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. 

Twelve Hours of Videogames

 

At the beginning of the school year, we sat Elijah down and said, “You gotta do something. Gotta do something. A club. A sport. A play. Marching Band. Your father will give you a thousand dollars to do Marching Band, btw. But you can’t spend this entire semester playing videogames. Gotta do something.

Eli promptly went out and joined the high school videogame team. Checkmate. 

Before you ask, videogame teams are legit. There are real teams playing competitively across America. You can also get college scholarships. So, our mediocre parenting has paid off, baby! 

He had to try out and everything. The game he chose is “Overwatch.” One of those shoot ‘em ups, but with Robots and Genies and Gorillas. Less “Bang bang” and more “Pew pew.”

He made the J.V. team but quickly caught the eye of the team captains because he actually took an interest in participating. Eli held team meetings and had a team dinner and organized practices. 

But before the meetings and dinners and practices, Eli had to play twelve hours of Overwatch.

Due to some glitch, Eli didn’t qualify to play in high school tournaments. His…level…was…too…low…because…he…switched…yeah I’m bored too. Net net, he needed to sit at his computer until he reached some arbitrary number that allowed him to compete. 

Playing videogames competitively involves rabbit like reflexes and impossible hand eye coordination and screaming like a banshee. During the first 3 hours of his marathon, Eli would scream and pound his desk and shout, “Are you serious right now?” Which has become our family mantra. 

The rest of the family took this opportunity to visit the Greek restaurant where they light the cheese on fire and shout, “Opa!” I got a whole whitefish and gave Luca $5 to kiss the head on camera. 

We arrived home and Eli was still in his crucible. Or else we assumed he was with all the screaming from behind his bedroom door. I mean, he could have recorded himself screaming and pounding his desk and tricked us so he could sneak off to play videogames, but we knew this was important.

The next morning left for work (yeah, they make us work at office occasionally) and caught Eli in the hall.

“How bad?”

“Four a.m.”

But he made it. I’m proud of him. I’m glad he’s having fun and meeting new kids and competing and getting out of the house. Virtually, I guess. 

New York Pt1

Time is running out. 

We barely see either kid anymore. Eli is wither working or hanging in Chicago or trying to hack nuclear codes in our basement. Luca is constantly with his ball of arms and legs and baseball hats. The day that Diana and I officially become empty nesters is fast approaching. 

We’re on a constant hunt to find ways to force them to hang out with us. We can barely get them to sit with us long enough to shovel food down their throats before the night shift of friends begins.

So we decided to take a trip to New York. I have a soft spot for the city from my publishing days. Maybe I could get one of them to move to New York so I can come visit every weekend and continue my search for the most beautiful person and/or the craziest person on the planet.

By coincidence, it was the hottest week of the year. “It will just be like ‘Do The Right Thing!” I’d say, not remembering the second half of the movie. 

It stormed in Chicago the morning we left, and our flight was promptly cancelled. 

While people scrambled around O’Hare, Diana and I silently agreed not to freak out. If this was one of our last vacations together it was the kids who were going to ruin it, not us. Diana found us a flight on a competing airline and I asked not one, not two not three, but four different people if our luggage would arrive in New York.

“Oh yeah. Totally. We have our top people tracking down your luggage. Why I think I see your luggage right now. They’re black squares, right? Yeah. Those are going to meet you at the gate.”

We arrived in New York and spent a delightful hour trying to track down our luggage. The hilariously New York baggage dept laughed when we told them the tale of our helpful O’Hare crew. They waved their arms at the thousands of misplaced luggage littering the terminal.

Don’t freak out, we silently said to ourselves.

We promised everyone new wardrobes if the stuff didn’t arrive the next morning. We b-lined to our hotel (which was lovely) and decided to grab some provisions before dinner. I forced Eli to join me in visiting an authentic bodega.

“Look at this city, Eli! The energy. The people.  Ooh look. That person is beautiful. Ooh, a crazy person! Don’t you want to live here?”

“It smells.” 

I shoved him into the first shop I could find. Upon entry, I realized I should have done a little more research with my eyeballs. It was less “Bodega” and more “Place you go to take a B.M. after shooting up heroin.” The plywood shelves sagged with sadness. The patrons coughed on each other (and us). The owner was unrecognizable behind 14 inches of bullet proof glass.

I tried to make the best of it. “Huh. I bet you’ve never seen anyone that strung out before, huh Eli? No sir, I will not buy you a Coors.”

After buying the oldest toothpaste in the world we hightailed it out of there and met Luca and Diana for some real authentic touristy Italian food. The wine was delicious, the waiter was hilariously surly and the boys were in high spirits after we promised to buy their love with as many souvenirs as they could carry.

Our luggage arrived the next morning in perfect condition. Stay tuned for part 2.

Imposter Dog

 

We take Jerry to Doggie Daycare a couple times a week. It’s our way of avoiding taking him for walks. Plus, he turns into a real jerk if he doesn’t get 17 hours of exercise a day. The process is pretty easy. Drive to the place, call the number, worker person comes and gets Jerry, Jerry has fun. At the end of the day, the process goes in reverse.

Or it doesn’t.

Diana and Eli drove to daycare a few weeks ago and called the number. “We’re here for Jerry!”

A minute goes by. Another minute. Five minutes. Eventually, a worker person came out and popped their head through the window.

“It seems like we have a little problem.”

Go on…

“We think we gave Jerry to the wrong person.”

Interesting. It was difficult for Diana to calibrate her rage. The daycare dropped the ball on the most fundamental of jobs. MAKE SURE THE ANIMALS END UP WITH THE RIGHT PEOPLE. 

But Imposter Dog’s owner is not without sin. How do you drive away with the wrong dog? Yes, we live in an affluent north shore suburb. You are issued a Goldendoodle at the same time you are issued your hybrid car. They just let Jerry jump into their car and thought, “Close enough.”

Diana and Eli went home because where else where they going to go? To the Dog Detectives?

An hour or so later, the Vet called. Imposter Dog’s owner took Jerry to get vaccinated. The Vet had gone so far as to tell them, “Wow, Imposter Dog seems to have gained 20 pounds since your last visit.”  Imposter Dog’s owner just shrugged and said, “What a fatso.”

The Vet checked the little chip inside and discovered that this was not, in fact, Imposter Dog, but was Jerry Friggin Hamann. 

Diana rescued Jerry and Imposter Dog was reunited with his idiot owner. 

Then we went on a ride called The Apology Express. The daycare owner was so distraught in their mea culpa that they debated closing the business for good and moving to a deserted island with no dogs. Diana just said a million free days at daycare would suffice.

Imposter Dog’s owner also sent a lengthy apology via email. It turns out that Imposter Dog’s owner was an absentminded professor at the local college, which made perfect sense. 

In the days that followed, the daycare instituted a whole new set of rules regarding pick up and drop off. Two-step identifications. Little handwritten reminders of who was who. Not smoking weed every 15 minutes. We like to call them “Jerry’s rules.”

But within a week or so they stopped all the new protocols. Next time we pick up Jerry I hope we get a Dachshund.  

Bunnies!

Jerry absolutely loves the cabin. I feel like that's a given. It’s in a forest and he’s a dog. We often just let him run wild and go adventuring. He typically races off and returns a small while later covered in goop and smelling like dead things.

We worry a little bit about letting him loose, but we are pretty far from the road and at heart Jerry is a scaredy cat who really only adventures under our porch. Plus, he knows where the extremely expensive dog food is located.

We were hanging around our little game table which has a lovely view of our back yard. We were playing “5 Crowns,” which has the dual honor of being Diana’s favorite game and the one she is the worst at.

Suddenly, Luca started screaming. This is nothing new. Luca’s two main modes are scream and loud scream. He and Elijah raced outside and Eli joined in on the screaming.

I looked through the part of my trifocals designed for mid distance and saw Jerry toss something into the air. It was a baby bunny.

No no no no no no. Please don’t be a bunny killer. Please don’t be a bunny killer.

Diana and I raced outside and wrestled Jerry, who had another baby bunny in his mouth. The baby was screaming like, well, a baby bunny in a dog’s mouth. 

We released the bunny and it did it’s best to hide in plain sight. Maybe if I curl into a ball on his sidewalk, the giant monster won’t get me.

Upon inspection, the bunnies seemed, okay-ish. Traumatized, yes. But they weren’t bleeding or in half. Which was weird, because one of Jerry’s teeth was the size of a baby bunny.

I think he was just playing with them. “I’ve always wanted a bunny rabbit. I will name him George and I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him…”

We gently placed the trembling bunnies back in their little nest. Their version of hiding was to stick their heads into the bushes and stick their white tailed butts into the air.

These rabbits weren’t winning any Darwin awards.

 But we decided to make sure at least our dog wasn’t the one to kill them. We locked Jerry in the house for the night. Jerry barked and cried and whined and threw himself at the door. “But I want to go out with my rabbit friends, George. I want to hug them and pet them and squeeze them…”

The next morning, I raced out into the yard to see what was left of the bunnies. They were gone. I am 100% sure they had moved to the city to make it in organic farming. 

Coach Hamann

 

Luca exists in a blob of 4-10 boys. It’s an unstoppable mass of arms and legs and b.o. that crashes into homes, consuming all snacks in its path. The good news is all the boys in this blob are kind and hilarious and tolerate my special brand of stupid dad.

A few months ago the blob decided to join a flag football league. They really wanted to play full contact football with pads and helmets, but…Evanston. The blob doesn’t care what kind of football because the blob just needs to keep playing. Blob is play. Play is blob. 

The flag football games took place at the big inflated indoor fieldhouse across town. On the outside, it looks like a giant, quivering marshmallow. On the inside, the stench of 1,000 tweens hits you in the face like a bucket of socks.

On the morning of the first game, Luca and I arrived the Hamann-required 20 minutes early to meet the coach. Instead of a coach, there was just a pile of uniforms. As gametime neared, the pile didn’t magically turn into a coach. The blob didn’t seem to mind, but we dads felt it was necessary to have a coach. 

Luckily, an Alpha Dad stepped up. He is an E.R. doctor, so, you know, qualified. He coached the blob to a huge, lobsided victory. His technique was to stand on the sideline and do and say very little. The blob was so in sync that the just rolled over the other team. Blob is play. Play is blob. 

This went on for the next couple weeks until Alpha Dad had to go out of town. This left the blob coachless. The blob nominated me to coach. Not because of my apparent skills, but the blob thought it would be funny to see the unathletic, glasses nerd stand on the sidelines.

In the days leading up to the game, I asked Luca what I needed to do.

“Just say, ‘Good job,’ and stay out of the way.” I could do that.

However, 24 hours to gametime, I started to get pretty nervous. What if they needed actual coaching? What if they played a team who could stand up to the blob? What if they lost under my non-coaching? I came very close to having an old school panic attack, but my brain miraculously turned off that spigot.

The morning of the game, I asked Luca if I would try or if I should act like a hilarious goofball. He thought for a moment and said, “Um. Maybe in between?”

My addition to the coaching regime was stretching before the game and doing that thing where you put your hands in and go, “One two three roar!” Which I would say only 50% of the blob understood for its delightful irony.

The blob crushed the other team. Blob is play. Play is blob. I mostly stayed out of the way and said, “Good job.” But after seeing the sad faces of the other team I suggested maybe we lighten up a little bit? The blob laughed. The blob destroyed. 

I barely got to congratulate Luca on his play before the blob moved on to someone’s house to eat all their chips. 

SOLO

Diana and the boys headed down to Georgia a few weeks ago to visit her sister. My German/Lutheran-ness wouldn’t allow me to take the three days off. What if someone needed me to attend a meeting about a meeting? What if???

They didn’t miss me.

The trip was simple: O’Hare – Savana. Eat good food. Hang with good people. Savana-O’Hare.

My plan was also simple: Watch crap. Eat crap. Drink crap. Finish my big Simpson’s Lego. 

Just as I was easing myself into a vat of crap, I began receiving urgent texts from Luca. “Dad. Mom is crazy. Dad. Make mom stop. Dad. Help.”

I called Diana’s phone to make sure she hadn’t gotten into a scuffle with TSA over her bomb of a figure. Bam!  Apparently, the flight was oversold and the agents were offering the staggering sum of $5,000 in travel miles to take a later flight. Her sister was planning a trip to France later this summer and Diana thought the dough would be a lovely sisterly gift. 

However the five G’s was only good for one, so the boys would have to fly by themselves. The gate agents felt like they were up to the task. Diana felt they were up to the task. Luca and Elijah thought they were walking into a disaster. 

I asked her to put Luca on. “You are witnessing what I like to call ‘Diana Crazies.’ There is no cure. There is no stopping her. I recommend you just get on the plane and if something goes wrong you’ll basically get to hold it over her head forever.”

Before Luca could respond they were ushered onto the plane. It went fine. They drank diet Cokes and watched videos. Di’s sister met them at the gate and they met up with Diana a few hours later.

Fast forward through great fun on their side and 4 kinds of self abuse on my side. They landed back in Chicago and Diana went to the airline gate to acquire about the miles, which had yet to appear in her frequent flier account.

The woman said, “Miles? What miles? No miles here.”

Eli and Luca took a seat and prepared to watch everyone’s favorite show, “Don’t Mess With Diana.” Did she take the later flight for her health? What kind of airline do you think you are running here? Say, where is your supervisor? And where is their supervisor? Yeah, let’s get all the supervisors here.

They did an amazing job of fighting off Diana. Miles? What’s a mile? This isn’t an airline. We make cookies here. Mr. Burns old fashioned extra chewy…”

Suddenly, Luca appeared at her side. In his pre-flight Tik-Tok-ing on the way to Georgia, he happened to record a pivotal moment in Hamann History. The gate agent speaking clearly into a microphone, “We are willing to give up $5,000 in miles for anyone willing to take a later flight to Savana.”

So many apologies. Diana ate the apologies like M&Ms. Nom nom nom. Delicious apologies. Oh, I couldn’t possibly have another apology. But you know what? You only live once. I’ll take another 40. 

And now Di’s sister and family will be traveling to France this summer on the dime of the good people at United Airlines. 

Today’s picture is the Lego I built.