I don't go to a lot of concerts, but the one I'm attending tonight is special for reasons beyond music

By Derek Russell - https://www.flickr.com/photos/184778751@N03/48954387052/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=83341876

If all goes according to plan, this evening I'll be joining The Marks (my brother and my nephew, who share that first name) at the Kent Stage in Kent, Ohio, for a night of music and storytelling offered up by one Mr. Colin Hay.

If you know Colin at all, it's likely as the lead singer of the highly successful early-80s pop group Men at Work. In the years since, he has forged a nice solo career, having released more than a dozen albums.

Colin has always meant a lot to me, in part because Men at Work was the first musical act that really caught my interest. I bought their single "Down Under" on 45 in 1982, the first record purchase I made using my own money (from my paper route, of course).

I never got to see the group perform live before they broke up, but I've seen Colin in concert several times over the past 20 years. Nephew Mark is better at keeping track of this than I am – he has been there with me for every one of these shows – but I think tonight might be the seventh time I've been there in person to watch Colin work his magic.

And "magic" is actually a pretty apt word. Not only is he a wonderfully talented songwriter and musician, he's also a master of between-song banter. He tells stories and jokes in an understated Scottish way that holds audiences captive.

(Colin is known the world over for being from Australia, but he is Scottish by birth and lived there until he turned 14 and his family moved Down Under.)

Anyway, while I'm looking forward to the show, I'm more looking forward to spending some time with my brother and nephew. We probably don't get together as much as we should, but when we do, it never fails to be memorable.

Your takeaways today, then, are these:

(1) Make the effort to spend time with people you love.

(2) Colin Hay is still making music and is worth checking out if you've lost track of him.

Do you need an alarm to get up in the morning?

First, let's establish the fact that, yes, I have a clock radio on my nightstand. I realize this is very 1987 behavior, and my iPhone is a more-than-capable substitute, but I like having the time instantly visually accessible in big, blue shiny numbers whenever I want to check it.

As you would expect, my clock radio has an alarm feature. I used to set this alarm regularly, especially when I was running a lot and needed to be up by a certain time in order to get my miles in.

Terry always makes fun of my alarm, by the way, and with good reason. When it first goes off, it's very, very soft. Almost like it's whispering to a sleeping 6-year-old: "Hey buddy! Rise and shine, champ! Up and at 'em, tiger! Time to get up!"

The volume increases the longer you wait to turn it off, but this is a very gradual process. There used to be times when I was so fast asleep, the alarm tone would ring for minutes on end and wake Terry up instead of me.

Nowadays, though? I haven't set the alarm in at least a year. Maybe two. I no longer have need for it.

At some point in the past 24 months, my body has decided we're getting up every day at exactly the same time, without the need for an alarm or wake-up call.

That time is 5:30am. Regardless of when I go to bed, my eyes pop open each morning within 5 or 10 minutes either side of 5:30.

This is a good thing, since 5:30 is when I want to get up anyway. It's just uncanny how consistent it is.

There are occasions when I "sleep in" until 6:00, but these happen only once every two to three months, and only near the end of long weeks in which I've exerted a lot of physical or mental effort.

Otherwise, my internal alarm clock is as dependable as they come.

This may be an old person thing, and by the time I'm 80 my consistent wake-up time is going to be 3:30am instead.

If and when that happens, just show me to the nearest Denny's, order me a cup of coffee and a Grand Slam breakfast (using my senior discount), and I'll be fine. Tired, maybe, but fine.

It's always fair to question whether people know what they're talking about

More nightmare fuel from the AI Blog Post Image Generator. The eyes are just a little too wide, the pupils a little too small.

One problem with the Internet (among many) is that everyone has a voice, but relatively few have credibility.

That is to say, you can't go far wrong ignoring the vast majority of what you read online. And I'm not just talking about the wacky social theories or the laughably partisan political stuff, either. I mean just about everything.

Including this blog.

A few months ago I worked with a brilliant guy named Brian Skillen and his team on ways to increase sales and visibility of my book. They knew exactly what they were doing, and to the extent I followed their advice, I undoubtedly ended up selling more paperback and electronic copies of "5 Kids, 1 Wife."

The biggest thing the experience gave me, though, was clarity around who I am (and am not) as a writer, what I have to offer, and why I write in the first place.

I learned from Brian and Co. that non-fiction books that sell well tend to do so because they help a reader along his/her individual journey. They solve a problem or provide a way forward with a relevant issue or challenge.

In short, they answer the reader's eternal question of "what's in it for me?"

Brian suggested the best route for me would be to position "5 Kids, 1 Wife" as a practical – if somewhat humorous and even tongue-in-cheek – guide to parenting. Lots of people want advice on how to raise their kids, and who better to get advice from than a guy who raised five of them?

In theory, this makes sense.

But here's the thing: My kids turned out pretty well despite me. I really don't know what to tell people when they ask for parenting advice.

Honestly, I just kind of stumbled my way through it, and thankfully it ended up working out. I'm simply not an expert when it comes to being a dad.

Over time, I've come to realize that what I offer up here on the blog and in the book is not practical instruction, but really entertainment. It's just me writing goofy stuff for the fun of it and hoping you'll come along for the ride.

So if it ever seems like I'm offering serious (and clearly unsolicited) advice about being a parent, a spouse, a friend or anything else, remember I don't really know what I'm talking about. Like most people who create content on the Internet, I can be safely disregarded.

My only hope is that, when I write about something stupid I've done or I make another painful dad joke, you will chuckle for a second and then go on with your day feeling a wee bit happier.

That is, in the end, all I can really give you.

My daughter turns 30 on Sunday, and I hope you'll watch this short video and read this old blog post

 

In two days, my daughter Elissa turns 30 years old. I could go on and on about the things that make Elissa an impressive force of nature, but if you know her, you're already aware. And if you don't know her, I hope you don't mind if I indulge in a bit of nostalgia. I originally posted this video (and the words below) on the blog on January 22, 2021. I bring them back today because, no matter how old Elissa and our other kids get, there's always a part of me that will think of them like this. At this age. At this particular stage of life...

A few years ago, I posted this video on Facebook, accompanied by these words:

Parents of young children, I know you're tired. I get it. I spent several years living the life you're living now. But believe me when I say you're going to miss the chaos. It's a lot of fun having older kids, but I would love to go back and relive moments like this one every once in a while. Which I suppose I could, but I might not survive if they all smothered me like this now. This was shot in late October 2001, which would have made Elissa 7, Chloe 5, Jared 3, and Melanie a little more than a year old (and Jack that proverbial twinkle in the eye).

All four kids shown in this video are at this moment in their 20s. And as noted, our youngest was still 4+ years away from being born.

Having little kids is an exhausting business. It requires constant mental alertness, emotional investment, and physical exertion. You are part teacher, part caretaker, and part goat herder.

When we were in this stage of parenthood, people often told me to enjoy it, that someday it would be gone and I would miss it, etc. It's not that I didn't believe them, I just never really thought very far ahead in those days. It was always about getting through that particular week.

Not that life suddenly becomes a cakewalk when your kids get older, but I do find I have a lot more room to breathe in 2021 than I did in 2001. Just from a stress perspective, it's better to be here than there.

But every once in a while, when it's quiet in our house in the evening, I find myself missing the chaos of two decades ago. There was always a diaper to change, a child to feed, a crier to attend to. It was all Barney, Teletubbies, Winnie the Pooh, and whatever PBS Kids had to offer up that day. It was loud, tiring, and frankly annoying more times than I care to admit.

But it was also wonderful. All of it. I realize the distance of time accentuates the positive and diminishes the negative, but even then, there was a part of me that knew I had it good.

I still have it good. I wouldn't go back to that time permanently for all the money in the world.

Maybe just a 10-minute visit, though. Just long enough to hold a happy baby, do zerberts on some toddler's soft belly, and get in a quick game of Candyland.

That would be nice.

Maybe that's what grandkids are for...reliving the best parts of the maelstrom of parenthood that, in truth, passed by all too fast without you realizing it.

I wouldn't know. We're not in that stage of life...yet. But it's coming.

In the meantime, I have the memories. And thanks to digital technology, I have the videos.

For now, that's enough.

She doesn't say it, but Alexa thinks she's better than me

We have, I think, five or six Amazon Echo/Dot devices scattered around our house. They can do a lot of different things, but I interact with them in only three ways:

• To turn the lights on and off in our bedroom
• To play background music when I'm engaged in a particularly tedious or time-consuming task
• To play the Question of the Day trivia game

These little "digital assistants" do a great job with the first two items. I particularly like the way they seamlessly integrate with your streaming music service, which in our case is Apple Music.

As for the Question of the Day, that usually goes off without a hitch, too. I play it most days and do fairly well, as I'm somewhat of a trivia guy. (Some might also say I'm somewhat of a "trivial" guy, but that's another discussion for another day.)

My only complaint is the passive-aggressive way Alexa – the default name of the disembodied Echo/Dot voice – sometimes treats me when I'm trying to answer that day's question.

For instance, almost invariably when I fire up the app, Alexa will try and get me to subscribe to the Question of the Day Trivia Club, which costs money.

My response to her offer is always "no."

I don't mind these commercial pitches, by the way. Question of the Day is free to play, and I feel the Amazon people are within their rights to try and upsell me if they so choose.

It's just that, when I tell her no, Alexa usually responds with a cheery "No worries!"

"No worries" implies that I've inconvenienced her and that Alexa herself is magnanimously forgiving me. Which isn't the case at all. I'm allowed to say no, Alexa. I've done nothing wrong.

Even worse is when I finish the game and then she tries to sell me on something. Again I'll say "no," but instead of an irritating "No worries!", Alexa will often simply say nothing. The game just ends without even a "Goodbye!"

I interpret this silence as disappointment or outright contempt. And again, I deserve neither. It is my right to turn down her offers of a subscription or an additional game without having to feel guilty about it.

At least that's what I tell myself. As the silence between us lingers and becomes increasingly awkward, I find myself inwardly defending the decision to say no to an electronic device. As if I need validation that I'm still a good person.

I appreciate Alexa's constant readiness to serve. But her smug superiority and utter disdain for me as a person cancel out anything she does right.

I will not let you shame me, Alexa.

Or maybe I will.

Either way, please stop it.

My wife's birthday today reminds me of the reality of my situation

Every once in a while I pull out this gem of a photo from 1987 (I think). Terry and I were much younger then, which makes both mathematical and biological sense.

Today my wife turns a year older. To me, though, she is no different now than she was 10, 20 or 30+ years ago. She is still Terry - Worker of Miracles.

She is still the single most impressive person I know.

She is still the first one I see most mornings and the last one I see most nights.

She is still the love of my life and the saver of my sanity.

It does not escape me that I am blessed to have her, and that my existence simply wouldn't be the same without her.

So in addition to wishing her a very happy birthday, you may also want to thank her for keeping me from doing a myriad of stupid things that could result in someone getting hurt, including you.

In that alone she should be commended as the hero she is.

Thanks, hon. And happy birthday.

When the folks at 23andMe give you permission to be more Irish than you thought

For many years, St. Patrick's Day never seemed especially relevant to me. I know it's the day when we're all supposed to be Irish, but biologically speaking, I figured I was English, Scottish, German, and not much else.

Wearing green and walking around with a shillelagh in one hand and a Guinness in the other seemed a tad inauthentic.

Then, a couple of years ago, at my request, Terry got me a 23andMe genetic testing kit for Christmas. I sent off a dollop of spit to their labs and eagerly opened my ancestry report weeks later when it arrived via email.

I am no geneticist, so I can't speak to the accuracy of these mass-market, saliva-based tests. I hear and read good things, but the results are sometimes so precise as to evoke a level of skepticism.

I choose to believe the 23andMe test is reliable, though, if only because I like what the results had to say.

Yes, I am mostly English. And yes, there's indubitably some German blood in me, thanks to my maternal grandmother, one Ms. Bertha Spitznogel.

I was surprised to have Swiss and French roots, as well.

What really caught my eye, though, is that I'm 47.9% "British & Irish." When you break that down further by region, I'm classified as a "Highly Likely Match" for both "Galway and Central Ireland" and "Central and Southern Ireland," not to mention being a "Likely Match" for "Central and Northern Ireland" and "Northern Ireland and Central Scottish Lowlands."

Well, top of the mornin', kiss the Blarney Stone, and keep your hands off me Lucky Charms! Who knew?

Of course, I don't know exactly how much of my ancestry is Irish, but it's apparently more than the <0.1% I originally assumed. And that whole thing about me being of Scottish origin? Maybe not so much.

With St. Patrick's Day now just 48 hours away, I feel much more justified laying some small claim to the holiday. Maybe I'll sip a green beer on Sunday and listen to Irish pipe bands.

The English side of me will hate it, of course, but I can shut down that part of my brain for one day, at least.