Family-Life

I’ve just been having a rough time lately. I’m like an overstuffed Tupperware and me trying to close the lid and put one foot in front of the other isn’t working so well in the past few days. This is me attempting to talk that out, to myself. To begin: My sixteen-year-old stepson chose not to live with us, and the Kentucky judiciary has supported that decision. Months of preparation and legal wrangling resulted to a seven minute conversation in chambers. That was a month ago, June 8th, and the reality of it settles upon me a little more each day. It’s all just sadness and anger, and it comes out at inconvenient times for no apparent reason. ...

Joey fired us. Tomorrow marks two weeks since that was official. I love my son. I miss my son. Maybe this was all a mistake. I have no idea. Perhaps that’s the beginning of Faith. If so, faith is painful as Hell. And lonely. So fine, and sunny, and smiling, and empty. It’s said that God breaks us, so he might rebuild us. I’m a thousand pieces flying in close formation. ...

Me: “Hey Joey, what would you like to do today?” He: “Let’s go iceskating.” […silence…] She: “Dad doesn’t do iceskating.” Me: “I can do it if I have to.” * * * Ah famous last words. I’ve been working alot lately. Let me rephrase: I’ve been working roughly 9:30->8pm M-T-R-F. I haven’t been working late Wednesdays because of Church, and not Fridays because something usually comes-up. I haven’t been able to spend much time with my son, and we’re both missing it. ...

At the risk of sounding like a mommyblogger: It’s difficult to hear yet another thing your child’s food allergies prevent. Honestly, at times, it feels like my kids are going to end-up in some Food Allergy ghetto wearing a medical alert bracelet staring out through plexiglass at kids luxuriating with their peanut butter, quiche, and potato salad. Yeah, I’m sad. This is part of my process of getting over it, so bear with me. ...

Five-year-old Joey: “Harold, when are we going hunting?” My step-son is a canonical boy: Around age 1, his mother reported him fashioning pistols and shooting her with his toast. He likes taking things apart. He loves archery, and he’s fascinated by firearms. We live in Kentucky, so most consider this not Neanderthal DNA expressing itself, but the natural order of things. So yeah, hunting. As with many things in my life, I found myself in the 1.5 day Kentucky Orange Card certification class this past Friday and Saturday through an odd chain of events: We actually read the 4-H letter from our local Ag Extension office. (We get the 4-H letter because we signed-up for a community garden plot last year, but I dropped the ball and we never planted it.) In the newsletter was a blurb about Scott County 4-H Shooting sports: Archery, air rifle, air pistol, .22 rifle, .22 pistol, and trap. It appeared this was all free. There was an additional blurb: In order to participate in the things that go boom, you needed your orange card certification. ...

So, my daughter found a cute trick about 3 weeks ago: If you set a bunch of dry oatmeal in a non-microwavable playset bowl on 5 minutes in the microwave, it catches fire. Lots of fun things result: You mommy trotting you out into the cold, lots of folks with sirens showing up, seeing the inside of a Crown Victoria as you shelter from the sub-zero temperatures. Thankfully, though the microwave was toast and there was smoke in the house, nothing happened permanently and everyone was safe. ...

I understand this is meaningless to anyone besides me, but I just wanted to jot it down. She said, “I don’t know who it is, but it’s not you. It used to be, and I think it’s sad that it’s not anymore.” And you know what, she’s right. I agree with her. Long about July 2011, I took a left turn and lost myself a bit. Not quite sure what to do with that.

I imagine this convo someday: “You really believe there’s some magic guy up in the sky who created the Universe? Do you also believe in Santa Claus?” The respondent will be one of my children: I’ve never believed in Santa Claus. I would like to tell you about a real guy named Jesus and what He did for me…. Yep, we’re those people. Santa Claus doesn’t give our children presents, we give each other presents to celebrate the greatest unearned present ever, salvation. Our kids are the all-too-honest little antichrists who send your little Timmy or Terry home crying from Kindergarten, “MOM! Maria said Santa Claus isn’t real.” ...

“And now, let’s go to Ollie Williams with the weather.” It was 55 Degrees on Sunday afternoon, with detectable humidity in the air. By Monday morning, it was 1, with a wind chill of -25. There were reports of thundersnow in the foothills to our east. Last night it was -5 or so. Along the way, I learned a few things: If you soak a t-shirt and leave it outside in such weather, it will freeze solid in 90 seconds. A garage door can flash-freeze to the concrete beneath it, requiring a sharpened spade shovel to dislodge. Boiling hot water thrown into the air becomes a cloud of steam. A cup of regular water thrown up into the air will freeze and thud onto the ground. A 15 year old Camry will still start, but will not come to operating temperature (read: no cabin heat) on a 20 minute drive to work. Power steering fluid loses i Thermal underwear is your friend. I love natural gas heat. Temp in my house has remained 70 degrees, and the upstairs & downstairs furnaces haven’t broken a sweat. The hawk i swerved around on the way out of my subdivision was either: (A) frozen to the ground next to the roadkill or (B) longed for the embrace of death to ease his suffering. Either way, he wasn’t budging. Thankful for a warm house and power that flickered but remained on throughout the event.

To Maria and Grace, my lovely daughters, Today I learned your blood runs very deep in this country, and deep in Kentucky. Here is your lineage: Your father’s full name is Harold Ray Combs, born in 1978 to Harold Gene and Dottie (Haddix) Combs. Harold Gene was born in 1953 to Bryan and Cora (McIntosh) Combs. (We tend to say the ‘McIntosh’ part of the line is where our crazy comes from, but I’m not so sure.) ...

The Dumb Phone As my tweet stated: Quit my smartphone cold turkey at noon. Wonder how bad the DTs will be #addicted One of the supreme joys of ADHD is the vulnerability you have to, well, anything that stimulates your limbic system. Basically, early in the day (pre meds) and late in the day (when the meds tail off), my brain turns into this mush of neurons that’s desperate for stimulation, for something to make the cacaphony of input from visual, auditory, and sensory signals even out and make sense. However, early and late in the day is the only time I regularly see my family. ...

“For seven years….” “For SEVEN years….” “FOR SEVEN years, Harold….” Just as a child knows when his full given name comes from his flustered parent’s mouth, a husband knows when his wife starts naming the time they’ve been married, he’s in trouble. Well, honey, for SEVEN YEARS tomorrow… …you’ve stood by me. …you’ve watched me break, and grow, and break again. …you’ve watched me struggle, and doubt, and blame, and generally resist any form of responsibility or accountability. ...

“This is definitely the kind of seizure you want your kid to have.” What?! She was an ER resident with an icy, direct gaze and a no-frills haircut. At that moment, I couldn’t remember her name because I was busy trying to get my wife to drink something as she held our daughter, who, an hour before, had just had a grand mal seizure in our downstairs bathtub. An hour or so later, our other two kids were at a friend’s house, my car had a Check Engine Light because I flogged it so hard getting to UK Hospital, and we were both trying to process what happened. ...

So, we moved. We sold our old house on the east side of Georgetown, KY and moved to a house on the west side. I’m currently so tired and overwrought I can’t even remember if one capitalizes ’east’ in a sentence. I think you do, but capital letters just hurt my eyes right now. We couldn’t have done it without lots of help from folks at church, especially folks from our small group. We got T’s Chevy Colorado truck (2.8L 4-cylinder, AT for those scoring at home) for almost a week, and schlepped stuff to T’s garage, B&D’s basement, our storage building, my office at work, and a Mobile Attic. Most of the stuff (at least the things not in the mobile attic, actually got moved *twice*. ...

Wow, the blogger.com interface sure has changed since the last time I posted! Well, to catch-up a few things: My job title is now ‘Software Architect’. This is avowed to be one of the most despised roles in all Software, since Developers resent architects’ unrealistic, out-of-date ideas, and managers resent anyone besides them directing their teams. Yay, me. I had a motorcycle residing at my house for ~1 week in late June. This was one of the worst episodes in my life, and rocked me to my very core. In a true case of ‘be careful what you wish for’, I lied and manipulated my way to take advantage of a tragic situation (my uncle’s motorcycle accident) to come by a bike that I didn’t really want. My inner King Baby came to the fore in many ways. I hurt everybody. The bike left a week later, and relations with my parents haven’t been the same since. Joey is now a Webelos II, the last stage of Cub Scouts before becoming a Boy Scout. We attended the district camp-out at the R.J.Corman property this past weekend and had a blast. Gracie is now walking, taking 27 steps unassisted yesterday. Maria is now in pre-school at the First Methodist Church in Georgetown 3 days a week. She’s loving it, and seems to be flourishing amid the social interaction and learning environment. Whitney and I are making the first halting steps toward selling our house and buying another. This is possibly the worst time to sell a house since WWII, but hey, when you get The Call, one needs to answer it. We already absorbed several huge maintenance issues with our disaster of a house by ignoring this leading. Whitney currently has car fever, and if you read this blog you know I *always* have car fever. Current target de lust is a Toyota Prius 5. Fifty one miles per gallon sounds pretty ideal for the day-to-day operations of Whitney and the kids, plus it would make my bi-weekly trips to Louisville cost 1/2 as much versus the Camry of Doom. Whitney believes the Camry of Doom has a terminal mold problem. I can’t smell any mold, which she says is part of the problem. Andy Rooney is retiring from 60 Minutes as of this weekend. This man has been doing weekly essay commentary my entire life (1978-present). Wow. My current daily car fix comes from www.thetruthaboutcars.com The site is everything I always wanted www.autoextremist.com to be, and has one awesome refugee from VWVortex, Jack Baruth. I ramble sometimes. My current work notebook is a 13" Macbook Air, with a 128GB SSD. This thing is pure sex, and I love it. I hit an all-time adult weight low of 190 lbs a few weeks ago, at which time people started asking me if I had cancer or something. I don’t–the tests came back negative. Basically, the meds I’m on increase your metabolism, particularly of protein. In short, my body’s been eating my muscles since March. Since my last doctor’s visit, I’ve been eating Cliff Bars and mainlining protein like an Atkins Addict, and my weight, muscles, and energy level seem stable. I’m involved in an addiction accountability group that strengthens me every week, and if this were an anonymous blog, I’d love to tell you all about it. If you’re interested in details, please email me. We got a new dishwasher at home. It’s the little things that make you smile. I think Google+ is a great idea, but it’s like a bar with no women–not that interesting. I’m a twitter fiend. Love it and the immediate access to some of the best minds in the world, particularly in tech. I no longer sleepwalk or wake up exhausted. Yay, modern chemistry! I no longer feel the need to disrupt, destroy, or be defensive all the time. Ibid. I still love my Motorola Atrix 4G, and think Android fits my mind better than iOS. My wife loves iOS. God has a sense of humor, what can I say?

So, the other day, Whitney and I found ourselves at the UK Arboretum enjoying one another’s company and remarking on how little clothing 18-22 year olds wear while exercising. As part of our walk, we discussed the next step in our lives. You see, the last 5 years hasn’t been all roses for us. It’s only in the past 8 months that I’ve gotten my head screwed-on straight about my faith, my place in this world, and my attitude towards life. If you read enough of this blog, you can chart my up and downs like a sine wave, especially when I was 25->30. Sometimes, I’ve been there for my family; other times, I’ve hidden at work or in my own destructive pursuits, leaving Whitney to be a single parent to 1, then 2, now 3 children. ...

I’ve been a Dave Ramsey follower for 9 years now. Granted, I’ve never made it past baby step 3 because I’m a selfish spendthrift, but I’ve kept my debt load admirably low throughout that period. We’ve pretty much saved-up for everything we bought in that time, aside from our Honda Odyssey, and I swore with that one that I’d let that sick, in-debt feeling stay with me so I’d never make that mistake again. ...

This morning, my daughter Maria, had a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy at an outpatient surgery center in Lexington. She did very well, considering. She wasn’t happy to have all that pain when she awoke. She cried, and I held her in the recovery room as they took the IV out of her left arm. The nurses and staff at the outpatient center were attentive, answering our every question. We took the slow trip back to Georgetown in the Cube (still no van ’til next week), and she dozed lightly with mom keeping her company in the back seat. Since then she’s taken her Tylenol 3 (with yummy Codeine) and 2 popsicles.

Chat convo with my wife: Bella: I’m gonna need that $ back. Harvid: Sure, right after I put that deposit down on that motorcycle Bella: Oh, so you’re leaving me then? Harvid: Oh, didn’t the guy show up with the papers? ;)

Trying to journal a few things from the past weekend: My wife likes Ducatis and Triumphs. She thinks that a Nighthawk 250 and the Honda Rebel are ridiculously too small for me. In other news, I actually got Whitney to go to a motorcycle shop with me :-) I’m considering selling some of my Voigtlander R1 Rangefinder kit, particularly the 15mm Heliar f/4.5 and the 90mm f/3.5. I haven’t snapped any pictures with this camera in 2 years, and the 35mm and cannon 50mm f/1.2 are good enough. I keep waiting for the day when my kids go, “What’s that stuff you’re putting into that camera? ‘Film’…is that like a coating for light sensor? Where’s the 32GB memory card go in that thing? What do you mean it doesn’t use BATTERIES!?” I had chills and low-grade fever Saturday evening through Sunday morning, and still don’t feel 100% Currently reading Peter Egan’s excellent compillation Side Glances. It’s much the same old stuff–Peter buying old cars, stories of his childhood with his friend Pat Donnelly, long road trips hither and yon. It gets a bit repetitive, but so what? Part of me wants to be this guy when I grow-up, minus the Hepatitis C. Helped Whitney out with the 4 + 5-year old Sunday School class this week. Seven girls and one irrepressible boy, Noah. Saw an excellent free concert from the Central Kentucky Brass Trio at Christ the King Cathedral Sunday afternoon. Many thanks to Betsey Keating for watching Maria so Whitney and I could have some time together.