Two years and counting

Despite the cliche, life doesn't always change in an instant. We heard the news 21 weeks into Kate's second pregnancy. We were expecting a baby much like the last one. We expected diapers. Late night feedings. Occasional bursts of screaming.

We just didn't expect twice the amount.

Life did not change the moment we heard the news. It took time. We redid the nursery - Jayden got booted to the smaller room, something I'm sure we'll hear about when he's 14. We redid our lives - I became more of a runner and less of a mountain climber. We redid our expectations. We knew it

 would be hard. We didn't know how hard, but we tried, anyway.

Life changed every day, before, during and after they were born.

Two down and a lifetime of changes to go.

It's been a crazy, hectic, trying, sometimes impossibly difficult but unique, special and kinda wonderful two years.

Happy Birthday Andie and Allie. I love you:

Why am I getting two more cards?

I'm about two-thirds of the way through "Pot-Limit Omaha" by Jeff Hwang. I'm probably also two-thirds of the way through my Omaha experiment.

Both, I think, are going well.

The experiment is playing Omaha almost exclusively for a few months. I know Hold 'Em. You know Hold 'Em. Everyone knows Hold 'Em.

I think I overheard the twins the other day discussing the merits of raising with a small pocket pair in EP.

But not many people know Omaha. I mean, they think they do. But they don't. I'm trying to take advantage of that before they learn.

I see Omaha as Hold 'Em, circa 2004. At the limits I'm playing - $25 if you care - all you have to do is play tight and make lots of "huge" laydowns (which aren't all that huge really) and push with serious draws and you're good.

It reminds me of the old days: Play smart and wait for the mistakes. Football teams win titles playing that way. 

But that doesn't appear to be enough now. It's enough if you don't mind breaking even or making $1.50 a month. But the fish have mostly disappeared, and I'm not sure Barney Frank getting his sensible law approved (gay legislators rock) will bring them back. It seems to me that Hold 'Em's time has passed. I won't give up on it, but I also can't devote the time needed to the game to get a whole lot better than solid, and solid's marginally profitable these days.

Omaha? Well, that's different. Lots of money to be made there if you can stand swings, suckouts and folding flopped straights. And so far I'm right. I obviously need to improve at the game - a lot, actually - but so far solid's working well in Omaha.

I also noticed a nice side effect. When I played Hold 'Em the other day, I was much more aggressive. No, really. Because I do bluff in Omaha - checking is weak and needs to be attacked - and if I can bluff in Omaha, bluffing in Hold 'Em is easy, sort of like running a 5K after completing a half marathon a month ago.

The best thing I like about Hwang's book so far, other than giving me clear, easy-to-follow rules that will help me play a solid, tight game, is it's teaching me how to be aggressive in Omaha. Omaha can be a passive game - it's a fine play to call with a flopped straight with four players left to act behind you on a board with flush potential, for instance - and it's easy to slip into just calling when you have it and checking when you don't rather than taking advantage of position.

Position is just as important in Omaha as in Hold 'Em.

I have a lot to learn, but poker's a lot of fun again, and the best part is I'm learning something new. That's something I never take for granted.

Nothing surprises any longer

I'm really having a hard time understanding why there's so much outrage over Manny Ramirez getting nailed for steroids. 

I mean, really, steroids just don't get me outraged any longer. Or even angry. Or, to be honest, even into a minor tiff.

Because to be any of those things, I think, you have to be at least a little surprised. And I'm well past surprise. I don't think I'll be surprised at the news of any professional athlete taking a banned substance.

Mostly what I do these days is shake my head. If it's another baseball player, I shake my head and wonder if there will be anyone left to vote into the Hall of Fame, and I also wonder how much credibility that place is going to have in 20 years when none of the game's greatest players of this era will be there except for Ken Griffey Jr.

Honestly there's only two athletes that would really let me down if they ever tested positive for a banned substance, and that's Michael Phelps and Lance Armstrong. And I guess Phelps, technically, already's been caught for taking a banned substance, but I'm OK with that substance because he won't have to give his gold medals back. 

Maybe I'm merely hoping that Lance is clean because he's tested clean and I admire him so much.

As we've already seen, however, none of that is enough.

Three annoying things this week

Lord, since I was born a ramblin' man, I had three annoying things happen to me in the last couple of days that I'd like to post about here. Consider it a walkabout.

1. So I'm driving down a tight street with cars parked on both sides in downtown Greeley. Yes, Greeley is large enough to have a downtown. It's not New York but it's still a downtown. Anyway, I had just pulled out of a parking space and was on my way when a lawyer pulled out of his space right dead in front of me, causing me to slam on the brakes.

I know he's a lawyer cause the courthouse is right there. And he has a Porsche.

He then proceeded to continue to pull out, only, as you've guessed by now, he had zero room to do that. So he inched out and then, rather than pulling back in his spot and waiting for me to pass, inched out again and came within an atom's space of tapping my front fender.

OK. Look, I realize he has a Porsche. I know it's a much, much cooler car than my CRV. I love my CRV as it rides like butter over rough mountain roads, but yeah, I'd probably choose a Porsche too. And if we were pulling out at the same time, I'd defer to him just because of the pure awesomeness of the car, in the same way that I'd defer to a guy who could bench twice as much as me if we were walking down a street in opposite directions.

I get the natural order of things. I really do. 

But we weren't pulling out the same time. I was on my way and he expected me to not only slam on my brakes but then BACK UP so he could pull his precious princess out of the spot. 

Nope. I was havin' none of it. I stayed right there and blared my horn. When he gave me a warning glance out his back seat, I gave one right back. He finally threw up his hands and drove into the spot and let me pass. If he decides to sue me later, I'll just write a story about it and make him look like an asshat.

2. I got a haircut today. Sure, I had a disturbing number of gray hairs that peppered my cover cloth, but that's not what was annoying. No, my scalp's been a tad itchy today after the cut, and every time I scratch it, about 10,375 little hairs coat my computer and desk. 

Now, I understand there are always a few hairs after a cut, but where do all these hairs come from? Seriously, there's like a billion now, and a few, inevitably, are now stuck in my keyboard, so it looks like a black cat sat on it for three days.

3. Kate had a rough day yesterday at work, so I suggested we go out to eat to "relax." This is, of course, almost impossible with twins not quite 2 and a toddler not quite 4, but it is what it is. Anyway, we went to Red Robin. Every parent usually eats at Red Robin about 457 times a year. I'm not a huge fan but we do go there a lot because you get a balloon when you walk in, and when you're almost 2 and 4, you think that's pretty fucking cool.

So the girls sat in their high chairs for about .0078 seconds before deciding that they wanted out. So they were rather vocal about their decision that they no longer wanted to sit in the chair. So we took them out. Kate had one, I had the other. This worked for most of the night, even if it was like trying to eat with a small badger on your lap. They occasionally shrieked but for the most part were OK.

Only when I looked over at a table with older folks in it, the grandfather was staring at me and continually shaking his head. He did this for a good 10 minutes. I didn't tell Kate about it because she gets fired up about stuff like that and I wanted her to just forget her bad day.

But. Really? I mean, seriously? Let's review.

1. We are at a RED ROBIN. This is not a place with candles, linen tablecloths and a wine list. They bring you bottomless fries with ranch sauce to start (which rocks, by the way). You get a fucking balloon when you walk in. 

If you can't handle kids at a restaurant, you probably shouldn't go to a place that gives you a balloon when you walk in.

2. The kids were a little noisy but nothing too bad. I understand that I'm used to screams with decibel levels that exceed jet engines, but we are careful about our kids causing too much of a ruckuss, which is also why I was eating with one of the squirmy ones on my lap.

3. It was 5 p.m. or prime dinner time for young children. Go at 7:30 p.m.

I let him stare, however, until we left. I didn't really care. I'd fought my battle for the day.

Colorado Half Marathon

Saturday morning, the day before the Colorado Half, I was a cranky shit.

I whined about my kids sapping so much energy from us over something small like breakfast and told Jayden that "we didn't need that behavior from him" because he's, you know, he's almost a whopping 4 and therefore mature enough to act like a little gentleman 24 hours a day. Kate looked at me after all this and said, "You're cranky."

The real reason, of course, was I felt like crap, the weather was crap and I was wondering if my leg was going to hurt like crap, as it did all last week. And I had a half marathon to run the next day.

What else could go wrong, I thought to myself. 

Now, I realize I posted about a half marathon a couple weeks ago, and it was a great time, but there are races, and there are "A" races, and the Colorado Half was an A race. I ran well in the Horsetooth Half, but I held back a bit just for this race. I had, in a sense, been training for this since November.

So of course I had an injury that forced me to take the whole week off, the weather looked rainy and cold for the sixth weekend in a row (not kidding) and Thursday my nose started to run, thanks to the petri dishes that reside in my abode. 

One thing I've learned to accept after the birth of the twins is that I can't always be in control of my life. It was a tough lesson, but I have accepted it for the most part. Still, I was angry, I admit, that six months of hard training could almost be ruined because of some stupid weather, a stupid cold and a stupid calf strain. I mean, I ran through blizzards occasionally. Doesn't that count for some kind of karma?

Apparently it does.

When I started driving to the race, about 35 minutes away, I was shocked to see broken clouds and then black sky and finally starts. It reminded me of a time I drove eight hours to climb a 14er and wound up sleeping in my car instead of camping the night before because a gnarly thunderstorm that was so fierce it rattled my windows went on for HOURS. By the time I finally fell asleep, at 10:30 p.m., the storm was still pounding away, and I figured the eight-hour drive was a waste of time. I woke up at 3:45 a.m. to pee, and as I got out of the car, the sky was full of a billion stars, and the moon shone silver light across the landscape. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

So I looked up at the sky Sunday morning, and in a moment of pure giddiness, shouted, "YES!" I could have ran in the rain, sure, but folks, half marathons are hard enough, at least for me, and I don't need to battle the elements just to prove something.

Also, when I woke up, it's almost as if my body and the cold worked out a deal. The body would continue to let it ravage me, but only if it took a couple hours off that morning. I felt much, much better than I should have, in other words.

Finally, the calf injury, which sounds insignificant but was so painful right after the Horsetooth Half Marathon that I could barely walk, was gone, and I felt really great. Not only was the calf fine, but all those aches and pains you gather over a half year of training were gone too. Note to self: Taking a week completely off before a hard race is probably a good idea.

When the race started, down the Poudre Canyon, I started banging it, determined to take advantage of the first six miles downhill, and I was a little stunned to see that I could keep running at a 7:40-per-mile clip mile after mile. In fact, many times I had to slow myself DOWN, knowing that I had 13 to complete.

By the time the race was near its end, I knew I was going to PR, meaning I was going to break my best-ever time set last fall, 1:46:45. That is, if I could just hold my pace.

I have climbed more than 175 peaks, but I don't really know if there's anything harder for me than finishing those last two miles of a half marathon. You're just exhausted, yet you have to keep running hard and, essentially, punishing your body when it's begging you for a rest. I tried to focus on my music - I even put "Rocky" at the very end - but that only does so much. 

But I also knew I was going to set a personal record, that the training was going to pay off and that, despite all the adversity, I was going to be proud of my time not just minutes but days later. 

There are few feelings in the world better than that one.

 

Edit: Stats from the race. I ran 1:45:33. The pace was 8:02-per-mile. I finished 15th in my age group, 103/391 males and 157/1,276 overall. 

A star is born

New Strain: OK, here's what I want to do.

Marketing Guy: Mmmm Hmmm.

New Strain: See, my kind just isn't popping these days. We've been overshadowed by West Nile Virus and other sicknesses. I'm tired of being overlooked. I need something hot!

Marketing Guy: Hmmm.

New Strain: I mean, I want to be on CNN 24 hours a day. I want the media to jump all over me like I was, I dunno, AIDS or something back in the 80s.

Marketing Guy: Mmmm Hmmm. Yeah. You know what you need?

New Strain: No, what?

Marketing Guy: You need a name!

New Strain: Whadda mean? I'm the flu. Isn't that enough?

Marketing Guy: Nah. Not these days. Remember, we're living in a tough world. New, flashy, superficial names get all the attention. Dramatic music accompanies news events. Even 30-second stories on TV are cut and pasted together just like MTV videos. You need something eye-grabbing.

This is a cynical society. People are losing their jobs. Whole companies are crashing. Newspapers are dying. There isn't much that will shake people up these days. 

New Strain: Mmmm Hmmm.

Marketing Guy: I gotta be honest with ya. Sure, you're very contagious, and you could be pretty serious, and no one should take you lightly. But you really don't seem that bad. I mean, most people who get you just get flu-like symptoms, right? And they're OK after a couple days? Just like the other strains of flu?

New Strain: (Sighs). Yeah. I was working on that. I've been working out, trying to mutate and all, but....

Marketing Guy: Hey, kid, don't worry (pats him on shoulder). The thing is, the flu kills thousands every year. I'm sure you'll get your share. The thing is, there's really nothing that separates you from the regular flu other than the fact that you seem to be able to spread really quickly.

Marketing Guy: So you know what all these new illnesses had? A name! AIDS. West Nile Virus. SARS. Even your kind got a great endorsement deal because of a catchy name. What was that, um...(snaps fingers several times).

New Strain: Bird Flu?

Marketing Guy: THAT'S IT! BIRD Flu! Catchy. Scary. People were already afraid of things in they sky coming to get them after 9/11. Bird Flu. Genius. It was perfect.

New Strain: So....um....

Marketing Guy: Wait a minute. WAIT A MINUTE! Think of an animal! How about....a cow?

New Strain: Um....

Marketing Guy: No, not a cow. We've already had Mad Cow Disease. How about...a snake?

New Strain: Hmmm....

Marketing Guy: No, everyone hates snakes. Too risky. They might try to wipe you out in no time. You don't want to be a supervillian, kid, just scary.

New Strain: I dunno.

Marketing Guy: Wait. WAIT. I got it! I GOT IT! What's dirty and produces really tasty meats that are bad for you? What rolls around in its own feces? SWINE! SWINE FLU! Ha haaaaaa. It's PERFECT!

New Strain: Swine Flu? I dunno.

Marketing Guy: Trust me, kid, it's perfect. You'll be all over CNN in no time. I wonder if we could get Yo-Yo-Ma to play a haunting Philip Glass theme by tomorrow?

New Strain: Swine? What about "Babe" or Wilbur from "Charlotte's Web?"

Marketing Guy: Those were movies, kid. This is real life. Swine it is.

Career change

Well, I've thought long and hard about this, and I think I need to make a career change.

That's right. I'm going to become the first pick in the 2010 NFL Draft.

Maybe 2011. It might take me a little while to get into football shape.

I thought about the NBA, but those guys get set amounts based on where they're picked, and I gotta tell you, to me that makes NO sense at all. Why on earth would I take my skills to the NBA when I can make, what is it exactly that Matthew Stafford will earn? $41.7 million guaranteed? 

That's the ticket.

I would like to stay in newspapers, but as we all know, they're dying, apparently, and the taking economy isn't leaving me many other options as a writer. I did think about being a professional blogger, but the couple grand a year I made in ad money just won't quite cut it for raising three young kids, and that money's probably not coming back this year, thanks to said economy and the fact that Google has reduced my page ranking to somewhere below Michael Jackson's Q rating with parents of young boys because I took those ads in the first place.

But number-one draft pick? Man. Where else can I make so much coin for doing NOTHING? I mean, other than Rush Limbaugh, no one has a job that sweet.

Rock Star? No, they go on the road a lot, and I don't want my twins to write a tell-all in 20 years about how they slept with the Jonas Brothers because Daddy wasn't around. Plus they have to write music, practice and raise money for Africa.

Movie Star? They mostly live in trailers on movie sets. That's not glamorous enough for me.

Porn Star? It's tempting. But I don't look good in tube socks.

Nah, I think NFL draft pick is it for me.

Oh, sure, I'll have to study a playbook, learn some formations and such and maybe work out a little more than I already do (probably only a little more actually), but lately I'm trying to memorize good starting hands in Omaha and it can't be any more complicated than that.

I mean, look at Stafford. The Lions are paying him that kind of money in this recession, when Detroit just might be the hardest-hit area in a country taking some teeth-rattlers lately. He might be able to buy up all the houses in the city when he cashes his first paycheck. Pretty sweet.

I realize some of you naysayers out there might think the odds are against me. Hey, you might have a point. I realize the only time I ever spent on the football field was in marching band. But I was co-section leader both in high school and in college, so clearly, I know how to lead a group of me (and women) into battle. 

Besides, we all know I can run. Like, a lot. I'll just run if things get bad out there. That's what all those pricey running backs and wide receivers do. I don't know why everyone thinks Larry Fitzgerald is so tough. All he does is run away from those skinny cornerbacks and safeties.

Anyway, I have hope, as I should, because Stafford set the NFL record for most guaranteed money ever. And he hasn't even thrown a pass in a game. Well, neither have I, so we're pretty much even in talent, then.

So, yeah, I just need to run this half marathon this weekend, and then I need to get over this apparent calf injury that's nagging at me *.

Then I'm hitting the gym for good. After all, 2010 is only a year away.

*In all seriousness, it really does hurt, and I'm planning on taking the week off in the hopes that I can heal it in time for the biggest race of the year. Maybe running two half marathons in three weeks wasn't a good idea after all.

Alone, for a bit

I'm sitting here on the couch. It's 8:30 a.m. And it's quiet. It's oh, so quiet. It's oh, so still. The ticking clock sounds like Metallica. The dog's tail sounds like a drum solo. My breathing sounds like a hard wind.

I'm off today, meaning I'm home without kids, without wife and without anything to do (actually, not true, lots of errands to run, but still, it sure FEELS that way).

I used to have days like these every weekend, even after I got married. They're long gone. I don't think I've had a day like this in months. For an introverted, introspective soul like myself, it's heaven, in a Bryan Adams sort of way.

I wish I had more of them. 

I'll pay for this day later, when I have to work all weekend covering the annual jazz festival (tough work, but someone's gotta do it), and tomorrow will be a long, busy day, and not all of it will be filled with great music. 

But for now, I'll enjoy days like this. I'm grateful for it.

I'm also grateful that I don't have them every weekend any longer.

The Horsetooth Half Marathon

"His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy

There's vomit on his sweater already, Mom's spaghetti

He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready"

- Eminem, "Lose Yourself"

I am standing in a crowd of almost 1,000, and I AM nervous as the first song of the race, the song I've quoted above, pumps through my head. 

The air has a bite to it, but it's a welcome chill, as I know what's coming. 

Well, sorta. I'm about to run Sunday's Horsetooth Half Marathon, perhaps the toughest in Colorado. I had many offers to run the course before today's race, and I turned them all down. I wanted to experience it for the first time on my own. I am running this race for the challenge, yes, but also the scenery - the course runs over a huge, sparking reservoir surrounded by mountains - and I want to see it all with virgin eyes. It, like many first times, is more special that way.

Still, man. Really? I look up and up and up and my eyes still can't see the top. I knew this race was steep, but, man, really? I've climbed a few 14ers that weren't as steep as this.

I wasn't planning on running a great time. I was hoping for under two hours. I've got another half marathon in two weeks, the Colorado Half, a huge yearly event, and I didn't want to blow it all on this one.

That goes out the window as Eminem pumps through my head. A race, any race, should not be taken for granted. They're special, almost magical rewards for months of running through the pain and drudgery and bad weather of the grind of training. You finally get to see if it's all paid off.

The song's working. I'm focused for what's ahead. The gun sounds and I'm off.

I'm panting almost right away. Jesus, this road's steep. Sweat runs down my forehead, even with the ballcap I've got on, and at one point, I walk, wondering if I'll go just as fast as running. Running is faster, I discover, but not by much.

By the time the two miles is over, my shin tightens up, a recurring problem, and my thighs are burning and my calves are yelping. But we've crested the "mountain," and the worst part's over. Only 11 miles - and three long hills - to go.

I keep running faster than I want to. Running requires more willpower than just pushing through the pain. You've also got to hold back no matter how good you feel, and on race day, usually you feel wonderful. You're pumped, you're rested and all those lingering aches are gone or at least buried under adrenaline and joy and the time off you take before the day of reckoning. 

On the last hill, around mile 6, I pass many people. I love passing people on hills because it's such a pick-me-up.

In every race, there comes a time when the exhaustion takes over, and then it's just all guts. Sure enough, around mile 10, the weariness elbows me in the ribs, then kicks me in the butt, and finally tackles me, and I've got three miles to go. A 5K. At this point, the course winds through a concrete trail. Concrete, quite frankly, sucks. There's no give, and after a while, it feels like someone is pounding on me with a hammer. I run on the soft trail occasionally, but there's no "spring" on that one, and so I'm constantly switching back and forth.

Really, what I'm trying to do is get comfortable, but I feel like a prisoner trying to sleep on a stone bed. There's just no more comfort to be had.

At mile 12, my calves start to cramp. We're just not used to running up and down all those steep, punishing hills. I yell, out loud, "No, you've still got one more mile to go!" and a few runners look my way, startled, before smiling. We're all in the same boat now. We all hurt. Many stop to walk a bit before trotting on again. I can't stop. If I do, I don't know if I can start up again.

At mile 13, a crowd cheers my plodding, and I see the finish line. I start to sprint and suddenly I'm there. 

The finish line is not my favorite part of the day. It offers the most relief, to be sure, but it's not the best part of the day.

The best part, instead, comes at the beginning, when I'm just about to lose myself in the music, in the moment, in a futile attempt to block out the pain.

This is a tough half marathon, and so most of the people who surround me as I slip on my headphones are real athletes, cut, determined, talented athletes. I overhear them talking about "redshirting" or "track meets" or "scholarships." These exact same people, in other words, who picked me last for just about every game at recess. 

I might be a little nervous before these races, and I might need music to get me through the hard parts, and I may not be as talented as them. But I've also got a message for them as well: The guy who they really didn't want on their kickball team is storming up the same hills they are and is, in fact, right on your tail.

Edit: I finished in 1:53, an 8:42-per-mile pace. I finished 300/952.

 

Growing up by example

This column ran today in the Greeley Tribune:

My wife pretty much always dreamed of being a mother. I think she had other dreams - something along the lines of living in a romantic chick flick, preferably one staring Matthew McConaughey - but being a mother ranked pretty close to the top of her life list.

On my list, being a parent was somewhere ranked between “hike to Everest base camp” and “get to Level 34 at Dig-Dug.”

Needless to say, I didn’t want to grow up. I didn’t get married until I was 30 and when I did get married, I gave up exactly nothing. I started my goal - started, not wrapped up - of climbing all the 14ers in Colorado. I bought an X-Box and played it enough for Kate to occasionally refer to it as “The Mistress.” I read books and watched lots of movies and kept up with every new rock band. 

I was 30, but my mind still pretended I was a teenager.

And then Kate got pregnant. Now I make it sound like it was not planned. Oh, it was planned. We were trying for six months. But let’s be honest. Trying to get pregnant is really fun. It’s easy to forget about the ultimate goal behind the trying when you’re trying as often as we were, especially when you’re brain is still 17.

But all that trying eventually worked, darn it, and Kate was pregnant. When she told me, I acted happy. I was happy in a sort of, “Well, this will be cool, let’s try this out.” I went along for the ride. I helped pick out furniture for the nursery, argued with Kate about my son’s name (she won, of course) and went to birthing class. I even drummed up some nerves, as if my brain realized that it was going to have to accept some responsibility for this baby, nerves that were not calmed until I took Boot Camp for New Dads at North Colorado Medical Center.

Then Jayden arrived, and things, of course, changed. But they didn’t change as much as you might think. Kate got up most of the time. I still played video games - I remember him taking a nap on me once while I blasted aliens  - and I finished the 14ers that year.

When the twins arrived, playtime was over, and I really struggled. I got up with Kate every two hours, for months and months and months, because we both had to feed a baby. I learned how to do things with one arm because the other was always nestling a baby in its crook. I did not climb much at all that year, ran only a few races (and nearly quit one 5K because I was so tired) and focused all my creative energy on making an iMovie of the twins’ first year.

The thing was, I didn’t want to give up fun time. I still went to bed around midnight. I spent a lot of time with my kids but, at times, slightly resented it. I was always looking forward to the next Kansas basketball game or the next movie or, yes, the next level of whatever video game I was playing.

I loved my kids dearly. I just didn’t want them taking over my life.

As a result, I ignored the subtle hints. Kate would throw a huge pile of laundry on the floor and sigh about how hard it was to get it done and cook dinner and vacuum with the kids everywhere. I would nod in agreeable sympathy and talk about how yard work was the same way. 

Finally, one day, Kate broke down and, through tears, said she was overwhelmed. I’m not sure if it was the tears or the words, but a small part of my brain kicked the rest of it in the shin. 

The problem with twins and a toddler is you can put in a lot of work and not really make much of a dent in what needs to be done. You can, for instance, play with one child and have Mom chase the other two around and still believe you’re doing your part. I thought I was being a good husband and father, and I was, by some fairly weak standards. It wasn’t nearly enough.

So - insert the “Rocky” music here - I volunteered to do the laundry. I started cooking dinner at least one night a week. Most of all, at night, after dinner, I was getting wet during the kids’ baths and playing with them until it was time for bed. 

I also shoved Kate out the door so she could spend time with her friends, even if it meant I had all three kids alone. It turns out that Kate, like me, needed her freedom as well. I even recently watched all three for four days when Kate took her first trip away from the kids (to Las Vegas, appropriately). 

The girls turn two in May. People ask me if it’s easier. It’s easier in some ways. Jayden’s settled down, listens to us a lot more and is turning out to be a smart little guy. The girls sleep through the night (usually), can entertain themselves at times and can talk to tell us what they want.

Jayden also still needs more attention than we realize, asks us “why” about a billion times a day and insists on doing everything himself, even if it creates a big mess. The girls still scream loud enough to break the sound barrier and do it way more frequently than I would like.

All of them, however, say “Daddy!” when I get home. So in many ways it’s not getting easier. It’s just a lot more fun. Even those four days with the kids, alone, was fun. No, really, it was.

I am now taking a perverse satisfaction in the fact that I’ve washed more clothes to cover all of the 14ers I once climbed. I am coming up with new recipes to delight and confuse my wife at the same time (she’s still not sold on citrus carrots). I am loving the times when Andie climbs on the couch to roughhouse and am amazed at the punishment she can take (and dole out).

I’ve also given up video games, go to bed by 10:30 p.m., and I’m such a veteran, I teach that Boot Camp class a few Saturdays a year. 

The cool thing about all this is not that my kids are growing up. It’s that we’re growing up together.

Easter Egg Scramble

I really think they should call what you'll see below the "Easter Egg Scramble." Not only is it funny - get it, scramble, heh - but it's way more accurate.
Calling what we did today an "Easter egg hunt" would be like tying a bunch of old tires to the back of a few turtles and calling it a chase or hog-tying some deer, throwing them in a cage and shooting them and calling that a hunt. Our city's staff threw a bunch of eggs on a softball field, a bunch of tiny kids gathered and we all dashed for the eggs.
It was over faster than it takes to cook a bacon and cheese omelet.

Still, it was fun:

High stakes poker and a couple other thoughts

This season of High Stakes Poker is by far the best so far. Adding Dwan to the mix was brilliant, as he had three or maybe more of the most memorable hands of every season.
And just to prove that, last show's $900,000 (!) pot between Dwan and Greenstein was the least interesting of the three, since it was just a coin flip after the flop (overpair versus pair and flush draw) and it practically played itself. The only reason I list it here is because, holy shit, it WAS a $900,000 pot.
Plus anyone who's had a nightmare session playing poker (yep, that's me, raising my hand) had to be comforted watching Daniel Negreanu's meltdown. It can happen to the best of us.
They're adding a new mix of players this week, and I have a feeling it will be a bit of a letdown. Still, why the hell did GSN ever hesitate to renew the show? It is, no doubt, the best poker on television. I usually watch the World Poker Tour after I watch HSP, and I almost fall asleep watching all-in after all-in showdowns.


On another front, April is Omaha-only month in the Pokerpeaker household. I'm writing about this for Pokerworks and will let you know when the story runs. So far, so good. There are too many bad players at the lower limits for me to keep scratching out birdseed in Hold 'Em when I can be eating three-egg omelets with cheese, ham and bacon in Omaha.


The Horsetooth Half Marathon is next weekend. It's been a long, hard winter of training but I know I'm ready. The racing season is underway and I can't wait.

Finally, I'm happy for UNC and Roy Williams, but what a boring game. I found myself rooting for Michigan State just to give me a good game. Still, it's nice to see Roy win his second. I root for him again after we got even by handing out the beatdown we did against them last year.

Mr. Mom's photo blog. The Sunday edition.

Rather than whine about how hard my day was again, I thought I'd post a few photos from today's trip to the Bounce place. This, after all, is why I do it.






















Besides, Kate is coming home very soon and I'll be out the door for a 12-mile run.

Mr. Mom's live blog. The Saturday edition.

6:30 a.m. - The day starts at 6:30 a.m. when a single cry - Daddy! - followed by the sounds of a crib's springs in duress jerks me from a peaceful slumber.
I stumble into their room. Pacey, Andie demands. Out! Out! Out!
Rats. I was hoping they might hang out in their crib a bit and read or, God forbid, sleep.
This is one of the harder parts of the day for me. I am not a morning peson. Few people are, I realize, but while Kate sees rainbows and sunshine when she gets up in the morning, I see dark, stormy clouds and a need for a slow wake up call. It never happens these days. I take them out, they both run into the room, hop on my bed, where Jayden, with the stealth of a ninja, deposited himself a couple hours before, and climb up. Jayden, who is 4 and not a morning person either, protests by climbing on one of them and holding her down. Screams. The day begins.
6:50 a.m. - Mom? Allie asks, as if to really see if she could give me a break and seek out Mom's arms for comfort. I say she'll be back tomorrow. Allie considers this for a moment and then demands to be picked up. I'm the man, apparently.
7 a.m. - Crack eggs. Put in cheese. Get out pan. Not in that order. Oops. I'm still tired.
7:05 a.m. - Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow. I am informed 758 times in this minute that snow has fallen. Hmmm. It doesn't look terrible. Looks like a trip to the Mall playground is in order.
7:07 a.m. - Demands for milk and juice fall on my ears. They are fulfilled.
7:45 a.m. - A new law is enacted. No more screaming. It is broken .0003 seconds later and three more times in the next three seconds. I consider the death penalty but instead retract the law. It can't be enforced without screaming yourself, and that's breaking the spirit of the law.
8:07 a.m. - Allie is trying to scramble up on my lap as I type this, and "I wanna know what love is" calls out on the kitchen radio. I think I know. Time to dress the kids.
8:55 a.m. - Taking care of yourself is almost impossible with three little ones to watch. I somehow manage a two-minute shower. Allie senses that I need help and tries to do my hair.
8:57 a.m. - I start to dress Andie and Allie. I call for them three times and they ignore me, lost in their toys. Normally this would piss me off, but today I've decided to leave my anal personality at, um, home. If they're having fun, it's all good with me.
Regardless, eventually one of them comes by, and I snare her in my trap. Andie screams and rolls over at every second I don't have both arms pinning her down. I realize most 2-year-old toddlers don't hold still, but my kids not only don't like it, they seem to have a serious aversion to it. Not only does that mean I'm constantly chasing them down, but things like dressing and changing a diaper is a workout, not just an activity.
9:30 a.m. - Jayden isn't dressed yet. I'm doing the best I can. Sigh.
9:33 a.m. - We're headed to the mall. The snow is definitely falling but the roads look clear, and I really need to get out. So do they. The mall has some quarter-operated rides and a play area. It has saved my life more than once.
10:25 a.m.- Diapers, six juice bottles, coats, three pacifiers, one bad snowstorm (clear roads), snacks, a huge-ass stroller and three bibs later, we're at the mall play area. We spent an hour there before heading to the food court. I get Chinese, they get overpriced hot dogs at Dairy Queen. Most of the other parents sit and watch their kids play. I don't even come close to sitting in the hour they play (and no, I don't hover), so it feels good to sit a bit. When we leave, there's a mess under the table three feet deep.
11:55 a.m. - Time to go home. I pack the kids back up in a raging snowstorm (streets still clear) and we manage to make it home. Diaper changes, Madagascar (what can I say, the boy likes it), a DQ blizzard and Omaha. Ah. It's probably the best part of the day until the kids go to bed.
When is the Final Four?
The girls are totally attached to me now at least. I'm finally A No. 1 parent! Who-hoo!
2:30 p.m. - They're still asleep. Sweet. Naps rock.
4 p.m. - I chop up the ingredients for our homemade pizza. Thanks OhCaptain for the suggestion. Summer sausage, Italian sausage, pineapple, ham and turkey pepperoni. We all gathered around it and put the ingredients on there. It was fun.
4:30 p.m. - We chomp up the pizza. Jayden is kinda driving me nuts right now, begging to go to the jumping place and not taking no. Plus he keeps hitting the girls. He gets a few time outs, attempting to set the record for time outs taken in an hour.
4:40 p.m. - The Final Four's on. Sweet.
5:25 p.m. - Allie pushes the kitchen set far out into the middle of the floor. Where did she get that strength?
5:26 p.m. - Jayden colors. It's much more peaceful now.
5:28 p.m. - Andie says "off" and wants a plastic ball stuffed down a cup taken out. I can't do it. It won't be the first time I disappoint her.
5:35 p.m. - Andie and Allie are having a drag-out, scream fight right now. Wow. I haven't seen that EVER. Then Andie seems to understand what's going on and tries to talk to Allie about "her shirt." Their communication is really funny. I do think twins can communicate more than other siblings.
5:36 - Andie keeps hounding me. I am neglecting my kids. Time to get a bath. Andie confirms this by getting right in my face and saying "No more Daddy."
5:45 p.m. - One of the tougher parts of the day. Bathtime. I corral Andie and Allie in our room so I can watch the MSU/UConn game. I gather their diapers, towels and PJs to the bathroom and corral them in our room again. Allie keeps taking Kate's summer clothes and trying them on and saying "Cute." I tell Jayden he's after the girls. He takes his clothes off and throws a shit fit when I tell him he's second. Whatever. I let him go first. Maybe he'll be a spoiled brat when he's older, but for now, I've seen enough fits over nothing. Allie's diaper is dirty, so I clean her up. When it's Andie's turn, she fights me once again. These girls cannot sit still for a second.
Wash hair, clean off, watch game, prevent drownings, dress, put diapers on. It's an intense 45 minutes.
6:30 p.m. - Andie blows my theory. She is sitting here with me, guzzling grape juice, while I type, and imitating everything on "Word World." These cuddle moments are few and far between, so I'm enjoying it. If it lasts more than a couple minutes I'll be stunned.
6:31 p.m. - Allie climbs on the chair and is close to toppling off. Moment's over.
6:32 p.m. - Oops. I mistook Allie for Andie, I actually had Allie with me there. Yes, that still happens.
7:07 p.m. - I have my first meltdown. Jayden sits by me, Andie crawls up and Allie, who I've held for the last half hour, starts to cry right by me after I have to tell her to stop crawling up. They all start whining, and I'm trying to update my music list, the first thing I've really done for myself all day. I freak out momentarily and even yell a bit.
Imagine being in a marathon, thinking you're only a mile or two away, then realizing that you've got a dozen left to run. 7 p.m is like that for me. So close and yet I've still got more than an hour to go before the kids go to bed.
7:20 p.m. - The girls go to bed. Andie calls for her blankie and I have to run down to get it, but I'm willing to do that at this point if it means she goes to sleep.
She does.
7:35 p.m. - Jayden and I watch the last few minutes of a movie I put together of his first year when he was a baby. He asks me 874 questions in that 10 minutes. Poor guy. He doesn't get the one-on-one attention he deserves after a day like these.
Regardless, I put him to bed, and he falls asleep in two minutes.
He seems as tired as I am.
One down, one to go. But today, I did it.

Mr. Mom's live blog

I decided to live blog the weekend all alone with the kids. Read for proof that all survived (I'm pretty sure, we haven't done a final count yet).


Thursday/Friday


The dress rehearsal before Saturday and Sunday, when I have them every second of the day. Thursday was only a couple hours after work. Not bad.
I took Jayden swimming for an hour and a half and then picked up the twins at 3:30 p.m. from day care. Thus endeth the dress rehearsal.
I'm not sure how evolution decided to give toddlers who are almost 2 a full, intelligent and determined mind. I really wish at times like these their brains were still wiring up, so they would just sit on the floor and wait for me to dress them, bring them food and give them juice.
Instead, I have tiny people running around who believe with all their tiny hearts that they are fully capable of doing anything they want, when, in fact, they're capable of crapping their pants and that's about it. This means the percentage of time I spend taking them down from counters, chairs, tables is much higher than the percentage of things I actually accomplished. My kids also do not believe in playing with their toys. They'd rather get into everything in the house they're not supposed to get into, meaning I'm constantly picking up little piles of messes everywhere they go, or worse, removing, say, a pair of scissors from one of their hands.
I play Omaha for an hour today while Jayden watches "Madagascar." I finally get to relax for an hour. I lose $50 to three two-outers. Awesome.

Conversation with Jayden, 4: "Can I go swimming Daddy?"
Me: "We went swimming today."
Jayden: "Can I go to Ruthies? (His day care provider).
Me: "No, tomorrow we're spending the day with Daddy and the girls."
Jayden: "Why?"

Weather report: Blizzard warning after midnight. That's the best fucking news I've ever heard. Sweet. That means I'll be trapped in the house with all three kids.

It's not the best start? But the scary thing? It really could be a lot worse.

Help, I need someone

A couple hours after this time Thursday, the wife (not The Wife, Kate) will be leaving on a Jet Plane to head to Vegas with her parents and a friend.
Fortunately I do know when she'll be back again.
Unfortunately it will not be until Sunday.
Now before you pipe up about my two trips out there without her, yeah, I KNOW. That's why she's going.
Still, it leaves me with twins under 2 and a toddler under 4 from Thursday until Sunday.
It won't be terrible since I work Thursday and will only have Jayden for a while Friday. But Friday night the fun begins.
I have run or worked out every day for two weeks, pretended that my soft, soft pillow is really a club with spikes and am mentally preparing for the fact that I may not see much of the Final Four.
Kate's stated goal for me this weekend: "Just keep all three kids alive."
That's probably not a goal where 66 percent would be considered good. So let's crank up the comments, folks. I have a few questions:

1. What fun kid stuff can I make and serve for dinner? I can cook, don't you worry, but I'd like something other than Hamburger Helper (which will be served one night, Cheeseburger Mac is pretty damn good).
2. What fun kid stuff can we do together, besides go to the Mall play area (which we will hit up Saturday, don't you worry)?
Inevitably the thing I hate most about taking care of all three of them is I put out more fires and prevent them from killing themselves more than really spend quality time and have fun. So I'm trying to do a little prevention.
3. What should I tell them when they ask for Mommy? That she left to join a radical movement bent on saving the Polar Bear? That she needed a break because you all were driving her nuts? That she went to go play with her friends? What will a child that young understand?
4. What prescription drugs would you recommend so I can survive the weekend?

Yes, newspapers still have younger readers

When I walked in from my morning run clutching the newspaper, one of the twins, Andie, pointed at it and said "newspaper."

I think one twin is getting an extra jellybean tonight.

Finally, a snow day

It's been a dry winter. I'm cool with that since it's a lot easier to run on a dry street. But it was time, and sure enough, Thursday the snow started falling during my 6-mile run and didn't stop until today. We got enough to earn it a title - the Blizzard of '09.

Here's what we did with it.

Five ways I know I'm a parent of three young children

Hey. A lot is going on with me right now, and I can't really talk about it just yet. But I want to post, so here's a lighthearted post. Five ways I know I'm a parent of twins under 2 and a toddler under 4.

• I have the agility of a ballet dancer. I used to be clumsy and unsure, even when I was climbing mountains every weekend (I was always surprisingly nimble on the thin ledges or rocks, however). But now? I can dodge a minefield of dolls, lego blocks, Hot Wheels cars, DVDs, blocks with sharp corners, toy strollers, big fire trucks, shoes, clothes and the occasional twin, toddler or dog. All in a manner of seconds. When I do inevitably trip, I usually do some Baryshnikov-like move in the air and land on my soles. I usually skip the bow, though, because I'm probably chasing after a twin, and they're pretty fast now.

• I can cheer silently during sports, even Kansas basketball. It gets a little tougher now, during the tournament, but I keep it in check for the most part. I used to LOVE to yell, both good and bad, at them, but having a dog cut out the bad, and having kids cut out both.
I'm not perfect. I was cheering the other day and the toddler, Jayden, kept looking at me and laughing and saying, "Daddy, what you doing?" He asks me that 1,576 times a day anyway, but I could tell he was slightly concerned. When I asked him "But it's all in good fun, so it's OK when Daddy yells because it means he's happy, right?"
He looked at me and said, "Well, no."

• I have the patience of a monk. OK, not a monk. Maybe a hyperactive monk. Still, I am a 100 times more patient than I used to be, which means I"m still not quite patient enough with the three. When Jayden spilled all his cereal all over himself the other day, mainly because we were screwing around during breakfast, he cried and I merely laughed a bit and told him it was OK. I could not do that two years ago.

• However, my laser-like memory has been reduced to swiss cheese. I can't remember people's names as often as I should, and that's because my brain is too occupied with things like:
- "Where did Andie go?"
- "Where did Allie go?"
- "Where are their pacifiers?"
- "Where are their juice cups" (Today I found a cup with cottage-cheese in it because it had milk in it for a couple weeks and we just discovered it. Oops.)
- "Where are their fucking juice cups?"
- "When are they going to bed?"

• I can change a diaper in the dark, while grabbing another twin with one arm, with my back turned, with poop getting on my hand, while the other one fights me, while getting their bath ready, while screaming (softly) at Kate for help, without missing a beat or gagging.

Bonus: I really enjoy even the screamiest heavy metal now because, hey, it can't be any worse than when the girls start feeding off each other.

Crossroads

Everything should be fine. We're a strong country. We've survived worse. I think. Not since I've been alive, but we've survived worse.
Everything should be fine. So we'll lose a few businesses. It won't shake our foundation.
Everything should be fine. So people are losing their jobs. That will just create new opportunities for people.
Everything should be fine. So newspapers are shutting down or closing, and jobs are disappearing and the market is flooded with good writers now. Your newspaper can hang on. It's smaller and we matter here.
Everything should be fine. So you're not really sure you could do anything else other than write, and it's hard to say how many writing jobs are out there. People who can actually write are rare. Your skills will be valued.
Everything should be fine. So yeah, wow, it's starting to look super scary out there, but it's not like our economy will just collapse.
Everything should be fine. So the easy targets are disappearing at PokerStars. The UEIGA will be repealed, and soon the fish will be back.
Everything should be fine. So you're worried about the freelance jobs you already do have. You didn't NEED the extra money anyway, even if you were putting it toward an emergency fund that you're afraid you're going to have to use.
Everything should be fine. So you're worried about how you'd make it with your three young kids and the house payment if you did lose your job. Kate still would have hers and the cars are paid for.
Everything should be fine. Yes, your newspaper seems to have half the people in the building it once did, but you've survived. You're good. You're valuable. You'll make it even if more cuts happen.
Everything should be fine. Web journalism appears viable, even if they haven't figured out how to actually make money at it. More people are reading than ever. I'm sure they wouldn't mind paying for it.
Everything should be fine.

Denial is a wonderful tool. Maybe I'll actually start believing those statements up there. I'm just not sure when it becomes delusion.

Omaha, Vegas

I strolled up to the Venetian's poker room confident as a cock...er, rooster....ready to stake my claim.
"What would you like?" the lady asked.
"Omaha," I squeaked.
My voice came out like I had just sucked down enough helium to fill the balloons at a Red Robin grand opening.
I really wanted to do this. I had fallen for Omaha in a way I had not felt since the Heather Thomas poster I had on my wall during my junior high school years. I not only love the game, I'm infatuated, and play it in the PokerStars cash games probably as much as Hold 'Em, mostly for two reasons:
1. Hold 'Em, even No-Limit, at the nine-handed tables that I play usually feature about as much action as two 12-year-olds on their first date watching "The Little Mermaid" in front of her parents. There's usually five rocks waiting to get A-A so they can win the blinds when they raise, one fish, one aggressive idiot and me.
But Omaha has action. Lots of good, fun action Jackson at .10/.25 pot-limit, especially six-handed.
2. The players, unlike the Hold 'Em players, are much worse than me. I've seen so many lately push their whole stack in with Q-Q-x-3. I called off a player just last night with two-pair, J-5, because I knew he had an overpair. Sure enough, he showed Kings with no hope for a draw, then reamed me for five minutes. I declined to educate him.
Still, I knew the live players would probably be better than that, and not only that, but I'd have to play HI-Lo, which is fun but not exactly a game I play often. Namely, like, never.
I got a few tips from Drizz and CK, however, and so I felt somewhat ready to play.
On the first hand, I was lifting up my cards when the dealer gave me two and nearly caused a misdeal because I not only knocked my third card face up, I nicked the player's to my left. The dealer gave me a look, like, "Um, hey, idiot, remember this is a four-card game."
It was a good start.
I bought in for $200 and immediately lost about $75 of it. I resolved to tighten up a lot more and then played A-2 that eventually turned into a wheel. I had the low on the turn and figured I was freerolling. I scooped the pot.
I was so proud until the dealer set the half-kill button in front of me and told me to stack six chips on it.
Why? I want to enjoy my pot! I don't want to just give it away!
Oh, yeah. OK.
Of course, when it got to me, I was three milliseconds away from mucking my hand when the dealer "hinted" that I might want to hang on to them, as those six chips are an automatic call. Nice job, I told myself, and laughed, remarking that I must really love my hand. The table laughed too. Ah, well, at least I was a comedian among the old, grumpy guys and annoying know-it-all to my right who pointed out the high and the low whenever someone tabled his or her cards before the dealers opened their mouths.
To know-it-all's credit, most of the dealers knew the game, but some clearly didn't. One seemed to have no clue how to divide a split, three-way pot that had a quartered low and a side pot. I know that's confusing, but isn't that her job? It took, literally, five minutes to figure it out. Granted, had the other players just shut up and let her work, it would have gone much faster, but we know how often that happens at a poker table.
Some general observations about my play:
• I was afraid of going for just half the pot, especially when it was a low. As a result, I folded a couple of lows that I maybe should have stayed with. But they were not the nut lows by the turn, and usually it was either heads up or against one other player, and it just didn't seem worth the chance of it not getting there or me getting quartered. Which, by the way, happened to me twice regardless.
I'm not sure if that's good or bad to worry too much about winning only half the pot.
• I had some bad luck when I flopped a full house on a K-K-6 board and a pair of 6s in my hand. I was heads-up with a woman who was clearly clueless. When the third K fell and she smirked, bet and then looked away, I mucked my hand with a touch of anger. I'm pretty sure she would have called down my raises to the river with her trip Ks. I also had a set of Qs shot down by a flush on the river, but I did not pay the two players with flushes off.
• I rarely played a hand without a good low possibility, meaning if I didn't have A-2 or A-3, I usually didn't play it. I did play high cards but not too often. It didn't seem to cost me, either, as I would not have hit much, but the quality of the show-downs - some won with only two pair or even just a pair at times - made me think I should have played more hands. I probably need help on hand selection. CK's tip to not play hands with a dangler really did help.
• The table was very passive, with a ton of check calling. I realize that's not a bad way to play in Omaha, as opposed to Hold 'Em, but I'm also convinced a better, more aggressive player who could put people on draws could have made a lot of money.
Any tips, though (CK I'm on Facebook!) would help.
I left about $125 down after several hours. I considered it the price of entertainment and a nice sorbet to clear my poker pallet before I would make it all back, and more, at the $1-2 NLHE tables that night.

Proof

Thoughts on two days in Vegas:

• Proof that I don't mind adventure (in case you haven't guessed that by now) - I played 4/8 Omaha Hi/Lo at the Venetian. Definitely a highlight of the trip. Fun-wise, not bankroll-wise.

• Proof that there are some certifiable nuts on the strip: A guy in a Jesus saves ballcap (maybe from "Jesus Christ Superstar?") was shouting at people with a mic. One of his arguments was, "You have no guarantees in this world. A satellite could fall from the sky and land on you."
So I should start kissing a Jesus statue's feet because of a 1 in one quadrillion chance (or about as much chance of me sucking out on someone)? Sign me up!

• Proof that one in one quadrillion chances do occur: I pushed my semi, frustrated short stack against a guy who was fairly tight at the Bellagio Friday with A-K on a K-high flop. I thought I was dead when he turned over two more Kings. I was right until I went runner, runner straight for the pot.

• Proof that I can play too weak - I had far too many pocket pairs to count but didn't play them strong enough (just one set out of the literally 30 I had would have helped, but I digress), but I got a little gun shy after an old man cracked my A-A with K-3 sooted and my J-J with 8-3 sooted.

• Proof that I was not in charge of the trip: No Steel Panther. Sorry, Blood, Wife, Doc, Trooper, StB. I have failed thee.

• Proof that I still have The Goods: Five women hit on me this weekend. And only four of them wanted money for their services.

• Proof that I'm delusional occasionally: The fifth was stumbling, bumbling drunk.

• Proof that I can run well after a couple frustrating, soul-crushing poker sessions (including dropping $200 at a 3/6 limit game, which I was playing so I could join my buddies at the poker table) - At Caesar's, I finally flopped a set, doubled up through a guy's Kings, then flopped a straight with 10-9 sooted and got paid.
I was shocked at how dead Caesar's poker room was. There was tournament action but the cash games could barely get one two $1-2 no limit games together. Shame.
At that night's 3/6 game, which we were playing to unwind before bed at the MGM, I didn't even have chips yet when the dealer asked if I wanted a hand.
Well, sure.
He dealt me 2-2. I announced call without my chips and we were off.
Flop 2-8-2.
Not bad.
One guy bet, another raised, and again without my chips I announced call. I thought about raising but there were two hearts on the board and I was hoping at least one of them had a flush draw.
The third heart came. Bet, bet, and I announced "raise." Sure enough one folded but the other called.
He bet out again - heaven - and I raised on the river, without chips. He called and showed an A-high flush. I quickly flipped my quads because slowrolling is for douchebags. The table went nuts. How sweet is it to have your chips brought to you while a pot is shipped to you at the same time?
That's like....um, well, Mom might be reading this so never mind.
• Proof that there is a natural balance to things - The quality of the women went down as we walked south down the strip, from Caesar's to the Bellagio, then to New York New York. The MGM helped things a little but it just wasn't the same.
• Proof that I had a good time - I didn't even care that Kansas blew its game against Baylor.
• Proof that I'm lucky - My kids and wife were waiting for me when I got home.

I deserve a break today (but I'll wait until Thursday)

I've discovered the key to being a good parent.
Sorry, but it's not the time you spend with them.
Sorry, but it's not God.
Sorry, but it's not good clothes, good schools and a good place to lay your head.
Oh, all those are important. But they're not the key.
The key is the break.
If I know a break is coming, I can work for weeks on end without complaint. I can take all the fussing, sussing and fighting. I can take anything. I can go without sleep and run like the wind for many days in a row. I can do anything.
But only if I know a break is coming.
Well, it's coming.
In 24 hours or so, I'll be on a plane.
Viva Las Vegas.
Baby.
Thursday morning, I'll arrive, and by noon, I'll be at the poker tables. Then some buddies who are turning 40 arrive Thursday night, and it's time for a nice dinner and whatever else happens.
I don't have to plan anything.
Friday, we might even go to see Steel Panther.
I don't get many breaks. And this one's only a couple days long.
It's all I need. It's not the break itself, although that's awesome.
It's the fact that it's coming. And close.

One dog day at a time

We went to a psychiatrist last night. Ha ha, no, it wasn't for me.
It wasn't for Jayden or the twins, either, though I've been tempted. The wife? She's the only real stable one in the house.
No, it was for our dog, Denali.
We wanted a husky when we walked into the animal shelter eight years ago. I'd always loved them, and they'd be perfect for the name I already picked out. Plus some of my best friends had one and I got along with her better than most of my girlfriends, despite her about as much attitude as many of them.
But we walked by the cage, and he met our eyes and started wagging his tail as if it was a metronome, and by the time he had finished with his back and forth, he had our heart.
We knew there would be some issues. He shuffled on his butt, as if he was afraid of someone booting him there. It took some work, but underneath all that fear was a sweet, loving dog who wanted to please, played ball with the best of them and lay with us at night on the couch.
When he bit the first person, a jogger, about four years after we had him, it didn't seem that seem that serious. He didn't hurt the guy, really, and he was running right at me. I honestly didn't blame him.
However, the next time, it was a friend. Again, not serious, but it was like that once or twice a year. And then, two weeks ago.
My sister-in-law's mom and dad came to Kate's parents. And they just walked in the door.
That was the thing. If you spent a little time with him, Denali would be in your lap in a few minutes. But if he didn't know you, and you walked in the door, he'd bite you. And this time, it was serious.
He bit her so hard, in fact, she had to go to urgent care. Thankfully it really wasn't that bad, but there were two puncture wounds, and we know it was terrifying for her. Frankly, it would terrify the hell out of me.
We were ready to put him down.
I called our vet, who I've known for years, and he recommended a behaviorist. That's who we visited last night.
She's made a career out of reading animals. She'd probably make a pretty good poker player, as she's a master at reading non-verbal clues. But she's a mother of three and very busy. Her time is in great demand these days.
I could see why right away.
She taught us how to defuse his anxiety, as that's what was causing the bites. I agreed with her. It seemed that first year never did leave him, no matter how much we loved him. She taught how to help him relax, mostly with food, and how to establish his own area where he can feel safe.
It will be some work, but there is hope now that our dog, really our first child, can stay with us and leave his demons behind.

Five things I don't want to hear another smidge about

1. Stories about how the economy is affecting businesses. I don't need to read a single word about how the economy is hurting the ketchup industry or the diaper industry or the tampon industry. Editors are just getting lazy now. Things are bad. I get it.
2. That batshit woman who had eight kids. Let's not reward her heinous act by feeding her obvious, disturbing need for attention any longer, OK?
3. "The Bachelor." OMG. He DUMPED ONE WOMAN FOR ANOTHER. Holy Cow. That NEVER happens in relationships! He had a change of heart? What a BASTARD! Come on, people, let's pick up our jaws off the floor and move on, shall we?
4. How newspapers are dying. Thanks.
5. American Idol. Unless Change 100 is writing about it.

Things will get better....right?

Downswings happen. We know that as poker players, right? Everyone loses at some point. That's why we have bankrolls. They're there to absorb the hard times.
That's what gets me about everyone's utter lack of faith in the economy right now. That's what the bailouts are for. We're just using part of our nation's bankroll to help with these hard times, until the cards come our way and the economy gets better.
But I am beginning to have serious doubts, try as I might not to worry.
I never doubted my ability as a poker player before this two-month downswing because I have the bankroll to play at the level on PokerStars, but what if, I thought, these hard times are more of a trend than a symptom? What if it's going to be like this for the year, until the UIEGA gets repealed and the fish come back? What if nothing happens?
The same thoughts about our economy crawled through my mind this weekend during the annual Colorado Press Association convention. The Rocky Mountain News went under Friday, leaving Denver with one newspaper and rumors of the Post doing just as poorly. The room for the awards ceremony seemed empty and sullen. Everyone spoke of hard times.
I'm facing a different situation than many of you. I'm not too worried about being downsized, even though all our salaries were cut last week. When I won three awards at the ceremony this weekend, including two firsts, my publisher and editor were sitting right next to me. They know I'm important.
I just don't know if our industry will survive. It is, literally, like being the captain of The Titanic, as cliched as it sounds.You might be important to the ship, but that's not all that great if it goes under.
Regardless, lots of companies are going through the same thing, and I could not help but wonder if our nation's bankroll is enough. I don't know what kind of a reserve we have, but what if we go broke? It's happened to even the best poker players. I pictured our nation as a Mad Max wasteland, with people fighting over busted-out homes and sticks with fire. Really.
I want to believe that we will pull out of this, and that this is just a painful readjustment of what we can live with as a nation.
I've never carried any credit card debt, my cars are paid for, and my three kids are clothed, fed and have plenty of toys (they are still whiny as hell, but you can't have everything). We do this on a teacher's and journalist's salary, the two professions lowest on the scale with college degrees. I'm not saying this to brag. I'm saying this because it is possible to have an economy where everyone lives comfortably without relying on credit to power it. Granted, my life isn't fancy, nice or stuffed with luxury. But it's comfortable.
I like what Obama is doing, but I also know he's a poker player, and it does seem like a risk. Even if it is smart, we all know that getting our money in good, that playing smart, doesn't always work.
It's a new month, March. And I had a terrific session Friday, wiping out half my losses in one night. Then I went and played some live poker with friends, and despite suffering four awful suckouts, including almost all my chips to a literal one-outer, I cashed. Then I went home and wound down with some Omaha and won again.
I went to bed last night feeling good about poker and my game again. I'm just looking for the same encouraging sign for our country.