'The Aliens Are Coming'

So, I was hanging out at the pool with my wife and two kids today.

We laughed. We drank. We swam. It was fun.

A couple hours passed and we decided that we were going to leave.

On a small sidenote, the cool thing about having a boy and a girl is the fact that one parent can take one kid into the restroom and change him and vice versa for the other.

So, I was changing my kid into his 'street clothes' and as normal he started babbling. And by babbling I mean singing the Wow, Wow, Wubbzy song followed by some semi-coherent words and a couple understandable sentences followed by babble again.

Then, as I started to put on his shorts, he stopped - mid sentence - turned his head slowly to meet my gaze and said...

"The aliens are coming."

I stopped mid-pull, took a couple steps back and stared at him in disbelief.

"What did you say?" I asked.

"The aliens are coming," he said again and then went back to his babbling, sing-songing, crazy fragmented sentences as happy as can be.

Could this be true? Had my son been sent a message like the children in the Nicholas Cage not-too-shabby Alex Proyas-directed movie Knowing? Did he know something that the adults didn't know?

"When?" was the only word that could be uttered from my mouth. "When will this happen?" I pleaded with my son like he was the newborn Dalai Lama.

"VDM," he said followed by the words "Kaka".

So, assuming my three-year old son picked up Roman Numerology from these aliens...

V - stands for 5
D - stands for 500
M - stands for 1000

So, to paraphrase my son in Star Wars jibberish, "In 1,505 we're all going to shit."

The only questions I have, and this is my big uncertainty here, was he referring to years, days, hours or minutes? Or, am I just really, truly, finally going insane?

I'm going to vote for the former.

Consider yourself warned...sort of.

Football, Fatherhood and Feeling Guilty.

I have a guilty conscious.

For instance...

If I'm not spending time with my kids...I feel guilty. If I spend too much time with my kids...I feel guilty that I'm not experiencing the spice of life.

If I don't write or draw...I feel guilty. If I write or draw too much...I feel guilty that I should be doing other things, like running.

If I skip my daily run...I feel guilty. If I run too much...I feel guilty that I'm not spending enough time with my kids.

You get the idea.

It's a never-ending cycle that drives me absolutely bananas.

So, a week or so ago, I was feeling guilty about not spending enough time with my kids. In particular, my three-year old son.

As fate would have it, this past weekend we both had an opportunity to spend some 'Man-time' together when my wife decided to take our four-year old daughter to get her toes painted.

The NFL playoffs were on the tube, which sparked an idea...a perfect father-son tradition that has been handed down from Eimer generation to generation...

Tossing Football! The perfect male-bonding experience for any male, any age at any time.

As my son was napping (yes, he still naps), I ran to the garage and started searching for the pigskin. I hit paydirt - a Michael Vick-branded Atlanta Hawks football.

It was a football that my good, old dad purchased for me back in 2006 during our summer vacation at the Jersey Shore.

With football in hand, I walked in from the garage to find my bleary-eyed son, rubbing his eyes with one hand and holding an Ugly Doll in the other.

"Hey guy," I said holding up the football. "Wanna toss some football with your old man."

"Don't want to toss football," he said. "I want the ferry."

"Ferry?" I asked. "Are you looking for a ferry boat?"

"No," he said again. "A ferry."

"Let's just toss some football and we'll find the ferry later," I said as I lobbed the red and black oval into the air.

The ball bounced on the floor with a clunk. My son took off running.

"Hey," I yelled. "Where are you going?"

"I want to play with ferry!"

I sighed. Then I heard a loud happy shriek that sounded like a young girl, but was definitely from my young son.

"I found it," he exclaimed.

He turned the corner, a big smile on his face as he was holding a Tinker Bell figurine.

"Oh, a fairy," I said nodding my head as I picked up the football.

Then I looked at Tinker Bell. Then I looked back at the Michael Vick-branded football.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Then I thought....(click here).

Hey! Parenting is getting easier.

For the past three years, I've glanced out the window at beautiful sunny days, pining to get outside and enjoy the great outdoors.

Then I begrudgingly would glance at my kids' closed doors, anxiously waiting for them to wake up from their naps so I could get outisde.

You know...people say that the first two years of your kid's life on this planet is pure bliss.

Let me tell you, most of them are lying.

As a matter of fact, the first two years of a child's life is a lot of:

- Buttwiping
- Sitting around
- Hanging inside the house
- Hovering
- Making sure they don't smack their head on sharp corners
- Feeding
- Getting woken up at night
- Missing out on life's events (which I wrote about previously)

Like I said, not for me.

However, with my daughter almost 4 and my son almost 3, I think I've hit a fatherhood turning point this spring.

Just yesterday, I was able to mow my entire 2.5 acre lawn with my kids hanging out in the backyard playing. Sure, I gave them each lawn-mower rides while mowing. But it was so great to see them walking around, picking up sticks, throwing rocks and being actual kids.

And it was liberating for me.

This spring and summer we've got a number of funcentric kid things on the docket...more trips to the swimming pool, amusement parks (Kennywood and Cedar Point), zoos (Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Akron and Columbus), road trips, cookouts, soccer, hiking on trails, vacation to the Jersey Shore, and let's not forget their first film at a bonafide movie theater (Toy Story 3).

Maybe, even possibly, a camping trip. (probably not).

And you know what? I'm looking forward to every single one of them. To add to that, I don't even feel like I'm 37. I feel like I did when I just graduated college. But a little smarter with a little more money in my bank account.

But I digress...

Yep, I put in my solid three years of baby rearing. Now it's time to get outside, rub the eye boogers out of my eyes and take a deep breath of the nice, warm outside air.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm finally back. With no more babies in tow.

Only pre-schoolers

Beer, cigarettes, my kids and demolition derbies.

So there I was. Sunday night. Sitting there staring at Elmo's World with my two kids.

For some reason, my mind reverted back to grade school. It was summer or, to be even more descriptive, possibly Indian Summer. Late September. Early October.

Almost every year in my early childhood, my mom and dad would toss us into the car and drive out to St. Clairsville, Ohio, for the Belmont Country Fair where we would stuff our faces on elephant ears, funnel cakes, corn dogs and freshly squeezed lemonade.

Then, we would go see other fantastic attractions like crappy birdhouses at the 4-H tent, bulls eating hay at the farm tent and older kids busting balloons with darts for Van Halen mirrors on the midway.

On this particular day, however, we didn't come for the funnel cakes or the cows eating hay.

We came for the mother-fuckin' demolition derby!!!!

Now, I'm not sure of the chemical make-up of boys. Or why my brother and I enjoyed destruction as much as we did (or do). But, when we found out we were going to see the demolition derby the night before, we couldn't sleep. It was like Christmas in late August. To top it off, the fact that both our birthdays were in July, we had three Christmases (Christmasi?) every year.

And yes, the demolition derby was awesome. If you're a guy, you totally understand why. There's just something about 20 cars crunching, banging and slamming together that gets a guy really excited. It feels like you're in a fistfight against 50-some guys in a scunched up hallway.

And let's not even talk about the busted windows and exploding radiators.

It's almost as exciting as seeing a lady naked. Butt nekkid.

I said almost.

So there I was watching Elmo's World, staring at my son and daughter running around, doing a jig to the Elmo's World theme song and, in general, just having a good ol' time with life.

Then, for a couple minutes, I found an evil Grinch smile form across my face.

I have a son, and perhaps a daughter, who will wholeheartedly go see a demolition derby with me. And by wholeheartedly, I mean without question. And by without question, I mean forced.

Because, you see, my wife might not be interested in seeing a demolition derby, but goddamn it if my kid's aren't going to go with me.

We'll see. I just may get my youth back yet.