Page 5

January 5

We’re spoiled at Mountie Stadium every fall. We have, without a doubt, the best PA announcer in the state for Friday night football games. Unfortunately for many years, Patrick Ludwig was known for his signature line that always went something like this, “Score at the end of the first quarter: Lumen Christi: 14, Northwest: ready to score.”

Unfortunately, there were several times you would even hear as he announced the final score, “Northwest: ready to score.” Just kidding – he would never do that to them.

But the Mounties have been resurgent over the past few years under the guidance of my pal, Coach Slater, and luckily we don’t have to hear that “ready to score” line very often anymore.

In our family, Patrick is known for his signature line when he DJ’d our wedding, “Please make welcome your new bride and groom, Nicholas and Dede…Frey.”

Patrick and I have (sort of) co-hosted the Northwest Athletic Boosters’ Cash Bash for several years. He is the official emcee and I am his sidekick, helping provide a laugh track for his jokes while pulling out 350 raffle balls over the course of the evening.

A couple of years ago at Cash Bash, as we were chit-chatting about our kids and lives, he mentioned he had taken over the Sunday morning “Polka Time” show on WIBM radio, here in Jackson.

“Sweet,” I said. “Polka Pat Ludwig.”

“You like polka?”

“Well, my free dance partner and I skated to the 'Pennsylvania Polka' one year and my grandfather always sang the 'Too Fat Polka' as part of his campfire set list,” I replied, knowing that was the extent of my knowledge on the subject. I like to dance, but never really took the time to learn to polka.

I tuned in that weekend on the way to church just to hear him, and then kind of forgot about it for a long while.

Over the last several years, one of the Rush Rock Stars’ favorite family events is the Great Lakes Folk Festival, held in downtown East Lansing each August. We always try to catch a TexMex band and a polka band at the Dance Stage that is right behind Rick’s (man, I could write a whole book about my experiences at that place). Both of the boys always enjoy the polka bands, and hop and dance around, and I’ve watched the people that know what they’re doing enough that I think I’m probably a C+/B- polka dancer.

A few months ago, my radio was tuned into WIBM because I had been listening to football the day before, and Gavin and I clapped along loudly to all the songs Polka Pat played on the way to church that day. It has now become the Sunday morning ritual whether I’m riding to church by myself or with the family to turn on Polka Pat and clap loudly along.

This morning, in between songs, I said to Gavin, “I’ll try to get a hold of Polka Pat sometime and get him to play the Too Fat Polka while we’re driving to church so you can hear it. It’s kind of funny, but it isn’t really very nice, so you need to understand that.”

He’s known for some time that we know Polka Pat, and I think he is still kind of amazed by it. 

“You have his number?” Gavin asked.

“They say it like 72 times a week on the radio, kiddo.”

At this point, we’re getting closer to church and Bode says something completely off topic, but it changed the course of the conversation and it really is sweet that he was thinking about it in some way, for who knows why?

“Mom, remember when Papa didn’t die and Mimi always said to him, ‘Talk louder, Papa’?”

So we turned down the radio and started talking about the different struggles that people have to overcome in their lives, and that was a more perfect lead-in to worship than “I don’t want her, you can have her, she’s too fat for me.”

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January 4

I don't know how many of you have witnessed a live birth. I've witnessed two.

People say birth is beautiful. This is a myth spread by nutcase hippies who work in independent birthing centers and INSIST the ONLY way to raise a kid is on cloth diapers and fed by the breast until they are 4. I’m not knocking either of those things, but I appreciate people understanding that everyone’s situation is unique and there are many ways to raise a child.

My wife, Dede, is absolutely beautiful. Stunning, in fact. The act of my wife giving birth is absolutely, positively not beautiful. I love you, my heart.

Gavin was born sometime after 7 am on January 4, 2007. I know it was a little after 7 am because all hell broke loose after the morning shift change. Dede was having a rough labor, but the overnight nurses were fine to just let things progress and try to keep her as comfortable as possible without an epidural (the anesthesiologist on call the night before thought her white blood cell count was a little too high to have an epidural).

But the morning nurses showed up that day with the mindset that they were there to work, and that baby was coming out soon. We went from lights-off-peaceful-pain to lights-on-all-out-fury-pain with the simple flicking of a switch. These nurses were way too cheerful for me after being up all night, so that made them definitely way too cheerful for Dede in her condition.

Dede picked a word she liked that day (let’s say it was “Cantaloupe” for storytelling purposes) and said it repeatedly for the next several minutes. I was relieved that the doctor on call was our own doctor (Dr. P) therefore I could spare explaining later that my wife was a very sweet person who actually has a rather impressive vocabulary. He already knew this, despite her sticking to one particular word for a very long time.

There was a little bit of stress mid-delivery that resulted in a yelling match between Dr. P and Dede.

Dr. P: PUSH NOW, GO, GO, GO!

Dede: CANTALOUPE!

Dr. P: YOU GOTTA GO, DEDE!

Dede: CANTALOUPE!

It turns out the umbilical cord wasn’t in the greatest place at that point. But that little boy came out completely healthy and five minutes later after a quick cleanup was the point at which birth was beautiful.

Today we celebrated that young man’s seventh birthday. He had a great day that has already been thoroughly documented via Facebook. So in honor of Gavin’s 7^th birthday, I thought I’d share 7 things I have learned since becoming a parent:

1. There are things you will disagree with your spouse on when raising children. That’s okay. Rock/paper/scissors and make a decision. Get this method of arbitration in writing beforehand.
2. Even if you are disgusted by vomit, you will let your kids vomit on you when necessary. One of the first times Gavin was old enough to know to try to throw up in the toilet, he was so terrified to do it. I picked him up to comfort him and that immediately calmed him, which led to vomit all over me. I didn’t even shriek like a girl. I shrieked like a man.
3. You set bad examples for your kids all the time and need to work to overcome it. “Bode, you shouldn’t eat pizza for breakfast. Sorry, let me wipe this grease off my face and then I’ll get you some cereal.”
4. You get sick of people telling you how great your kids are and that they’ve never seen them cry. Please, come spend 24 hours in my house. Or you know what? Just take them to your house.
5. It is very hard to poop while wearing cowboy boots. I didn’t learn this because I’m a parent, but I have learned it since I’ve become a parent so it counts.
6. They sometimes do things that are very naughty, but you find yourself biting your tongue not to laugh out loud at the same time. No explanation necessary – y’all know what I’m talking about.
7. You love them more than anything in the world – even more than your fountain pop Coke.

Happy birthday, Gavin! I love you more than words can know.

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January 3

Love is probably too strong of a word, but I did used to "love" Fridays at work. We don't have to wear pants and I used to crank the headphones up for Funky Cold Friday and listen to late 80s, early 90s Hip Hop.

I should probably explain the no pants comment, eh? We can wear jeans on Friday instead of pants. Pants in my world = anything that is not jeans or sweats. Pants in my world = not interesting. Any day I don't have to wear pants is a good day.

Well, Fridays got a lot less interesting and a thousand times less fun when they banned the use of headphones. I know, even though I work in a cubicle, it is still a manufacturing facility and I'm sure you think the headphone ban would be due to the danger of loose cords near machines and something getting caught and someone losing an ear. After all, we do have an Entanglement Policy which specifies how far away things can hang from your body or your clothing. But you would still be wrong.

It is a "safety issue" however. The logic for the banning of headphones is that OSHA (look it up, if necessary) says that a safe maximum decibel level while working 8 straight hours is 85. Since the company can't control the level at which we listen to our music, they have to ban headphones to keep us safe. There are obviously machines in the building that run higher than 85 decibels that people work at all day and those folks have to wear ear plugs to protect their hearing. I'm fine with that. But as any decibel level iPhone app will tell you, our ice machine in the cafeteria runs higher than 85 decibels and no one is requiring me to wear earplugs while eating my leftovers. Maybe that is next month's memo?

Anyway, no headphones sucks all the time, but especially on Friday when you want to try to rock out through the last work day of the week.

So, it's Friday and I'm at least loving this Friday a little bit because it is my last Friday at this company. Maybe. Long story.

I'm also loving this Friday because I'm leaving a little early to head to AllSkate for Gavin's birthday party with his friends.

Then, I'm given another reason to love this Friday when my boss emails and says he is taking the department for a holiday lunch at Outback. I'm swamped and have a lot to accomplish over my last four days of work (in theory), but I never turn down the opportunity for an Outback Special.

I mentioned on Page 1 two possibilities for what could happen to my career over the next few days. I came back from my scrumptious steak lunch to an email revealing what could be a third possibility.

I don't want to talk about it right now. I finally thought I was over the emotional roller coaster related to this whole "I actually quit three and a half weeks ago and no one is letting me quit" ride, but it looks like I'm clicking up a steep hill as we approach Monday and I'm not sure if my stomach is going to hold out or if I am going to barf all over the person in front of me. I'm going to pick my seat wisely because there are some people I'd much rather puke on than others. (What is your favorite way of saying vomit? I always thought that would be a great Family Feud question.)

Luckily, I have a party to go to. There, I can have them crank the music up beyond 85 decibels, so I can rock out. And maybe today will be the session where I figure out what to do with my hands when I'm just skating in circles? I never got "session-skating" growing up and I guess I still haven't conquered that either.

Headphones or no headphones, next week could be interesting.

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January 2

I don’t generally care what people think about me. I say what I think and I say it even more loudly and confidently when I know I’m right. It’s why people don’t always like me on first impression and it’s why a couple of Dede’s friends deceived me out of $80 the first night I met them playing Euchre. They didn’t think Dede would possibly stick around with this guy for very long. Eleven years later, they’re still stuck with me.

I do care what people think about me as parent – to some extent. I don’t care about the looks we got when we took Gavin to Mounties’ basketball game when he was seven days old or the occasional looks when my kids are not dressed quite appropriately for the weather. But I want to seen as a great parent – it’s part of my competitive nature and just something I aspire to be great at.

I took the day off a couple of years ago when Gavin’s preschool was closed and Dede’s school was still open. I scheduled us eye appointments because I needed one and I thought Gavin should have one before starting kindergarten.

My eye doctor is in East Lansing. Even after moving to Jackson, I refused to change offices because, well, I LOVE my eye doctor’s office. I was part of a clinical study that had me going there at least once a week for a year many moons ago, and it got to the point where I felt guilty for not chipping in toward the donuts in the morning. Everyone there is just so happy all the time. (It is the complete opposite of the place I work.)

I thought Gavin’s checkup would be pretty routine. I thought wrong. I knew early on that he couldn’t see anywhere near as well as I thought he could see. A lot of times, parents take their kids to the eye doctor because they notice they have no hand-eye coordination or they can’t catch balls or have a number of clues. Those who know Gavin well know that was never the case with him.

He couldn’t see the letters. They initially thought it was because he didn’t know his letters and I assured them that was not the case. They switched to pictures instead. He couldn’t see those either. As the doctor came in after the tech left, she just sort of said to me in passing, “It looks like Mr. Gavin has an astigmatism.”

He was doing such a good job at answering everything honestly. At one point, the doctor asked him if he was just guessing sometimes. He smiled right at her and said, “Yes, definitely.”

I think she was pretty shocked a four-year-old would be that honest and have such a wry smile on his face when he said it.  

She turned to me and said quietly, “I think we need to put him in a pair of glasses full time.” She waited and kind of gave me a look that said, “Are you going to say something to him or should I?”

I gave her a look back that said confidently, “I got this.”

“Gavin buddy, high fives, you get to wear glasses just like me and Mommy!” and extended my hand up high for him. He high-fived me right away.

I knew I just aced the parenting exam that I was taking that she didn’t know she was giving me, and she later told me that moments like that rarely go that well.

My older sister, Jennifer (she loves to be introduced that way), got Gavin an Under Armour shirt for Christmas that says “I’m Your Mom’s Favorite Player.”

And it’s destined to be true.

When you take the kid with glasses who prefers to play defense over offense and sacrifices his body to make stops and always takes the most direct route to the ball – you know moms are going to love that kid. Don’t let the glasses full you, G Money is a stud. He’s like the soccer version of Woody Harrelson in White Men Can’t Jump. I watch older kids dribble toward him and think they are going to easily deke him, but next thing you know a kid two years older is face-first in the dirt thanks to a perfect slide tackle by the kid in the glasses.

Yep, even the kid he took down has a parent in the crowd that has to admit that was awesome.

I love that about him. I fear him getting to the point where he knows he is good, so I never tell him that. Instead I constantly tell him about how hard is working and how proud of him I am that he practices so hard and something I’ve been saying to him before it became so popular in the last year, “I love to watch you play, buddy.”

And it’s true. I’ll never be a soccer fan, but I do love to watch him play.

Page 1

January 1

I love sappy motivational posters. I don’t know if it is the coach in me, or the optimist in me, or just that I find so many of them genius and wish I had come up with them myself.

This one today touched me in a way that blew me back a bit though.

Today is the first blank page of a 365-page book. Write a good one.

There is a lot of unknown for me as I head into 2014. Within the next week, one of the following two statements will be true:

1)      I will still be employed with the same company, but will be making more money and have a defined career path that could lead to long-term professional success, more good stress than bad stress at work, and a determination to be a better father and husband at home.

2)      I will be semi-unemployed, making considerably less money, but at peace with that decision knowing that I will be making a small difference in the world on a day-to-day basis and determined to be a better father and husband who has a lot more energy to offer at home.

Last year was a very tough year for me personally and professionally.

I struggled with anxiety. I struggled to admit I needed help. I struggled to have energy at home to help out as much as I should have in the running of our household and the raising of our children. I struggled to thrive in my new position with a supervisor I just couldn’t connect with. I struggled with accepting a promotion and more responsibility while at the same time taking a pay cut. I struggled, so much more than I imagined I would, with having to resign as the Mountie girls’ tennis coach. I struggled knowing that I don’t see my closest friends as much as I’d like to, and I struggle with the fact that a lot of that is on me.

And then the two big ones, the “Granddaddies of Them All,” with all due respect to today’s game:

I struggled to be an understanding husband. I’m still struggling with the loss of my dad.

But…Today was the first blank page of a 365-page book and I am determined to write a good one.

Michigan State won the freakin’ Rose Bowl. I know sports fandom can be hard to understand, but this was overwhelmingly emotional for me and is about so much more than sports. My dad was an MSU grad who was at arguably the most famous game in the history of the school, the 10-10 tie with Notre Dame. He passed away in the week leading up to our only loss this season – yep, Notre Dame. My sister and I spent three years together at MSU, helping each other through a variety of ups and downs. We even took a few classes together.

Even my path to Michigan State had a familial effect. Initially, I decided to go to what I like to call “The Evil Empire.” 

Two reasons: I thought smart kids went to Michigan if they got in, and well, my dad worked in downtown Ann Arbor and it certainly couldn’t hurt to have him nearby. My dad seemed fine with the decision while my mom disowned me. 

But I don’t think my dad was as okay with the decision as he outwardly showed. He kept calling the MSU admissions people, and the salesman in him eventually garnered me a full scholarship for my freshman year. SOLD. My heart always wanted me at Michigan State anyway.

(Don’t tell anyone that I used some of my extra scholarship money to take a trip to the 1998 Rose Bowl featuring, yes, “The Evil Empire.”)

I love Michigan State. Just walking on that campus makes me smile. I am so proud to be a Spartan. I am even proud that a personal tour I gave to one of my tennis players, along with my speech on “There’s a lot of smart kids at Michigan State too” might have been the deciding factor in her changing her mind from UM to MSU as well.

So yeah, Michigan State winning the Rose Bowl for the first time since I was 8, is a BFD. You figure that out. Or ask Joe Biden.

Today was also about spending time with the family – from Dede being willing to trudge out in the snow to take a picture of my silly game-day tailgating to Bode and I making faces at each other for no reason to “scolding” Gavin for not wearing any State gear.

And as this day ends and the rest of the year begins, you know what I’m surprisingly not struggling with?

The fact that I don’t know which path 2014 will take me on one week from today. I’m fine either way.

Because my wife and kids love me. Because my friends and family support me through thick and thin. Because I find help now when I need it. Because I have faith that God has a plan for me even if I haven't figured it out yet. Because…well, Michigan State has a lot of talent returning on offense next year.

And because I want to write one hell of a book this year.

I'll Never Forget

“I certainly hope for Bode’s sake that you forget that story,” my co-worker Ashley said.

“I won’t,” I replied. “I’ll blog about it, and it will live on forever.”

“Do you really have a blog anymore?”

Ouch.

The truth hurts.

Bode had his first Rock Star moment the other night. In this case, I mean Rock Star as a noun and not an adjective.

I was changing his diaper and he was laid out on our bed. I forgot to bring a clean diaper, so I walked around the corner to get one out of the closet. When I returned, he had both hands, palms out, in front of his chest. Most of the time, this is accompanied by him saying, “Hot!” As in, this is too hot for me to touch, eat, etc.

It only took another two seconds for me to see what happened immediately prior to this, as he repeated his movement.

He touched the top of his penis with his palm, raised his hands again and this time I heard it…“Hot!”

“What?” I ask him curiously.

He did it again. Then he did it again. Unfortunately, Dede wasn’t home to witness this.

I have to think it is not too far-fetched to imagine Keith Richards, high as a kite after a concert, performing this same maneuver to the delight of seven naked girls in his hotel suite. And Keith Richards, my friends, is a Rock Star.

Do I hope Bode grows up to be Keith Richards? Not a bit.

But I like that he has some confidence at such a young age.

It's Not Christmas Dinner Until Someone Takes Their Pants Off

Maybe it was the excitement over seeing my brother- and sister-in-law? Maybe we ate the beef too late? Maybe it was simply adrenaline that needed an outlet? I don't really have an answer as to what led to the semi-naked parade after we ate, opened gifts and enjoyed dessert, celebrating Christmas with Dede's family the other night.

But first Bode took his clothes off and ran through the kitchen at French Frey Farms (that is my new name for Dede's parents' house). Then Gavin took his clothes off and ran through the kitchen at French Frey Farms. Then...

Don't worry, the rest of us kept our pants on. There was a lot of laughter though.

For all the stress of Christmas, there really is nothing better than seeing my kids enjoy it. You want to think that Bode at 18 months can't possibly really know what is going on, right? But every day when I would get home from work, B. Frey would run over yelling "DA DA DA DA DA" and say "'Mahn!" and then take me to see where Crackernut, our two-year-old fake Elf on the Shelf was hanging out that day.

(For the record "'Mahn" is Bode's cross-pollination of someone saying "Come on" and my "C'moahn" that my tennis players mock me for yelling as encouragement during their matches. I have no idea why or when I started saying it that way, but it's an integral part of my personality as a tennis coach now, I guess.)

Gavin is fun at Christmas too, and now that he is older and gets it, he definitely has a healthy appreciation for the risks involved with ending up on the Naughty List. He hasn't exactly been an angel every day, but he's done well. 

He was funny today when we read him the letter from Crackernut and it said that he and Bode had to sleep in Mom and Dad's room tonight. "What the heck?" he said, his voice rising with each word as his mouth smirked and his eyes raised quizzically.

It has been especially fun to listen to him practice one of the songs he is singing with the kids at church tonight, "Happy Birthday Jesus." We have a CD that he practices with and as soon as it gets to the end of the song, he says "Start it over" and we go through the whole thing again. He sang it four times about a half hour ago. 

It also shows his immense range as an artist -- few people can transition as easily from singing "Happy Birthday Jesus" to "Country Girl Shake It For Me." Throughout the year, I am so grateful for his love of music. There are few things that make me happier than watching that boy dance.

But we generally dance with our pants on. 

Something inside those boys told them they needed to run around in their underwear that night though, Gavin laughing hysterically as Bode wobbled around as fast as he could yelling "Nay Nay...Nay Nay" (naked). They feed off each other in these instances and the love between them is so obvious. Bode hears Gavin laugh and laughs even louder. Gavin hears Bode laugh and then he takes it up another notch.

I found a quote that would end this post perfectly, but I'm not going to share here now because I used it on our Christmas cards which are going out Monday (just in time for Christmas to be over, I know).

But just like we do every day, we're living, laughing and loving in our house this Christmas season and we hope you are too.

Merry Christmas to all!