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.