A boy named Cal

 

One very cheap way to attract "likes," comments and all the other forms of social media validation on which bloggers thrive is to post photos like this one of my grandson Cal.

I am not above doing this.

Cal is 2 months old and I can't get enough of him. We make the drive down to his house in Akron whenever we have the chance, and we love when he's able to spend time here at Grammy and Grandpa's house.

Before Cal was born, I had lots of veteran grandparents tell me things like, "Just you wait. You're going to love that little guy in a way you can't even imagine. He's going to change your world."

And I would say to myself, "OK, yes, of course I'm going to love him."

But I didn't really understand how and how much I would love him. It's a dazzling new experience.

I've not been doing this grandparent thing very long, but from what I can tell so far, the love you have for a grandchild is very much like the love you have for your kids, but...somehow different. Not better or worse, just different. It's deep and profound in ways I couldn't have expected.

Some of that probably has to do with emotional family connections you make with your own mom and dad, and by extension your mother-in-law and father-in-law. I wish so much that Cal could have met any of his great-grandparents on our side, but it wasn't in the cards.

So I guess Terry and I have to love him even more to make up for their absence. Challenge accepted.

The running joke when it comes to grandparenthood is that you get all the benefits of being a parent and can simply hand them back at the end of the day.

Which I guess is true, but the reality is we never want to hand him back. We don't mind changing diapers, feeding him, or walking with him if he's fussy.

None of that feels like an imposition or a burden. It feels more like a privilege.

I know what Chloe and Michael, Cal's mom and dad, are going through right now. Having a baby takes a lot of time and energy, especially when you're juggling it with full-time work (in Michael's case) or navigating the application and interview process for medical school (in Chloe's case).

People will tell you that, despite the chaos, you're going to miss these days. And much like my semi-dismissal of friends and relatives who tried to describe to me the experience of being a grandparent, it's difficult to really grasp and appreciate what they're talking about in the moment.

But over time you learn. Just as I'm learning what an incredible blessing it is to be this little boy's grandpa. I can't even tell you how lucky we are.

This might seem strange, but I like people and I love hearing their stories

It is fashionable these days to think poorly of people in general.

And there is some justification for that. A sizeable chunk of humankind very often seems neither "human" nor "kind."

Still, I've met very, very few folks in my life who didn't interest me in some way, or with whom I wouldn't want to hold a conversation.

You know that thing about judging someone based on whether you would have a beer with them? Doesn't work for me. I would have a beer with virtually anyone, including – and especially – you.

I so enjoy hearing about people's lives and how they got to where they are. I like to listen to them talk about their beliefs, their hopes, their dreams, and yes, their disappointments.

As I've often said, everyone has a story. And that story is inevitably fascinating, no matter who you are.

Of course, few of us see our own lives that way. We're too close to the situation to understand how genuinely interesting we are.

Yes, a true narcissist simply assumes you want to know more about them, and they can't wait to give you the details. But most of us, if asked about ourselves, simply shrug and say, "Me? Eh, I'm not that interesting."

Actually, you are.

Now, let me also say this: I understand how easy it is for someone like me, an extrovert, to engage with others and listen to their stories, especially strangers. My wife says I could talk to a tree.

I get that, for introverts, this can be a nearly impossible task. If you're introverted, I imagine you might be anything but excited to hear about other people's lives.

So I do realize I'm speaking only for myself and maybe a handful of others when I say how much fun it is to hear others talk about themselves.

For one thing, you can learn something valuable from almost any person you meet. I really do believe that. Even if you don't fundamentally agree with their worldview, chances are they're somewhat well-intentioned and trying their best in life.

In their struggles, often tinged with self-doubt, are the stories that make practically every person on earth someone worth talking to. Someone from whom we can glean something to help navigate our own challenges.

Someone you're better off having met.

Oftentimes we reflexively categorize an annoying social media poster with political labels that strip them of their individuality and keep us from seeing their inherent worth.

Putting others in a box blinds us to their stories and prevents us from understanding what drives them.

And you know what? Their motivations are almost never what you think they are. You don't have to agree with them, but you should at least try to understand them.

I guess what I'm saying is, don't deny yourself the joy of discovering other human beings. Say hello. Be curious. Ask questions, even if you think you already know the answers.

You may be pleasantly surprised by what you find.

My wife has been in her element for the last 7 weeks

One of the most interesting and fun things since our grandson came along has been the way in which Terry has taken to being a grandmother.

Some people are just born for certain roles, and there is no doubt my wife was meant to be – among many other things – a grandma.

She has spent much of the last two months preparing food for new parents Chloe and Michael, making the 45-minute trip to and from their home in Akron, buying little Cal outfits she finds in thrift stores, and generally taking to this new stage of life like the proverbial duck to water.

I remember her doing the same thing in 1994 when Elissa was born. The Terry I knew changed forever the minute she became a mother. Her kindness and heart were still there (and remain her defining features), but she transformed in ways that were necessary to take on the demands of raising children.

The change is more subtle into grandparenthood, but it is still evident, and it has been such a joy to watch.

Terry reminds me of my own mom and the sort of loving, open grandmother she was.

My wife has, on more than one occasion, cited Mom as her grandma role model, and in her I see the same willingness and eagerness to babysit as much as possible, the same tendency to pass along parental wisdom without being overbearing or smothering, and the same drive to support her own daughter's transition into motherhood.

You hear people rave about being grandparents all the time, but until you actually experience it, you can't fully grasp what they're talking about.

Terry was born for this, and as time goes by and he grows up, I think Cal will quickly come to realize what a blessing he has in Grammy Tennant.

As for me as Grandpa, the only two things I've noticed so far are:

(1) That same intense desire to see my grandson whenever I can. Just can't get enough of him.

(2) The fact that I've turned into a blubbering mess.

I am strangely hormonal when I see or think about Cal. Chloe sends a new picture of him to the family text chat and I tear up. I stare at his little face when I hold him, thinking how much I wish our parents could have known him, and I tear up.

I see a TV commercial for laundry detergent in which a mom hugs her child and I tear up.

I hope this part of the grandpa thing passes soon, or otherwise I'm going to have to start injecting myself daily with shots of high-grade testosterone.

Two of my three college-educated daughters have gone back to school, and I love the reasons they're doing it

 

Elissa (left) and Melanie (right) both find themselves back in college. Chloe (middle) has a PhD and plans to go to medical school next year, but that's another post for another time.

My daughters Elissa and Melanie both earned bachelor's degrees in marketing from Cleveland State University. Both have experience in the professional world. And both are back at CSU for reasons of their own.

I admire them, especially when I consider the prospect of doing homework and participating in group projects years after my own undergraduate experience.

Let's hear from both to understand what it's like being a young adult going back to school and how they hope it benefits them long term...

Elissa (Age 31)

What are you studying?

Right now I am just taking a Biology 201 class. Next semester I am scheduled to take BIO 202 and Chemistry 201. The ultimate goal is to study environmental science.

Why are you doing it?

After working for a climate change organization for so long in marketing, I'm realizing I'm more interested in the science/research/policy part of climate change rather than the human behavioral/psychological/ marketing part of climate change. I've also always been interested in wildlife conservation and ecological restoration.

I thought about getting an MBA but realized it would make me miserable, so I started looking into getting a master's in environmental science. The only school that would accept me without asking me to 1) move, and 2) go back for a full science undergrad first was Cleveland State. If I take three undergrad science courses there, I'll be eligible to apply for the master's program in environmental science.

How long will it take you?

I don't know because I'm only taking one class, and I told myself if I hate it then I'll just let the dream die. But so far so good. I think the master's program is two years, so if I started next fall I wouldn't be finished until 2028 at the earliest. But again, I could dip out at any second. I'm keeping everyone (including myself) on their toes.

How is it going so far?

Going back to one of the most formative places of my life, where I met many of the people I love and became the person I am today, is a form of psychological torture I wouldn't wish on anyone but currently endure twice a week now. (Thus why I tried to go to LITERALLY ANY OTHER SCHOOL and couldn't find an in.) But at least I already know where the microwaves are on campus.

Also, biology is really hard, but I'm doing OK so far. I like learning about plants and cells. Recently I learned how to find variation and standard deviation for a dataset in Excel. I also learned about nucleotides.

Melanie (Age 25)

What are you studying?

I'm working toward my MBA.

Why are you doing it?

I wasn't diagnosed/medicated for ADHD until my last semester of undergrad, and that was the one and only semester of college I ever felt like I enjoyed and learned a lot from. I want that experience now that I have ADHD under control and feel like there's a lot I could learn. Also, I want a masters degree and felt like an MBA was the most broad and non-specific, since I don't really know exactly what I want to do with my life.

How long will it take you?

It's probably going to take me around 3.5 years, but that may change depending on my financial situation. Currently I'm only taking one class per semester because I'm paying out of pocket and working a full-time job. In the future if I can ever afford/feel like I have the time to do two/semester, then that would shorten the time. It's only 10 classes I need to take overall.

How is it going so far?

It's going well. My first class is 100% group work and pretty low effort. I could honestly probably do the assignments without any studying based on my previous knowledge and common sense, but in an effort to make it worth my while, I am doing the readings and taking notes and all that jazz. I am hopeful that future courses in the program will be less group work and perhaps a bit more challenging.

I'm working on my ability to sit and do nothing while ignoring my phone

When I was a kid, there were often long stretches of time when you had to sit and do nothing.

Like if you were taking a test in school and finished early, you had to fold your hands and stare into space until everyone else finished.

Or if your mom took you to the doctor, you had to sit in the waiting room and do just that – wait. If you weren't interested in reading one of the 500 copies of Highlights magazine strewn about the pediatrician's office, your only other option was simply to exist for several minutes until the nurse called your name.

I don't recall especially loving those times when I had no book to read, no game to play, and nothing stimulating to do. But the point is I did it, and I could do it because we all learned to do it out of necessity.

This is one of the few areas of life in which my 8-year-old self far surpasses my current 55-year-old self. Whereas in 1977 I was quite skilled at doing nothing, I have somewhere along the way completely lost that ability.

Nowadays, I need something to occupy my time and attention every waking moment. Several times a day, that means pulling my phone out of my pocket and either scrolling mindlessly through Facebook or playing a game.

I can't endure even the slightest bit of inactivity.

I was going to blame all of this on my phone, but the real culprit here is of course me. I have allowed myself to become addicted to smartphone time, and I don't know how to be rid of this dependence other than proactively forcing myself to do nothing for minutes at a time.

So that's what I do. When I catch myself reaching for my phone to fill "dead time," I sometimes hold back and instead just sit and think.

It can be miserable. I was at one time a very patient person, but now I get antsy if I'm not watching something, playing something, or checking something off my to-do list.

There is much value in simply existing and being mindful of your surroundings. I know this, but that doesn't mean it's easy for me. I struggle to truly relax.

Take this blog post, for example. I'm just about finished writing it and have no idea what I'm going to do next. I'm terrified that, a minute or two from now, I'll have no choice but to stare out the window.

I'm getting twitchy just thinking about it. Where's my phone?

Three things I've learned from my daughter Melanie

Mel and me a few years ago trying desperately to get a New York City subway pass vending machine to cooperate...

My daughter Melanie, our fourth child in birth order and for a time the baby of the family until Jack came along, turned 25 yesterday. I like having a kid who was born in 2000 because it's always easy to remember exactly how old they are.

More importantly, though, I just love Mel. Always makes me laugh, always impresses me, and always has a good story to tell.

Here are three things I've learned from Melanie while watching her grow into adulthood:

(1) Successful people are usually structured people

You don't have to be obsessive about it like me (endless to-do lists, an extreme creature of habit, etc.), but other than a few fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants geniuses, most people I know who are doing well in life are those whose days are at least somewhat planned out. Mel is someone who needs structure in her life, but beyond that, she has figured out exactly what kind and what degree of structure works best for her. There's a trick to that, and I'm not sure I've yet figured it out. Mel still has a way to go, just as I did at age 25, but she has reinforced this valuable lesson for me time and again.

(2) Be ready to pivot

Mel came out of college with a marketing degree. Her first real professional job was in a marketing role, and it didn't take her long to realize marketing wasn't for her. So now she works for a financial services firm. Finance could be her long-term home, or this could be a role that pays the bills while she figures out what she really wants to do. The point is, she was willing to change direction when it was needed. Some people are so terrified of making this sort of switch that they stay for years in a miserable situation just for the stability. Not my Melanie, and she's better off for it.

(3) Don't discount the greater value of hard work at the gym

Mel takes care of her body. You'll see her at the gym a lot, and when you do, she's not there to socialize. She's there to work, sweat, lift, etc. There are aesthetic benefits to that, of course, but more broadly, it also teaches you lessons of perseverance and motivation that transfer well to other areas of life. We exercise for physical health, sure, but that payoff also extends to everything else we do day to day. Thanks, Mel.

The all-important issue of what you as a grandparent are going to be called

Cal and me

The most common question I received before and after my grandson Calvin was born three weeks ago was what exactly the little guy would call me.

My answer was always the same: "I don't know, and I mostly don't care. He can call me whatever he wants."

Within reason, of course.

The early favorite seems to be the straightforward "Grandpa." To our kids, my dad was "Grandpa Tennant" and Terry's dad was "Grandpa Ross," so the title is already ingrained into our family culture.

But nothing is set in stone, especially since the little guy is all of 21 days old and hasn't quite yet mastered the art of speech.

The people who will have the greatest influence on how Cal refers to his grandparents are his mom and dad, Chloe and Michael. Whatever they call us is very likely what he will call us.

Terry has lobbied to be known as "Grammy." Which is great, but again, unless Cal hears it a lot at home, it's not going to stick.

In any case, the list of potential grandparent names is certainly varied. For men, beyond Grandpa, I've also heard Gramps, Grampy, Grandad, Grandaddy, Grandpap, Papa, Papaw, Poppy, Opa, and the hilariously 21st-century "Granddude."

For women, there's Grandma, Grammy, Grams, Nana, Ga-Ga, Memaw, Mimi, Nanny, Nonna, and another hysterically modern and perhaps tongue-in-cheek selection: "Insta-gram."

Often we take on whatever name our grandchild calls us when he or she is a baby and just learning to talk. So far, in Calvin's case, the only sound he has made when looking at me involves a raspberry and copious amounts of spit.

Somehow, though, "Grandpa Brzzzzzttttfoooo" doesn't have much of a ring to it.

We're enjoying having a college kid in the family again

Jack on his first day of college

The recent birth of our grandson has somewhat overshadowed another significant family milestone, which is the fact that our youngest son, Jack, started college a couple of weeks ago.

Jack is a freshman data science major at Cleveland State University. He's a little older than the typical freshman at 19 1/2, the result of a two-year process of trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to do in life.

Lots of young people go through the same extended period of self-reflection that Jack did, and I'm surprised it's not even more common. Asking 17- and 18-year-olds to pinpoint exactly what career path they're going to follow is a tall order, especially in a world that changes as rapidly as ours.

Since graduating high school in 2023, Jack has had a brief fling with community college, considered a career in the trades, and worked full time for nearly a year cleaning cages in an animal research laboratory.

Eventually he came to Terry and me and said he thought it would be best to go to college and earn a bachelor's degree of some sort. He is interested in statistics and data analysis – a field that will surely be reshaped by the emergence of artificial intelligence – so data science it is.

Starting in 2012 when Elissa began her own four-year journey at Cleveland State, we had a kid or kids in college continuously for 11 years. For me as Dad, it was a blur of FAFSA forms, dorm move-ins, and essays to edit.

Now, after a two-year break, I'm excited to get back into that world.

Like me so many years ago, Jack is a college commuter. He lives at home and drives downtown five days a week to attend class. There are advantages to doing that (particularly financial ones), but it can also mean being somewhat disengaged from school activities outside of the classroom.

I made an effort to be involved in the band and the school newspaper when I was at John Carroll University, at least until the demands of a nearly full-time work schedule at The News-Herald made those extracurriculars impossible. Jack has talked about joining the CSU pep band, and I hope he does. It would be good for him.

You know, becoming a grandparent can make you feel old. But I'm finding that once again having a college kid in the family balances that out. It makes Terry and I realize we're still very much in our primes.

Good luck to Jack, and go Vikings!

You've heard all of my stories. We're scaling this blog back to one post a week.

I like to say I've been blogging since 2011, but that's not really true.

For one thing, the blog started in December of that year, so it barely made 2011. (The posts I have here from 2006 and 2007 were from a separate blog, and I just keep them to make sure they don't disappear into the ether.)

More to the point, check out the number of posts I've put up each year since then. (Note that the current 2025 number is actually somewhere north of 100, but it was at 89 when I wrote this in late July.)

Clearly, I've taken my fair share of months/years off from blogging. What was going on in 2014, 2018 and 2019 that I couldn't at least dash off a few words a week? I don't even remember. 

I am still impressed I cranked out 287 posts during the Covid year of 2021, though.

Anyway, in the past when my schedule has filled to overflowing and/or I felt like I had run out of ideas, I simply stopped blogging for extended periods.

Nowadays, while I'm definitely feeling like I've run out of ideas, I still want to keep going.

Only less frequently.

As of this Monday, September 8, 5Kids1Wife.com will go from a Monday-Wednesday-Friday posting cadence to Monday mornings only. New posts going up at 8:00 AM sharp, as always.

Terry and I have a new grandbaby, of course, and my work and PA announcing schedules are such that finding time to write has become difficult.

Not to mention the fact that I don't even know what to write about anymore.

I'll throw some thoughts up here once a week in case you're still interested, and I figure I can start building a stockpile of stories and interesting topics to cover as I learn to be a grandfather.

Maybe in a year or two we'll go back to posting multiple times a week.

In the meantime, thanks for reading. I always appreciate it. I hope you'll keep stopping by on Monday mornings.

The only time I become an automotive expert is when my daughter has car trouble

I am not a car guy. Nor am I a fix-it guy.

I'm a guy who drives a car. When it breaks, I call a car guy.

I do, however, stay on top of car maintenance. Which is to say that every few weeks, I check Terry's car, Jack's car and my car to ensure tires are properly inflated, fluids are topped off, no one is due for an oil change, etc.

Beyond that, I'm not the first person you call when your car is making a funny noise.

Unless you're my daughter Melanie, in which case I am absolutely the first person you call when your car is making a funny noise.

In the past few months Mel has called me when her battery died (remedied by an easy jump start that even I could manage) and when her brakes started grinding (I know the sound of worn brake pads when I hear it...we took the car immediately to our mechanic Randy, a true car guy).

This makes me feel good because I'm able to help Mel and because it's very much a dad thing to come to the rescue when your child needs help.

I can, by the way, also replace engine and cabin air filters, and I know how to change a tire. But that's about the extent of my skills.

I could probably change my own oil if someone showed me how, but instead I pay someone to do it for me.

Where I DO excel is in maintaining a file on our computer with maintenance/repair records for each of our cars. It shows the dates and mileage for oil changes, new tire installation, and major procedures like brakes, belts and transmission flushes.

That way I can figure out when a car is really due for periodic maintenance and when the mechanic is just trying to upsell me.

One way or another, my nerdy organizational and computer skills always make up for what I lack in other departments.

There is good in the work that we do

"Now you say that the answer's within ourselves

And that time is a wish come true

And no matter how troubled the toiling seems

There is good in the work that we do."

- Bill Staines, "Philosopher's Song"

Unless you're born into considerable wealth, or maybe you win the Powerball or something, you are likely going to spend half or more of your life working for a living.

This is traditionally seen as somewhat of a curse, even in a Judeo-Christian society in which a strong work ethic is celebrated. It likely has some connection to God's words to Adam in Genesis 3:19 - "By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return."

How you view work also depends heavily on how much you like your job, of course. I happen to like my job quite a bit. I get to work with good people and do some interesting (interesting to me, anyway) stuff.

But if I had my druthers – and maybe your druthers, too – would I choose to continue working as a communications director for an advanced materials manufacturing company?

Of course not. I would do things about which I'm more passionate and from which I derive some higher level of satisfaction and enjoyment.

But it turns out reading World War I books and PA announcing and all the other things I like to do in my spare time don't generate much of an income. And income is what we need to put food on the table and pay our bills.

So off to work we go, usually five days a week.

That doesn't mean work has to be seen as a bad thing, though. Hard work does build character, as cliche as that sounds. It's the primary way many of us contribute to society. And it builds structure and satisfaction into our lives in ways that might otherwise be lacking.

Whatever your personal definition of "work" (inside or outside the home, full or part time, you're a student, etc.), this Labor Day is a good time to celebrate yourself. You put in a lot of time and effort, and you should feel good about that.

I hope you take a moment today to step back and appreciate all you've accomplished along the way in your career, and all you will accomplish. Even if you see work as a necessary evil, there is something good there that makes you better for having done it.

Happy Labor Day, my fellow laborers.

(NOTE: For a somewhat different perspective on this topic, check out this excellent blog post by my friend Peter Vertes.)

My wife and I brought back date nights. It was a good call.

A few months ago, I decided Terry and I should have once-a-week date nights.

This is in no way an original concept. Lots and lots of couples have intentional/scheduled date nights, to the point that we're probably a little late to the party.

It just wasn't something we had done before, or at least not something we had done in many years.

When you've been together for any length of time, it's easy to stop thinking of yourselves as a couple. If you have kids, you are instead co-workers in an ongoing enterprise, the goal of which is to keep your offspring fed, clothed and educated.

You get so caught up in it that sometimes you forget that, at one point, the two of you had a romantic relationship (which is of course what led to you having a family in the first place).

So you have to make sure you carve out little chunks of time dedicated to being together, preferably away from the children if they still live at home.

It doesn't have to be expensive, though a couple of our date nights have centered on dinner at a restaurant. Nor does it need to be elaborate.

It just needs to be the two of you together, as free of distractions as possible. We've gone to movies, taken walks, watched Jack and his friends play volleyball...whatever.

So far I think it has been good for us. I like to believe I've always appreciated my wife, but talking to her one on one always reminds me again how smart, funny and full of life she is.

It also affords us some time to talk about short- and long-term plans. What's next for our house? What vacation will we take this fall? What does she have coming up that she's excited about?

In short, date nights have been nothing but good for our relationship. I just hope we can continue coming up with stuff to do each week.

It's the activity brainstorming that's the real trick.

Introducing Calvin: The Official Grandchild™ of "5 Kids, 1 Wife"

 

The handsome young gentleman pictured above is Calvin, my grandson. He is two days old and the first grandchild with which Terry and I have been blessed.

We are, naturally, smitten.

Little Cal made his mother Chloe (our daughter) work hard through her first labor and delivery. She went into the hospital at 8am Sunday to be induced, the result of high blood pressure readings that prompted her care team to take Calvin from the relative warmth and comfort of the womb three weeks before his official due date.

It took nearly 23 hours for Cal to make his entrance, ultimately via an unplanned C-section. Despite the best contraction-inducing drugs and techniques modern medicine could offer – along with 3 1/2 hours of exhausting, heroic, middle-of-the-night pushing on Chloe's part – the little guy simply wouldn't come out.

This was largely because of his big head, an anatomical feature I will freely admit he inherited from his maternal grandfather.

So C-section it was. He came into the world at 6:43am on Monday, measuring 21 inches in length and weighing 8 pounds, 7 ounces.

Let me say two things about his weight:

• Terry, Melanie, Jack and I were sitting around the fire pit in our backyard Sunday night taking guesses as to what Cal's birth weight would be. One person was spot on with his guess. I will not tell you who that was, except to say it was me.
  
  
• If Chloe's pregnancy had gone the full 40 weeks, using the very general rule of thumb that babies gain a half pound a week in the final days of pregnancy, he would have been pushing 10 pounds just like his uncles Jared (9 pounds, 15 ounces) and Jack (9 pounds, 13 ounces) did.

Calvin has needed a little help breathing, which is why he has spent the first few days of his life in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). This is common in babies born even as late as 37 weeks – especially boys, for whatever reason – so there was no cause for alarm.

As for Chloe, in addition to the normal fatigue of labor, she also developed an infection that resulted in a fever, AND she hemorrhaged a bit after the C-section.

Give that woman a medal. Give every women who has a baby a medal, as far as I'm concerned.

And give her husband Michael a medal for keeping her going and supporting her through the whole ordeal.

When Terry and I got to the hospital about eight hours after Cal was born, I saw this wooden disc resting on Chloe's bedside tray:

Until that moment, while we knew Chloe was having a boy, we didn't know his name. That was the one thing Chloe and Michael had kept secret from the rest of the world, which I thought was perfectly fine. It was only fitting that Mom and Dad had at least one surprise to reveal.

It took me a minute to register exactly what the information on the little wooden circle meant. Then I realized not only that our first grandchild's name would be Calvin, but also that his middle name would be Scott.

It made for an emotional moment. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down and crying right then and there. What an honor it is for your grandbaby to share your name. It's something for which I'll always be grateful to Chloe and Michael.

I have a feeling I'll be grateful for a whole lot of things as Baby Calvin grows up.

The three mornings a week I don't exercise are as valuable as the four I do

This guy is a good example of how happy I am in the morning
on my "off" days.

As a creature of habit, I follow essentially the same morning schedule most of the time,

Two days a week, I go for a brisk 2.3-mile walk.

Two other days a week, I strength train in our home gym (upper body one day, lower body the other).

The remaining three days are "rest days," at least as far as intense physical activity goes. Those are the days when instead I exercise my mind.

And I so look forward to them.

I enjoy sitting at the kitchen table doing my New York Times puzzles, playing games on my phone, and catching up on the news. It's a fun way to spend those first couple hours of the day, and it gets me mentally ready for work or whatever else I have to do.

It also allows my body to recover from the relative pounding it takes walking on hard asphalt and slinging around heavy (heavy for me, anyway) weights in the basement.

Going to bed the previous night knowing that in 7 or 8 hours I'll be trying to figure out the Wordle or playing solitaire on my phone, rather than sweating through my shirt, is a good feeling.

Don't get me wrong. It's not like I don't want to exercise.

It's just that, much as even the most satisfied employee welcomes the weekend, recovery days are a good way to break up the demands of physical activity. They are always well received.

Because I tend to like order and routine, those off days are still somewhat regimented. After I feed the cats, get them fresh water, and scoop out their litter boxes, I make myself a cup of coffee, sit down at the kitchen table, and do the following things in the following order on my phone:

• Play Wordle (I do OK)
• Play Connections (usually perfect, but not always)
• Play Strands (my strongest puzzle)
• Play Mini (my weakest puzzle)
• Play solitaire until I "beat" the game
• Play Yahtzee until I score a combined 750 points over three successive games (this can sometimes take a while)
• Read my news digest emails, including the 1440 (highly recommended), the Cleveland Plain Dealer's "Wakeup", and my customized Google News update

Only after all of those things are completed do I make myself some breakfast, eat, wash my dishes, and head to the shower to get ready for the day.

As I type this, tomorrow is one of these off days. In just 12 hours I'll be awake and Wordl-ing away.

I can't tell you how excited I am.

When your kid is expecting, your perspective changes in unexpected ways

This is one of those 4D ultrasound images. Taken last month, it shows my grandson at around 30 weeks gestation. Ain't he handsome?

For years, my kids were vocal about their desire to add a pool and a trampoline to our backyard.

My answer was a consistent "no, not happening." Setting aside the financial outlay, I was simply too lazy to mow around more obstacles, and I wasn't interested in taking over the ongoing maintenance a pool requires.

As the kids moved out, the pool and trampoline discussion subsided.

Until one day earlier this summer when Terry and I were sitting on the deck and she matter-of-factly raised the question of where in our backyard we would put an above-ground pool. I reflexively expressed my reservations, at which point Terry played what has become the ultimate trump card.

"Our grandson will love coming to our house even more if he has a pool to play in," she said.

I stopped cold. Chloe hadn't even birthed this little boy, our first grandchild, and already he was coloring the way I saw the world.

And for the first time ever, I was open to the idea of becoming a pool owner.

I love my five kids. They're all great. But why was I suddenly OK with a pool for a baby I haven't even met after years of not being OK with it when my own children would ask?

Practical reasons, for one thing. I no longer cut our grass, so mowing around a pool becomes a problem (admittedly a very slight one) only for Nick, our lawn guy. Plus, honestly, we're simply in a better financial situation now than we ever were when the kids were little.

There's also the ever-present and powerful desire to spoil our grandson and make Grandma and Grandpa's house the fun place to be.

The point is, I can't believe how attractive the idea of a pool suddenly sounds after years of resisting it.

As far as a trampoline goes, that request will have to come from the grandbaby himself. If he wants one, we'll look into it.

Why do I get the feeling that all of his adult aunts and uncles on our side of the family will be whispering in his ear to ask for that trampoline in a few years?

Car trips with my wife are fun but often involve stopping at places like the Libbey Glass Factory Outlet

Last month, Terry and I drove up to Detroit to spend a little time with our son Jared. He was on an extended road trip with the Tampa Bay Rays (his employer) that included some games in the Motor City. Since we're only 3 hours from Detroit, we thought it would be fun to hop in the car one morning, meet Jared for brunch, and attend a Rays-Tigers game.

And it was fun, no doubt. Jared lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, and while Terry travels down there quite frequently, we still don't get to see Jared and his fiancée Lyndsey nearly as often as we would like.

The morning after the game, we again met Jared for some brunch (actually for pastries at a bakery in the tony suburb of Birmingham, Michigan, not far from the Rays' hotel). Then Terry and I hit the road again to return home.

We made the usual lunch/bathroom stop, but before that we took a detour into Toledo, Ohio, to visit the Libbey Glass Factory Outlet. This store is situated maybe 1,000 feet from the banks of the Maumee River in what I assume is the heart of Toledo, and as you might imagine, it features a lot of glass products.

Like, a lot of glass products. Several thousand square feet of glass products and related merchandise, much of which is priced ridiculously low.

This store is – again, as you might imagine – much more Terry's jam than mine. My interest in glassware was limited to seeing if I could find a coffee mug to add to my collection (I did not) and discovering if I could successfully navigate the store with a shopping cart without breaking anything (I managed it).

Terry, on the other hand, happily walked around the Libbey Glass Factory Outlet for 45 minutes, leaving with an array of items, not all of which were made of glass.

I followed her around patiently and was actually way more engaged than I thought I would be. There was some pretty cool stuff in there, though that may simply reflect the fact that I'm entering old manhood. Thirty-year-old Scott never would have been as interested as I was.

My favorite part of the experience was being there with my wife and watching her enjoy herself. Because that's what you do when you're married: You take pleasure in your spouse's pleasure. Even if it's not your favorite activity in the world, you do it because he/she wants to do it.

And honestly, it wasn't any sort of big sacrifice. We walked around laughing and talking as we do, then we paid for the stuff Terry had picked out, carried it to our car, and took off east toward Cleveland to finish the drive home.

Do I look forward to returning to the Libbey Glass Factory Outlet any time soon? I do not.

Do I want to make my wife happy and preserve my marriage? I do.

I have to admit, though...it was fascinating to see just how wide a selection there is for anyone interested in discount glass stemware.

You sleep on the same side of the bed every night, right?

Yeah...I'm with Jeff on this.

(Our monthly Blog Rerun series continues today with this post from August 18, 2021. For the record, Terry and I are still sleeping on the sides of the bed we chose when we got married 33 years ago...)

I guess it happened on our honeymoon in 1992, but at some point, Terry and I settled on which sides of the bed we would occupy for the rest of eternity.

From the point of view of someone standing at the foot of the bed (creepily staring at us as we sleep), you will always, always, always see me on the left side and Terry on the right.

Was there a reason for this? Or did it just kind of happen?

I don't know. You could argue it should be the other way around, since this arrangement puts our non-dominant hands nearest our respective night stands (Terry's left, my right). Not that it's a problem to roll over a little so we can use our preferred hands to grab our phones or whatever, but I can't remember if there was a reason we settled into our permanent sides of the bed.

NOTE: This is assuming we're both on our backs. I start on my stomach and end up on my back, so I guess it's not a problem at the beginning of the night and turns into one by the time I wake up.

Interestingly, when I travel for work and find myself alone in, say, a king-size bed, I sleep way over on my normal side. The other side remains untouched, as if I'm expecting Terry to show up in the middle of the night and just slip in beside me.

Most of us are intractable creatures of habit, to the point that it's uncomfortable for us to do certain things in our lives any other way.

I could sleep on what I consider to be Terry's side of the bed, but it would feel weird.

I could also vary the order in which I wash myself when showering, but again, weird.

Granted, to keep your brain sharp as you get older, it's a good thing to vary routines and challenge yourself every day. But I guarantee I will be sleeping on the same side of the bed and making my breakfast the same way until the day I'm 6 feet under.

Some things may not be worth changing.

Five highly underrated candies

(5) 100 Grand Bar

When I was growing up, this delicious mixture of chocolate, caramel and crisp rice was known as the "$100,000 Bar." I have no idea why they changed the name, but thankfully, they don't seem to have changed the recipe. I could eat a dozen of these. I won't, but I could. 

(4) Chunky

The key here for me is the raisins. I love me some raisins. I realize some people do not love them some raisins. It's their choice to ignore one of the greatest snack foods mankind has ever known. Anyway, the chocolate and peanuts help, too. I feel like Chunky bars had their heyday 30 or 40 years ago and are just kind of hanging around the candy universe these days. When I buy one, I like to think I'm helping the brand stay relevant.

(3) Charms Blow Pops

All Blow Pops are good (I especially like how the Blue Razz turns your tongue a completely different color), but cherry Blow Pops are the default classic flavor. It's the one I'm looking for anytime Blow Pops are an option. Actually it's like having two options, since your reward for getting to the center is a nice chewy piece of bubble gum.

(2) Raisinets

Quintessential movie theatre candy. And again, we get back to my love of raisins. If I'm having candy at the movies, it's almost always going to be Raisinets. Chocolate-covered raisins are dangerous in that I could eat several boxes. Not only does that mean copious amounts of sugar and a high calorie count, it also means the very real possibility of intestinal distress thanks to the raisins. So yeah, gotta be a little careful here.

(1) Charleston Chew

I never understood how Charleston Chews weren't more popular. I particularly love the strawberry flavor, but chocolate and vanilla are also great. And of course, to have the full Charleston Chew experience, you have to put it in the freezer and let it harden, then rap it against a table edge to break it into pieces and eat cold. Absolutely delicious. I associate Charleston Chews with a 7-11 store that used to be near my house, but I think you can still get them anywhere? If not, try Amazon. I'm telling you, it's worth it.

Four days without air conditioning revealed just how soft we've become

Like much of the U.S., Northeast Ohio has experienced extended periods of heat and humidity this summer.

At first we barely noticed, as we spent much of the time cooped up in the house with our central air conditioning working 24/7 to maintain a comfortable temperature.

That is, until our AC gave up the ghost.

Thankfully, it happened after the worst of the first heat wave had passed, but it was still plenty warm and humid outside.

Soon, it became warm and humid inside, as well. And the three of us (Terry, Jack and me) were miserable.

It turned out our entire AC system needed replacing at a cost that was not unexpected but still painful.

In the four days between the start of the problem and the installation of the new system, we lived much like I remember living in the 1970s and 80s. We sat around under ceiling fans, sweating and generally longing for winter.

We also complained. A lot. That's not something we did much when I was growing up on Harding Drive. Back then, having a hot house in the summer was just a fact of life. I knew very few people with central air.

My parents did have a powerful window AC unit in their bedroom, and on the hottest nights they would set up blankets on the floor so I could sleep in comfort with them.

But most of the time you just kind of gutted it out.

The whole thing made me realize just how dependent we've become on central air, and how we simply don't need to be as tough as we used to be in order to live day to day.

I love technology, but perhaps predictably, for many of us it has stripped away our ability to deal with any sort of adversity, no matter how minor.

The only thing I can think to do is purposely shut off the air several times a summer and force my family to endure heat the old-fashioned way.

I would probably only get to do that once, though, because Terry and Jack would rip me apart once the indoor temperature hit 80 degrees.

Instead, to ensure my own safety, I'm just going to pray the AC never gives out again.

I know almost nothing about plants other than the fact that Japanese knotweed is evil

My wife is a gardener and somewhat of a flower/plant expert. Well, "expert" when compared with me, anyway.

I have little knowledge and even less interest in all things botanical. When it comes to the greenery in our yard, I care only about the grass getting cut and potentially hazardous tree branches being trimmed.

The rest is Terry's domain.

Over the years, she has done the majority of weed pulling and flower tending, and she is a saint for it. The kids have gotten involved sometimes, and I'm out there whenever she needs a little extra muscle or simply cannot take bending over to pull out stray thistles and morning glory vines anymore.

We've spent considerable time in the flower beds this summer removing unwanted green things, some of which were quite obviously weeds even to a novice like me, and others of which I would have just assumed were desirable plants but in fact were also weeds.

An example of the latter is Japanese knotweed, a plant that has been growing freely in our backyard bed. It's the one in the photo at the top of today's post.

I thought it looked kind of nice, but do a little reading on Japanese knotweed and you'll find it to be the very definition of "invasive."

For one thing, it's roots run deep and strong. We're talking roots that go down 30 feet or more. To the point that they can break through concrete, choke out native plants, and do a heck of a number on backyard ecosystems.

You can pull it up – and we did – but it's almost certainly going to come back in time.

I only learned all of his about Japanese knotweed from my daughter Elissa, who gave us the details about the demon plant infesting our backyard after I identified it using the highly useful Google Lens app.

We removed enough Japanese knotweed to make the backyard look nice for my daughter Chloe's baby shower this Saturday. We will, however, inevitably have to deal with it again, and soon.

This is one reason I can't stand pulling weeds. It's a never-ending job, and it seldom feels like you're really getting anywhere.

On the other hand, I do have some appreciation for the beautiful flowers Terry has planted around our yard. They look nice, but I never know what each one is called.

I can point out marigolds and black-eyed Susans when I see them, but beyond that, I tend to be lost.

That's why I made up a fake/generic name for any plant or flower I can't identify. One time Terry saw a plant she wasn't sure about, so I confidently told her, "Oh, those are Jupiter Polkas."

She looked at me strangely, as this would have been the first time I've ever known the name of a plant she didn't. After a half-second of bewilderment, though, she realized I was just making stuff up.

Which is what I do 99% of the time. I seldom really know what I'm doing or what's going on, so I just make stuff up. You would be shocked how well this approach to life works.

In fact, let that be your takeaway from today's post: If someone asks you to identify a plant, flower, shrub or tree, just tell them it's a Jupiter Polka. And say it with conviction.

If it's not Terry you're talking to, they'll be so impressed, trust me.

Tonight we will be among the old people gathered to listen to (and cheer for) Men at Work, Toto and Christopher Cross

 

Only one of these original members of Men at Work will be onstage this evening at Blossom Music Center.

I have long since passed the age when you fret over the fact that the music you listened to as a teenager is now regularly played on "oldies" stations. That happened years ago.

On the spectrum of musical fandom, I'm at the point where I willingly attend cheesy, nostalgia-laden reunion concerts. I revel in being surrounded by other mid- to late-middle-aged people whose enthusiasm is perhaps muted compared with what it once was but who can still be described as "spirited."

I also make no apologies that the average age of the crowd at the concert I'll be attending tonight (along with my brother Mark and sister Debbie) is likely to be older than 50 and possibly pushing 60.

That's the demographic I expect will turn up at Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, this evening for a triple bill featuring 80s acts Men at Work, Toto and Christopher Cross.

I suspect most in the audience will be there because they're particular fans of one of those three bands. For Mark and me, anyway, the clear headliner is Men at Work.

I have been a pretty ardent MAW fan since 1983, when the first 45 I ever bought was their single "Down Under" and the first cassette I ever purchased was their album "Business as Usual." (Northeast Ohioans will appreciate the fact that I bought both of these items at Zayre's.)

The thing is, as is so often the case when bands tour decades beyond the peak of their popularity, the group performing tonight under the name "Men at Work" only has one original member. That would be lead singer and guitarist Colin Hay.

Mark (along with his son and my nephew Mark) and I have seen Colin perform live several times as a solo artist, and we saw this incarnation of Men at Work play a few years ago. You can say we're fans.

Don't get me wrong, I'm also looking forward to hearing Toto play its hits, notably "Africa" and "Rosanna." And there's no doubting the talent Christopher Cross brings to the stage with his "Sailing," "Ride Like the Wind" and "Arthur's Theme."

But I'm there for the Men, who actually now include two women. One is a wonderful musician named Scheila Gonzalez, who plays saxophone, flute and keyboards in a way that eerily recreates the sound and vibe of the late Greg Ham, Men at Work's original multi-instrumentalist. (NOTE: Since writing this, I've come to find out Scheila won't be there tonight, but is instead touring with Weird Al Yankovic. Darn.)

The other is Cecilia Noël, Colin's wife and a talented singer and performer in her own right.

We'll have a good time, I have no doubt. It will be 2-3 hours of letting the music take me back to when I was much younger and much dumber. And also skinnier. With more hair.

You couldn't pay me to actually go back to that era of my life and live it again, but I don't mind taking a temporary trip back in time. I look forward to the whole thing.

As long as the bands don't play too long, of course. I need to get home and get my sleep, you know.

Determine whether you're a Real Guy in three easy questions

Some years ago, I developed a three-question quiz a man can take to figure out whether he's a "Real Guy."

By "Real Guy," I mean a truly masculine man, at least so far as society tends to define masculinity.

The quiz is easy and somewhat reliable, in my experience. As I said, it's only three questions long. For each question you earn either 0 points, 1/2 point, or 1 full point. At the end you add up your points, and that total determines your Real Guy Quotient (I just made up that phrase, but it sounds very scientific.)

Before we dive in, let's be clear on a couple of things:

1. My Real Guy Quotient is 0. I fall short on all three questions and am not a good example of modern masculinity. I have learned to accept this about myself.
   
   
2. To that point, there are many women who score higher on this quiz than I do. And that's saying something when you consider that, for most females, only the first two questions really apply.

OK, here we go. Again, this is a self-scoring exercise, so be honest:

QUESTION #1: Can you explain in some level of detail what a joist is?

• If the answer is no, or if you have to look it up to provide an answer, give yourself 0 points.
• If you sort of know the answer, or if you made the common mistake of confusing a joist with a beam, give yourself 1/2 point.
• If you can instantly give the correct answer, take 1 full point.
  
  

QUESTION #2: Do you own, or have you ever truly and genuinely wanted to own, a motorcycle?

• If you're like me and the answer is an emphatic no, it's 0 points for you.
• If you've at least considered it but didn't necessarily have a real passion for owning a motorcycle, you get 1/2 point.
• If you've owned a motorcycle or have spent your life really, really wanting one, grab that 1 full point.
  
  

QUESTION #3: Do you refer to your friends as "buddies?" That is, will you say something like, "A buddy of mine has a truck just like that" as opposed to "A friend of mine..."?

• Again, if you're me and you've only ever had "friends" and have never referred to an acquaintance as a "buddy," mark yourself down for 0.
• If you have an even mix of "buddies" and "friends," you've earned 1/2 point.
• If you refer to other guys solely as your "buddies," or your buddy-to-friend ratio is at least 80/20, take 1 full point.

All right, add up your score and use this handy scale to determine your Real Guy Quotient:

2 1/2 OR 3 POINTS: You, sir, are basically Rambo. You will likely be killing a deer with your bare hands this evening to provide dinner for your family.

1 1/2 OR 2 POINTS: You're in good shape. Very masculine. Maybe not top tier, but there's a good chance you'll soon be riding your motorcycle to your buddy's house to discuss joists. And spit a lot.

0, 1/2, OR 1 POINT: Welcome to the club, Cupcake. You and I are going to have a blast watching Lifetime movies together.

Sometimes it feels like your kids match their chronological age and sometimes it doesn't

Tomorrow our son Jared turns 27, which feels about right.

What I mean is that, yes, instinctively I think of Jared as someone in his later mid-20s. Or early late 20s. However you want to say it.

He's well established in his career, he has a wonderful fiancée we all love, and he's a responsible adult of the sort you expect your kid to be at this age.

Our other kids are also doing well for themselves, but with Elissa, for instance, I still can't believe she's 31. I can't believe she's 30-anything.

Maybe it's because she's the only one of our kids who has crossed that three-decade age barrier, but man, I have a hard time equating 4-year-old Elissa (who by my reckoning was part of our lives as recently as last year) with successful, mature 31-year-old Elissa.

It just doesn't seem possible.

And Chloe? Same thing. She's 28, married, and on the verge of becoming a mother. But to me she's "Little Chloe," which is how she would refer to herself when she was of preschool age. "Little Chloe, coming through!" is something she used to say that Terry and I reminisce about often.

Don't even get me started on Melanie and Jack. They're doing adult things now but simply shouldn't be. Maybe I've tried to hold onto their youth too long simply because they're our two youngest children, I don't know.

But yeah, Jared turning 27 feels about right. I've often called him "the hardest working man in sports communications" and I still think that's true. He puts in a lot of time and effort on behalf of his employer, the Tampa Bay Rays, a sure sign he has made significant progress since he was a hard-working but somewhat disorganized high school student 10 short years ago.

It's baseball season, so Jared is of course hard at work. He can't be in Ohio celebrating with us, but we'll at least grab him for a quick phone conversation tomorrow, I'm sure.

Happy 27th birthday to our oldest son and a man who fits his age.

When people start giving you stuff like this, grandparenthood suddenly gets real

Last month I was in the grocery store and ran into Jenny, a high school classmate and track teammate of mine. We were chatting and updating each other on our lives (as one does while standing in the produce section) when I mentioned that Chloe was due with our first grandchild in mid-September.

Jenny, a grandmother herself, lit up.

"Oh," she said, "it's amazing. You have no idea how much you can love a grandchild until they're actually here. You hear about it and agree that of course you'll love that little one, but you don't really understand until you hold them."

I've heard lots of people say things like that, and it makes me even more excited than I already am to become a grandpa.

That word "grandpa", by the way, sounds much older to me than "grandfather" goes. Your grandpa has white hair and walks with a cane. Your grandfather has salt-and-pepper hair and plenty of energy to play with you.

It's all semantics, of course, and as I've said, I really don't care what this little boy calls me. I just can't wait to meet him.

This year for Father's Day, Chloe gave me a bag of Starbucks coffee (she knows me well) and the mug pictured above. When your Father's Day presents become more like Grandfather's Day presents, you know you're entering a new phase in your life.

Well, the grandparent phase, of course, but also the phase when I will only drink out of coffee mugs 10 ounces or larger. I have no time for those useless little 8-ounce teacups...

If you have a basement gym, you might as well use it

Over the last year, I've gotten a lot of mileage here on the blog posting about my adventures at the gym.

I was never a weight lifter until May 2024, when Elissa and Mark bought me four sessions with a trainer named Kirk at Ohio Sports & Fitness (OSF) in Willoughby, Ohio. My knowledge and enjoyment of strength training really blossomed under Kirk's guidance, and I enjoyed working out with him twice a week almost without fail for 13 full months.

As of a month ago, however, I no longer go to OSF, nor is Kirk serving as my trainer. This has nothing to do with the gym or with Kirk. The facility is great with a lot of friendly and very helpful people. As for Kirk, what can I say? He's an amazing personal trainer whose extensive knowledge blends well with his positive personality.

He's a good egg, that Kirk.

No, my disengagement from the gym has nothing to do with them. It was simply a decision I made several weeks ago when I decided I needed to free up some time in my otherwise hectic life (something I mentioned this past Monday in an egregiously gratuitous game show-related post).

One of the changes I made in my routine was to shift the site of my twice-a-week strength training to our house rather than an outside gym.

It turns out we have a pretty nicely equipped gym in the back room of our basement, thanks to the efforts of my son Jared. When we still lived with us and was really into lifting, he stocked that room with everything you really need to build muscle.

That includes two adjustable weight benches, a rack for bench pressing, a barbell and various weight plates, a full assortment of dumbbells, a machine for hamstring curls and quad extensions, and a bunch of other stuff I won't even list here, all placed on a series of heavy-duty rubber horse mats.

For the longest time I felt guilty I wasn't taking advantage of this nice exercise setup located right in my own home. Now I do.

I admittedly miss Kirk, and I miss the atmosphere at OSF, but so far this change has been for the better. It cuts significant time off my morning routine, and it doesn't involve any sort of membership or personal training fees.

It also helps that my strength training goals are relatively modest. I'm not looking to bulk up or anything. Really, all I want is to maintain what I have in an attempt to stave off age-related muscle loss.

The Tennant Gym is more than equipped to help me do that.

Now if only I could get a machine for the basement that makes me not want to eat cake all the time...