The Cycle of (College) Life

It's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting at the table by the front window of Bongo Java, one of my favorite spots here.  Joe is sleeping beside me in the City Elite, oblivious to the hum of activity all around him.  I'm listening to a 70's mix on Spotify, so I can't hear the music playing over the sound system.  Likewise, I can't hear bits and pieces of conversations people are having over coffee at nearby tables.

It's kind of cool, though, to look around and see people talking - some animatedly - but not to be able to hear what they're talking about.  When I look out fo the front window on to the deck, I see tables of people - mostly Belmont U. students - talking and laughing.  A few (including my friend and resident  barrista artist, George) are engaged in conversations that appear to be a little more serious.  They're drinking coffee (all kinds of coffee drinks), smoking and talking.  A few people are sitting along, studying or working on laptops.

My favorite is the guy sitting on the deck, by himself, smoking a pipe while he works on his laptop.  He's clearly a college student, probably not even 22 years old.  Oh, did I mention he's smoking a pipe?  I see that here occasionally and it absolutely kills me every time.  I want to walk up to him and ask him if he realizes how utterly ridiculous he looks.  I also want to tell him that in 10 years, when he recalls that he smoked a pipe in college, he'll be embarrassed beyond belief.

There are a few "townies" at Bongo Java this afternoon, like Joe and me.  A couple of them have their dogs with them or are stopping by after finishing a run on Belmont Boulevard.  Mostly, it's students, though.

The students finish exams the day after tomorrow.  Graduation is a week from  yesterday.  Belmont's campus will be abuzz with actifity this week, as parents arrive to help their sons and daughters pack up their dormitory rooms and apartments to move home for the summer.  Other parents and family members will descend on campus to celebrate their son's or daughter's graduation.  When exams end, the students will stay out a little later and be a little (or a lot) more rambunctious as they celebrate the end of another school year.  They'll pack up another year's worth of college memories and say goodbye to their friends until they return to campus the end of the summer to do it all again.

By next Sunday, the students and their families will be gone and summer will be here.  In college towns  or communities with colleges or universities at their epicenter, the seasons pass on a little different timetable than in the rest of the world.  Here, in my adopted neighborhood, summer starts way early - in early May - after graduation, when the students return home.  Summer ends in early August, when fall semester begins and the students return to campus.

Bongo Java will close an hour ealier at night (10 p.m., rather than 11 p.m.).  Parking will be a lot better.  It will be easier to get a table at the restaurants/bars (P.M, Chago's, Blvd. Nashville and International Market).  Traffic will be a lot lighter, too.  It's nice for the first couple of weeks, but then I'll start to miss the Belmont U. students, probably because I feel a bit younger just being around them.  I like to think their innocence, their energy, their enthusiam rubs off on me.  At the very least, it makes me smile.

Happy summer, Belmont U. students.  Happy life, graduates.

The Runner I Used to Be

This is hard for me to write but, at the same time, it's something I need to write.  It's also something I've been thinking about writing for a long time.

The Country Music Marathon and Half Marathon was today and for only the second time since the race's reincarnation more than a decade ago, I didn't run it.  This time last year, I gutted out the half marathon when I probably shouldn't have run it.  This year, I wasn't in anywhere near the shape I need to be in to run a half marathon, so I decided to sit the race out.  

And in arriving at that decision, I felt really sad.  

Since Joe was born in February 2012, I've had a difficult time striking a balance between work, family and running.  I never anticipated how much less time would be available when Jude and I had our second child.

(Editor's Note - I am not in complainting about having two children.  Jude and I have been blessed beyond hope and belief to have two active, healthy boys.  Our lives would seem empty without them).

I don't play golf.  I don't bowl in a league.  I retired from city league softball after J.P. was born.  What I do, though, is run.  Or at least that's what I used to do.  Now, I'm lucky to get 1 or 2 runs in a week, usually a quick 3 miles sometime after 9 p.m., after the boys are down for the night.  I'm lucky to get 10 miles in for an entire week.  10 miles used to be a Saturday morning long run for me (those were the days).  

I used to routinely run 20 miles a week, minimum.  I've run 1000 miles in a year twice, once after J.P. was born.  I used to race, a lot.  I used to run the trails at Shelby Bottoms, the Bryant Grove Trail in Lebanon, the Bicentennial Trail in Ashland City and the horse trails at Percy Warner Park.  I used to run in the heat, in the cold and in the rain.  Now, not so much.

Last December, Joe got RSV and wasn't sleeping well.  In fact, he wasn't sleeping in his crib much at all.  He would, however, sleep in his stroller (God Bless the Baby Jogger City Elite).  One night about 3 a.m., as I was struggling to carry the stroller upstairs, half asleep, I hurt my low back.  I didn't realize it at the time, but for the next two weeks, I was in a great deal of pain.  I didn't sleep much and it was hard to get around.

I have a history of low back pain, but I hadn't dealt with anything like this since I was in college.  I stopped running and hoped it would pass.  The pain lessened but it never disappeared completely.  I've been able to run occasionally, but not with any frequency.  I realize I should have gone to the doctor but, in truth, I've been afraid of what he would tell me.

Lately, I've had hip pain on my right side, worse after I run.  That's been discouraging, as well.  In truth, I haven't reallly felt right for the past 4-5 months.  I vascillate between a feeling of resignation - this is what happens to your body as you get older (aches, pains), so deal with it - and a feeling that something more serious is going on.  I'm to the point now, finally, where I want and need to know what I'm dealing with, so I'm scdeduled to see a neurosurgeon I know in a week or so.  I just want to feel like myself again, from a physical standpoint.

Running has been such an important part of my life for so long.  It's part of my identity, part of who I am.  It's just something I do, for me.  I take pride in it (maybe too much so), mabye to the point of vanity.  Running keeps me sane.  It makes me feel good about myself.  It give me self-confidence and makes me feel younger than I am.  It changes my outlook - and not in a good way - when I can't run.  I've never had a stretch like this where I wasn't running regularly - not in the 20 + years I have been a serious runner.  And it's absolutely killing me.

It's hard for me to explain to people who aren't avid runners.  And it's hard for people who aren't avid runners to understand.  When I'm not able to run, I feel like something has been taken away from me. Something I need to survive and thrive.  I need to run.

I realize I'm feeling sorry for myself today (and lately), as it relates to my failure to run regularly.  If I can feel better, I can run late at night or, in the alternative, I can get up at 5 a.m. and run in the mornings.  Plenty of runners do that and there's not reason I can't do it, too.  For me, usually, it's about getting the miles in, stacking them up, 1 mile at a time.  1 run at a time.  I've got to get back to it.  I have to.

Laughing

One of the true blessings in my life is watching J.P. and Joe interact with each other.  

Jude and I are lucky in that form the day we brought Joe home from the hospital, J.P. has never shown a bit of jealously toward him.  If anything, we've had to caution J.P., at times, to give Joe some space and not love on him too much.  

J.P. can make Joe laugh, anytime, anywhere.  Occasionally, when I'm feeding Joe and he starts fussing and doesn't want to eat, J.P. will start making faces at him or making noises.  Immediately, Joe stares at J.P., starts smiling and I'm able get him to eat again.  Joe idolizes his big brother.

Last night, Jude was upstairs, getting the boys ready for bed.  I heard J.P. laughing, followed by Joe laughing.  I went upstairs and found Joe, with Jude, laying on his back in our bed.  Suddenly, J.P. ran into the room and yelled, loudly, then laughed hysterically and ran out of the room.  Joe screamed just as loudly, then laughed hysterically, kicking his feet in the air the whole time.  And they did it again, and again, and again, yelling, screaming and laughing the entire time.  Jude and I couldn't stop laughing either, just watching them. 

It was pretty awesome.

One Small Step for Man

For the past few weeks, Joe has been teetering - literally - on the edge of walking.  He had progressed from making his way around the room by holding onto a chair, a table leg, the wall, my leg, etc., to taking a few, unsteady steps on his own.  Then, as Jude and I sat across from each other in the den, he began taking a few steps, walking from one of us to the other and back again.  For the most part, it was the drunken sailor walk, hands extended over his head, reeling from side to side, very unsteady on his feet.  You know, like a drunken sailor!

Last weekend, though, Joe really turned the corner.  It's like, almost overnight, a light bulb went off and all of a sudden he has balance when he walks.  He holds his hands lower and doesn't reel from side to side.  Occasionally, he leans backward and plops down on his butt when he loses his balance.  For the most part, he walks wherever he wants to go.  Amazingly, Joe can walk while carrying something in one of his hands.

As milestones go, of course, learning to walk is a giant one.  It's a game changer for Jude, J.P. and me, as there's no limit to what Joe can get into now.  One minute he's right beside me and, if I turn away for a second, he's off to the races.  It's more than a little scary, actually.  He tries to follow J.P. and, when he catches him, gives him a hug.  That's pretty cool, except that when he hugs J.P., he usually loses his balance and falls.

In many ways, it's like watching a tightrope walker at the circus, as Joe walks across our hardwood floors, starting and stopping, and occasionally stumbling.  I live in a constant state of fear that he's going to fall and hit his head on the floor.  I'm happy he's walking and, yet, things were so much easier when he was crawling.

The larger issue for me, really, is that I'm not sure I'm ready for Joe to be walking.  It's a recurring theme that runs throughout this blog, I know.  It's probably a character flaw of some sort or a personality disorder at least, but I can't help it.  My son is growing up and it makes me feel helpless, in a way, because there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop the passage of time.  It seems worse, too, with Joe than it was with J.P., in the sense that time seems to be passing more quickly.  Everything seems to happening faster.

I suspect it's because I'm so busy - with work, with J.P. and Joe, with family stuff - but Joe's first year seems to have passed so much more quickly than did J.P.'s.  I'm older, too.  Also, I've already been through these milestones with J.P., so maybe because it's not all brand new to me, time passes more quickly, from milestone to milestone.

I try to avoid it, but sometimes, especially late at night when I'm in bed trying to fall asleep, I start going the math in my head - how old I am now, how old I'll be when Joe starts high school, when he graduates from high school.  When I do the math, I start to worry about how I'm going to be able to handle a high school freshman when I'm 59 years old.  Will I be physically up to the task?  Will Joe be able to relate to me and me to him?  Will I be healthy enough to keep up with him?  Will he be embarrassed to have his friends meet me because I'll be as old as some of their grandfathers? (that one hurts, actually).  The nights when I do the math are the nights when I don't sleep well.  

Man plans and God laughs, I suppose.  I'm thankful beyond measure for my sons.  They're healthy, intelligent, normal boys.  J.P. and Joe are more than I could have asked for and they're more than I deserve.

Joe is walking.  Damn.

A Boy Turns 5

Not just any boy.  My boy.  My oldest son.  My guy.

Yesterday, J.P. turned 5 years old.  I'm astonished almost beyond words at how quickly 5 years have passed by.  5 years and 1 day ago, at 11:11 a.m., I heard him cry for the first time, then I looked at Jude on the operating table and we cried together.  The nurse swaddled J.P. tightly and laid him on Jude's chest for a moment, then she handed him to me with instructions to follow her to the nursery.

I was terrified, as I dutifully followed the nurse down the hall.  Terrified I would drop my son or that I would hold him so tightly I might hurt him.  Truly, I had never felt so inadequate in all of my life.  I felt helpless and out of control, kind of like I feel right now, when I think of J.P. turning 5 years of age.

To celebrate, we had a family breakfast at Bongo Java.  The 4 of us, sitting at our usual table in the back.  As anyone who reads my blog regularly knows, Bongo Java is the center of my universe.  Since I've lived downtown and especially since J.P. was born, I've spent more time here than anywhere else, outside of my house and my office.  I've been called Bongo Java's most loyal customer and that's probably true.

J.P. has been coming to Bongo Java with me, literally, since he was old enough to ride in my stroller ("the City Elite").  We've had breakfast together here (yes, I'm at Bongo Java now, blogging and drinking coffee) almost every Sunday morning for as long as I can remember.  He tried bacon, bagels and hash browns for the first time at Bongo Java (and liked them all).  J.P.'s been befriended by so many employees, too many to mention them all, but people like . . . Chad, Megan, Chuck, Jackson, Mitch, Rachel, Sara and Sarah, Ryan, E.J., Adam, Taylor.  Most of them are gone, but not forgotten.

The really cool thing is that J.P. and Bongo Java share the same birthday.  Coincidence, I think not.  In fact, the same day J.P. turned 5, Bongo Java turned 20!  When we came down for breakfast yesterday, we met, for the first time in all these years, Bob Bernstein, the owner.  He was here with his two sons (a little older than mine) handing out 20th birthday posters and coffee mugs.  I introduced myself and told him how much Bongo Java meant to me, and to my sons.  It was a nice moment, one to remember.

Without question, the hit of the day for J.P., as far as birthday presents go, was the Nashville Predators' hockey helmet/mask.  J.P actually wore it inside Bongo Java to show everyone.  On the way home from baseball practice that afternoon, he was sitting in the back of my SUV, riding in silence.  When I asked him what he was thinking about, as he looked out the window, his chin in his hand, he said, "my hockey mask."  I chuckled a little and left him to his thoughts.

I hope it's always that easy to make J.P. happy.

J.P. is so many things.  Whip smart.  Talkative.  Curious and inquisitive.  Funny.  Emotional and quick tempered, at times (like his old man).  Loving and caring (especially to his little brother).  Friendly.  Intense.  Talented.  Photogenic (like his mother).  Cute.  Stubborn, at times (like his old man and his mother).  Contemplative.  Thoughtful.  Kind.

J.P. loves so many things.  Music.  Sports.  Family.  Reading.  School.  Legos.  Playing outside.  Cleaning (or pretending to clean).  Gardening.  Raking leaves.  Laughing.  Singing.  Milk.  The Nashville Predators.  Doughnut holes.  Uncle Carley and Jonny Love.  Las paletas popsicles.  Cheese quesadillas.  Waffles.  Belmont and Vanderbilt basketball.  The Creation Gardens truck.  Construction equipment.

Everywhere I go in our neighborhood, I see ghosts.  Ghosts of J.P. and I walking, talking, playing or just hanging out together.  When I go for a run, I see myself walking with him sleeping in my stroller.  When I stop in Bongo Java for a cup of coffee, I see us there together.

When I walk across Belmont's campus, I see us playing on the soccer field that is no longer there.  I see him learning to walk on the soccer field, stumbling and falling in the soft grass, then getting up and trying again.  I see him talking to Belmont students sitting in the grass as the sun sets, playing guitar.  I see us playing soccer together.  When I to inside the student center at Belmont, I see us everywhere, pretending to be students, pretending to be going to the doctor and pretending to take final exams.

On and on it goes.  Life.  The years drift by, one stacked on top of the other, and my son grows up.  And I love every minute of it.

9 Months in and 9 Months Out

(I found this in draft form tonight.  For some reason, I never posted it.  I originally wrote this post on November 20, 2012).

Today, Joey is 9 months old.  Tonight, I laughed as I said to Jude, "9 months inside and 9 months outside."  It's hard to believe 9 months has passed by so quickly.

In some ways, the first 9 months with Joey have been easier than the first 9 months with J.P.  Mostly, we don't sweat the small stuff as much with Joey as we did with J.P.  I don't worry about Joey as much as I did J.P. in the early days.  There's a little of a "been there, done that" feeling that helps us not to obsess as much about the little things.

In other ways, though, the first 9 months with Joey have been harder than the first 9 months with J.P.  In general, the leap from one child to two children has been a lot more difficult that I thought it would be, mostly because there never seems to be enough time in the day - with two children - to get accomplished what I need to accomplish.  It seems like there is much less down time - less time to squeeze in a run or a beer with friends.  Less time for Jude and me to go to a movie or to dinner.  It's all hands on deck the majority of the time, with Jude handling one child and me handling the other.  I'm not complaining, mind you, it's just more time intensive with two, as opposed to one child.

Joey is one happy baby, which is a blessing.  He is just a happy baby, which was the case with J.P., too.  He smiles all the time.  By all the time, I mean literally, all the time.  And that makes me smile.

Morning Joe

In late winter and early spring, we get the best light in the morning, in our bedroom upstairs.  Some of my favorite photos J.P. I took of him, in our bed, in the morning this time of year.  One morning recently, when Joe woke up, I took some shots of him, too.  I think they turned out pretty great.

I've said this before, but I'm lucky my guys are photogenic, like their mother.