What we did right with each of our kids - Part I - Elissa

(NOTE: Parents are forever lamenting the things they wish they had done differently with their children. "I should have been more strict about this" or "I wish I had let her participate in that." That type of stuff. I see nothing productive there, so instead I choose to celebrate the things that Terry and I appear to have done well with our children. Plus, it's a good way to fill five days of blog posts. So there's that.)

Elissa is my newly minted 23-year-old daughter. I don't mean "newly minted" in the sense of "we just got her." I mean she just turned 23 recently.

Also, you will note that I did not hyphenate "newly minted" in that first sentence. Long ago when I first started at The News-Herald, Robin Palmer taught me not to hyphenate "ly" words. I don't know if that was an AP Style thing, a News-Herald thing, or just a Robin thing. But to this day when I'm editing copy, I will remove the hyphen after a "ly" word.

Anyway, Elissa. When she was little, she was shy. A borderline genius, mind you, but shy and introverted. As she grew, she became a little more extroverted with each passing year. Now, the thing comedian John Mulaney says about Jewish women also applies to Elissa: You do not need to ask how she's feeling. She will tell you.

And this is an exceedingly good thing. Women are often conditioned in this society to believe that "shy and quiet" is more attractive than "opinionated and vocal." I will take the latter any day of the week, and I like to think we encouraged her to be that way.

Here are five other things we did right with Elissa:

(1) We made her play her oboe until she graduated from high school. She was ready to be done with the instrument by her junior year (maybe sooner), but we prodded her to stick it out. I believe studying and performing music is an inherently beneficial thing. As is seeing through something you started. Elissa would disagree with me, but I think we did right by her in this decision.

(2) We let her make her own decision about college when it came to living on campus. She could have saved a ton of money living at home while she attended Cleveland State University, but she wanted the on-campus experience, and it's clear how much less she would have grown over those four years had we made her live at home.

(3) I played Barbies with her when she was little. Whatever you think of Barbie and whether she actually imposes unrealistic standards of beauty on little girls (I happen to think most little girls are smarter than that), we had some of our most fun times together playing with the gigantic stock of Barbie merchandise stored under Elissa's bed. Of course, once I got sick of playing, I would concoct some sort of fiery death for Barbie, Ken, and whomever else joined us in our adventures. But PRE-DEATH, Barbie sessions were fun.

(4) We let her make mistakes. This one is going to come up a few times in these posts about my kids, because I see great value in being allowed to screw up in your life. Protecting your children from every stumble and fall is unrealistic and ultimately counterproductive. To Elissa's credit, she has made relatively few mistakes to this point, but she has learned from the ones she has made. I'm pretty sure, anyway...

(5) We helped develop within her a healthy appreciation of 80s music. Elissa listens to a lot of stuff I like and a lot of stuff I probably don't understand. But in the end, we can always find common ground in "Come On, Eileen."

Cross country runners are among the toughest people on the planet

And so are wrestlers, but that's another blog post for another day.

My youngest son, Jack, is running cross country for the first time. Well, officially what he's doing is known as the Wickliffe Junior Olympics program, but for all intents and purposes it's Wickliffe Middle School's offseason cross country training program.

(NOTE: Apparently there are people who think the phrase "all intents and purposes" should actually be rendered as "for all intensive purposes." What? Why? Why would you think that? What is an "intensive purpose?" What makes it so much more intensive than other purposes? I don't understand human beings sometimes.)

Anyway, the boy is running cross country. He's still learning the ropes, but the program is clearly awesome and well tailored to someone of Jack's age (11) and temperament (mildly eccentric and easily distracted).

His coach is Coach Todd, a great guy with whom I ran track back in the late 1800s at Wickliffe High School. Or maybe it was the late 1980s. It just seems like it was a long time ago.

Todd was a distance runner way back when and is still in great shape. He pushes the kids, but he doesn't drive them until they throw up or anything. He understands they're at an age where an experience like that will turn them off of the sport forever.

Jack and I go out running together a couple of times a week, and I can see his endurance and focus improving every time we lace up our shoes. It's kind of fun to watch.

I was a Wickliffe track athlete for six years, but I was a sprinter. As I've mentioned before, I thought distance runners were nuts (they are). I didn't join their ranks until I was older and perhaps a little wiser.

Cross country was and is a fall sport. During the fall I played football. Every once in a while I would see the cross country team practicing, which is to say they were out running. You "practice" cross country by running. Lots and lots of running.

Occasionally one of my football teammates would say something about the cross country runners and how they wouldn't last five minutes on a football field. I would laugh and suggest that he wouldn't last five SECONDS in a cross country meet.

I ran with these people every day during track season in the spring, and I knew what they were capable of. I also knew how hard they worked to get better. By the time kids get to high school, you can push them a lot more, but most of the cross country runners I knew pushed themselves. They didn't need a coach with a whistle and a clipboard to motivate them.

Which is to say that cross country runners are, for my money, among the most disciplined, hardest-working athletes in all of sports. And having raised a family of kids who were mostly soccer players, I'm excited at the prospect of having a cross country warrior in our ranks (I think old-time sports writers used to call them "harriers," by the way.)

If you're looking for someone with mental toughness and a true drive to succeed, find a distance runner. You won't be disappointed.

Are you bad at telling jokes? You can be 100% better in 8 minutes.

Look, I know, 8 minutes doesn't sound like a lot of time, but it IS a lot of time in this day and age. You've got things to do like, I don't know, watch "Alf" reruns or play Candy Crush on your phone or read this blog. Important things.

But if you're someone who ever tells a joke, or if you're a fan of stand-up comedy, or both, this 8-minute breakdown of what makes one hilarious joke by the comedian Louis CK truly funny is for you. This is fascinating stuff. Not to mention the fact that the joke itself is great, to be appreciated particularly by anyone who has ever had to take care of little kids.

Here it is:

Wasn't that cool? I know that neither you nor I necessarily have Louis CK's talent for telling a story, but that doesn't matter. What matters are the elements of the joke and presenting them right, and being committed to the joke. That's how you get laughs.

I'm taking this too seriously, aren't I? I don't know. I just really appreciate a well-told joke. If you're going to tell it, tell it right. That's all I'm saying.

Should you get a stand-up desk?

Yes, you should.

OK, that's a sweeping generalization. A stand-up desk isn't for everybody, but I would suggest it's a good option for most people. I have one in my office and have benefitted greatly from it. Here's what it looks like:

You will note a few things:

(1) See that blue mat? It's a life saver, especially the first few weeks when you're getting used to standing up for most (or part) of the day. Vitamix Chef Adam Wilson gave me that tip, something culinary professionals who are on their feet all day learned long ago.

(2) The desk is adjustable. It can go down to desk level in case I need to sit for any reason.

(3) That little shelf is nice for my coffee cup, Post-It Notes, a handy pen or pencil, knick-knacks, etc. I also have on my mine (you can see it on the left side of the shelf in the bottom photo) a rock from the Appalachian Trail given to me by my neighbor Tim Warneka. It's a reminder that one day I really will walk the entire 2,150-mile AT. I'm telling you, I'm going to do it.

The adjustable height thing is important because you want to get your monitor level just right. Otherwise you'll eventually pay for it in your neck and shoulders. But once you make the initial ergonomic adjustments, you'll be golden.

I find that standing all day keeps me more alert and attentive, and lends itself to having more energy. It's to the point that I can't take sitting for long periods anymore.

Speaking of which, the reason I got the standing desk in the first place wasn't because I have back problems, which is why a lot of people prefer to work standing up. It's because of the emerging body of research suggesting that long periods of sitting are just plain bad for you. That whole "sitting is the new smoking" thing is real. Or at least it's real to me, which is why I keep myself upright most of the day.

Anyway, it's something to consider, assuming your company will allow and/or pay for it. There are other types of stand-up desks from which to choose, including some with larger shelf/desk space, and even treadmill desks on which you can walk while working and get your steps in. I haven't tried one, but they do seem cool.

Ultimately, I wholeheartedly endorse the stand-up work lifestyle. It's what all of the cool kids are doing! Or maybe it's just one uncool kid: me. Either way, think about it.

Thank you for clicking on the ads. You're very nice people.

This past Saturday I wrote a post asking you to click on the ads on my blog because I could make money that way. I was serious that I would appreciate the clicks, but in no way did I expect you to do it. It was mostly a joke.

Except you did it. And you did it well.

So well in fact that I just checked Google AdSense, which tells me that in the last seven days, I have earned $14.98 from blog ad views and clicks.

For comparison's sake, you will note that this was, according to Google AdSense, a full $14.89 higher than what I earned the previous seven days.

So, then...Money earned in seven days before I groveled for clicks: 9 cents. Money earned in two days after I groveled: $14.89.

Once that 15 bucks or so gets added officially added to my account (I think your earnings accrue once a month), my balance will be more than $110, which means Google will finally issue me a check after five years of blogging.

I owe you. Big time.

As I cruise to work in my car listening to a Haydn string quartet from a CD purchased using my blogging revenue, I promise I will think of you. Fondly.

(NOTE: You don't think the Google AdSense people will read this and take away my cash, citing some obscure rule about soliciting ad clicks or something, do you? Maybe we should just keep this between ourselves...)

I'm a puppy, I'm adorable, and I have no qualms about murdering you

(EDITOR'S NOTE: We have no idea where this came from. Maybe it was that two-week-old spinach we ate. We weren't ourselves when we wrote it. Please excuse us.)

Yeah, I know, I'm cute as all get out. And let me tell you, all get out is pretty cute, so that's saying something.

I'm even cuter when I put my head down like this and look up at you. You people are such suckers. I would just as soon bite every one of your faces off, but you all have access to The Food and I need The Food. So cute and cuddly it is.

What you forget is that I'm a wild animal. Well, not "wild" so much anymore. My kind was domesticated a couple of thousand years ago. But that wild gene is still in there, and if you take me to the vet and do that thing to my privates that happened to my brother Max, I will kill you. DO YOU HEAR ME? I WILL KILL YOU.

You don't think I would kill, do you? Perfect, that's exactly what I want you to think. Adopt me, play with me, shower me with affection. Just so long as there's nourishment involved.

But the day will come when you push me over the line. Oh yes, that day will come. Maybe you'll stop giving me The Food that comes in a can and is so much better than The Food that comes in a bag. Maybe you'll forget to let me out and yell in my face when I do the inevitable wee wee on the carpet. Or maybe you'll foolishly subject me to that thing at the vet I mentioned before.

Whatever it is, you will eventually go too far. And when you do, it's lights out time, human. Lights. Out. See this cute little snout of mine? Underneath is a set of fangs that will tear right through your flesh. I'll do it while you're sleeping. Heck, maybe I'll do it while you're awake and amuse myself with your screams of pain.

Because that's how I roll. I'm a natural born killah. Not a "killer," but a killah.

Bottom line? You should have gotten a cat.

My wife, the female Benjamin Button

I have written before about the transformation my wife underwent a few years ago. She became, while not an entirely new person, certainly a different person. An improved version of an already-awesome model, if you will.

Nowadays she's living life in the chaotic context of our family, doing the superhuman things moms do to keep us all going. And she's also working outside the home for the first time since the mid-90s. She's a circulation clerk at Wickliffe Public Library, and that job takes up a considerable chunk of her time.

But then there's also this: She's getting hotter. Women often complain that the aging process discriminates against them, as men get more "distinguished" and they feel they just get, well, older.

That, however, is not the case in my marriage. While I find myself weathering under the ravages of nearly half a century, my wife seems to be getting younger.

This is good in that, you know, I like having the hot wife. But it's bad because I start to look pretty lame in comparison.

It was like this when we were first engaged, too. She was young and thin and pretty, and I looked like I weighed 400 pounds.

Actually, at the time we took our engagement photo (January 1991), I WAS at the heaviest point of my life at 217 pounds. And it was apparently all in my gigantic head. I look like I'm going to lean over and eat her in one bite in that picture.

Anyway, we're back to Beauty and the Beast mode, and I have mixed emotions.

But hey, she has to wear reading glasses and I don't! So there's that.