My Kids are Becoming Adults

Now I’m not lamenting the fact I am old. That became a very well established little factoid in my life a while ago. For me it was some time around hearing 80’s music played on the “Oldies” station. For my wife it may have started when our son asked if she was a nurse during World War II. I’ve been acutely aware of my place on the age food chain since the day I discovered I was invisible to any female in her 20’s (or 30’s for that matter). It’s not so much that I necessarily want them fawning all over me; it would just be nice to have my existence acknowledged. Actually, the real epiphany on how old I am came when I realized that even if young women did notice me, I wouldn’t know what to do anymore.

No, my geezer status has been firmly established and accepted. This is about seeing my kids become unique individuals, transcending being more than mere byproducts of my wife and my combined genetics. It starts around the time they give you that first “could you be more out of it and still be breathing” look. For most kids this is the teen years, but for some (like my son Jude) it can happen as early as 4. This can be a bit off putting the first time it happens. I mean after all, I have all the answers as the parent. Kids aren’t supposed to be justified in their disobedience or (God forbid) be smarter than us.  Seriously, they aren’t. Unfortunately for my normally, indestructible ego, they often time are.

One of the great things about having as many kids as I do is that you see them at all developmental stages at the same time, and so can they. They can gang up on you, question what you know (or thought you knew) and teach you to see the world from a fresh perspective.  OK, when I put it that way, it doesn’t seem like such a plus. In fact, it actually sucks when it’s happening. The power of getting this perspective is that it’s just enough of your influence to get past your own defenses and just enough of them to blow your mind wide open. Like, totally man. (Wow, I just can’t stop dating myself.)

As far as landmark, maturity moments go, the day that I sat down and had a beer with my oldest in a bar when he turned 21 paled in comparison to the day that he was able to hold his own verbally in a room full of my most acerbically bitter peers, years earlier.  Not to mention, when I saw a quote from one of my literary idols: “Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything. – Kurt Vonnegut” and juxtapose that with what I heard my teenager say at the kitchen table one night: “Age is simply a chronological demarcation of how dead you are inside. – Sam Luby” it can give you pause.

Bottom line, I’m not fighting this anymore. I’m digging it and looking forward to more.

An Object Lesson that Really Strikes a Cord

This all started yesterday when we went to get the pottery wheel we gave our daughter Mary for Christmas out, so we could enjoy a little arts and crafts time. No, scratch that, this actually goes back farther, to a few weeks ago when we were trying to get the amplifier we got my other daughter Sophie for Christmas to work.

Her electric bass guitar was tough to hear without an amplifier and we couldn’t find its power cord, since discovering its disappearance when we unpacked all the Christmas gifts we shipped home from our Omaha yuletide extravaganza. I had meticulously repacked all the toys, musical instruments and other various bits of holiday joy, making sure that everything was in its original box, resealed and ready for transport. Only to find, to my OCD shock and dismay, that Sophie’s power chord was missing. Impossible as it may seem, I had made an organizational blunder. I know, right! It was like finding out that Steven Hawking made a math error or hearing that Gandhi punched someone out in the chia tea line at the Bali Starbuck. It was just too impossible to believe that it could happen.

We looked all over and couldn’t find the chord to the amp. I even went to Radio shack and was prepared to lay out $30 to get a chord that would fit. But alas, they just didn’t have anything that would work. Being a guy who never waists a trip, I decided to buy two adaptors (plugs that have a USB in slot) for the boys, so they could charge their iPods in the wall and not only on the computer at a $45 bargain. Sophie went on to her bass lesson to try to get a chord there (there being adjacent to a music store) only to find that her amp was not a bass amp but guitar amp and a cheap on at that. Apparently Toys-R-Us isn’t the best place to shop if you’re a roadie. So $75 later we are properly equipped. I decided that with no power cord and no future use in site, I might as well throw the useless amp away. So I did.

Flash forward to yesterday, and getting the pottery wheel out. I was setting it up when to my dismay the power cord didn’t fit. I think we all see where this is going. Yes, this was the elusive amp cord. Wiping away the irony that was dripping into my eyes, I still was unable to discover where the cord to the pottery wheel was? I started to look everywhere again. While I’m looking I stumble onto two adaptors in an old pile of electrical gear that, you guessed it are plug/USB adapters. Awesome! Well, at least I know now I have a couple of spares.

It’s off to Radio Shack again. While the guy is trying to find a chord that will work on a pottery wheel and figure out what planet I’m from, I realize that for $30 I might as well just buy a new toy. So now I leave the store and a clerk who is absolutely positive that I am the antichrist sent straight from hell to break his brain, and head to Wal-Mart to buy a pottery wheel (and extra clay pack) for $30. Gad, I’m such a genius. The entire ride home was a barrage of self-administered positive affirmations for my brilliance at not wasting money at Radio Shack.

As I’m telling my wife how smart I am, Mary opens the box and says, “There’s no power cord?” As I examine it I see a hole for a power cord but now power cord in the box. I turn the device over and notice that there are panels for batteries on the bottom. “Oh,” I mutter, “It must be optional. You must have to use batteries.” As I’m speaking these words, my son turns the original pottery wheel over and shows me the panels for batteries on it. Cue the anvil that should be hitting me, ala Wyle E Coyote, at this time. So now it’s back in the car and back to Wal-Mart to get batteries (two sets now).

The pottery day was a success and I’m glad we have two wheels with all the kid, but it was on the whole a $155 object lesson on the subject of “Steve’s not nearly as smart or as organized as he thinks he is”

My wife could have told me that for nothing.

The Way I Like to Run

Some people like to run marathons or triathlons. This has become very popular with quite a few of my friends recently. Other people I know like to jog or hit a tread mill at a gym. Even I myself have been known to pound out a couple miles to blow off steam and/or a few calories. Yes, guilty as charged.

But, in my opinion, the best way to run is going on a run. When I was younger it meant the now famous or infamous beer run (B double E double R-U-N) or who could forget the late night Taco Bell run. I still contend that if they wanted to clean up the drunk drivers, you simply pull over anyone leaving the Taco Bell after 1AM or anyone buying those burritos in the green wrapper at the gas station. But I digress.

The best run of them all, in my opinion though, is the serendipitous treat run. What is better than sitting on the couch and hearing your wife wistfully pine out loud (just loud enough for anyone to hear) that she was in the mood for something chocolate or pecan pie-ish or like a cookie or cake. To me this is total and complete awesomeness as it does two things simultaneously. First, it satisfies the natural urge to be naughty and B. it satisfies the universal urge for treats!

Sometimes it’s just the two of us on secret sweet tryst (say that three time fast). Sometimes, it’s our whole family rebelling against convention and having a sugar infused celebration. Regardless, it’s a chance to share surreptitious giggles of solidarity against the forces of nutrition or furtive glances of delight in the shared pleasure of simple, delicious decadence.

So before I go into my sugar coma, let me admonish you thusly: if you have someone in your life that can manufacture spontaneity like that, you damn well better act on it. Life is too short, and anyway, I heard that too much green tea can give you cancer. Seriously, my friend’s brother has a friend who’s a doctor and he said so. Seriously.

Call Me Rubin

My wife is a genius! This is a recurrent theme in my life, but this Christmas it really played itself out again (at least in this one way). She suggested that we get musical instruments for all the kids. They all have different musical predilections and we were able to set them up accordingly. Sam is on the guitar, Sophie on the bass guitar, Aiden on keyboard, Mack on drums and Mary is on piano to help her singing. We got them all into lessons (including voice for Mary) and have everyone in music of some sort, except for Jude. Now while he is quite a singer and very musically inclined, at four he’s just too young to invest in. Sorry, I don’t buy the whole, my kid is Amadeus crap. He’s just not ready but he is standing in the on deck circle. Don’t think I’m not leaving out my oldest, Seth. He wasn’t included in this round as he has moved out, would rather have cash for Christmas and we already got him into drums when he was younger. He has been covered already. I believe he is dabbling in some guitar and sound mixing now back in Omaha, but on his own dime. The seed was properly planted and is now growing.


I am really looking forward to jam sessions on the back patio around a fire pit, at holidays and any family occasions. Singing, playing, and creating away the night is a great way to spend family time. We’re giving them a foundation that will help them scholastically, socially and spiritually. We are forging a unique family bond scribed on our souls with the notes born of our own hearts.

Holy crap, who am I kidding, I am sitting on a freaking gold mine here. Let’s face it, my kids are really, really, really, really, ridiculously good looking and they all know how to turn left. I don’t want to be obnoxious, and I know that everyone thinks their kids are cute, but Amy and I make great looking humans. We have the whole band and more if I can convince Seth to join us with the mixing board or in the band.

Look at all the Idol, Voice and American Talent tripe that people are lapping up. We are coming out of a recession and it’s like the 70’s all over again. Now while I believe we should all hold hands and pray to the good Lord that disco doesn’t rise from its glittery ashes like some polyester clad zombie, I think America needs a family band. Don’t knock the Partridge or DeFranco families. I could promote, mentor and drive the bus like Rubin Kincaid and I’m damn sure Amy can gut, dress and mount a record company stooge in at least 28 seconds flat. There is a place for this kind of saccharine pop creation and it’s called the bank baby!

If the Monkeys can sell 13 million records then why can’t the Asynchronous Luby Experiment? Don’t like that name? How about the Lubonic Plague? No, that’s too death metal. What about the Electric Luby Orchestra? No that’s been done. I’m damn sure not going the Hanson route with just Luby or the Luby Family Singers which is just too Grand Ole Opry or Sound of Music for my taste. How about Luby in the Sky with Diamond? No too drug culture for my kids, which automatically rules out the Bare Naked Lubys (even though Jude could contribute some awesome album cover art). Well, I’m open to suggestions, so while I don’t know the name of the band yet, you can definitely call me Rubin.

I'm Back!

To quote one my favorite t-shirts of all time (worn by my son), “I have gone to find myself. If I get back before I return, keep me here.”


I have been gone for a long time, longer than I have been gone from this blog.

How have I been gone you ask? Well, I’ve been a real gone cat. I’ve definitely gone overboard. I’ve gone crazy a couple of times. I’ve gone over the rainbow (don’t judge). I’ve gone fishin’. I’ve gone down the tubes. I’ve gone to the dogs. I’ve gone but not forgotten. I’ve gone wild. I’ve gone online. I’ve gone bananas. I’ve gone silent (not for long though). I’ve gone over the edge. I’ve gone country. I’ve gone postal. I’ve gone to Carolina in my mind (and literally). I’ve gone hungry. I’ve gone with the wind. I’ve gone up in flames. I’ve gone in 60 seconds. I’ve gone baby gone. I’ve gone off the deep end. I’ve gone viral. I’ve definitely gone too far.

I have gone but I have never been gone for good.

Now that I’m here, I don’t ever want to go away again. You may live to regret it, but then you don’t have to keep reading this. So if you find what I write amusing, or you just like to masochistically torture yourself, don’t worry, I will keep me here.