NYE 2022

I’m sitting in yet another unbelievably beautiful Mexico house in New Year’s Eve. The weather is perfect. My mental state is the best it’s been in years and I owe it all to the screaming children and wife who are just downstairs. 

There hasn’t been a lot of HamannEggs posts this year. Partly because, as Diana puts it, “The kids don’t poop on things as much.” Partly because I’m lazy. Partly because I’m trying to respect teenager privacy. Rest assured a lot of hilarious things happened and things still got pooped on. By me.

We lost our beloved Tutu this year, which broke our hearts harder than we would’ve imagined. We joined football teams and video game teams and cooked and watched R-Rated movies and loved each other like people who barely made it out of a global pandemic.

As is tradition, I like to write a little note to each of the HamannEggs fam. So here goes.

Elijah, you beautiful almost-man. Every year I get older I realize just how lucky I am that Diana and my DNA mixed in such a way to make the kindest, funniest, smartest kid ever. You are crushing it in high school. Your friends love you. Your teachers love you. Every person you meet loves you. I know we only have a couple years left with you under our roof and I will cherish every second. I love you buddy.

Luca, you crazy, goofy sweetheart. Watching you with your posse makes my heart sing. I love how you value friendship more than anything, I love your passion and zeal for anything involving a ball. I love your clicks and singing and independence. I love how you refuse to wear shoes in the dead of winter. I love how you try so hard at everything. I love how every mom tells us you are their favorite. I love you buddy.

Diana, you unbelievable beauty. You are the most amazing person on this earth. Your store is an Evanston icon. The town practically revolves around your sense of humor, your sense of style, your sense of right and wrong. You make me feel safe. You talk me off every ledge. You put the world in perspective, even when it’s careening out of control. You are the love of my life. I love you, honey.

Jerry, I love you. You big dummy.

Happy New Year, folks!

THIRTEEN

Luca turned thirteen last month (I know I know, get in line if you want to complain about lack of postings). It was his first disappointing birthday. You know, you get everything you asked for and think, “Is this it?” Not in a spoiled brat way, but I think in a “I can see the next 60 or 70 of these stretching out before me” way. 

It was slightly depressing. 

Luckily, we called in the giant blob of arms and legs and B.O. that make up Luca’s friends.  The birthday activity included bowling and a sleep over. I’m still not sure how many showed up. Ten? Fifty?

 

Bowling was appropriately hilarious. Some bros were mad at other bros and one bro ate off a private party’s table and another bro (possibly the same one) was suspiciously polite, and one bro bowled a miraculous strike despite a shoulder injury.

Diana and Elijah attempted to escape the sleep over portion, feigning nervousness over Jerry and the boys. But when it was revealed they weren’t actually taking Jerry anywhere, and were just planning a stay at a luxury hotel, I put my foot down. 

A huge pile of pizza arrived and we hit a manageable level of pandemonium. Most of the bros screamed at the X-box in the basement, while a few meandered around peeking into our jewelry boxes. 

Diana and I opted to order something less unhealthy than pizza for dinner. I think we chose burgers. While we waited I thought, “No one would notice if I took one small corner of a pizza.” 

I grabbed a steak knife and sliced of a little bite. As I was concealing my crime, Luca’s friend rounded the corner at top speed and into the knife. I watched it enter his hand at the knuckle. 

We locked eyes. 

We had a silent, mental conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So, I just stabbed you.”

“Yes, I am aware of it. You see, blood is now coming out of my hand.”

“Do you think this is a hospital type situation? Stitches and such?”

“I don’t think so. But I will make you pay dearly for this over the next three to four years.”

“Like how?”

“Minimum? I get to spend the night every time I want.”

“Understood.”

“And I will take four donuts tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Deal. One more thing. Can you keep this between you and I?”

“Okay.”

The friend (after I put on a bandage) returned to the basement. I was glad his dad was the doctor dad and not the injury lawyer dad. 

I poured myself the biggest glass of wine in the world and heard Luca bellow from the basement,”"DAD???? DID YOU STAB MY FRIEND???”

Yes. Yes I did.

Baby’s First Motor Vehicle Accident

Elijah and I went into the belly of the DMV beast a few weeks ago to get his learner’s permit. It was almost as fun as that time Diana made us go to Ellis Island in New York. With slightly less standing in line.

We are now responsible for 50 hours of driving together. Or is it 90 hours? Regardless, we are holding steady at .25 hours.

We’re not racking up the hours because our first supervised drive…did not go well.

But let’s rewind. We picked a giant parking lot in Michigan for our inaugural drive. It has everything. Wide open pavement. A little spot to practice parking. Best of all? No one around to ask us what we were doing there.

Luca joined to add a little spice and irritation. I even gave Luca a turn at the wheel. He executed a 360 spin into jumping over 7 school busses flawlessly.

After 20 minutes or so, Eli asked, “What’s next?”

I suggested we drive down one of Michigan’s sleepiest roads. Eli handled himself flawlessly, although I did mention driving 5MPH in a 30MPH zone was technically illegal. 

I noticed our sleepy road butted up against a real road with real cars filled with Michigan Militiamen. I suggested we pull into a driveway and turn around. Eli turned into nice little house and backed out.

Thud.

THUD! We hit something. Luca and I handled it like total pros. Meaning we screamed into Eli’s face and I jumped out of the car before he braked.

Pleasedon’tbeadogpleasedon’tbeadog.

Turned out that Eli drilled a mailbox. It sent across the poor owner’s lawn. 

Huh. What to do what to do? I will admit a big part of my brain was shouting, “LEAVE. RUN AWAY. GOOOOO.”

Was that the lesson I wanted to teach? If you get into a fender bender with postal gear, run away? Maybe. It technically falls into the “Do as I say, not as I do” category. Which is still a lesson.

Luca, sensing my evil thoughts, tried to stand the mailbox back up in its ruined hole. It fell over comically. 

I opted for honesty. Stupid honesty.

Eli was still vibrating in the front seat. I told him I would take the blame and wrote a note to the homeowner. “Hi. My name is Rick Hamann and I ran over your mailbox. Nothing would make me happier than jumping into a prolonged legal battle over your property. I look forward to learning that your mailbox cost $4,000.”

I stuck the note into the homeowner’s door and offered to drive the rest of the way home. Eli was still catatonic, so I just slid him over to the passenger seat.

A few days later I received this text:

“Hello Rick. My name is Darrel. You ran over my mailbox and left a note offering to pay for damages. I’m glad you left a contact number for me, that was very straight of you. And for that, don’t worry about the mailbox. I was going to move it anyway.”

Eli and I learned that honesty is the best policy. We also learned where the good driving schools are in Evanston.