There's still a kid living upstairs, and I'm in no hurry for him to leave home

You don't have to watch any of this video, let alone all 4 minutes of it. I'm not even sure why I include it here, since it's only tangentially related to the subject of today's post. These are scenes from our house on Christmas Eve 2006, Jack's first Christmas. It makes me feel nostalgic.

Terry and I find ourselves in this interesting period of life in which four of our kids have moved out and we have a grandson, yet we also have a child of our own still living with us.

This isn't a case of, say, your 35-year-old son moving back in with you, either. Our youngest, Jack, is only 20 and a sophomore in college. He lives in the big bedroom on the top floor of our house.

For as much attention as we give grandson Cal, we still haven't finished the job of raising our own children (not that you ever really do finish). While Jack lives a largely independent life – as college students do and should – he still needs us for a lot of things.

We see him every day because he's a commuter student at Cleveland State University, so it's not like he lives on campus and is gone for weeks at a time. The way his class and work schedules are structured, he's at home a lot more than he's away.

The happy result is that we get to talk with him, eat dinner with him (sometimes), and play a role in his search for a career and a direction in life. Years after having done all of that with Elissa, Chloe, Jared and Melanie, I'm glad we still get to do it with Jack.

A lot of parents are excited to enter the empty-nest phase of their lives, and I'm sure we will be too when the time comes.

I'm just not ready for the time to come quite yet.

For one thing, Jack is fun. And funny. He probably plays the same role my siblings say I did for our parents, which was living at home throughout their 50s and early 60s and "keeping them young."

I love going to hockey games with Jack, talking about his plans for school and a career, trading funny YouTube reels with him, and generally having him around.

I can't imagine not hearing his footsteps upstairs when gets out of bed in the morning and heads to his bathroom.

I don't know what it will be like not having him around to gather the upstairs trash when it's time to take out the garbage on Sunday afternoons.

I simply can't fathom the idea of Jack and his cat Cheddar living anywhere but with us.

But it's going to happen, and probably sooner than I think. Like his brother and sisters before him, Jack will reach a point when the need to be on his own outweighs the financial and practical benefits of living with Mom and Dad.

I get that. Terry and I bought our first house when I was just 22 years old. The second we got the keys, I was anxious to move in and live by myself for a few months. That very weekend I moved out of Mom and Dad's place, the only home I had known to that point in my life. 

We're all programmed to seek independence in young adulthood. Whenever Jack is ready for that, we'll be there to support him.

But it's OK if it takes at least a few more years for it to happen. I really love having him around.

Melanie and the unhelpful tag of the "gifted" student

Mel and me, circa 2004

Today is our daughter Melanie's 26th birthday, a joyous occasion to celebrate one of the smartest, funniest, most beautiful people I know.

It's also a day on which I wonder how helpful it is for our education system to brand some young kids as "gifted" and others not.

To explain...

When I was a student at Mapledale Elementary School back in the late 70s and early 80s, there was a point at which they separated some of us into an honors class. I don't know how they determined this, whether it was by test scores, subjective teacher evaluations, or a combination.

Whatever the criteria, those of us branded as "smart" were suddenly segregated from our classmates to experience a somewhat advanced curriculum designed for "gifted" students.

The "gifted" label stuck with us through the rest of our public schooling, for better or worse.

The better part of it, I suppose, was that thinking of myself as a smart kid gave me a confidence that was at times helpful and at other times wholly undeserved. Either way, I tried a lot of different things growing up because I figured that, as a gifted student, I would probably be good at them.

That was not usually the case. Not by a longshot.

The sobering part of being one of the smart kids is that, at some point later in life, you come to realize you're not necessarily any smarter than anyone else. Or at least I know I'm not.

I got to be in the honors classes not because of an elevated IQ or exceptional talent, but rather because of my chronic need to please and subsequent drive to study hard and meet expectations. I worked hard and got good grades, so they figured I must be smart. The jury is still out on that one.

So what does any of this have to do with Melanie?

Also Mel and me, also circa 2004

Mel did very well in school, but she was the only one of our kids who wasn't part of Wickliffe's "Above & Beyond" program for gifted students. Again, I don't know why her siblings got in and she didn't, and ultimately it probably doesn't matter.

One time, a friend of the family found out Mel was the one Tennant kid not in A&B and jokingly said to her, "Oh, so you're the dumb one?"

It was NOT helpful, and it was obviously untrue to anyone who knew our family at all.

Terry, especially, spent years working with Mel to boost her self-confidence. Mel is as smart and as capable as any of her brothers and sisters, "gifted" or not. Talk with her for 5 minutes and you'll realize how sharp she is.

All of which makes me wonder what "smart/gifted" really means for an 11-year-old, and whether we're doing more harm than good withholding that designation from kids who, over time, show themselves to be every bit the equal (or superior) of their supposedly advanced peers.

It all worked out in Melanie's case, and for that we're grateful. Happy birthday to my 26-year-old smart kid!

No more teenagers in the family

For the past 6,883 days, we have had at least one teenager in our family. Tomorrow that streak comes to an end when our youngest, Jack, turns 20.

I say "at least one" because for most of that time, there have been multiple teens among our children. There was one stretch from September 2013 to March 2014 when four of them were teenagers.

Come tonight at midnight, the counter resets permanently to zero.

It's another one of those little life milestones you don't think too much about until they actually happen. As I told someone recently, the combination of having our first grandchild and seeing the family teen years come to an end really brings home how quickly time passes.

Other than a string of car accidents and some other relatively minor crises, I've enjoyed having teenagers. I really have.

I got to see them all graduate high school and go off to college. Four have degrees, with Jack currently working his way through the second semester of his freshman year at Cleveland State University.

I've seen one get married and have a baby, one get engaged, and one build an incredible life with a longtime partner we absolutely love (that last one is Elissa, whose boyfriend Mark has long been a full-fledged member of the family and is one of the best bakers I've ever met).

On the other hand, as the kids have gotten older, I've come to realize that much of my fondness for their teen years stems from how much I didn't know. As they get into their 20s and 30s, they're very free about confessing stuff they did as teenagers that, in retrospect, I'm glad I wasn't aware of.

Ignorance is truly bliss, in this case.

Still, Terry and I can't deny that we've been blessed with five great kids who are turning out to be some pretty great adults. We experienced our share of homecomings, proms, high school sporting events and all the other stuff that comes with having children in the 13-19 age range.

And now we're past it all. Time to move on.

Which is just fine.

(Happy early birthday to the one and only Mr. Jack Tennant!)

For a brief time before COVID hit, my family and I were Cleveland hockey celebrities...sort of

"Celebrities" is way too strong a word, but we did appear on the Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse (now Rocket Arena) video board many times throughout the abbreviated 2019-20 and 2020-21 Cleveland Monsters hockey seasons.

We have been season ticket holders for the American Hockey League Monsters since the franchise was born in 2007. Which means we have seen lots and lots of hockey games together. In nearly 19 years as Monsters Hockey Club members, we have watched the team win one Calder Cup championship and several playoff games, and we've also seen them lose a heck of lot.

Through it all, as we point out in the video above, the real key for us has simply been the chance to be together. More specifically, the chance to be together two at a time, as we have just two seats in our account (club level, second row on the aisle, right at the red line...the absolute best seats in the house).

In the team's early years, I remember Jared and I attending postgame season ticket holder skating sessions in which the only people on the ice were team mascots Sully and the Mullet Brothers, in-game host Olivier Sedra, a few other fans, and us. And that was it.

Nowadays, the Monsters lead the AHL in attendance every year, drawing north of 10,000 fans for most games. They're a hot ticket here in Cleveland, largely because they're so affordable compared with the major league sports in town.

We were selected to make this promotional video because we were one of the "founding families" among season ticket holders, I guess. Whatever the reason, we had a blast doing it.

Chloe and Melanie weren't available for the video shoot in our living room. And as you can clearly see, poor Jack didn't much want to be part of it.

Every time it would appear on the arena "Humungotron," we would receive a stream of texts from friends and acquaintances at the games. "We just saw you on the video screen!!" "That was so cool!" "It was so much fun seeing you guys up there!"

The video was shot and edited in January/February 2020. Once March rolled around, of course, the pandemic changed everything. The 2019-20 season was cancelled, and the number of games the followed year was greatly limited as in-person events slowly returned.

Things got back to normal in 2021-22, and our video was played several more times, but by then the always creatively marketed Monsters had new content to show their fans, both in the arena and online.

Our video eventually ended up in their virtual scrap bin, which is fine. It had served its purpose.

Our relatively short stint as stars on the big screen was over. We have maintained our season tickets and our memories since then.

Now the one thing we would like is another Calder Cup championship, if it's not too much to ask.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

This old house: Where we sleep, eat, and pile up memories

Later this month, we will celebrate having lived in our house for 22 years.

We moved in on July 19, 2003. I remember the exact date because...well, because I remember dates like that. There are vast expanses of my brain crammed with dates and details I really don't need taking up space perhaps better filled by more practical information.

I also remember that day because it was my friend Kevin's birthday, and while he has nothing to do with this story, I still equate move-in day with Kev's birthday.

Anyway, 22 years is in some ways a long time and in others not so long at all. My mom lived in her house on Harding Drive for 56 years. And I know lots and lots of people who have been in their homes nearly that long.

Still, it feels like Terry, the kids, and I have always been here at 30025 Miller Avenue. When we took occupancy of the house, Elissa was 9, Chloe was 6, Jared was a few weeks away from turning 5, and little Melanie was still two months from turning 3.

Jack wasn't even a thought yet.

The house has hosted graduation parties, countless birthday celebrations, our 25th anniversary shindig back in 2017, and a whole lot of visits and sleepovers involving family and friends.

I've cut the grass 8 million times (or so it feels). And I think Terry has pulled an even higher number of weeds from the flower beds.

It's the house to which we brought Jack when he was born in 2006. It's the place where we watched all of the kids grow up.

And for now, it's the place where Terry and I intend to spend at least a few more years, if not several.

When you're in your mid-50s and still able to get around well, you don't often think about stairs, for example, being much of an issue. But in 20 or 30 years, if we're still in the house, they very well could be. We have both an upstairs and a basement, and we travel between them regularly.

Interestingly, by the end of this year, our current house will be the place where I've lived the longest in my life. I spent the first 22 years and 4 months of my existence living on Harding Drive before Terry and I bought our first house in 1992.

It gets to a point that even if you decide you want to sell your home, you can't imagine anyone else living there after you. I still feel that way about the place on East 300th Street where Terry and I spent the first 11 years of our marriage. Three different families have lived there in the two decades since we moved out, but part of me still thinks of that house as ours and the others as just renters.

In the end, there's an obvious difference between a house (essentially a container for your stuff) and a home (a place where you always feel warm, welcome, and safe).

I would like to think we've created a nice little home on the southern edge of Wickliffe over 22 years filled with love, light and fond memories.

Thanks to my youngest daughter, we built our collective family vocabulary, five words at a time

Until recently, on many weekday mornings, my daughter Melanie would pop into our family chat with a text that looked something like this:

Morning vocab

- Puerile
- Stasis
- Maxim
- Recrudesce
- Corrugated

These were lists of words that Melanie had picked up in her reading (she has become quite the voracious reader). When she came across a term she didn't understand, she would write it down and look it up, an admirable practice with which the vast majority of us are too lazy to bother.

She would then assign a member of the chat to use at least one of the words from that day's list in a sentence. The penalty for non-compliance was losing the opportunity the next time it was your turn to come up with the sentence.

As you can see from the list above, these were not necessarily strange or obscure words. Rather, they were words that Mel and the rest of us may or may not have come across before, and even if we had, we may or may not have known their precise meaning.

Given that we have some writers in the family, and given the wide age range among the nine of us, some people's vocabularies are necessarily larger than others. But everyone participated regardless, and it was one of my favorite uses for the family text chat, which otherwise can go in some pretty strange directions.

There were always bonus points if you could come up with a sentence using all five words on the list, something that was achieved with regularity among the more ambitious in our group.

Recently, Mel informed us she was running out of words for the daily lists. I hope she either comes up with more or maybe reduces the frequency with which she sends them out. I will never be guilty of floccinaucinihilipilification in assessing this practice of ours.

Q&A with the Kids - Part IV - Melanie

(NOTE: You always hear from me, so I thought it might be fun to hear from the kids for a change. Here's our latest Q&A With the Kids interview, this one with my bright 24-year-old daughter Melanie. I still think of her as "Little Mel" and probably always will, but she has turned out to be one highly impressive adult.)

What was the best thing about growing up in a big family?

The best thing about growing up in a big family was probably never feeling alone or isolated. I feel like I was rarely bored throughout my childhood because even if I didn't have someone to play with, I had five kids' worth of books, toys and electronics throughout the house. A bonus was that we had to have a big back yard and house. 

What things didn't you like about it?

I didn't like the pressure of being a "Tennant kid" sometimes. Growing up with three older siblings who were all super smart, super involved and just generally known to be good kids sometimes made me feel like I was held to a high standard that could be difficult to reach. Mom and Dad didn't put any unnecessary pressure on me or anything, but of course I wanted to be as successful as everyone else. There's also the obvious fact of five kids being a financial strain. Sometimes I was jealous of my friends who were an only child or only had one sibling, just because they always had the newest, nicest stuff. It's hard for a kid to be grateful for what they have in a situation like that.

What are your favorite memories of things we did as a family?

Mom always made holidays really special. Christmas memories in particular will always be my favorite. Other than that I'll just rapid fire the first things that come to my mind:

• Dad getting home from work. I have such clear memories of the six of us sitting at the dinner table and someone saying "Daddy's home!" and running to the door to greet him. That was back before we had the mud room and all that, too.
• Mom and Dad bought Jared mini hockey nets and sticks and those were a staple game to play in the living room for so many years.
• I always had so much fun every New Year's Eve. Mom wasn't the type to load us up with junk food, so NYE always felt like a feast. In particular I remember she always bought Hawaiian Punch and made us all pizza.
• I'll never forget when we all watched the Camp Rock premiere on Disney Channel together, or when we all watched High School Musical for the first time.
• Board Game Olympics
• Fires in the backyard, Mom making homemade ice cream, playing in the snow and sledding down the steps, all of us wrestling Dad (gonna cut it here or I could name a million things).

What is something you wish you could have done or had growing up, but you couldn't because you had four siblings?

I wouldn't say I would agree with this now whatsoever, but at the time, I just wished we had more money lol. Now that I'm an adult, I can see how much time and sacrifice Dad put into providing for us and how much Mom put into making ends meet with five kids. But when you're a kid, the only thing you can see is that your friends get to shop at Justice while you have to shop at Gabriel Brothers (or get hand-me-downs!) Or that you have to share a room with your sister while your best friend from school has always had her own room. I wish I could've known at the time that I had everything I actually needed and more.

Do you want kids of your own? Why or why not?

Yes I do, but not five. I would ideally like two. I guess I want kids for the same reasons everyone else does, but I am excited to make moments memorable and magical for them like Mom did for us.

What was your favorite thing Mom used to make for dinner? Do you ever make it for yourself?

My favorite things Mom made for dinner were her pizza and her beef stroganoff. I haven't been brave enough to attempt the pizza yet, but I've made beef stroganoff quite a few times.

I think of our cats as tiny humans, and I constantly have to remind myself they're not

Ever since Cheddar the cat entered our lives a year ago, this scene has played out hundreds of times.

Cheddar (the orange cat above, lower right) will be sitting in the living room minding his own business, when suddenly calico Ginny, one of our two girl cats, will come charging at him. The two will tussle for a few seconds, hisses will be exchanged, then order will be restored.

When this happens, I give Ginny a stern talking-to. "Why would you do that?" I demand of her. "Stop being a bully. Leave Cheddar alone! You're mean."

Then I pause for a second and realize a few things:

• Ginny does not generally understand English, outside of the word "treats" and her own name.
  
  
• Ginny is acting on instinct. She is not "mean" by nature.
  
  
• These lectures of mine never seem to have an effect, and she is likely to repeat this behavior an hour later.

NOTE: Cheddar is not entirely innocent in all of this. Maybe it's because he's fed up with being attacked, but increasingly, he is the aggressor when he and Ginny or he and Molly square off.

Other than the occasional nose scratch, no one ever gets hurt in these confrontations. But I always feel like Cheddar, a cat who was plucked from the mean streets of Wickliffe by our daughter Melanie, deserves some peace and quiet.

Then again, he's an animal. Does he even know what "peace and quiet" is? Isn't he built to handle this kind of thing?

Regardless of how much we love them, the fact is that our cats, as domesticated as they are, are cats. They have instincts that make them act in ways that, while unpleasant to us, are perfectly natural to them.

Overall, they seem pretty happy with their lives.

This tendency of mine to treat them like people also extends to their facial expressions. Or at least what I interpret as their facial expressions, because again, I read their faces the way I would read people's faces.

Which is also a mistake. Cheddar, for instance, has what Terry calls "Resting Sad Face." He always looks like a forlorn little human child, but he looks that way even when he's sitting on my lap purring and is clearly very content.

So while I still don't like it when the cats fight, as I said, no permanent damage is done and they all seem fairly happy with their lot in life.

Of course, I would know for sure if they stopped being so stubborn and learned to speak English.

Sometimes the kids come home when they're sick and it's just like the old days

It should be noted that my sick daughter looked far better than this virtual woman cooked up by the AI Blog Post Image Generator.

Last month my daughter Melanie woke up with a 103-degree fever, chills and a generally rotten sick feeling. She texted Terry, who went and picked her up and took her to the urgent care.

After being diagnosed with an unknown virus, Mel came to our house and spent the rest of the day (and night, and much of the next two days) on our couch.

Terry waited on her and made her feel as comfortable as possible. I felt so bad for Mel, but I'll admit it was nice having her around.

I was working from home, and at one point in the afternoon I came downstairs from my office to find both Melanie and Terry fast asleep on the couch. The last time that happened was probably 2001 when Mel was a baby and an exhausted Terry would nurse her there.

It was a very sweet and nostalgic scene.

You want your kids to grow up and move out and be independent, but you inevitably miss them when they do.

So these little visits – even if they result from less-than-ideal circumstances – are kind of nice.

And the best part? Mel got better, and the only person who caught whatever she had was me. (Well, Terry eventually got sick and blamed me, so maybe this wasn't "the best part" for her.)

A win-win for Jack, at least.

I told Terry, "No more cats!" And then along came Cheddar...

I became a cat person only because I married a cat person.

Having grown up with dogs, I didn't know much about caring for felines until the spring of 1992 when Terry and I got ourselves a little kitten that we named Alex.

This was during my three months of bachelorhood after I moved out of my parents' house and into the house on East 300th Street that Terry and I bought before we got married. Alex and I lived there alone until June, when Terry moved in following our wedding.

I quickly learned that cats are self-sufficient, territorial, and depending on their personality, varying degrees of affectionate.

In the three-plus decades we've been married, Terry and I have had a range of cats, including a long stretch in which we owned five of them. Over time, I became the one who fed them all every day and cleaned their litter boxes.

Thus, while I was sad when our cats Fred, George and Charlie all died within about 15 months of each other, there was also a sense of relief that morning cat duty might someday be lifted from my shoulders.

At that point we had just two kitties, our girls Ginny and Molly. I was fine with this arrangement and was always the first one to say no when someone suggested we take in a stray or claim a kitten in need of a home.

Meanwhile, our daughter Melanie had moved out of the house, and she was building a little cat army of her own. That included an orange stray who started hanging around her place last winter, and who she would regularly feed and pet.

She eventually took him into her home and named him Cheddar. She loved Cheddar, and with good reason. He's a good cat.

The problem was that one of Mel's other kitties, who generally hates the world and everything in it, took to tormenting Cheddar. They couldn't even be in the same room together, which forced Mel to keep Cheddar locked up in a bathroom while she figured out what to do.

I didn't want any more cats, but I also didn't want Mel taking Cheddar to the Humane Society. One night she came to our house for dinner and mentioned him, and I went ahead and said what was on everyone's mind.

"Oh, just bring him over here," I said. "He can live with us."

And so she did. And so he does. It took a little while for Ginny and Molly to accept him, and even then, at best, they tolerate him.

But Cheddar has been a big hit with the three humans in our house. He's affectionate, inquisitive, entertainingly vocal, and fun to watch whenever he goes into kitten mode and starts playing with whatever he can find on the floor (a hair tie, a cat toy, a piece of string, a dust ball, etc.)

So now we have three cats again. It's not five, and I don't intend for it ever to be five again. Or even four, for that matter.

We're sticking with the ones we have. And once they're gone, no more.

And this time...I mean it.

BLOG RERUN: One unfortunate side effect of full-time work is feeling disconnected from the day-to-day reality of your home

True to form, the AI Blog Post Image Generator created this surrealistic tableau when I prompted it with the phrase "busy household." Yet somehow I think it fits.

(I originally posted this on November 27, 2015. It still rings true.)

We are a single-income family. I go to work five (sometimes six) days a week, while my wife Terry stays home and runs the house. This is no small feat, considering that seven of us live there, but she does it well.

Or at least I assume she does it well, because I am rarely a witness to the daily operations of our household. I leave for work at 7 a.m. and am usually not home until somewhere between 6 and 7 p.m. In between, there's a whole bunch of stuff that happens without any input from me whatsoever.

Well, except the money. The money I earn funds the operation. But that's OK because I like it that way. As I always say, I am in charge of Accounts Receivable. My wife – who pays the bills and manages monetary outlays – has complete jurisdiction over Accounts Payable. This system works for me.

But on those days when I happen to be off or working from home, I get a glimpse into how one goes about helping to manage the lives of two college students, two high schoolers and a middle schooler. Terry is constantly running to and fro, packing lunches, helping with homework, reminding kids to do this assignment or practice that piece of music for band.

She spends much of her days driving to various schools to drop off forgotten soccer socks and misplaced trumpets. She runs errands and cleans the house. She serves as the Uniform Mom for the high school band, a never-ending job that requires gobs and gobs of hours and effort. 

She goes to daytime school events, emails teachers when there are issues to be addressed, and takes kids to various doctor and dentist appointments.

It's like this day after day after day after day.

And all the while I get only a glimpse into it. I hear about what's going on through hurried texts and quick afternoon check-in phone calls.

A typical conversation between Terry and me goes like this:

ME: So how was your day?

TERRY: <proceeds to rattle off 147 different things she did involving the kids>

ME: You did all that? Today?

TERRY: Yes.

ME: This Melanie person you mention. That's our ninth-grader, right?

And so on.

Don't get me wrong, this approach to life is a good one for us. Or at least it is for me, as I'm not the one having to serve as cook, maid, chauffeur and administrative assistant for six other people with crazy schedules. But I think Terry is OK with it, too.

It's just that all of these things happen without my knowing it, which makes me feel a bit disconnected from the reality. It's as if the family lives a separate life that I get to participate in for only a few short hours every night and on weekends.

Speaking of my family, if you see them, tell them I said hello. I miss them. And I'm fairly sure I know all of their names, too.

It's already to the point that I can't clearly remember when the kids all lived at home

I used to live with all of these people. Just don't ask me about the details.

It's not like Terry and I are 80 years old or anything. We're not even officially empty nesters yet.

But to my surprise, I have trouble remembering the days when all seven members of our family lived together at 30025 Miller Avenue. The last time it happened, I think, was 2015. Maybe 2016.

Which for the math-impaired isn't even a decade ago.

Yet things get blurry when I try to recall what the mornings were like, or how we all squeezed in around the kitchen table for dinner. I was at work quite a bit of the time, of course, but I was there enough that I should be clearer on the details.

What I do remember is general chaos most of the time. Sports, band, church activities, movie nights, sleepovers, vacations. It was great, but it has all run together in my increasingly addled mind.

It's the small-but-important details that have escaped my brain. Who slept in which room? Who left the house first in the morning? At what age did they start spending more time with their friends than with us? Were Terry and I the only ones who woke up for late-night infant feedings, or did the newborns also awaken their siblings?

It's all a jumbled mass that has separated itself into two broad periods of time: the years when Elissa, Chloe, Jared and Melanie lived with us (1994 to 2022) and the years when it has just been Terry, Jack and me in the house (2022 to the present).

The particulars are increasingly fuzzy.

Naturally, this effect is most pronounced with my 30-year-old daughter Elissa. I know she lived with us for the first 20 or so years of her life, and I remember many individual moments and milestones, but the day to day is indistinct.

What did she eat for breakfast? How often did she hang out in the living room and talk with us? Where did she do her homework?

You got me. I was there, but I just can't recall much of it.

I would feel much better if other middle-aged parents consoled me with tales of their own kid-related amnesia. Otherwise, I can only conclude that my cognitive decline is accelerating and I am that much closer to being a drooling mess who can't even remember yesterday, let alone 10 years ago.

Time to put away the yard stuff, which if I'm being honest is OK by me

An empty yard...my favorite kind

This is about the time of year when Terry, Jack and I gather up the summer stuff around our yard and put it into storage in (and above) our garage.

While this isn't the most fun of chores, it's also one that doesn't faze me unduly. I can take or leave all of the outdoorsy activities that many of my fellow North Coasters immediately dive into once things warm up in May or June.

It's not that I don't like being outside. It's just that, when it's 80- or 90-some degrees around here, I would rather be in my air-conditioned living room than sitting on my deck.

Speaking of that deck, I mentioned here a couple of months ago that we got a new one. It's pretty nice. When we had Chloe's PhD celebration party at our house in September, several people made a point of complimenting us on it.

Yet you very likely won't catch me sitting on the deck other than for occasional outdoor dinners and the even more occasional family movie night where we project a movie onto my father-in-law's old slide screen.

I very willingly worked to help pay for it, but the deck is more a Terry and Jack thing than it is for me.

Same for our backyard fire pit. If my housemates want to go out and have a fire in the summer, I'll do it. But I almost never initiate the idea.

You could also put a hammock in our backyard and I would seldom use it, if ever.

As a Gen Xer, I spent a lot more time outside when I was growing up than my kids did. But that experience has not translated into adulthood. I just...well, I'm not an outdoorsman in any real sense of the word.

I don't even run outside anymore. I do all of my exercising at the gym.

My kids are uniformly bitter that, when they were little, I would never consent to getting a trampoline or a pool. The truth was, I didn't want to mow around the trampoline, and I didn't want to have to take care of the pool. 

Those aren't the best reasons, admittedly, but I'm just being honest with you.

My daughter Melanie will tell you that I "hate luxury and joy." She said those words to me a couple of months ago, and she was only half-kidding.

Maybe one quarter kidding.

I would counter that I very much embrace luxury when it's offered to me. And I'm as joyful as the next guy.

It's just that I prefer the kind of luxury and joy that comes with a roof over my head and a functioning HVAC system.

Ask yourself, is that so wrong?

(I'll be in the living room if you want to come and explain your answer.)

Those three months when the kids' ages are easy to remember

Me trying to compute the exact ages of my children

I call August through October "birthday season" in our family, as three of our kids were born in this time frame.

It starts with Jared on August 5th, continues with Melanie on September 21st, and culminates today with the anniversary of Chloe's birth.

In addition to Chloe being a person worth celebrating, I also like getting to October 23rd because it means that, from now until late January, all of the kids' ages are either even or odd and thus easy to remember.

Today, for example, Chloe turns 28. That matches nicely with Elissa (30), Jared (26), Melanie (24) and Jack (18).

Until Jack's birthday arrives on January 27th, I don't need to give much thought when someone asks me how old my children are. As long as I remember Elissa's age – and I always do – I can just step down in two-year increments through Melanie, then subtract another six years for our relatively late-in-life baby Jack.

Once Jack turns 19 in a few months, though, it all goes out the window. It will take me a few extra seconds to get all of the ages in order in my head, at least until we get back around to next year's birthday season.

Your kids reach their 20s and 30s and suddenly their exact ages are not only a little blurry, but in some sense a little less important, too. There's a lot more of a difference between, say a 10- and 12-year-old daughter than there is between a 26- and 28-year-old.

I think the same way about myself. I'll be 55 in 10 days. To me, 55 is pretty much as the same as 51, 52, 53 and 54 were, and probably essentially identical to 56, 57, 58 and 59.

Of course, by the time I get to 60, I'll probably start forgetting the kids' ages entirely, no matter what time of year it is. At that point, family birthday season won't mean much.

But for now? It's a life saver.

(And happy birthday to Dr. Chloe Edmonds!)

What I remember from my daughter Melanie's birth: I only missed an inning and a half of a baseball game on TV

I'm kidding, of course. I mean, we really did have the Cleveland Indians-Boston Red Sox doubleheader on the TV in the labor and delivery room. And Terry was so good at birthing babies by that point (Melanie is/was our fourth) she made the whole thing happen really, really fast.

But it's not like the baseball games are my #1 memory from the day's proceedings.

Melanie's full head of hair and beautiful face when she came out. And the amazing strength Terry showed in bringing this beautiful little girl into the world. Those things are what I remember most.

The Indians were a close second.

Maybe third.

Anyway, Mel turns 24 years old tomorrow, which seems impossible, but the calendar does not lie. I was not, of course, the one who birthed her on September 21, 2000, but I seem to remember Terry's labor that day being just about the easiest among all of our kids.

As was the case with four of our five children, they hooked Terry up to a Pitocin pump to induce contractions, since all of our kids except Chloe had to be coaxed out of the womb (it must have been really comfortable in there). And I know that at some point Terry was experiencing enough pain to make the whole thing less than enjoyable.

But really, relative to the other times I watched her do this, Melanie's birth seemed like such a breeze.

I remember Terry calmly informing the L&D nurses and her doctor (the great Dinkar Rao) that it was time for Mel to make her appearance. And they took Terry seriously and made the necessary preparations because, when it comes to matters like this, veteran moms like my wife know what they're talking about.

I took a lot of pictures of Melanie in the moments after she was born. Like, before they even had a chance to wipe the goo off her and she was still connected to her mother via the umbliical cord.

The child was literally seconds old and all I could think to do was play photographer.

The other thing I remember about Mel's birth was bringing her home and all of us – all six of us – getting sick at the same time. It was a stomach thing, I believe, because our living room was lined with old blankets to catch any misdirected puke.

In time we all recovered, of course, and Melanie turned out to be such a wonderful addition to our family. She's a smart, successful, beautiful young woman, and I'm so proud of her.

For the record, the Indians and Red Sox split that doubleheader. I only wish the Tribe could have won both games in Mel's honor.