The Year of Amazing: Resolutions Update

Back in January I made a big stink (you know, the kind that's so relentless that it actually impresses your wife) about how 2012 was going to be an amazing year, and I set forth a list of challenging goals. We are nearly two months into the year of amazing, and I thought it'd be a good idea to update everyone on my progress (plus, calling myself out publicly adds a little pressure to get it done). 

So here is my Resolutions Update:

1. I am going to lose 20 pounds.
So far I've lost 5.5 LBS, which is a nice start considering Frito-Lay keeps discounting Doritos in every grocery store within a 75-mile radius of my house. It's a cruel game. Well played, Frito-Lay. Well played.

2. I am going to run a half marathon. 
I ran my first 5k a few weeks ago and my legs didn't fall off. I also learned that my stride falls in perfect rhythm with the Simple Plan classic, "You Suck at Love" (thank goodness my stride doesn't fall in line with this song). I have a 10k scheduled for this weekend. And it will all culminate on May 6, when I plan to be one of the most celebrated Cinderella stories at the big dance this year (The Flying Pig Marathon). To show their support, my girls even made me these armbands for me to wear when I run (see above). They made my heart melt. I will treasure them forever, and will always remember them as my resolution armbands.

3. I am going to take part in a flash mob. 
I'm still looking for more Dads to participate in this one. If I can't get enough Dads, I'm going to open it up to everyone because I'd rather do it than not do it. I promise this will be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It will also be quite awesome. Click here to contact me if you're interested no matter who you are.

4. I am going to find a way so that all three of my kids can sit on my lap at the same time and get a photo with all three of them smiling at the same time AND with all our eyes open. 
I'm convinced this is impossible. 

5. I am going to read my kids The Little Prince. 
We are on Chapter 4. We'd be further along except that some people who visit frequently keep my children up past their bedtime. I don't want to call these people out publicly, so, to hide their true identities, I will give them silly aliases, like Nonni and Poppi.

6. I am going to beat Andy Uhl in Scrabble. 
I keep trying to challenge him, but he keeps running from me. Is it because he's exhausted from chasing after his two 21-month-old twin boys and nearly 4-year-old daughter every day? Unlikely. Is it because he's providing web coding for his wife's amazing mom blog? I doubt it. Is it because he's training for this upcoming softball season? Perhaps. Is it because he knows that I know that "Qi" is a word and will drop it on him like a hammer? Well, Andy Uhl, here's what you need to know.

7. I am going to get rid of my blue sleeping pants that sport a giant hole in the crotch (much to the chagrin of my wife, I'm sure). 
Mission accomplished. I can only hope that they are now safely in Sleeping Pants Heaven, where there are other long-forgotten sleeping pants to mingle with.

8. I am going to pitch a Life of Dad book to agents and put myself out there. 
The proposal is finished. One sample chapter written (with a few others started). Now comes the hard part. Wish me luck.

*****
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Valentine's Day Stress in 6 Easy Steps

Valentine's Day used to be an easy, predictable process handled in 6 steps:

1. Forget it was Valentine's Day.
2. Panic because I didn't get my wife anything.
3. Offer to make it up to her by walking around the house shirtless for the evening.
4. Offer to never walk around the house shirtless for the evening ever again.
5. Clean the house as much as possible, doing little things she's been asking me to do for weeks¹ like replace the light bulb in the basement or replace the light bulb in the basement or, seriously, replace the light bulb in the basement.
6. Rub her feet and not complain while we watch "Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood."

Now that we have kids, Valentine's Day is a little less predictable, but still plays out in roughly 6 steps:

1. Pick out Valentine's Day cards for kids to sign and hand out to classmates, teachers, cousins, friends and Santa Claus (doesn't hurt to get in good with him early in the year).
2. Argue over who gets to use the cards with Tinkerbell on them and who has to use the ones with the "other fairies" on them.
3. Leave room to get a drink, come back and all cards are magically gone. Find out they have been "hidden" in a very secure and secretive place.
4. Find all Valentines shoved in mailbox.
5. Also find gas and electric bill in mailbox. Open it. Look at cost. Become depressed.
6. Wish it were like the olden days when I forgot about Valentine's Day.

When comparing the two, I have learned that one this is for certain: Valentine's Day induces a lot of stress. Stress about gifts, about cards, about hoping for forgiveness because you thought the card you got your significant other counted as a gift. I'm convinced the stress of Valentine's Day is 95% responsible for my receding hairline (the other 5% is credited to the Reds bullpen).

But I'm lucky and here's why:

I may not good at buying gifts and it's pretty clear that I'm a terrible foot rubber, but I am good at one thing: Being completely in love and devoted to my wife and family. My wife knows there's nothing I wouldn't do for her (except replacing the light bulb in the basement, perhaps) and she knows that I try hard every day, not just on Valentine's Day, to show her how much I care. Bringing her water at bedtime. Getting the kids washed up for dinner. Letting her stretch out on the couch comfortably while I set up shop on the floor. Not shaving so she can have a little extra time in the bathroom. Picking my nose less frequently. These are the things that you do for your Valentine, the things that really make life just a little better.

It's what I'll continue to do for the love of my life, and what I'll do for my little Valentines too. It's just what good husbands (and good dads²) do.

And, because I don't want my wife to walk away without anything special today, I will offer up this ultimate Valentine's Day gift to her that I know she'll appreciate.

I admit it: I like Tori & Dean.

¹ And by "weeks" I mean "much, much longer than weeks."

² They also threaten any boy living, dead or undead who attempts to give a Valentine's Day card to their little angel that says anything other than "Your friend, Aiden" or "I'm scared of your Dad, sincerely Pete."

*****
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What's Better Than Having a Best Friend? Having One With the Same Name

Best Friend Ella (left) and our Ella (right)

When I was young, my best friend's name was Brian. We were known around popular circles as "The Brians." We were also a bit cautious of the popular circles, because they were typically in something cool-sounding like "detention" and we were typically in something slightly less cool-sounding like "Math Club." And trust me, Math Club wasn't quite the babe-magnet extracurricular that it is in schools today.

Brian and I did everything together—school projects, backyard whiffleball, riding the bench in soccer with all the other delightful kids who were also very talented at riding the bench in soccer. We dressed as Mario and Luigi for Halloween. We planned to be TV news co-anchors when we grew up, practicing in his parents' basement and recording ourselves with their 1988 video recorder that was roughly the size of Shaquille O'Neil. There are videos to prove this. I assume these videos will only come to light if I run for president or reveal that Brian had a humongous crush on Kelly Monk. So I won't do either.

I bring this up because my eldest daughter Ella has a bestie, and her name is also Ella. "The Ellas" were destined to be best friends since the day they met at our sitter's house. Both were months old. Both were immobile. Both were wearing onesies that said, "If you think I'm cute you should see my dad."

Their friendship has grown over time, like a beautiful garden or a senior trip beeramid.  What was once a relationship of sitting on the couch, using each other's heads as teething rings has blossomed into two kids who hold hands and skip all the way to their classroom door without noticing that I am stuck in the car, caught in the tangled web of the toddler car seat's 5-point seatbelt harness system.

Two dancing friends.

Best Friend Ella's Mom and I share carpooling duties, but (selfishly) I look forward to the days I drive. There isn't much that's more entertaining than listening to 4-year-old besties discuss the challenges of their times and the issues that are near and dear to their hearts.

Our Ella: "Did you see what shirt I'm wearing today?"
Best Friend Ella: "No I didn't. Does it have pink in it?"
Our Ella: "Yes. And so do my socks!"
Best Friend Ella: "So do mine! I'm freaking out about it!"
Our Ella: "I'm freaking out about it too!"

One afternoon, when we were sitting in the dinning room peeling Play D'oh from the underside of the table,¹ Ella asked me if she could write a note to her friend and if I could help her spell out some words.

Of course I'd help her spell anything so long as it wasn't a love letter to a boy, in which I'd alter the spelling of the word "love" from "L.O.V.E." to something a little less inviting such as "Y.O.U. T.O.U.C.H. M.Y. D.A.U.G.H.T.E.R. A.N.D. I. W.I.L.L. K.I.L.L Y.O.U." She's lucky I'm a writer and spelling is my strong suit.

"Daddy," she said. "Can you show me how to spell 'Dear Ella, Best Friends Forever, Love Ella.'"

BFFs

It was at that exact moment I realized that Play D'oh was also embedded in the carpet underneath the table.² But I ignored it and smiled anyway, happy that my daughter had a best friend whom she cared about so much that she wanted to put it in writing. She's lucky—and I'm lucky to watch their friendship grow from the front seat on my carpool days.

I know it's not a luxury every father gets, so I treasure it like I treasure my memories of filming the news with Brian. And I hope that The Ellas treasure these memories as they grow up, no matter where their lives lead them. I also hope that my other daughters³ are lucky enough to experience the type of friendship that causes them to want to put it in writing.

I really, really hope so.

Wait a minute. I was the one who had a crush on Kelly Monk. Back then, when I told Brian, I was probably freaking out about it.

¹ Which no one takes responsibility for, so I can only assume that the table is sweating Play D'oh.  
² Which, according to my wife, is a castrate-able offense.
³ Who suspiciously have Play D'oh under their fingernails.

The Curious Case of the Missing Keys (CSI: Klems Edition)

I never lose anything, other than loads of money in annual fantasy sports leagues, so when the girls and I were packing up to bring a picnic-style lunch to my wife's office and I couldn't find my keys, I reacted like this.

Let me explain: The day before, I noticed each one of my kids uncharacteristically picking up and playing with my keys. I had to pull out the old deep Dad voice and scold each one:

"Ella, you know better than to play with my keys!"

"Anna, didn’t you just hear me yell at Ella for playing with my keys?!"

"Mia, don't even think about playing with my keys. And quit biting my shoe."

And just like that, my keys were lost.

After I realized that yelling was not helping the cause (mainly because the girls were ignoring me while pretending to be unicorns), I decided to take a more pragmatic approach: If the girls lost my keys, they were going to help me find them. And they weren't going to charge their typical rate of 7 marshmallows per hour. This was pro bono work, after all, finding my keys is for the good of the public—otherwise my wife would have to drive everywhere, which would be awful considering she suffers from a terrible case of listening to New Kids On The Block CDs at an unbearable volume (anything above "no volume").

So we got out our sleuthing equipment—magnifying glasses, flashlights, David Caruso sunglasses—and formed the first ever CSI: Klems team. Our mission: To search every nook, cranny and drawer of bibs until we rescued my keys. It was a tall task, but I felt my not-so-tall team was up for the challenge.

After careful examination of the crime scene, where my wallet and smartphone slept peacefully and unharmed, CSI: Klems determined that this must be an inside job. Detective Anna's theory that maybe the keys just "got up and walked off" was ruled out, due to lack of evidence and the fact that I only buy keys that are lazy and unwilling to walk anywhere. This attempt to throw us off the case made her a prime suspect.

Detective Ella surveyed the dining room, opening her 48-piece puzzle to see if the keys ended up in the box. She also put the puzzle together "in case it revealed clues as to where the keys were." Unfortunately the only information revealed was that the 48-piece puzzle was now a 47-piece puzzle, which meant CSI: Klems' second assignment was to find puzzle piece No. 48. But her lack of enthusiasm to get to the bottom of the Curious Case of the Missing Keys lead me to believe she didn't want us to find out what happened, making her a prime suspect No. 2.

Detective Mia just sat on the floor, looking suspicious. I would later realize this was due to a Code Red. She was immediately cleared of all charges.

We searched everywhere—the couch, the chairs, the beds, the drawers, the cabinet where we keep the Doritos, the cabinet where we keep the back-up bag of Doritos, the hidden compartment on the high chair where the girls like to hide things, the bathroom, the treasure chests, the bookshelves, the Lalaloopsy dolls, the Code Red diaper. We searched until our searchers were searched out. Then we napped.

My wife finally arrived home from work and asked if we had found the keys. We shook our heads no, admitted defeat and handed in our badges. She took a peek at where the keys were last seen and then, without grabbing any sleuthing tools, walked into the other room. Seconds later I heard a jingle.

"Found them."

This had to be a joke. We searched for 8 hours with no luck, not even a clue, and she just waltzes through the door and, in the second place she looks, finds my keys?

"Where were they???"

"They were sitting here in this clothes basket by the steps."

"How did you know they were there?"

"Well I didn't know. You said that you had them on the computer stand and I remembered that this basket of clean clothes—which YOU forgot to bring upstairs last night—was sitting there all day yesterday. I moved it this morning to get it out of the walkway. Based on these factors, I deduced that your keys likely had fallen into the basket."

Case closed.

Sometimes what seems like a catastrophe can not only turn into a fun game, but can also bring you closer together as a family. It can also prove precisely whom the real captain of your CSI: team is. And there's no doubt the leader of CSI: Klems is the one most of the team calls Mom.

Unfortunately that means this is our theme song:

Why 2012 Is Going to Be Amazing

I'm worn out. Completely worn out. I'm not sure whether it's lack of sleep, dehydration or Nintendo thumb, but 2011 really beat me up. I have more aches in my bones than ever before and I'm pretty sure that the only one sleeping at naptime these days is me, dear old Dad. But that is all about to change.

I'm tired of being tired, so I'm dedicating 2012 to be the Year of Amazing. That's right my friends. I've looked into my crystal ball and have seen the future. This is going to be a banner year at Klems Manor where a lot of amazing things will happen—Ella will start kindergarten, Anna will start preschool, Mia will take her first steps, my wife will learn to love bacon. There will be many, many reasons to celebrate and I plan to celebrate them all.

Though, as I looked into that giant ball, I noticed my family members weren't the only ones who will do great things in the coming year. I saw 8 Amazing Things that this Dad is going to accomplish in 2012. Here they are:

1. I am going to lose 20 pounds. For the sake of my health it's time to cut my Dorito intake in half, so I'll only be buying 3 bags a week. Sorry Frito-Lay.

2. I am going to run a half marathon. Stop laughing. (UPDATE: COMPLETED!)

3. I am going to take part in a flash mob. Would love to do the first ever "Dad Flash Mob" where Dads across the great city of Cincinnati break out in dance to Motownphilly by Boyz II Men. Why? The band name says it all. Plus, that song is awesome. Who's with me?

4. I am going to find a way so that all three of my kids can sit on my lap at the same time and get a photo with all three of them smiling at the same time AND with all our eyes open. This, quite honestly, may be the most difficult item on this list.

5. I am going to read my kids The Little Prince. My Mom read this to me at bedtime when I was just a little Brian, and it's one of her fondest memories. I want a fondest memory.

6. I am going to beat Andy Uhl in Scrabble. I'm not even sure this is possible, but I'm going to spend the next 366 days (thank you leap year) trying to do it.

7. I am going to get rid of my blue sleeping pants that sport a giant hole in the crotch (much to the chagrin of my wife, I'm sure). I never thought I'd see this day. All hope is not lost, though: I see a thread beginning to break free in the crotch of my red pair. (UPDATED: COMPLETED!)

8. I am going to pitch a Life of Dad book to agents and put myself out there. If millions come rolling in, I'm throwing a party and you're all invited. So long as you use the code-word Forehead Hickey. (UPDATE: Phase 1 COMPLETED!; On to Phase 2 - Book Deal)

Come success or failure at any (all) of these, one thing is for certain: Life is short and there's no more time for putting off dreams. If I'm not constantly trying to reach goals, then what kind of example am I setting for my kids? A boring one. Which is why I'm glad I looked into that crystal ball and saw just how amazing my coming year is going to be. I hope you have an opportunity to look into yours and see what amazing things you are going to accomplish in the coming year.

And if what you see is you taking part in a Dad flash mob, let me know. I can help make that happen.

Christmas Letter of Recommendation to Santa

Santa Claus
North Pole
cc: mrs.claus@gmail.com

Dear Santa,

How's it going at The North Pole? Participated in any flash mobs this year? Based on the increased number of Christmas specials on TBS, I'd have to think you have royalty checks overflowing your workshop. Hope the reindeer don't eat them.

Anywho, it's my pleasure to write you today and ask that you do, in fact, place my daughters on the Nice List. It's been an emotional year, one that's seen some loved ones bow out and new loved ones bow in. But all in all, save a few incidents of hair-pulling and not abiding by the rules of seat-check, our girls have been great. I'd like to tell you about it in this Christmas Letter of Recommendation.

Our eldest, Ella, is in her second year of preschool (which she loves). She comes home most days sharing what she's learned with us, like sign language, silly songs and jokes that, we're pretty sure, she's just making up. They make us laugh anyway. She worked really hard to write all her birthday thank-you cards by herself and can now do basic math, just like her old (yet incredibly handsome) dad.

My middle daughter, Anna, had a monumental year this year, becoming potty trained right around her second birthday. She was so happy. So were we. So were the blue M&Ms who had been living in fear during the potty training process and had been eaten at such an alarming rate that they started to hide—in our couch cushions, under the refrigerator, in plants, in pockets, up noses—anywhere they could to save their lives. She also learned how to spell her own name. Her Mom and I can no longer pass secrets notes about her anymore. Though, usually, those notes were about how much we love her, so we'll probably still pass them.

My newest daughter, Mia, is still just a babe at 6 months, but she is a smiley one. Her recent accomplishments include eating solids (that are anything but solid), sitting up on her own, and shaking her rattle so hard it slips out and sails at least 8 feet. Sounds like someone wants matching father-daughter softball gear for Christmas. That someone is me. She'd probably be fine with a hoverboard.

And, while my wife didn't ask for it, I'm going to put in a good word for her too. She's dealt with a lot of adversity this year and somehow, someway still finds time to wear those god-awful thermal PJs that I hate so much. I hope you take care of her by putting big smiles on our kids' faces—I know that's the gift she wants most of all.

As for me, I don't need anything. Just a loving family who gives me hugs when I need them will do. And for that, I will continue to be awesome.

I hope all is well and Mrs. Claus gets you that new Star Wars Blu-Ray set you've been wanting. If not, let me know. I'll get it for you so long as you take those thermal PJs back with you to the North Pole.

Thank you and Merry Christmas,
Brian A. Klems
Founder, CEO and Janitor of Team Klems