New Year’s Eve 2020

Whew. As I sit on my panic-purchased office yoga ball and reflect on the last year, I can't help but feel incredibly lucky.

Yes, I know the official image of 2020 will forever be a dumpster on fire. Yes, we barely dodged health bullets and career bullets and we fought and screamed and I may or may not have chucked a TV remote at Elijah’s head. But we did it together. The center held. 

 

I delivered wine cases from my Prius after 12 hours of Zoom meetings. Eli taught Luca fractions in the basement in between video games. Luca serenaded anxious dogs with sweet little songs in the middle of the night. And Diana managed to turn herself into five separate people to keep our family afloat and take down a wannabe evil despot. 

 

Many, many people were not so fortunate. My heart breaks for them. We’re lucky. So lucky. I can’t say it enough times. We’re lucky. 

 

As is tradition in HamannEggs, we’ll end the year as we always to, with a little note to everyone.

 

Dear Elijah,

 

You are the funniest person on the planet. You’re bright and wonderful and creative and beautiful. You are an amazing kid and the best friend a dad could have. I’m so glad you are in my life. I love you.

 

Dear Luca, 

 

You are the smartest person on the planet. You are crazy and silly and a techno-genius. You rule. You never cease to surprise me. I treasure our late-night cuddle sessions. I’m so glad you are in my life. I love you.

 

Dear Diana,

 

You are the love of my life. Your humor and passion and kindness has singlehandedly kept us alive during this nightmare. You’re an inspiration. You are a liberal warrior. Plus, you’re hot. I am so glad you are in my life. I love you.

 

Dear Jerry,

 

Welcome to the family, you blockhead. I love you.

 

Dear Grover,

 

Thanks for not dying. I love you.

 

Ping

 

Recital

 I have a little ukulele at my desk I like to pluck at in between meetings or when meetings get boring or when anyone but me is talking. It’s a super fun distraction and I’ve learned timeless hits like “Super Mario Bros Theme” and “Sponge Bob End Credits Theme.”

I also harbor a desire to start the Hamann Family Band and travel coast to coast in our trippy school bus playing state fairs and, um, solving mysteries?

The boys, as you know, have been taking piano lessons for years. Which involves ignoring the piano for 6 days and 23 hours and lying to their instructor for an hour a week. 

Since we are all indoor people now, their instructor suggested a virtual recital. Every kid taped themselves playing a selected work and then they were uploaded…somewhere. Presumably a place where we could watch the other kids’ videos. Hahahahahaha.

Luca was up first. I was cameraman. His attitude, like mine, was “let’s get this knocked out while my next video game is loading.” I pressed play, he played his song once, done. Bing bang boom. 

Elijah was a little tougher. He really wanted it to be perfect. He combed his hair and everything. Granted, his song was more difficult than Luca’s, but he kept getting tripped up at the same part. We could see the little musical bend in the road from a mile away, but every time our piano would careen off and into the ravine.  

5 videos turned to 10 which turned to 20. He became increasingly upset. I have one of the videos here for reference:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1Ugqh471IE

I suggested taking a break or running the part a few times or remembering that literally no one is going to watch his recital except mom and me. But every time he would mess up he’d throw himself on the keys or rip at his sweatshirt or toss his sheet music across the room. 

I took the opportunity to work on my cameraman skills. I would zoom in on his fingers or pan across the ivories or slowly follow a tear down his cheek.

After much ado, he made it through. Nailed it. Perfection. He snatched the phone from my hands to see the video.

Now, often times I exaggerate on the blog for comedic effect. But I am being dead honest. 

I did that thing where you press “stop” when you mean “play” and vice versa. Yes, I am a sitcom dad from the 1990s. I am Danny Tanner incarnate. 

Eli burst out laughing. It was the perfect tension breaker and shifted the blame from him to me, where I was happy for it to live. He made it through with no other issues and we uploaded the video into the great expanse of the internet.

COVID Scare

On the day they announced Biden’s victory (see my last, kinda maudlin post), we invited a few people over for drinks and burgers. Yeah, I know we’re living through a deadly pandemic. But democracy! And we’ve been really safe. What would one tinsy little party do? 

Duh.

Yep, one of our party goers got the COVID. Which meant we were officially a super spreader event. The boys and I were able to cut through our terror by placing all blame on Diana, who technically organized the party. We rode her so hard she snapped by mid-morning.

We had to get tested stat. Or stat after a 5 day waiting period.

Our best bet was heading to the urgent care place across town. The only issue? They had a strict “we only test people with symptoms” policy. So I sat the boys down and explained that lying is bad in 99.9% of cases with the one exception of when it is convenient.

Eli was totally on board. Lying is a way of life for 13 year olds. Luca was not on board. Suddenly he became Abe Lincoln. 

“But lying is bad,” He moaned. 

“Do you want to know if you have COVID or not?”

We drive to the urgent care place and I approached the front desk for one of my patented “Dr. Hamann” performances. I told the checker inner lady that we had been exposed and were feeling a little off. You know, oogy. The lady saw right through my lie and sensed Luca was the weakest link.

“Are you sick, young man?”

Luca quietly shook his head. JUDAS! 

I spent the next 24 hours pitching the benefits of lying to Luca. Some of his favorite people lie. The President does it all the time. Lying gets us what we want without having to face any consequences at all!

Finally, he relented and agree to go back to the Den of Dishonesty. Luca spent the entire time with the expression of a person whose last shred of childhood was being snatched by a lazy father.

Long story short, we got the test (very uncomfortable) and the results came back negative. We’re in the clear. We’ve also redoubled our commitment to wearing masks and social distancing. I also explained that from now on, we shouldn’t lie.

In case you are wondering, our friend with COVID is doing fine. He is quarantining in his basement with a new TV and newly acquired golf channel subscription.

Wear a mask, everyone!

 

Thank Goodness

It’s been weird to be a dad over the last three ish years. 

 

Since the boys were born, I’ve tried to impart one lesson. One simple lesson: BE A GOOD PERSON. Be a good person and good things will happen. Be a good person and you’ll win.

 

And then our nation elected the worst person. 

 

Suddenly a very bad person became the most powerful person in the world. And he did bad things. Terrible things. He put people in cages. He cheated. He stole. He bullied. He treated the needy with zero respect. He killed hundreds of thousands of people with his carelessness.

 

Diana and I shook our fists. We marched. We donated. We turned on MSNBC full blast. Our dinner conversation centered around the bad man and his badness.

 

And yet, I worried about the affect this had on Elijah and Luca. Yes, they were vocal opponents of the bad man. Quick with a “Bad man sucks!” whenever we saw him on TV. But I worried about what this was doing subconsciously.

 

Deep down, maybe their developing brains were learning that being a bad person was the way to be successful. A bad person was super rich(or so he says over and over). A bad person was worshiped by millions. A bad person was president. Maybe being a bad person wasn’t as bad as Dad said.

 

Heading into this election, I was petrified. Oh hey kids, be a good person. Unless you want to be the most powerful person in the world. Twice. I needed consequences for evil. I needed The Emperor to get thrown over the railing. I needed the dragon to be slayed. I needed Hans Gruber to fall out of Nakatomi Plaza.

 

What if the bad person won again?

 

Yesterday, we were training Jerry in front of the house. Feeding him hunks of string cheese as a reward for not attacking us.

 

Suddenly, our neighbor Lydie came running out. Tween legs and arms and hair flapping. “Guys…Biden won. They called it!”

 

People came streaming out of their houses, shouting. The good man won. The bad man lost. Diana burst into tears. Later, we walked to the center of town and stood there cheering as cars unknowingly found themselves in an impromptu parade and honked with enthusiasm.

 

I looked at Eli, who banged on a trashcan lid and whooped with glee. I let out a long sigh and let the goodness sink in. For just a minute.  

Blankie

 

If you’re the kind of HamannEggs super fan who remembers Blankie, you would clean up at the HamannEggs trivia night I just invented. “Given to him by his beloved Grandma, Sheila Jacklich, what has Luca slept with every night of his life? A) Cute Little Racoon? B) Blankie? C) Unwashed sheets?

 

Our little Linus simply can’t sleep without her. Yes, Blankie identifies as a “she/her.” There was a period of time that Luca wore Blankie as a wonderful head wrap. I tried it a few times to get a rise out of him, and it’s quite nice.

 

Oh, I forgot to describe what Blankie actually looks like. At one point, it was fluffy and brown white and featured lots of fun, cute animals. Which animals, you ask? I can’t remember. Over the last ten years of love, Blankie is now a threadbare square of whatever material one uses to begin a Blankie project. And riddled with germs.

 

As you can guess, Blankie is important. We’ve had a few close calls over the years. We’ve been forced to have Blankie shipped home from relatives. Housekeeping at a Mexico hotel had to spend an afternoon searching through hundreds of used sheets for it.

 

The other night, as I was set to engage in my nightly Dad Time (Sleeping on the couch with the TV blaring), Luca anxiously told me Blankie was missing. As with most things the boys can’t find, I told him to expand his search area beyond two feet. He came back a little later with tears in his eyes. Blankie was legit missing. 

 

I dragged my bones off the couch and joined in the hunt. Under the couch? Nope. In the couch cousins? No. Within arm’s length of the couch? No sir.

 

Where did you last see Blankie? Can you retrace Blankie’s steps? Did you and Blankie get into a fight? At one point, we calculated whether Jerry could fit Blankie in his stomach, a totally realistic unthinkable scenario.

 

I figured this may be time to end Luca’s longtime relationship with Blankie. As we get grow up, we eventually have to give up our childish things. Says the man who still has a Grover stuffed toy hidden in his bedside table. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you it’s time to let Blankie go.

 

Resigned to his fate, Luca asked if I would lie in bed with him. I leapt at the chance to be a Blankie replacement. Or have my kids need me for literally anything. We turned on a nighttime meditation app thingy and I immediately fell asleep. I can only assume Luca follow suit at some point. 

 

The next day, Blankie was located in a completely obvious place: in the dog treat bin. She was returned to her rightful place atop Luca’s head. 

Meat

 

 

I recently stopped eating meat. Why? First and foremost, I have terrible blood pressure. The self imposed stress from a career in advertising has taken its toll on my ticker. Who knew 20+ years of panic attacks were not good for you?

 

Plus, I get to inconvenience everyone! Oh, you’re making chicken? I guess I’ll just eat this piece of bark. What’s on menu? Pork? Oh…I don’t eat that. I’ll just subsist on my sense of self-satisfaction. 

 

The other night, Elijah offered to make us dinner. Which is…wow. He found some recipe on the internet that involved goopy cheese stuffed inside a burger. With a side of Propranolol and fries. He did me the favor of also buying some fake burger meat. Improbable burgers or Inconceivable burgers or something.

 

I went upstairs to go ride our stationary bike slash soft-core pornography device. When I came down, the kitchen was in peril. Eli struggled with the recipe and had created a massive pile of ground beef and cheese roughly the side of Jerry’s head. I tried to explain that his creation was not only not going to fit on a bun, it may never cook through and give everyone (except me) COVID.

 

I put him on grill lighting duty and got to work making his mound into actual burgers. I wasn’t grossed out by touching meat because I haven’t ascended to the pariah level of vegetarian yet. YET. In just a few minutes, I had constructed an actual meal and threw them onto the grill.

 

Oh crap! The Intolerable meat was still frozen. I screamed into the kitchen for someone, anyone to microwave my fake protein. 

 

After I cooked the family burgers to exactly medium rare (I’ve noticed people who don’t eat meat love to show how great they are at grilling) I ran inside to get my Implausible burgers.

 

Luca was standing over a bowl of goo. The protein, having been radiated by gigawatts of modern convenience, was a pile of David Cronenberg dreams. Luca stuffed his fists into the goo, which made a bodily noise. “I love this,” he said dreamily.

 

Then I got to engage in my favorite part of not eating meat: martyrdom. I made a little pile of nuts and seeds and pecked at it like a bird while the rest of the family moaned at how amazing Eli’s cheese stuffed burgers tasted. Seriously, dad. These are the burgers anyone ever made. Ever.

 

While Diana’s back was turned, I ate a bite of Luca’s burger. It was the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted.  

 

p.s. Jerry got his testicles removed this week.

E-Learning

Hey gang, I’m sorry I haven’t written much lately. Sitting at my desk all day looking at Twitter instead of doing my work is exhausting. Sometimes the prospect of looking at Twitter instead of writing a HamannEggs is just too much.

 

But I am totally motivated today. 

 

E-learning started a week ago. It’s depressing and boring and isolating. But Elijah and Luca are resilient kids and understand its either this or be exposed to something far worse: Republicanism. BAM!

 

We positioned Luca in the basement. He’s a Hamann through and through (anxiety ridden) so we know he’ll do his work. We positioned Eli in the living room because he is a little motivation deficient. I am able to check on him in between my meetings. I’ve only busted him watching “Greys Anatomy” on his phone during class once.

 

E-learning gives me the opportunity to pay the boys back for interrupting me for the last six months. There is nothing more inviting to my children than their father presenting ideas to an important client. Oh, you are having a tense conversation about a million dollar campaign? This seems like the perfect time to ask if we can get Chipotle for lunch. The camera is on you while you are pitching a new commercial? Let me take this opportunity to stroll by in nothing but a Bears Stocking cap.

 

Quick story: I was in a meeting with the camera on, and Diana walked in completely naked to hand me the phone. Naked. Nude. Sans underpants. The CMO asked, “Was that your kid?” Yes. Yes it was.

 

Yeah, so it’s payback time. I appear behind both of them like a 47 year old ghost while they are presenting their schoolwork. I do TicTok dances in the mid background. I shout, “I am going to the store, do you need any more diarrhea medicine? For your diarrhea? In your butt?”

 

This is all met with the proper amount of screaming and hatred. And then I shout, “This is payback for all the times you ruined my calls! Haha! I’m an adult!” 

 

We’ve come to an agreement not to bomb each other’s calls anymore. Now they just crawl into my office and shout-whisper their daily request from the floor.

 

  

Super Computer

 

All summer, we just assumed no one was going back to school in person. I mean, just take a look at (gestures to everything). I’m sure there was an official letter from the district, but I pay as much attention to official district letters as I do official emails from my company begging me to fill in my timesheets.

 

However, I was also not paying attention to behind the scenes conversations between Luca, Elijah and Diana about the technology needed for e-learning. Somehow, the boys convinced her that the seventeen computers, ipads, phones and abacuses simply could not do. We needed a new computer.

 

It just so happened that the only computer with enough power to handle essays and Zoom calls was a bespoke gaming PC with a light up keyboard, a monitor with higher resolution than the human eye can detect and one of those mouse things with twelve buttons. For e-learning.

 

I decided not to fight it because I always, always lose when it comes to spending money. Plus maybe it would allow me to play more then 45 seconds of Xbox per week.

 

Our first stop was my pal John, who was editor in chief of both a popular gaming website and the A.V. Club and is a technological genius. Which means he’s ten years younger than me.

 

John was excited to help us build the computer. We gave him a budget and our wants and needs and he said he’d get back to us in a few days.

 

Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet? Is John done yet?

 

At one point, I bellowed, “Here is John’s number. YOU CALL HIM!”

 

Because John is a person with a real job and family, he needed a normal amount of time to build the computer. Unacceptable!

 

In order to keep one of the few friends I have left, I let John off the hook and decided to risk COVID and take the boys to the Computer Mega Store. I made them wear masks and surgical gloves and write down exactly what they wanted so I could blame them for every salesperson’s eye roll.

 

We walked into the Computer Mega Store and I immediately locked eyes with a young man with a giant ginger beard and ponytail.

 

“You!” I shouted. “You will be my savior!”

 

My savior looked at Eli and Luca and simply said, “What’s your budget?”

 

Luca approached my savior with his notes and specs and my savior waved him off. “I know what you want.”

 

My savior built a glorious gaming PC with a keyboard that not only lights up, but changes color every time you press a key. The processing power could launch a tactical nuke from our basement. The mouse would make a Porsche engineer blush. All for the low low price of $800 over budget.

 

Luca was disgusted. “Dad. We are NOT going over budget. I refuse.” Oh, my sweet sweet, miser son. I explained to him that I was willing to pay a million dollars to get out of the store.

 

Much to my disappointment, they needed a few days to build the PC. 

 

Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet? Is the PC done yet?

 

A few days later we plugged it in, pressed “power”…and nothing happened. Eventually we got it to work, but not before I screamed, “I HATE TECHNOLOGY!” 

Not you, Xbox. I could never be mad at you.

 

The Most Magical Place on Earth

 

We are extraordinarily lucky during this insanity. First and foremost, we are all miraculously healthy. My job remains intact. Diana’s business is flourishing (quarantine makes for thirsty people) and creature who lives in our crawlspace still slumbers.

 

Plus, we have a cabin. I feel kinda icky about it, given the fact that so many people don’t have even a first home. We try to clear our conscience by offering up the place to anyone who asks. Unless they want it on a weekend. That’s Hamann Time, fools.

 

The place does wonders for my outrageous blood pressure and stress related hair loss. Sometimes I even dance right up to the line of actual relaxation. Diana is totally in her element. She was made for weekends in the forest. The moment she arrives, Diana melts into a deck chair for 72 hours, occasionally rising to mutter the words, “Isn’t this great?”

 

The boys?  Who knows? They’ve moved on to better things. Namely, The Most Magical Place On Earth.

 

No, not Disney. We’re not monsters.

 

Our wonderful neighbors’ parents have a place in Indiana that makes our cabin look like an outhouse. No, not those wonderful neighbors. The other ones. A few weeks ago, they invited Luca to spend a couple days at their place. Those couple days turned into a week, which turned into another week. Elijah, sensing an upgrade, managed to get himself invited as well.

 

Despite being on their phones 24 hours a day, Diana would go several days without hearing from them. The only communication we’d receive was in the form of impossibly beautiful photos. The boys frolicking in Lake Michigan. The boys on a boat. The boys lighting howitzer sized fireworks. The boys signing adoption papers to officially join the wonderful neighbor’s family.

 

After another round of beauty pics, I would grumble, “We have cool stuff out here. We have…ticks. And that part of the roof that always leaks.”

 

One Sunday I drove to Indiana in the guise of picking the boys up. But I really just wanted to see this Shangri La for myself. I mean, how great could it be? Really?

 

Imagine the coolest place you can. Now, boost it up by 47%. Add some arches. And vines. Now add 25% more amazing architecture. No, not that much. They aren’t drug lords. There. That’s it. It’s that awesome. 

 

I prayed my tires would suddenly flatten and I would have to live there. But alas, Toyota makes a maddeningly reliable hybrid. So I was forced to drag the boys away and shove them into the car like cats into a bath.

 

We drove home and the boys had to go back to suffering through life with unlimited video games and pizza.

 

 

Baby's First Girlfriend

Through an intense series of negotiations, I have officially been given permission to disclose the following:

Eli has a girlfriend.

I am not at liberty to disclose much about her. She is a human. She exists in our part of the multiverse. She occupies space, she has mass. She is between 3ft and 7ft tall. And is between 15 and 4,000 pounds.

Plus, she’s super sweet. 

Embarking on a junior high level relationship in the age of COVID is strange. Lots of texting. So much texting. I think they also talk until all hours of the night. I also assume they communicate through TikTok. What is TikTok? I totally know, but maybe you should tell me so I can double check that you know.

They’ve arranged a few COVID social distance dates. Here is how the last one went: His girlfriend insisted on buying them lunch at Chipotle. In true Hamann fashion, Eli panicked and bought her a pair of shorts at Target to even things out. The math checks out.

The Pandemic hasn’t dampened Luca’s duty as little brother to be an absolute nuisance in this budding relationship. Luca spent an afternoon tracking one of their dates like Lord Baltimore (I watched “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” the other night). Phone theft is rampant. Eli’s girlfriend takes it all in stride, and is super cute about indulging the nonsense.

Speaking of nonsense, I can’t resist. I text her frequently to encourage her to play practical jokes with my insider knowledge. I also do that thing where I press my index fingers together and make kissing noises whenever Eli talks about her. Eli and girlfriend, sitting in a tree and so on and so forth.

 Eli takes this all in stride with good humor. Oh wait. No. He hates it and screams at us to shut up whenever we butt in on his relationship.

A little bit of normalcy in an insane world. 

Baby’s First Surgery

In the middle of the general collapse of society, Elijah needed to have some minor surgery. In the interest of preserving the last shred of his privacy, let’s just say he had a none of your business removed from his none of your beeswax.

I was delighted to discover the hospital would only allow one parent to accompany him. And then horrified to learn they relaxed that policy the day before his surgery. It’s not that I didn’t want to be there, I just didn’t want Eli see me have a complete emotional breakdown.

On the morning of, I went into full Rick Mode. Which meant sitting in the car 45 minutes before we needed to leave and communicating only through a series of grunts and clicks. 

I do not recommend going to a major hospital during a global pandemic if you have anxiety issues. But the Children’s wing did their best to make wearing a mask and not touching anything fun.

Eli was understandably nervous. When asked about pain, his doctor had given the kiss of death, “There will be a little discomfort for a couple days.” And that, my friends, is how you get a new Playstation.

Once the sedatives kicked in, I pulled out my phone to record any viral hits, but then felt gross and put it away. He did give a hilarious monologue about his new superpowers and the benefits of gravity, but mostly just behaved like a bridesmaid who made the mistake of mixing whisky and wine on an empty stomach. 

Then the nurse said, “Okay. If you want to say goodbye, this is the time.” Goodbye? Remember that one girl who died from anesthesia? Was that at the dentist? Why are we doing this? Run. Run! I wondered how far I could get with a hundred pound babbling sack of Jell-O. Diana and I kissed him and told him we loved him.

They wheeled him out of the room and he shed a single tear down his cheek. At which point I died. 

Diana and I spent the next couple of hours silently scrolling Twitter and washing our hands. Diana received texts about the Eli’s progress like she was receiving a package from Anthropologie. 

The procedure was a complete success. Eli did great.  His recovery was a little barfy, but our post op nurse was amazing. A playfully gruff southsider who seemed to exist to play against all nursing stereotypes. His entire goal in life was to “get you out of my hair.” We loved him.

Eli and I became roomies for the next couple of days. He needed pain meds every three hours and wasn’t supposed to leave his bed, so we built a little nest made of video games, Doritos and opioids. 

But now he’s up and about and is healthy enough for me to yell at him about leaving wet towels on the floor.   

Fully Clothed Crazies

Longtime readers of HamannEggs will remember the “Naked Crazies.” That time between dinner and bed when baby Luca and Elijah would race around the house being, uh, unclothed and loony. It was best just to curl up into a ball and wait it out.

Diana has her own version: The “Fully Clothed Crazies.” The Fully Clothed Crazies are when she will dive headlong into a house project and there is no tearing her away until it’s done. Last week, it was cleaning the boy’s basement video game room/garbage barge. It was dis-gus-ting. Broken toys everywhere. Half chewed candy debris. Doors off hinges. There was even a pile of white powder that I can only assume was high quality cocaine. 

She attacked the basement with the furor of a meth addict taking apart an air conditioner. She boxed up hundreds of pounds of plastic, she scraped socks off the ceiling, she scrubbed and vacuumed and straightened.

Did the boys help? Well, if you mean being constantly distracted and frustrating and complain-y, yes they helped. Like all Fully Clothed Crazies, it was best for everyone to just get out of the way and compliment Diana vigorously afterwards.

The mistake the boys made was blatantly ignoring Diana’s frequent request to clean their rooms. And being kinda stinkers about it. I can’t remember what snide response set her off, but at some point in the evening the Fully Clothed Crazies turned into the Fully Clothed Rage-ies. 

The boys got both barrels. They did nothing to help around the house (true). They did not help with the dogs (also true). They were spoiled little jerks (pretty true). I was just glad that a blog-worthy meltdown wasn’t mine for once. 

The boys were determined to clean up after themselves. Which is hard for kids who spent a lifetime throwing things over their heads like Ralphie and Randy with socks on Christmas morning.

I decided to employ a time honored Dad tactic: being as annoying as humanly possible. 

Every time I find a granola bar wrapper, t-shirt or nerf bullet, I shout throughout the house, “Boyyyyyyyyyys! Boyyyyyyyyyyys! Come heeeeeeere!”

From the Fornite battle comes the response, “What?”

“Come heeeeeeere!”

“What?”

“Come heeeeeere!”

This goes on for a few minutes. I know my annoying voice will win eventually and they’ll come crawling up from the depths. 

Then, like a one year old who sees snow for the first time, I’ll gleefully say, “Oooh. Look. A sock. Guys! A sock! Come here. Look. A sock…”

This non-yelling annoyance disgusts them. And they’ll pick whatever it is up. 

I do this thousands of times a day. “Boyyyyyyyyyyyys!”

I think it’s slowly working, because Eli volunteered to clean up his lunch mess today. Was it because he is becoming responsible? Was he utterly annoyed with me? Does it matter?

Black Lives Matter

This blog is meant to be a place for poop and pee stories, but it’s also a time capsule Elijah and Luca can look back on and know what the world was like when they were growing up.

Right now, the world is…f*cked. 

The Pandemic of racist killing in America spilled over into riots, violence, looting and acts of unbelievable heroism and villainy.

Even in our delightful suburban bubble, windows were smashed, the Best Buy was looted and Diana had a scare in front of everyone’s favorite Froze stand, The Wine Goddess. Diana and I put on masks and marched alongside thousands of Evanstonians who shared stories of intimidation and violence from our very own police.

Our suburban bubble has been weighing heavily on my mind lately. We’ve been clear with the boys about the evils of racism. But it’s just so far away. We live in a temple built of white privilege.  Eli and Luca can ride their bikes without being called names. They can walk through the mall without being followed by security. They’ll never be pulled over, harassed, beaten or murdered because of the color of their skin. They were born into the upper middle class, and by all statistics, they will stay upper middle class their whole lives. 

Luca put a “Black Lives Matter” sign in our window. We give money to the NAACP. We re-tweet messages decrying racism. 

But it’s just not enough. Not even close.

We can’t keep hiding behind our lucky spin of the DNA wheel.

Black lives matter. And it’s my job as a dad to make sure the deaths of so many black sons and daughters aren’t for nothing.

4pm

We’ve been pretty lenient with screentime during this whole mess. When you are stuck inside for two months without any real human contact, you have to turn a blind eye to a few extra games of Fortnite here and there.

Like how every morning Diana quietly recycles that wine bottle I shouldn’t have opened the night before. 

And like those extra portions of wine, there comes a time when Luca just has to dry out. Because he pissed me off royally.

Last weekend, we visited the cabin so we could be surrounded by nature, family, and roughly 4,000 chipmunks. As you recall, our cabin has terrible wifi, which makes me very happy. It makes Luca miserable. 

While the rest of America was honoring our fallen heroes by refusing to social distance, Luca spent Memorial Day weekend complaining nonstop. My urge to yell was at barely a simmer for the drive up and occasionally got to a rolling boil when he hid in our room in the dark for hours, siphoning the tiny wifi signal for his ipad. I managed to maintain my temper by laying in my hammock and drinking Michigan beers.

When we got home, Luca immediately raced to his xbox and spent the next 4 hours mainlining digital violence. We let it go because we found a fun new TV show to binge. 

Around 9, I called downstairs for Luca to get off the game. No response. I called again. No response. I finally gave him my angry dad voice and Luca came stomping up the stairs. I don’t even remember what flippant thing he said, but my urge to yell not only boiled over, but got knocked off the stove and spilled all over the floor. 

At some point during my tirade, I bellowed that there would be no screens until 4pm from this moment forward.  As I caught my breath, I heard Eli’s voice from upstairs, “Does that include me?”

Urge to yell…boiling.

Today, both boys steered clear of screens. They read. They drew. Eli put together a desk that I refused to construct. 

Luca and I spent some time together in the late afternoon. We both knew we had a little repairing to do to our relationship. So we played with Jerry and had a hilarious bike ride in a downpour. 

Luca said, “This is the most fun and the most wet I’ve ever been!”

I resisted the urge to say, “See? You don’t need screens!”

He asked me to play Jenga and we sat and laughed and spilled little blocks all over the dining room. I noticed that his eyes flicked to the clock at 3:59 and I said, “I think we can let you off early.” 

Luca raced to his xbox with a wide grin and I resisted the urge to open a bottle of wine.

Lucavision

I can never remember what we call this whole sitting at home thing. Something in place? Shelter something something? The end times?

Whatever it is, our family falls into two distinct camps:

1. Giant bouts of activity.

2. Laying on the floor, face first.

Elijah and I fall into camp 2. Luckily, my job allows me to conduct much of my business in sad sweatpants, scraggly beard and a hairstyle best described as “difficult.” I just had a full conversation with Eli in which he discussed the ins and outs of E-learning while not releasing his lips from his filthy carpet. We’re doing great.

Diana and Luca, on the other hand, are more productive than ever. Diana is engaged in her own apocalyptic movie at the wine store. She fends off hordes of thirsty Evanstonians, shuffling bleary eyed towards her, moaning, “Beeeeer…whiskyyyyyyyyy.” She’s never been busier and happier. 

Luca is also engaged in a fury of activity. He wakes before everyone and blasts through his E-learning so he can focus on his true love: building a Youtube empire. You know those videos where a dude plays a video game and then says stuff like, “LET’S GO BABY!” Yeah, they make no sense to me, either. 

Luca tapes himself playing Fortnite and then adds supers, music and voice over where he says, “LET’S GO BABY!”

He works late into the night writing the perfect quips for his videos. It’s almost too adorable for words. Take a look at this one. Be sure to check out the end battle. I’ll wait:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om--Rd_85wA

Intense, huh? He’s my kid, but he’s also pretty good at killing other 10 year olds.

At the end of every video, he asks for people to subscribe to his channel. That’s the currency among his pals. Who has the most subscribers. They each have 28. Because there are 28 of them.

Wait. Maybe you all could subscribe! It’s like bringing your kid’s Girl Scout cookie sheet to work. I’m going to pimp my relationship with you to add to a meaningless number. 

Do it. If you love me, do it. But if you are currently lying on your floor, don’t worry about it. I totally understand.

JERRY!

Every day during the COVID crisis, I wake up and say to myself, “You gotta do a HamannEggs. You owe it to your readers.”

And then I fall into a 14 hour hole filled with sweatpants, awkward video chats, and bouts of screaming to please, for the love of all that’s holy, put your dishes in the dishwasher. 

The next morning starts it all over again. 

If only there was something that could totally upend these days that run one into another. Something cute. Something bitey. Well, we found it and his name is Jerry! Jerry the puppy!

Or Jerry Gergich Hamann to be correct. Do not allow any Dianas try convince you his middle name is Garcia. It’s Gergich, after the hapless “Parks and Rec” character. 

We got Jerry from the same Goldendoodle breeder as my boss (the ultimate brown nose move). However, due to the pandemic, we were required to pick him up in an empty suburban parking lot like we were purchasing a kilo of black tar heroin. They showed up in an unmarked SUV and we were instructed to have one, only one, person approach the vehicle. One I handed our check over and they essentially tossed Jerry into my arms before slamming the gas pedal back to their breeding paradise in the country.

Almost immediately, all the Luca and Elijah promises regarding puppy care went right out the window. They avoid his little sharp teeth and frequent need to go potty by hiding behind their xbox controllers. And since Diana has to maintain her essential business of helping Evanston’s residents stay drunk for the entirety of the pandemic, the dog duty (doody) is all mine.

He’s a good boy and is trying his best to figure out what these chattering monkeys who kidnapped him from his littermates want. 

You may be thinking, “How does Grover feel about this whole Jerry situation?” He’s not pleased. His dreams of living out his days lounging on our bed, occupying my 100% attention were dashed. But he occasionally plays with the little fella for a vigorous 45 seconds before collapsing on the floor.

Please enjoy this photo of Jerry smoking a cigarette. 

TEEN!

Elijah Steven Hamann turned thirteen today. 

Can you friggin’ believe this? This whole blog started thirteen years ago! 1,212 posts. Viewers have visited from Ukraine, Russia and other places trying to hack my computer. 

It’s hard to describe how amazing this kid is. The best way I can describe him is the way we do it here at HamannEggs, with a story.

Eli woke up extra early on April Fool’s Day. The only time he’s woken up before 11am during the whole COVID-19 crisis. He took the time to hand draw googly eyes and tape them to every single item in our fridge. 

Later that day, after some internet research, Eli removed a vital hose from the toilet and pointed it in such a way that it would spray all over the victim when they flushed. The intended victim was Luca. The ACTUAL victim was Diana. 

He got in super trouble. 

Much later, while he was suffering through his “no screens for the rest of the night, mister” punishment, he snuck up behind me while I was watching TV. I was enjoying the after glow of my nightly Manhattan. The little bugger buzzed off half my mustache!

My special, quarantine mustache. My hideous, awful, 1970’s stoner mustache.

I was so shocked I couldn’t even get angry. I had to respect his April Fool’s mastery. But my eyes couldn’t lie. I was sad to see my mustache friend go. 

Eli felt awful. He apologized profusely and almost burst into tears. And spent the rest of the night trying to make it up to me, including making me another Manhattan. And no, I did not shave the rest of my mustache for my 8am video meeting the next day.

That’s Eli for you. Sweet, smart, funny, silly, slightly mischievous and a solid Manhattan maker. 

I love you pal. You’re the reason we’re all here. 

Covid Fun

It’s been extra hard to write the blog lately with the whole…apocalypse. We’re together, we’re safe, we’re healthy. We’re adjusting to being on top of each other every second of every minute of every day.

Luca, Grover and I enjoy our little morning routine. I start each day with a cup of coffee and four hundred conference calls in my sweat pants. I take my calls at the dining room table because Luca officially took over our office. He set up a mission control with three devices running 24/7. Luca conducts video calls with classmates, watches sports videos and edits his finest Xbox Madden football plays with adorable play by play voiceovers.

Grover just lies on the floor and mentally asks, “Why? Why? Why are you here?”

The close quarters can be challenging. Luca and Elijah are basically at each other’s throats from dawn to dusk, with occasional spurts of basketball playing. I’ve noticed we’ve individually found the farthest four corners of the house to do our “I hate you and everyone and everything” pouting. 

That isn’t to say we don’t have moments of joy. I love the commute. And we’ve been eating actual meals together and making our way through the TV comforts of “The Office.” We’ve also had some epic games of Jenga and Clue.

And then there’s my mustache. 

Somewhere in the confusion and panic of that first week of quarantine, I shaved my beard into a terrible mustache. It was my version of shouting into the void. It’s awful. Mousy, scraggly, misshapen. It’s an affront to the 1970s.

Our family is passionately split. I and Luca are pro. Me, because it’s so stupid. Luca, because he thinks everything I do is awesome. Diana and Eli loathe it. Is it COVID-19 that makes Diana resist my kisses or the mustache? Eli just doesn’t agree with it aesthetically. 

Two nights ago, I put my mustache up as grand prize in our game night. The winner got to decide its fate. What no one else knew is I am ruthless at Clue and mopped the floor with everyone through my keen detective skills and abject cheating. 

Luca and I celebrated by painting my toenails bright blue. I am never going to have sex again.