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.