Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Make It Count...

"Live every day as if it were your last."

How many times have we heard those words?

How many times have we said those words to someone but yet failed to heed our own advice?

Have you ever stopped for a moment to think about what it means to live every day as if it were your last?

It's actually quite daunting.

I would never want to think for a second that today could be my last day on this earth, with my wife, my kids.

That is a lot of pressure. Pressure to do all of the things in a day that might have otherwise taken a lifetime to achieve. It doesn't seem feasible.

Does it mean that I need to set sail on that long overdue Nickelodeon cruise? Should I reconsider sky diving? Must I swim with the dolphins?

Is that what it means?

I hope not.

What if you took the same quote and changed it just a little bit?

"Live every day as if you were going to live forever."

It changes everything.

What I've come to realize, is that life is made up of moments. A million, billion, trillion, zillion little moments.

These moments don't care if you notice them. They won't tap you on the shoulder if you're facing the other way. They run from us. They are streaks of white light in the sky. They are the last raindrops and the first rays of sun. These moments want you to be distracted by bigger and better things, so they can slither away without being seen.

If you want to see them, you need to look for them. You need to wait for them.

If you want to catch a glimpse of these moments, you have to be in the moment.

How can we be in the moment if we're too concerned that each moment will be our last?

How can we cherish the moment if we are fearful that the next one might never come?

But if we have no intention of dying, we might just be able to concentrate on living.

Just for today.

Just for one hour.

Just for one minute.

Just for one breath.

Today I'm going to pass on the cruise, the skydiving and the dolphins.

Tonight I'm going to lay down with my daughter and tuck her in. I am going to wait patiently until she falls asleep and then I'm going to listen to her each and every breath.

I am going to catch the moment. I'm going to strangle it and tie it to the bed post. I'm going to hit it over the fucking head with a 2x4.

It's going to know that I am there.

I refuse to imagine this being the last time. I will do no such thing. On the contrary, I will imagine a life full of these moments.

"Live every day as if you were going to live forever."

It seems far more productive than the alternative...

- For my courageous cousin and her three remarkable daughters. May your tears soon turn to laughter. And for the good man who left this life way too soon. It's obvious to us all that you made each and every moment count. We miss you terribly.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Ass Wipe...

I'm pretty sure my best friend's Mom taught me how to wipe my ass.

As a matter of fact, I'm almost positive. The only thing that seems a bit odd, is that I met my best friend when I was 7.

7 years old seems a bit late in the game to first start learning how to wipe your own ass.


But I can't for the life of me remember otherwise.

I still have a very vivid recollection of being trapped on the toilet in their house, embarrassed to ask for help. I remember yelling toward the half open door; "Can someone please wipe me?"

Man, what a fucking loser I was. Contrary to the beliefs of some that are close to me, I have indeed come a long way.

Since that day, I have asked for many a different thing but never again have I asked another human being to wipe my buttocks.

My oldest daughter is going in to the 4th grade. She's been wiping her own ass for quite some time. I'm very proud of her.

However, my little one will be starting Kindergarten in the fall and she's having a bit of trouble. I don't think it has anything to do with her rate of development. She seems to be excelling at her ABC's, puzzles and skipping. She's even started to ride a big girl bike. But she just hasn't quite been able to master the whole ass wiping thing.

My wife thinks her arms might be too short.

I think we've been too lazy to teach her.

You see, as a Dad, I believe it's my responsibility to teach my daughters certain things. For example:

The difference between a double minor and a five minute major.
The secret identities of Superheros.
How to set an ant on fire with a magnifying glass.
How to make a fart sound with your armpit.
How to make pretend you're sleeping when Mommy wants you to do something.

Out-Numbered - "It is not my job to teach her how to wipe her ass."

Wife - "Excuse me?"

Out-Numbered - "You heard me. I'm not doing it."

Wife - "Why is it my job to teach her how to wipe her ass?"

Out-Numbered - "Because she's a girl."

Wife - "And?"

Out-Numbered - "And you're a girl."

Wife - "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Out-Numbered - "It means anything that has to do with the vagina is your responsibility."

Wife - "Jason, you know she doesn't shit out of her vagina right?"

Out-Numbered - "Yes. I know she doesn't shit out of her vagina."

Wife - "So then what's your problem?"

Out-Numbered - "Her ass is too close to her vagina. I'm not taking any chances."

Wife - "You've got to be kidding me."

Out-Numbered - "I'm dead serious. Guys and girls wipe their asses differently."

Wife - "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Out-Numbered - "Don't they?"

Wife - "You sound like an idiot."

Out-Numbered - "All I'm saying is that I'm not going to be responsible for teaching her to wipe her ass the wrong way. I don't think I'm qualified."

Wife - "You're a loser."

Out-Numbered - "I agree."

Today my little baby went to the bathroom and never called for us to wipe her.

But she did call for us.

She called us in to the bathroom to tell us that she wiped her own butt.

All by herself.

At the age of 4. Not 7 like her old man.

She's not a loser...