Success Hasn't Spoiled Me Yet

The only place where money comes before success is in the dictionary.

Lately I've been taking several three mile walks with my Mom around the neighborhood for exercise purposes each week. We usually whip around the course in about 50 minutes and we get a good sweat going. I like them because it's practically the only exercise I get and Mom likes them because she sees her son is exercising. Plus she gets me alone for 50 minutes where I can't excuse myself from conversation or otherwise hang up as if we were on the phone. Naturally, these walks are where Mom asks me the "touchy" questions; the ones I would probably attempt to skirt or avoid in other settings. Outside at 9:30 at night with nobody around us and nothing but quiet houses in our surroundings, I ain't going anywhere. So all the juicy gossip gets discussed on the streets of Woodcrest after dark.

Several weeks ago, Mom asked me why I don't post more about my childhood on my website. I mean, I write about the kids all the time and about current happenings and events in our lives but I never talk about the past. Why don't I write more about my childhood? Now I know Mom and I know how she tries to get information....he he....so....Mom wants me to open up about my childhood so that she can read deep into my mind about the job she did bringing me up. Mmm hmmm.....sneaky....but interesting nonetheless. (she'll deny this but that's Mom being cute...which she is). So I said OK! Why not? Maybe it will be good to document things from yesteryear in this "journal" so that my children can read about them someday too. Good idea. I decided that, over the next few weeks, I would spend some time talking about my youth. General stuff, you know, nothing therapeutic or otherwise damaging to myself or my family.

Truth be told - there is nothing I could say that would be damaging to myself or my family. I lived a fruitful, generally happy life as a youth. My mantra was always success is more important to me than money. My Dad told me several times a day...or was it per week?...that I have to make MONEY. You need MONEY. MONEY. MONEY. MONEY. Oh yeah, and did I mention that it's good to have MONEY? I think I pissed him off more than once by firing back that I could care less about money - just give me four walls, a wife, a few smiling kids and I am happy - and THAT is what I call SUCCESS!! No wait...I almost forgot.....FOOD. LOTS OF FOOD....

I've been hungry since I was a fetus. My first memory was wondering when the placenta was going to feed me my next meal. I've always loved eating. It's pleasurable. Growing up in Middletown we would have many meals with the Pasquerellas. Patty used to look at me in amazement and would always comment on how much I was enjoying the food. Mom spent most of her free time telling me how important it was to eat right. We didn't have Twinkies or cupcakes in my house. We had carrots and celery. We didn't eat mac and cheese 3 nights a week - we ate chicken and there was ALWAYS a salad and a veggie. All my friends had Twinkies and Ding Dongs in their lunch and I was packing 4 carrot sticks and cottage cheese and my sandwich was on wheat bread. STILL to this day, mention white bread to my mother and she has to be revived with smelling salts.

Lunch was one thing but the battle that was being waged every day between Mom and Dad was a whole 'nother trip. See, Dad is not exactly skinny. He loves to eat as much as I do. Mom works out 15 hours a week and considers 3 Corn Pops to be a meal. Think Fred and Wilma, OK? So if Dad put too much Russian dressing on his salad, Mom would comment. If Dad ate two forkfulls of Rice-A-Roni too quickly, Mom would comment. If Dad ordered Moo Shoo Pork instead of Moo Shoo Tofu - Mom would comment. Now, when Mom went away....he he....

"Bye Mom! Have a good time with Nora for the weekend! Don't worry - the three of us will be FINE!!"

(car pulls away)

"OK - Who's driving to the grocery store? Got the list? OK - double check - Super Sugar Crisp, Chocolate Pop Tarts, Breyers Butter Pecan Ice Cream and HOLLANDAISE SAUCE for tonight's leftover broccoli. GOT IT!"

"NO - we are not having broccoli tonight!! It's MOO SHOO PORK night!"

So Food was paramount in my life and still is. That's why I am capitalizing it. Looking back, however, I have doubts on whether keeping me away from fattening foods was the best move. Most of you have seen me now. I am not a skinny guy. I am not fat...I'm fluffy. I'm pleasantly plump, I have a "teddy bear" physique....you know...BIG BONED....OK OK OK...I am fat...but THAT'S OK because my wife loves me the way I am, right? I've been on the seafood diet for a long time..you know - I see food and I eat it. I really consider myself to be in shape.................MY SHAPE. But I digress.....Keeping me from Twinkies may have created the urge to binge on them once I left the nest. In college, my ideal afternoon was sitting in front of the TV to watch "Dallas" re-runs whilst eating an entire tube of Pringles. YES - those Pringles - the ones my mother would rather have root canal than let me eat. I kept the Pringles brand in existence from 1985 through 1990. It was the "THREE P's" - Pringles, Pop Tarts and Peanut Butter. Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner of Champions.

All of my thinner friends ate whatever they wanted. Gary grew up on Corn Dogs down in Margate. Ate ten of 'em a week. He never gained weight after high school. Mark's mom always kept "the good stuff" in her bread cabinet - Yo Yo's and Ho Ho's and Tastycakes and all that crap. Mark never gained an ounce. Me? I ate so much of that crap from 1985 on that I should have been a house. I held my weight well. People guess my weight and tell me I'm 220 pounds. When they hear my REAL weight they always ask the same question, "WHERE DO YOU KEEP IT ALL?" I tell them the truth - I have a 12 inch penis and 4 pound testicles.

Now, as an adult, I think about food all the time. I am not into drinking or drugs. My vice is good food. I told some dinner guests last night, my ideal eating day - if health is not an issue - would be two Egg McMuffins for breakfast, a double Quarter Pounder for lunch and a few Big Mac's for dinner. MMMmmmmm. Yummy! (pause while Mom peels herself off the floor).

So that's some of the reason why I don't force my kids to eat ONLY good foods. If Elijah wants white bread - I'll give it to him. If he wants fruit snacks once in awhile - he gets them. I don't want to keep it away from them so they run to it when I'm not around. Elijah told me the other day, "Dad, when I grow up - that's when I'm going to eat vegetables, K?" When I was 4 years old I was saying things like, "Mom, when I grow up, that's when I'm going to eat Twinkies and Ju Ju B's. K?"

People remember all sorts of things from their childhood. Can you believe that I have a VIVID memory of the moment I graduated from Whopper Jr's to Whoppers? It was a summer night and Mom and Dad let me stay up for Sonny & Cher. Dad had somehow convinced Mom (too much wine?) to eat Burger King and he told me he was going out and getting me a Whopper Jr.

"No Dad. It's time. I've been thinking about this for several weeks. I'm not your little boy anymore. I use deodorant now and change my underwear every day. I am off the training wheels and last night I stole the Suzanne Summers Playboy from your room. I think I'm ready. MAKE MINE A WHOPPER!"

With tears flowing down my parent's faces, my Dad hugged me, "Son! I'm so proud of you!" Then Mom came over, "WHY!! WHY!!!!! WHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!"

"With cheese," I said emphatically.

jb

The Devil and the Number 4

Have you ever seen the Devil? Probably not...but did you ever wonder what she would look like? :-) Just kidding. Did you ever wonder what IT would look like?

Hmmm...probably red in color. Maybe some horns. Smoke coming off it's head. Long fangs. Holding a pitchfork maybe. Long tail with an arrowpoint at the end. Laughing constantly. Not the funny laugh - you know - the sinister Dr. Evil type of laugh. Yeah, that's it...perfect picture in your head, right? Scary. I mean, the Devil is representative of all evil...all that is BAD in the world. Calling someone the Devil is the ultimate insult. There is nothing positive about the word at all.

Well, I am here to tell you that the red, pointy-ear picture you all have of the devil is...wrong. It's not true at all. I know - BECAUSE I'VE SEEN IT FOR REAL!

For starters, the Devil is not red at all. It's green. It has no ears, no arrowhead tail, no smoke coming off it. Nope. Wanna know the most interesting part? The Devil is in the shape of the number 4. Just typing that number makes me cringe with fear and gets my adrenaline going. I am starting to sweat.....

No I am NOT in a cult. I don't wear clothespins on my nipples and I don't wear fake fangs and fantasize about biting young, inviting women for their blood....well....not for their blood...........but I digress. The number 4 represents EVIL in the purest form. Here's my case....

Child. Sick. Needy. Fever. Whining. Ear infection. Night night at 7:30 - about 30 minutes earlier than usual. No big deal..I mean, she's coming off an ear infection and she's been cuddling and spending a lot of energy sucking on her pacifier all day. She's tired. Plus, she's only one. It's not like she has spent a lot of time being sick, for crying out loud. So...she's in her crib snoring at 7:30. Elijah to bed at 8:00 as usual. Not sick at all - tired as usual....snoring by 8:15.

Dessert. Mmmmm.....found a new lowfat, low sugar ice cream by Breyers. Chocolate Caramel and it was half price at Super G! Niiiiccccccccee. Delicious. Put on my PJ's. Climb into bed at around 11pm as usual. Watch the news....drift off to sleep around midnight next to my sleeping wife.

Ahhhhhh.....REM sleep. Nothing like it. Through my 37 years of experience, I can safely say that my DEEPEST sleep - the most satisfying sleep of the night is two or so hours before I wake up. I mean - I am GONE - kaput - you could prod me with a hot poker and I ain't waking up. Before that time, I wake up easily. After that time, I pop up instantly. BUT DURING THAT HOURLONG DEEP SLEEP I am, as my Dad would say, a bump on a log.

Midnight. One. Two. Three. Three-fifteen. Three-thirty. Three-forty-five.

FOUR. Deep sleep....dreaming......waaaaaaaaayyyyyy gone. FOUR-FIFTEEN. deep breathing...floating high in the sky....Pam Anderson....naked....starts crying....starts with a whine then to a full blown wail..........wait........don't go - crying surrounding my head....what is happening..........?.............

Open my eyes. In my bed. Pitch black. Crying from Hannah's room....head starts pounding. Instant sinus headache. Deb sits up. I squint to try to see the time as Deb gets up to get Hannah. What are those numbers on the cable box....can't quite make them out through the sleep in my eyes....

FOUR SEVENTEEN.

I crawl under the covers and start to cry. My body starts to shake. Deb arrives with Hannah and she is wailing. I get up to get a bottle. The floor is ICE COLD and the clock says nothing but a BIG GREEN FOUR. THE DEVIL HAS COME. Ice cubes growing on my feet as I fill an 8 ounce bottle with warm milk. I have to pee. The pain is unbearable. I kick the gate at the kitchen entrance on my way up, breaking my big toe completely off my foot and sending the toe smashing into the front door. I can't find it in the dark. Satan's work. On my way up the stairs, I limp and nearly slip on the tears that are flowing from my sleep-encrusted eyes. I fall forward at the bedside delivering the fix to Deb who quiets the entire universe with a slight pop as the nipple enters Hannah's mouth. I pee for 2 minutes nonstop but dribble on the toilet seat because I thought I was done after 1 minute. I skate on the ice that blankets my feet back to the bed and crawl in.

FOUR TWENTY-TWO

I am laying in my bed staring at the ceiling with a headache that feels like Regis Philbin is talking with NO filter on my eardrum. Hannah is asleep...soundly...snoring like a baby. I am reading scripture frantically trying to find the prayer that begs God to let you go back to sleep. I don't find it.

Eventually, I DO get to sleep but it's like kissing your sister. A powernap. Uggh. Another one of my least favorite words....NAP. I got up at 4 and then I took a freaking NAP.

My day is shot. Head pounding all day. Fifteen Advil. Just kidding. Fourteen Advil. Dragging my feet and nine toes all day. Brutal.

It takes three or four weeks to recover from that. Therapy is an option but an expensive one. I prefer to use the NEXT evening as a make-up one. I figure a good night's sleep the next night and I can forgive the Devil for visiting me and we can be happy again.

So the next night (last night) I cuddle into bed and drift off to sleep after the news.....one...two...three...........rumble.....the Phillies are about to win the World Series....NO!!! THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!!!!! Not again....eyes open...clock - WHERE ARE YOU - rub my eyes....green numbers.....I see a 10 and I see a ":" before the 10...what's that first number....it get's ice cold in the room as Deb rises to get the bottle....icicles are coming down from the ceiling....suddenly my toe stump is throbbing.....I make out that first number finally...

FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR. FOUR.

Satan has returned. Where's my Advil?

jb