you. Fight it at all costs. I didn’t at first. I completely gave in to my addictive behavior and I paid dearly for it. Even if you don’t think you have an addiction, it might be worth considering a 12-Step Program. The tools you learn from that will help you cope with the mental struggles at the heart of your troubles.
Coming clean doesn’t mean you get to live happily ever after. But happily ever after has always been a bullshit myth. But you will have an easier time dealing with the tough times. That may not make sense right now. But it will.
Here’s the thing about one’s demons: When they hide in the dark, out of view, they own you. They’re too powerful to beat.
Opening the door and forcing the sunlight on them is hard as hell. But once you take that step — as you just did — the demons start to shrink. The light always kills demons. They turn to ash and you become a lot bigger than they ever were.
That’s what I’ve learned from my experiences, anyway.
Congratulations on taking that first step. I wish you the very best.
Let’s start with Zippo Raid. I got a copy of their “Punk is in Season” album at the benefit for Joe Zippo last week and can’t stop playing it. Joe’s lyrics were brilliantly simple — and, in many spots, funny as hell. At least funny to my brand of humor. I went looking for footage of these songs being performed on Youtube but no dice. I did, however, find this:
For some strange reason, going to that show last weekend gave me a craving for Sonic Youth, which I listened to constantly during my Rockit Records days. This is one of my faves:
As a teenager I loved Def Leppard, probably because my brother loved them. And when he died, I started listening to all the music he listened to. In more recent years I’ve found their music to be pretty hit or miss, but this week I came across this, which captures the essence of the Def Leppard I remember:
Thanks to my friend Donna Swift, I found a few minutes of rapture in this acoustic version of Soundgarden’s “Like a Suicide,” which seemed perfect for yesterday’s “Thank You, Joy” post:
That was me after my friend Sean Marley died. I spent the next decade-plus thinking about it. Really, I was just thinking about myself. That’s what addicts do. No matter who we think about, it’s all about us in the end. I had a very long self-pity party.
When we do this, we easily forget that there was someone spending day and night with the depressed soul, trying everything to save him. When the battle is lost, we smother that person and swear to be there for them always. Then we move on and forget that promise. Sometimes that’s a good thing, because nobody benefits from being smothered.
Sean’s wife, Joy, put everything she had into helping him.
And I never thanked her for it.
She was there with him day and night, holding him through every agonizing moment. She did everything to keep his spirits up. It didn’t work in the end, but she did her best.
I first met Joy 19 years ago. Sean had just severed what I thought was a poisonous relationship, and when he told me he was seeing this girl Joy, my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Here we go, I thought: Another fucked-up pairing.
Me and Sean, summer of 1989
It was nothing of the sort.
From the moment I met her, Joy was true to her name. She always made you feel good about yourself and treated you like an old friend even if she didn’t really know you.
She married Sean in 1994, knowing he had a sickness brewing inside. It didn’t matter. Love won out. I was best man, though they could have done far better with someone else in that role.
I was so self-absorbed that day, obsessing about the toast the best man is supposed to give, that I forgot the glass of champagne. The room stared back at me, puzzled. It was more of a speech than a toast, and a bad one at that.
I didn’t trick out their car with the “Just Married” stuff, either.
I was an ass.
Fast-forward to the present. Thankfully, Joy found someone else to love and remarried. She has three kids and you can tell how much love she pours into them.
Her parents knew what they were doing when they picked that name.
This post is my way of saying what I should have said in November of 1996.
Thank you, Joy.
I’ll never forget the sacrifices you made to get Sean through his pain.
If you, readers, know of anyone who lost a significant other to the illness of depression, take a few moments and thank them, too.
They were there when you couldn’t be.
Instead of feeling bad about that, just feel grateful.
When life gets you down and you feel like shutting out the world, a child’s perspective will always give you a mental boost. That’s what Sean and Duncan have taught me.
They also know how to trigger my OCD-isms, but I’ve covered that already. This post is all about their spirit-lifting wisdom. (Guest appearance by their cousin Madison.)
–Heard in the bathroom: Sean singing to no one in particular, “Your butt’s too big to be real…”
–Me: “I missed you Sean. I love you.” Sean, staring intently at the drawing he’s working on as I tell him this: “Dad, go get me a pencil”
–Sean, grousing about his loose pants: “This is ridiculous. If Eve didn’t eat that stupid apple, I wouldn’t have to worry about pants!”
–Duncan on the passing of Father Nason: “It’s really sad for us, but it’s really good for him, cause now he can have fun.”
–Sean, unhappy that I’m making him and Duncan pick up their toys, has declared me “pure evil.” Accoring to Duncan, I’m just being stupid.
–Duncan finally gets it! He told Sean: “You don’t get to boss me around. Only Dad gets to boss me around, so take that!”
–One of Sean and Duncan’s friends, wowed that Sean has read the first 3 Harry Potter books, has named him “The Manly King of Reading.”
–Sean: “Dad, are you working or fooling around?” Me: “Working.” Sean, looking at my screen: “Working on Facebook and Tweetdeck? I don’t think so.”
–Me: “You’re a good kid, Duncan. I’m proud of you.” Duncan’s response: *rolls eyes* “Go away, Dad. You’re spoiling my fun.”
–Sean, explaining The Prodigal Son to Duncan: “If there were a third brother, he would have just sat there chilling out, taking it all in.”
–Casually uttered from the mouth of Duncan as he walks by, strumming his severely out-of-tune guitar: “Nobody puts Baby on the shelf…”
–Sean-ism of the morning: I learned Australian in second grade. It’s my second language.
–Sean-ism of the morning: “I learned Australian in second grade. It’s my second language.”
–Sean, exasperated that Duncan is running around sans pants: “For Pete’s sake, Duncan! You’re a lot of work.”
–Sept. 23, 2010: I feel a strange sense of satisfaction for a Dad who was just informed by his oldest that “You are ruining my life.”
–Sean asks Cousin Madison: “Who’s your favorite cousin?” Madison, without hesitation: “Duncan!”
–Sept. 17, 2010: Madison, who slept over last night, thinks it’s hilarious when Uncle Bill burps. In other news, Duncan is teaching her his “Big Butt” song.
–Sept. 10, 2010: Sean says I’m too bossy. Since I’m feeling blah, I think I’ll go make myself feel better by bossing him around some more.
–3 days into the school year, Sean announces that he has 4th grade “licked.” Boy is he in for a reality check.
–Sean: “Babies come out the you-know-what” Duncan: “Gross. Why’s that?” Sean: “That’s just the way life works.”
–Me to Madison, the 2-year-old niece: “You’re so stinkin’ cute.” The niece: “Yes. I am.”
–Sean wants to study “Australian as a second language.”
–Meanwhile, Duncan likes the British because instead of missile, they say “Mis-Isle”
–Duncan, puzzled to learn that Darth Vader killed the Emperor in “Return of the Jedi”: “Where does he get off killing his own boss?”
–Duncan, catching me with my shirt off: “Really, Dad. Do you have to be such an ape?”
–Duncan, upon learning he’ll be an attendence monitor in class: “Wow, that’s great! And I don’t even know what an attendence monitor is.”
–Sean, in response to me telling him and Duncan to do a chore: “Dad, if you’re trying to annoy us, it’s not working.”
–Me to Sean: “You’re so stinkin’ cute.” Sean to me: “You’re so stinkin’ ugly. No offense.”
–Sean, noticing the Greek Orthodox church we were driving past: “Gee Whiz! I didn’t even know Greek Mythology was still around!”
–Me: “I know, kids, you can fold laundry for my birthday!” Sean: “We’ll do anything for you today. Pause. Sean: So, you’re not joking, are you?”
–Duncan pounced on me, pounded his elbow into my spine and kissed my bald head, telling me he just gave me a “love ambush.”
–Duncan pounced on me, pounded his elbow into my spine and kissed my bald head, telling me he just gave me a “love ambush.”
–Sean, trying to coach Duncan through a Star Wars game online: “Oh, for crying out loud Duncan… USE THE FORCE! USE THE FORCE!”
–The Sean-Duncan Star Wars feud takes a dark, stinky turn: Duncan says Sean keeps calling him Sen. Poopatine and he wants me to punish him.
–Heard from the boys’ bedroom: Sean and Duncan chanting “My head, my butt, my head, my butt…”
–Bathtub chatter: Sean: “Cheese is your favorite food, right Duncan?” Duncan: “Of course.” Sean: “I read they’re gonna stop making it soon.”
–Sean’s take on his grandfather (my father): “I’ll tell you what, Duncan. There is nothing we can’t get him to do.”
–Duncan: “I fell on my butt. Can somebody kiss it?” Me: “I don’t kiss butts. Go ask your mother.”
–Sean, growing impatient with the DC-to-Boston drive: “What state are we in besides a state of confusion?”
–Sean: “Can I have more computer time?” Me: “No.” Sean: “Wow. That was unexpected.”
–Duncan wants you all to know that my jokes are not funny. They are, however, “annoying and stupid.” So I’m telling him some more.
–Aug. 4, 2010: Sean & Duncan are cleaning up the loft because they forgot all about my threat to give ’em chores whenever they complained of being bored.
