Family Fun Gym

Remember the scene in “Revenge of the Nerds” when the titular nerds have to sleep in the gym after the jocks steal their dorm building? They sit on cots, lamenting their place on campus separated from basketball practice by a big nylon curtain. Occasionally, a ball will sail over and smash their chess pieces.

That’s the YMCA’s “Family Fun Gym” in a nutshell. Kids aged 3-10 roll around on mats while just on the other side of the nylon curtain, street toughs played pick up basketball. At one point, I made Luca go over to watch and he screamed, “Haha! That guy missed the hoop.” The man in question was not one to say “Haha” to.

I knew I had a minimum of 2 hours to kill before Diana would let us come home to play X-Box again. And the number of people in our family who enjoy playing ball-based games is zero. So I had to come up with a plan.

“Hey guys, have you ever played dodge ball?”

I grabbed an armload of dodge balls and, as the official family bully, I nominated myself to be the thrower.

I took it easy on them. Lead them too much. Threw it at about 1/100^th power. But every once and I while I would whip the ball as hard as I could. Over their heads, of course. It would bang off the walls and echo over to the basketball toughs, who must have wondered what kind of cool dad was over at Family Fun Gym scaring the crap out of their kids.

Eventually I let Elijah throw the ball. And when he hit me I crumbled to the floor and cried. He was delighted to feel the power of bullyness.

But I told him not to let it get to his head and definitely not try it at school.

Wrestling

Elijah and Luca are in this pretty great place where not only can they stand to be in the same room, they actually like (dare I say “love”) each other.

Last night I sat outside the bathroom while they bathed and debated their new store concept called “Great Place.”  Great Place will involve them giving away, not selling, toys and candy. But then they’d be able to take any toy or candy home whenever they wanted.

I can’t wait to see if Great Place is a success. I recommended their business plan to Diana for “The Wine Goddess” but she really only responded to the taking wine home whenever you want part.

But like all brothers who love each other, they can really only express it by constantly wrestling. Like puppies in a sack.

It’s my job as a dad to keep an ear on the constant wrestling to gage that time when wrestling shifts from delightful to violent. It’s hard to tell because screaming is screaming. I find it usually happens when the genitals are involved.

A knee to the testicles. A foot to the b-hole (that happens way more than you’d think). A flatulence to the face.

I try to give them a firm, “Knock if off!” before the crying starts. I almost never get the timing right.

But there are benefits from the constant fights. It helps Eli remove loose teeth. It prevents them from becoming complete sissies. And the NFL’s “Play 60” program recommends 60 minutes of physical activity involving your genitals a day.

I’m sorry for the lack of posts this week. I was in Las Vegas for some management things and to set the record for losing $200 at a $15 craps table. And they said under five minutes couldn’t be done.

New Years Eve 2014

I’m sitting in my dining room, still a little shaky from an ill-advised juice cleanse. So in between trips to the rest room I have a chance to reflect on this year.

Me? Gained a great new job. Lost a great mom. I tried to be a good dad and a good father. I think I succeeded more than I failed. Or maybe it was even. But I’ll take even.

I have a few resolutions for the new year. Consume less everything. Yell less. Never do a juice cleanse ever again.

What about the rest of the family? Well, in maudlin HamannEggs tradition, I write everybody a little note that they can read in 2030.

Dear Eli,

You got funny this year. Something clicked in your that made you even more hilarious. Remember your wiener drawing? Remember your “Where goes a hamburger come from? Greece.” Joke? You still love being you and you love everyone and everything. I’ve said it before, but I’ll fight to the death to make sure you always feel that way.

I love you more than anyone.

Dear Luca,

You got brave this year. You somehow managed to shed that Hamann panicky gene that plagued you. You run headlong into anything and everything. You eat, drink, play and imagine with such gusto.  And yet, my favorite moments of 2014 are when you quietly walk up and hold my hand in a crowd.  You have so much love in you, buddy. It simply breaks my heart.

I love you more than anyone.

Dear Diana,

You got feisty this year. Whether it be taking down Eli’s bully, or taking down city hall, or taking down a crappy pre-school teacher, you fight for this family.  You are, and always will be, the one who holds this insanity together. I pity the person who tries to pull it apart. I’m so honored to be your husband. And as always, the reason I do all this is for you.

I love you more than anyone.

Snaggle

Sometimes I just sit and look at Elijah and think, “My Lord is that child beautiful. He’s like an angel.”

And then he opens his mouth.

Yeesh that place is a horror show. It’s a crazy jigsaw puzzle of baby teeth fighting to the death with his adult teeth. 

A few weeks ago Diana took the boys to the dentist and he informed us that one of Eli’s new front teeth was coming in behind his baby tooth, so we had to work a little harder to wiggle the old one out.

As the weeks progressed, the old tooth moved around his face, desperately trying to hang on. It protruded from his gums in a horrifying angle. And he began to take on a distinct rabbit/”Deliverance” appearance.

I begged him to let me yank it out, but he would scream and run from the room.

I would grab him and say, “I love you Eli! I LOVE you!” And then I’d hug him roughly, burying his face into my stomach in an attempt to dislodge the tooth. But my fat gut was too forgiving.

Over Christmas, I asked my oral surgeon brother to do the deed. His eyes lit up and he grabbed some rusty tools from his doctor bag with a maniacal laugh. Eli managed to stay on the other side of the house from him for the entire celebration.

But why ask an uncle to do the job of a little brother? In the end, it was Luca’s elbow that knocked the tooth out in a blaze of bloody glory.

Unlike Costa Rica, where the Tooth Fairy left $20 because she messed up the currency conversion, he got $4. 

Which he immediately spent on candy.

Christmas 2014

A few weeks ago, Elijah caught Diana unawares with the following question:

“Mommy, is Santa real?”

She panicked. She has a no lying policy with our sons. But she also has a no ruining childhoods policy with our sons.

She caved and said Santa was not real. I was pissed. I snidely said, “Why didn’t you tell him he’ll never achieve all of his dreams too, while you are at it?”

In retaliation, Diana decided to give the boys the greatest Christmas ever.  Our tree was so filled with presents that Eli and Luca got present fatigue half way through Christmas morning. I actually had to say, “Come on, guys. You’ve got a lot more presents to open. Don’t quit on me now.”

She also bought me the single greatest Christmas present ever: A giant furry Chewbacca robe. Even looking at it makes you begin to sweat under your pits.

For my part, I cooked a massive Christmas standing rib roast dinner, the bones of which Grover got to eat and then immediately turn into diarrhea.

I also wrote a highly personalized letter from Santa. It mentioned a recent joke Eli told at dinner and called out specific nice activities that only a fat man with 24 hour monitoring at his disposal.

It was a last ditch effort to convince Eli that maybe when Diana told him there was no Santa that maybe there WAS really a Santa and when she said otherwise it was part of an elaborate mind game that he will never truly understand.

Last night I was laying down in Luca’s bunk in an effort to calm him down from 30 thousand cookies.

Eli popped his head down from the top bunk and said, “Dad, is Santa real?”

I said, “Yes. Yes he is.”