limited resources

all,
i fear i'm up against it once more and being one who tries to subscribe to the if you can't do it well, don't do it philosophy, i need to step away for another moment.

i will plan to return on march 11th.

best.

troy.

dick-foot!

anthony knows the d-word. and he knows how to use it. mostly he says things like, "i really wanted to say the d-word then but didn't. but if i was still a baby i would have just shouted it over and over ... but babies don't know the d-word which is a good thing because then they might have just laid there in the crib shouting it out when they weren't supposed to."

but when anthony loses his cool he has been known to let the d-word fly loose and wild through the air. and like a master craftsmen with a single, fundamental tool he gets good milage out of this swear staple. there are the expected and surprisingly accurate uses of the word where he'll blend it with something expected, like "head" but there are also advanced combinations, like "face" or "nose", that show the boy's potential. and just when you think you've seen his range, he'll surprise you with inspired uses, coupling the one-syllable weapon with "ear" or "back" or "belly" that leave you wondering if you're seeing a mind touched with a gift or addled by simplicity.

life's footprint

MARTY
that stove is going to look bare one day without your kettle on it.

TROY
where's my kettle going?

MARTY
when you die.

TROY
that's a lovely morning thought to get my day off to a booming start.

MARTY
i do what i can.

shortly after marty and i began dating, in one of those early relationship questions, i asked marty if i died how long she thought it would be before she would date someone else. she thought for a few moments before saying, in a fully seriously tone, "i'm sure it would be at least a week."

a week! a week! now i'd be the first to admit the three years i wished she would say might have been a touch ambitious but a week. in seeing my startled response she quickly adjusted, saying, "not a week -- longer than a week" and then as if bracing for a firecracker to pop added probingly, "like a month -- three months". marty is pragmatic even in matters of the heart, even in matters of new love. but without this cut to the bone approach, marty wouldn't be marty.

she did pay for her cruel offense by shouldering six months of jokes about trying to pick up guys at my funeral and if it would be gauche to invite cute fellas who didn't know me to the funeral just so she could get a jump on the replacement relationship.

several years later when our path together looked a bit more certain, in a quiet moment marty said out of the blue, "ok. so maybe i'd need more than a week before taking up with some new guy." nicer words were never said to my young, longing heart.

the ultimate diversity

an excerpt from a bookguy email about a comment made by his seven year old daughter.

the ugly side of snow

on a saturday night a few weeks back, we had a beautiful snow fall through the night.

on sunday, i built an igloo with anthony (one big enough for him to climb into) and then went sledding with alex (where we'd race down the hills and crash into each other if able).

on monday, i consumed an inordinate amount of ibuprofen.

i really wish they'd work on a drip mechanism i could clip into at work so i wouldn't have to groan each time i got up to get more pills.

was it bigger than a baby's arm?

the lady who cuts marty's hair had a friend whose family kept next to their toilet something they called "the poop knife". the moment marty mentioned this to me in passing was the moment the story became the tale i was most disappointed to not hear first hand in 2012.

what i mean by this is i quickly overwhelmed marty with a flood of questions. what did it look like? was it a proper knife or a tool that looked like a knife? was it taken from a kitchen drawer or a basement tool chest? was it bought special or re-purposed from something already in the house? was it a lame toilet or a giant-sized bowel? was it one bowel or a family of prolific defecators? if the toilet, why not get a new one (or maybe it was one of these new 'efficient' models that started it all)? was the same person, like the mom or dad, always responsible for hewing a fecal mass down to bite-sized chunks or did it follow the 'who dealt it deals with it' philosophy? who had the realization a full-time instrument was required? did they clean it? where did it sit? did they hide it when company came over? is it still used? do you know where it lives? can i go there and ask to see it?

i couldn't have been more astonished to find marty possessed not a single answer to my generous serving of questions. this led to one last question, "however does the phrase "poop knife" pass before you in conversation where the next forty minutes isn't dedicated to discovering everything there is to know about a family who conjured, procured, and put to routine use something called a 'poop knife'.

saddened.

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. boyfriend

the 23rd bit of evidence on why you will never see a parenting book by troy dearmitt

i forgot to mention something regarding my alex/anthony conversation about finding me unconscious. later that same morning at work, i told a few co-workers about the discussion given i was still tittering at the highlights of anthony jumping on my head and aleo performing vcr on me. a few days later one of those co-workers told me my proactive chat inspired her.

she has a seven year old son. he's an only kid and looks at my tree-climbing, rough-housing brood with wide and admiring eyes (being a sedate, only child myself, i certainly recognize this sort of covetous sibling-home worship). the mother found herself in a quiet moment with her son and re-called my Q & A with the boys and thought it a prudent conversation to have, morning exercise ritual or not. she called for his attention saying, "so jack, what would you do if you found mommy sleeping and couldn't wake her up." the boy not expecting anything of this like, said, "what?". the mother re-presented the question. jack's face began to melt in emotion and when he began his response he labored to speak through choked sobs, "well ... i'd ... i'd go tell dad ... that i thought ... i thought ... i thought ... you were dead." my co-worker spent the remainder of her morning, and early afternoon, trying to calm her son down and profusely apologizing for asking him such a terrible and ill-spirited question.

oops. sorry about that.

worms aren't the only things early birds have in surplus

a few years ago i made the switch from being a stay-up-late guy to a get-up-early guy. i lucked into this being a really fortunate life-change because when marty went back to work, my days, quite abruptly, needed to begin at 6:30 am. surprisingly, one of the hardest facets of this hours transition dealt with my exercise. for about twenty years, i've done distance biking and more than ninety five percent of those rides, rides that were between twenty and forty miles, happened in the night, anywhere between ten p.m. and 2 a.m. there are many reasons i prefer biking at night but obviously i couldn't roll in from a bike ride at one in the morning, wash up, wind down, sack out and get enough sleep in before a six thirty alarm chimed. so, no more night rides which means i have to do my sweating in the morning.

because i've always exercised at night, a well published bit of medical knowledge never concerned me. i've read multiple times that more heart attacks happen in the morning hours than in the after lunch window. now, as i would pump and strain on my stationary trainer in the basement twenty minutes out of bed (no time for distance rides before work), this medical tidbit would appear and take a leisurely stroll around my mind while i logged my intervals. this repeated finding proved so convincing in fact, that there were times i'd back off my level of effort now and again out of fear of over-taxing my pre-coffee ticker.

one morning after one of these haunted workouts, i stood in the kitchen still shiny with sweat and in my biking bibs while the boys ate breakfast. i found myself imagining the scene of alex or anthony coming upon me collapsed by my bike. i wondered what they'd do, how they'd respond. so, while they ate their muffins and yogurt i asked them what they would do if they found me downstairs in the morning and i looked to be sleeping but they couldn't wake me up. i asked anthony to answer first.

ANTHONY (6)
well, i'd tell you to wake up and if that didn't work i'd jump on your head.

TROY
jump on my head???

ANTHONY
yes. jump on your head. you said you wanted me to get you up didn't you? and if that didn't wake you up i'd call the hospital.

TROY
how would you call the hospital. what numbers would you push.

ANTHONY
911

TROY
and what would you tell them?

ANTHONY
i'd say you are sleeping and i jumped on your head but you still didn't wake up.

TROY
and where would you tell them to come?

ANTHONY
i'd tell them to come to my house.

TROY
do you know where you live? what street?

ANTHONY
yes. (says street).

TROY
what about the house numbers?

ANTHONY
uhhhm. (thinks for a moment). i would go out the front door and look at the numbers on the front of the house.

TROY
nice anthony. good answer. i think i'd have a sportin chance if you did all that. now how about you alex? what would you do?

ALEX (9)
i'd try to wake you up. if i couldn't i'd slap you. if i still couldn't get you awake then i'd do VCR on you. and if that didn't work i'd call 911.

TROY
wow. very nice answer. although i might suggest calling 911 before starting your VCR on me.

i must say i was oddly relieved to hear how my fellas would react. that said, let us hope that's the last time they ever have to visit the matter.

what's a bedtime story without some tears from dad in the mix.

don't stop on my account.

marty walked into the bathroom as i was blow-drying my hair. the second the door swung open, i turned the dryer off and held it by my side while she grabbed her need and left. when she closed the door i turned it back on and resumed my work.

when she next saw me out of the bathroom she confessed to thinking i was doing something bizarre to myself with the hair dryer. while tempted to run her down a dim and twisty rabbit hole, i admitted that i turned it off only because she opened the door and the dryer is loud and the boys were still sleeping.

i could have sworn she looked more disappointed than relieved. i mean, you don't think she was privately hoping for something like this, do ya?

it's only weird if it doesn't work.

i skipped out on a super bowl party this year to watch the game at home, alone. when marty returned from the party she said a conversation took place about my absence, namely that no one thought i cared about either of the teams enough to need to be alone and found it curious i didn't join marty and the kids at our good friend's party. marty confessed ignorance to my thinking and confessed it be just another one of her husband's quirks that isn't interesting or relevant enough to investigate further (in other words, there's lower hanging and better tasting fruit to be had).

after marty told me of the conversation i explained that i had come to a realization about super bowl parties. i likened them to going to see a really good movie, say like The Godfather, for the very first time, and for this viewing you're going to a public space to watch it with a bunch of other folks but the catch is this -- only half the people in the room are potentially interested in watching The Godfather. see the problem? a good football game, like a good movie, has the high potential of being a special, spectacular even, experience, and i like to reserve the right to jump and shout and swear like it were real life footloose in my study.

and yes, i do know this adds to the theory that i'm a peculiar and priggish ass.

but what makes me less of a priggish ass is that i'd love to share in dinner conversation with anyone in attendance, especially since i heard i missed a conversation about spanking (partners not kids) that i'm sure i would have thoroughly enjoyed ... just not when the super bowl or godfather is playing.

and, something else many could probably guess about me if asked. my favorite commercial ... the god made a farmer spot. i love me some thoughtfully blended words and imagery (i'm torn if i love the impassioned reading or the picture of the busted up thumbnails more -- too close to call).

kudos to the for sure QB killers of the 2012 playoffs -- luck, manning, brady, kaepernick -- no small line-up for the ravens. and as for my rooting for the ravens. my first nfl love is the pittsburgh steelers. my second is some fundamental and head-strong AFC-style defense.

and how amazing was it that kaepernick's interception was the first interception ever thrown by a 49ers quarterback in a super bowl. and that would be in six super bowl appearances by the team. montana and young were quite the butt-cuttin' studs, no?

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. a hole