Sun Soaked

Polaroid 600SE shot on Fuji 100B

We got into our bathing suits early Saturday morning and didn't get out of the pool until Monday night. We only ate slow cooked Bar BQ ribs and drank sweet tea like it was our job. We napped when the children napped. We watched the sun go to bed into the lake and turn the wind rippled surface into a light show of golden sparks. We stayed up late watching movies with Tessa and eating popcorn. We did every thing you're supposed to do to welcome summer, except we didn't plug a watermelon with an entire bottle of vodka, and then grease it up with vaseline, and throw it in the pool and wrestle over it to see who gets to drink from it first. We didn't do that. We did eat our weight in melon and strawberries, and remembered to have some ice cream for dessert. I still smell like chlorine and sunblock and will spend the rest of this weekend willing the calendar and clocks to speed along so that we can get to the weekend, and do the exact same thing all over again.

Every time I look through that Polaroid of mine to take a picture, all I can think of when I am framing a shot, is "I'm so lucky." That camera is magic, and if it was practical I wouldn't use anything else to shoot with. All I had left was B&W film and was bummed that it wouldn't tell the part of the story about the golden sun, and the cool water, and boy was I wrong. I am going to move some things around, and get myself into a film camera to be companion to that 600SE. We will see how long it takes me to find the right camera. The digital rage happened so fast, I bet there are so many amazing film cameras stashed away in attics and forgotten about. Get these things up on ebay so I can find them :) For any of you still shooting film, what are using?

Hope you all had as pleasant of a weekend as I just experienced, how is floating around on a raft in a pool so much fun? Are we officially old fogies now? Cole and I didn't even drink anything, or grind on one another poolside to Usher! Do the kids still listen to The Usher? I don't know anything anymore.

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Saving For Water

We don't water our lawn all year long (we have the brown grass to prove it) so that when the mean ass summer sun starts to bully Florida with red hot fire beams, we don't feel guilty when we use our water to cool down the children. It's not even June and we are hitting near 100 already, I watch Tessa fill up the wagon with water and stick the hose on her head, and as she is giggling in the shade and she has found relief from the heat, I think: "Ugh, I'm going to have to figure out a way to buy this family a swimming pool someday." Time to get out another mason jar, and mark this one with "pool" it can sit right next to the one marked "romantic dinner for two in Bora Bora."

For now, the water hose is one of the greatest things on earth in this little girls life.

And I am asking because I really would like to know-- What do you have written on your coin jar? Is it dreamy things like trips to Bora Bora and swimming pools? Or is it practical things like, a new roof, or college?

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Right the Ship

So as I wrote up that chalkboard table post it got me thinking about Cole and the value of her time, and our life, and where we are exactly in career land-- and it all started spinning, and became heavy, and then I cracked. Not like coo-coo bird cracked, but the big ego fueled front that I put on in order to wake up every single day in order to try and convince people to hire me for things, that cracked right down the middle. So much rejection is involved in freelance work that if I didn't guard myself with some false ego I would be a shaky shell of nerves and worry.

Cole spent hours making that table that I posted about yesterday. For no other reason than she had the time to imagine up something fun for the kids playroom, and then make it happen. She HAD all of this time because she took a leave from her work so that I could travel for my job. What she did was sacrifice her career for mine. I know other people have been in this situation before, so you know it feels terrible to see someone give up something they truly love to do, just so that you can try and get your own dreams going. Well in this case, almost the exact day after she took leave from work, I got wind that I wouldn't be traveling all over the country after all like I had been told I would. Everything like it usually does in freelance world suddenly changed. It was the first of a series of jobs that disappeared suddenly for all kinds of reasons. So now Cole is home from work, and I am not working, and she is missing out on all of the momentum and all the things she had worked hard for at the salon, and I have had to watch her try and not be sad about it. I have watched her try and make up for feeling empty by pouring herself into projects like that table, or organizing a utility closet, or running seven minute miles at the gym.

It's been a miserable feeling. In my head I just keep thinking this is how long term problems are born. All of this will turn to regret and resentment down the road if she lets her career linger.

So these last two months while I have been cooking up projects and letter writing and campaigning for campaigns, I have thought long and hard about what I'm actually trying to do for a living. Is my career worth more then hers? How could I ask her to do this?

The little boy in my heart tells me that I can do anything, and so I always try, but the logic that is a husband and a father tells me that it is time to be smart and let Cole's career be the main focus in our house. It's consistent, she is amazing at it, she went to school and continues to educate herself about the industry, she is driven, and she is endlessly sad when she isn't immersed in that world. It isn't right for her to stay home, just so that I can keep trying to land a dream. I know that I will keep getting good jobs throughout the year, I am not worried about that at all, but there are too many gaps and dry-spells for it to be the only source of income for us. It's just not smart planning. Not in this economic environment anyway. I am writing all of this here because I know more than anything that there are plenty of other people that are struggling for work these days, it is a commonality that ties people together in an emotional and meaningful way. I am putting this out here because I feel like I have made a big mistake.

*Deep breath

Today is Cole's birthday, and she asked her boss if she could work today. I don't know many people that as their birthday wish asks to please work. Cole loves her life with her career in it, and the spark she gets from her life at work carries over into her marriage and her mothering, and so when that part of her life was taken away, I watched her carry on as a wife and mother with her heart pulled out of her. Her laugh and kisses were missing something. I made a huge mistake prioritizing my goals and dreams over hers, I know this is a balancing act that challenges many marriages and relationships-- throw in babies and special needs and it gets even more challenging. The problem was, I wanted it to be easy to say yes to opportunities and not constantly considering schedules, and school, and figuring out daycare for Tessa. I just wanted to plow forward uninhibited, I got selfish. Ugh that feels bad to write. I wanted to be a big hero to my family, and be able to say that I had a thriving professional career, I have been in that "trying to make it happen" phase for so long, I wanted to feel some security. Anyone that does freelance can tell you, that they just want to get to a point where it feels full time. When blank spaces on a calendar aren't haunting you. So I made myself more important, and all of the sudden while I am writing about a kids table with some chalkboard paint on it, I realized what a huge and terrible mistake I have made. These decisions were the beginnings of bigger problems down the road. So I can't let it continue.

This is precisely why people long for the "salad days" when all you thought about was being in love and you're still innocent of worry about houses, and cars, savings, and insurance and we just exist in smiles and embraces and belly laughs. I remember right before Cole took her leave from her job, I had to say no to a big job because we couldn't balance my time away with her work and the kids schedule, and I was so frustrated that we had to say no to a bigger paycheck so that she could work, and I asked her: "why does it seem like we were happier when we didn't have any money at all?"

I stopped being careful with my wife because I saw an imaginary finish line to a success, and like many people before me have figured out, there is never a final finish line, the horizon just keeps changing and there is always a new big thing to run to, and you can run over people forever trying to reach it.

All of this can be fixed, easily. I just needed to say it out loud.

Today the kids and I are making Cole a birthday cake and waiting for her to come home from her job that she loves. It is my job today to make sure she walks into a home filled with love, exactly the same thing she does for me when I walk off an airplane or when I get back from a shoot. She is amazing and selfless and it's time I take some lead from her. Happy birthday Cole, you're my life, and our family is our biggest success. Here is to a new balance.

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Making Old Things New... and Chalky

You could see a little glimpse of it on the last post, and see what it used to look like HERE in this old post, but today I wanted to shine some light on it and give it an entire post all for itself. A brand new CHALKBOARD KIDS TABLE!!! Whenever Cole takes the time to sand and paint, and then sand and paint, then change her mind about the colors entirely, and then sand and paint four chairs and a little table all over again-- you bet your ass I am going to be a good observant husband, and be sure to acknowledge how perfectly awesome the project turned out, insist on taking some rad pictures of it, and then share it with the good people of the internet who read here. It really ties the room together, and when you have a bright ass green rug that is important to do.

I am joking a little just so you have something fun to read, but I love that Cole does this stuff for our family. We are spoiled. She is always thinking of great new things to make the house more fun for the kids, and at the same time not look super obnoxious for us. Why do most kids thing have to be such terrible colors to begin with, and plastic? Now she admits that a chalkboard table top isn't exactly ground breaking design work, plenty of other people have done this, truth be told people are really starting to slather chalkboard paint on too many things I think: "And if you come this way, this is our chalkboard room, feel free to chalk on anything in here, we even have chalkboard fabric paint. Here's some chalk, have fun." BUT, this little kids table looks amazing all over again, and Tessa plays at it pretty much non-stop. The table makes the room happy, and while LB still wants a touch screen machine over chalk, he will gladly sit at the table in style and eat some strawberries while Tessa goes to town on some chalk old school :)

As fabulous as this table is, (and I do mean that honey if you are reading this, I love it, you did such a great job!) this post isn't about the table itself, not really anyway. Well, it is right now. I am going to go write about it right now, because it's 3AM and I have hives from stress, and can't sleep.

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Keeping Your Snacks Safe from Best Friends

Of course Wendy (our shaggy dog) knows exactly who to follow around the house for fallen food scraps. Wendy pretty much stays glued to Tessa whenever any food is handed to her. If Tessa gets full, she hands over the rest to Wendy, if she straight up doesn't like it, straight to Wendy....

Now if Tessa ends up REALLY liking her snack, she will always find a nice safe place to eat it away from the dog. She is figuring her world out quickly.



OH. And Tessa is due for her FIRST big haircut this week (as you might have noticed she needs), which we will be making a cutting baby bangs tutorial to include in Cole's new blog :) stay tuned.

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Just in Case

I just had to post today. I know this will be a wildly popular subject all over the web, but I haven't completely ruled out that the old crusty Family Radio pastor has stumbled onto some perfectly sound doomsday formula, and actually did the math super tight-- SO, just to be absolutely safe I wanted to be sure to post today and at least say something here. What is there to say really on the last day on earth? Thank you? It's been fun? You all are great!

In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, there are people who think today is the last one. No, seriously, the last one ever. You can catch up on the big news HERE, and get ready for tomorrows world shaking earthquake and fire storm.

Should the kids eat loads of candy and Happy Meals (not in San Francisco of course), and jump on the furniture today, that actually sounds like a regular ol' Saturday. Do kids get timeouts on the last day on earth? That seems mean. I feel like we should have let LB stay home from school today. Honestly I can't stop thinking about what some of these people that firmly believe that this is their last day on earth are doing with themselves on this very last day. I guess in their minds they are preparing for the next big journey, their big flight up, and so they must just be sitting around speculating about what heaven will look/smell/feel like, wondering if they get to meet Jesus on the very first day, if he will actually have time to make it around to the billions plus people and personally greet them into his kingdom. "Hi, welcome to my place, if you have any questions there are plenty of angels around to help out."

I know on my last day I would be wondering and taking bets with Cole just how many people actually end up going the other direction to flamey old hell. "Oh no, there goes Sam! Bye buddy."

I just can't stop thinking about these families today that have put so much energy into this moment, right now in their hearts they truly believe we are doomed. What does that feel like exactly? I am convinced if I was exposed daily to their insatiable belief that this is the end of life on earth, there would actually be a part of me that would be like: "shit, what if they're right?" I mean I could see myself being nervous if one of these doomsdayers was a close relative calling me in tears begging me to save myself. I would have that suspicious paranoid panicky side of myself peaked and I would most certainly be pacing around wondering: "these assholes can't be right... can they?"

So far as I have seen, none of the Family Radio faithful have given access to any media to be a part of their last hours, they have all collectively said it is a time for private reflection. I couldn't be more disappointed about this missed opportunity, and I'm not joking. I hope that someone somewhere from the outside can be a part of these moments with these people, how fascinating to see a group of humans who absolutely wholeheartedly believe they will ascend to heaven by 6PM EST time tomorrow? or is it PST? I can't do the math like a Harold Camping can, so I can't be entirely sure, but I do know that it is a damn shame that we don't get a window into the behavior. Surely their faith must wrap them in a cool calm shell, they must be so excited, they are going to the best place in the Universe tomorrow. So is it like kids in the back of the car at the gates of Disney? I imagine that it looks very similar to that commercial where it's the night before the big Disney Magic Kingdom vacation, and the children can't sleep, and in their unbridled excitement they jump into the parents bed at 3AM, only to find that the parents can't sleep either, and they all giggle and tickle fight. Yeah. I bet it looks just like that.

I think about the absentee excuse notes teachers will receive next Monday morning-- "Please excuse Billy who was out on Friday in preparation for the Rapture this weekend, he was busy with family and friends reflecting and sharing private moments in preparation for our ascent up to heaven. The trip has been delayed indefinitely, and until we can do the math again, I do not foresee any more immediate absences as a result of the Rapture. But I can't be sure. Because it's coming. No seriously. It is. Thanks for your understanding."

So I guess these Family Radio people are the "whacky" Christians? I thought the J-Dubs and the Mormons were the ones we were all taught to be suspicious of? Or was it the Catholics, or the Baptists? All of this feels like a bunch of people convinced that they are the ones that read the instructions the right way, and all the other people got the words all wrong. I'm not writing this for a big who is right debate about God and life. Trust me. You believe whatever it is you want. I am only bringing it up, because this little Family Radio group believes in their hearts, just as firmly as you believe in your hearts, that they are correct, and they feel bad for you. Something along the way led them to the "wisdom" of Harold Camping and they drank it up, made signs, and have been shaking them like death rattles all over the United States. That's really intense.

I'm way more worried about the Mayan calendar than any math that ol' Harold came up with. So I guess you can expect a nervous post around Dec 21st 2012. Until then I will be listening to "Voice of Harold" by R.E.M. on repeat and hugging my children.

What are you doing today?

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Sugar Crashing

The further travels of Tessa Tangerine-- Tessa loves to wear sunglasses and hats. All the time. It's crazy. Since she was a little baby girl. She wears them around the house as often as possible, so on this Mothers Day trip to the Bahamas she was in complete accessory heaven. The only thing she was missing was a frozen drink with some fruit in it and a cabana boy. This kid was born for summer.

This is what happens roughly an hour or so after your kids down a virgin pina colada poolside in the full sun of the Bahamas. The sweetest little sugar crashed sun-kissed nappers ever.

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Here We Go... Again.

**Cole helped me write this post and she appears in italics. I love it when she writes with me.

I was going to call this post "Bang" but thought better of it :)

With all of my focus on telling the story of Cole's pregnancy with Tessa, and all of my energy that I poured into the picture taking and the constant blogging about the whole pregnancy experience from my perspective, I managed to miss out on one of the single greatest pregnancy side effects that exist-- Cole wanted to have copious amounts of wild sex pretty much every second - of every day - once that second trimester kicked in. The more pregnant she got-- the more she wanted to "do it" and I ruined it.

If I was brushing my teeth, or washing dishes, I was going to get groped from behind and given the eyes. She was relentless, and of course I had gotten it in my head that if we had sex while she was pregnant that it would somehow mess everything up, so I was terrified to have sex. It was a completely irrational fear that made no good common sense or was based in any kind of real logic at all. My very wise friend Steve Foxbury that I was exchanging letters with to guide me through my first experience as a supportive partner during a pregnancy told me about the great wet wonders of pregnancy sex. Steve urged me not to be a damn fool and miss out on this role reversal, and to embrace the relentless horniness as a close new friend. I still couldn't get past the idea that I was going to somehow mess something up, I was absolutely certain that if I went anywhere near that baby I would break it. So I totally blew this opportunity. I denied the experience, and would rationalize it with these convoluted ideas that I could actually hurt the pregnancy. Of course now I regret every second of it. I lost out on a time when my wife wanted me constantly.

The thing I remember most about Ryan turning me down was... Going into the other room to take care of business myself! LOL. It was pretty weird, I didn't really understand what the problem was, he likes sex, I wanted to have sex about 40 times a day, and he did not want to "bathe" our child in semen. I think that along with my body blocking out labor pains, I have tried to block out all of the sexual rejection from when I was pregnant. I remember getting angry, bargaining, even trying to just be naked all of the time. He was unbreakable. Me and my puffed up vagina spent nine months in celibacy.

I remember Cole would try and go down on me to get me in the mood and I would be like: "NOOOO, STOP! The baby eats what you eat! Stop it." I mean it was ludicrous around here.

Well, once you put it that way it is pretty gross. I was just always thinking "have sex with me for the love of God." I mean it was like some sort of cruel torture. I had never masturbated more in my life EVER. The worst part was that he knew I was doing it, and still wouldn't come near me. He thought all of my masturbating was getting him off the hook, but it was just making me want him more. He would be like, "Didn't you JUST play with yourself?"

Now I know what my parents went through having a boy going through puberty, it's amazing that I thought I was being discreet in some way when I was a kid. Everyone in the house had to know. Cole was worse than a 14 year old boy, because she was doing it unapologetically and wanted me to know it was going on. Now I know why my mother was always so crazy about telling me to wash my hands all the time. If I went near the fridge she would be like: "I certainly HOPE that you washed your hands!" and I would be all like: "Geez! I've been in my room the whole time, what's the big deal?!" and I bet she was thinking: "exactly."

So here we are, just a couple weeks away from our official "try" time, and all I can think about is the super hot pregnancy sex we are going to have this time around. I feel like I have a ton of making up to do. All joking aside I wanted to write this post for two reasons, one it's sad and hilarious to think back about how firmly implanted my irrational fears were. I have to marvel at how very real they felt, and acknowledge how absolutely bonkers it was that Cole had the impulses and the urges she had. The second reason was to actually put this out there for any other fellow that might be going through the same thing. I hear that it is common for guys to convince themselves that they could single handedly annihilate a pregnancy by having sex. I am not sure how that all gets started. Nobody has ever told me a single story where this has actually happened. It's like some weird urban myth like douching with soda keeps you from getting pregnant, or doing it standing up keeps the sperm from being able to swim up towards the egg. All of it is just crazy. CRAZY! You can't hurt your baby by having sex. So I am saying to you, if your wife wants to climb on top of you and have crazy wild sex. Let it happen. Don't be an idiot. You will definitely regret it.

Because the second part of the story is absolutely true, once the baby does come out, that big sexual urge in your partner is gone, and she is going to remember all the times you told her no. Their mind has a way of melting away the memories of pain and nausea and discomfort of the birth, but it does not forget the rejection along the way.

So consider this the first post in the making of a new baby Marshall. We have arrived to the point where we are just about ready to start this whole crazy process all over again. The idea of sex with the sole intent to make another human being just blows my mind. The things that go through my head during the moment of orgasm of who could be on their way to a new life, will this be a boy or girl? Will they be okay? Will they stay safe? Practically cheering for a strong healthy sperm to make it to the front of the pack and break through. The pillow talk that unfolds after these attempts at making life are priceless, I know that Cole and I love one another, but these exchanges shine a light on that love so brightly that the sappy side of me hopes that when that spark of life flashes, that little microscopic baby is surrounded by all the warmth of the moment and knows instantly it was born from love.

It's funny how on fire things were around here for a few months, loads of work, and vacations, and opportunities, and the closer we get to our actual goal of when we wanted to start trying again for another baby, the jobs are few and far between, the world news is ominous and terrifying about debt ceilings, and the certain catastrophe of what will follow if these bozos on the hill can't agree on anything. New enemies born from killing old ones, and the world is just tearing itself apart all over, manmade and natural occurrences, it feels very familiar. We have come full circle. Hopefully better armed and much wiser to get through tough times. I have a lot of work to do these last few weeks to get us to where we agreed we should be before baby making time starts. So I am feeling the most anxious I have ever felt about work. Sending out inquiries all the time, and watching them go unanswered. I always feel like the corporations know what's coming before we do, so the more they tighten up and get weird, the more nervous it makes me. It has been a real head check. I lost the biggest job of my life, and ever since then it has been all downhill, I just can't close a deal lately, timing is always bad. So to add to the job worries, both computers crashed, hard drives failed, and to top it off someone stole our bank info and just spent every penny we had in our account on some insane shopping spree. The Universe is definitely keeping things humble around here, and all I can do is appreciate the effort that is born from failure and setbacks. The one thing that watching the news has certainly done, is made me realize how lucky we are despite any set backs we might be living through. These are small problems in light of what much of the world is facing. I try and convince myself that all of this failure is fuel for the big push, but putting yourself out there every single day for work, knowing that it's just another chance someone will say no starts to really mess with your confidence. What can we do? We push. That's the only way. I say it all the time around here. Keep pushing for the life you want.

So as the title says, here we go... again.

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On Age

Last night Cole went out to the local CVS to drop off a single roll of film that I had shot in one of those prepackaged plastic underwater cameras that they sell to tourists about to spend the entire weekend in water. I had barely taken a single photo the whole trip over Mothers Day weekend, so this roll of film was pretty much it, as far as documentation goes. The entire 27 exposures I think consist of Cole and The Littlest Buddy submerged in the pool and making silly faces under water. I desperately want to blow up one of the pictures super giant sized for our living room wall just over the couch. Ever since I saw THIS post, I knew that one day we had to have a photo like this on our wall, and since we spent 3 days basically in a pool at the monstrosity Atlantis in the Bahamas I figured this was the best shot at getting that perfect silly picture. So Cole went off with our single roll of film to get it developed, and she takes it up to the counter, and says: "Hi, I need to get these developed" and the girl who looked to be around 17 years old tells Cole: "You have to take the cap off of it, and plug it into that computer over there and you can print your pictures." and Cole says: "What?! No, this is film." and the CVS girls says: "Yeah, you have to plug it into the machine." and it goes back and forth like this for awhile apparently. Finally Cole asks the girl if anyone "older" is working with her, and the girl gets all attitudey and shitty and insists that Cole somehow plugs this roll of film into the Kodak printer kiosk.

So finally another employee comes over, and takes the film and apologizes, and explains to the girl exactly what the giant film processing machine in the photo lab behind her is. I mean I remember when these people wore lab coats and we called them photo technicians. Are we this old? Are there really kids growing up that have no idea what film is, or how a camera works? Well, there are actually a ton of working "photographers" out there that have no idea how a camera works, so I know the answer to that one. I know taking our film to the local pharmacy probably wasn't the best choice, but it's what I was used to doing. You came home from your vacation, you dropped off the film, and then in an hour you rip open the package of prints in the car and fight over the pictures and laugh. I griped about this on twitter last night a little, and it seemed like just as many people were shocked as we were that this was even possible. This could have very well been an isolated experience. It was just one girl, and maybe she is just slightly dim, but it did make me think that there is a whole generation of kids that could grow up and never see film. There will be a point when a teacher will have to bring in an old 35mm film camera into a classroom, and show the kids how it used to work, and they will giggle and say things like: "why would anyone go through all that, when you can just automatically text it to your facebook page?!" I say all of this as I am about to get rid of some digital gear to buy a brand new film camera.

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Cole bought me the greatest video game ever made for Christmas this year, Call of Duty Black Ops for the X-Box 360, and at night when the children are asleep and Cole is reading, I have been known to treat myself with this mind numbing entertainment, and I unapologetically immerse myself into the world of covert ops and killing sprees. The controller felt odd in my hands at first. It had been years since I wasted time in this way. I stayed on the campaign setting of the game for months, replaying the same boards, and I was WAY to intimidated to venture into the world of multiplayer mode. Multiplayer mode is in fact what makes this game so popular, you can play against people from all over the world, running around in a selection of maps, and weapon configurations, all hell bent on killing one other as many times as possible. A few months ago, I took the plunge, and subjected myself to the onslaught of insults and shit talking that goes along with playing strangers online in a a game that is centered around murdering one another. I found myself running around these game settings being bludgeoned with knives, shot in the face and balls, and getting blown apart by grenades over and over, staying alive for just a few seconds at at time before another attack from out of nowhere left me crumpled up dead, all accompanied to the sounds of pre pubescent boys in their little high pitched squeaky voices calling me a "faggot" repeatedly, or explaining to me in detail how much I "fucking sucked." Night after night, teenage boys in groups yelling at me, telling me I was the worst player they had ever seen. Kids with screen names like "Fists-of- Poo420" and "King Derty Sanchez" saying things like "What the fuck is this guys problem?! Why are you even playing? How is it possible to suck so bad at this?!" Another kid who killed me 46 times inside of 10 minutes in a ground war that just kept saying "pussy" every single time he killed me. Every. Single. Time.

I kept at it, despite the constant humiliation and beatings by these little kids, all trouncing me online and invading our home with their insults. My ego took its lashes, and I got obsessed with keeping up with these little brats. I would tell Cole the next day, "last night these little kids made fun of me for an hour-- It sucks." I mean, how are these kids so freakin good at this game? Don't they have homework to do? Then it finally happened, I was playing one night recently, and I found myself stringing together killstreaks, and all of the sudden players were complaining about how I was a huge douchebag, and the insults all changed, it wasn't about how terrible I was any longer, they were making fun of me for beating them. I had arrived. I was all of the sudden the guy on the board that wasn't letting up, that was getting 30 kills to 4 deaths, (and not by being a low down dirty camper either). I was on fire, and these little jerks didn't like it. I realized that I didn't care about being good at this game, I couldn't stand how old and out of touch I felt when these little mouthy teenagers were beating the crap out of me night after night. I just didn't want to feel old. Some little kids down the street found out I played Black Ops one day when all the kids were jumping on the trampoline. Cole had mentioned it somehow, and when they heard the news they said to Cole: "Ryan plays Black Ops? I bet he's really good." That's right kiddos. I AM really good. Of course now that I finally figured out how to play, the game lost its appeal. The fire went out, so now maybe I should try and focus on the next thing, and start figuring out how to win at pickup basketball games down at the park. Or maybe win a 5k.

I'm 36 going on 17.

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Back

The very talented duo over at Studio 222 took this photo of my good side while we were working a wedding together recently and I thought it worked perfectly for a post about how I am stepping away from Pacing The Panic Room just a little longer.

a little longer...

Don't leave or anything. It just takes some time to make shiny new things, and well... I'm making stuff!

I hate using the blog as a crummy newsletter, but since I do not foresee an immediate return to blogging here, I thought it would be good to say at least a little something about it. There are a few things eating the free time that usually goes into the blog. The first one is that you might remember that Cole and I have both mentioned getting a blog going for her to talk about hair in a big cool way, and in order to launch Cole's new blog the correct way, so that it is an actual useful service to people, all of my free time is going into those photo shoots and videos, and tutorials. We want this thing to be super duper. Cole has named her site, and it was so clever I think I fell in love all over again. She is so excited about this project and I love that I get to help her make this all come together. It's going to be great! No pressure :)

I mainly posted because I wanted to let you know where the free time was going, and what I am putting my energy into lately since I have not been showing up here. I'm really excited to share some new projects I put together here soon. I think the Design Sponge book trailer will be coming out shortly. Not totally sure when, but I am really happy with how it all turned out. In the meantime I am going to be shooting as much as possible for Cole's new blog so that it has the support it needs. So I am going to be writing and pestering brands for clothes to style some of these shoots, I only mention that in case you are a brand and want to send us clothes for the shoots :) I mean I am shameless when it comes to asking for clothes for these things, we don't have a budget around here, and we want these photos to be top notch.

The other major distraction and time suck is that I am embarked on a personal weight loss journey. That makes me laugh every time I say it-- it's so very mystical and mysterious sounding. Like I should have a little cape and maybe a bag of magic. Weight loss journeys are a terrible burden on free time, but my body was at a real cross roads. I was one rack of ribs away from a very bad place. Bottom line is that when the shirt came off around here, it was terrifying: children shrieked, women fainted, men chuckled. Shameful. All of it. Before I get into the reasons I thought I had turned into a great big fat guy and decided to finally do something real about it, I wanted to talk about something super annoying that I noticed on Cole's behalf, and perhaps stick up for the little people, and while I'm at it for the tall slender women as well who have had babies, and then want to get their bodies back in shape. The mentality seems to be that unless you're grotesquely obese, you have no business watching calories and making sure to exercise, and how dare you discuss it in anyway looking for support. She isn't allowed to have any support? If Cole would ever mention getting into shape again, or attempt to discuss wanting to get her stomach back to normal, people would say: "You're crazy, you look great, you don't need to do anything except maybe eat more!" or stuff like, "You must have a real problem if you actually think you need to lose more weight!!" So instead of support, she would be made to feel like she had an eating disorder, or was just some narcissistic asshole. I am just calling shenanigans on people making anyone feel bad for wanting to feel comfortable in their own skin, or like they have some kind of mental problem for wanting to take their bodies back. A person that needs to lose 30lbs shouldn't be making someone who needs to lose 3 feel like crap about it, so stop it already. I mentioned 30 because that is how much I am trying to shed. It sucks, all of it, I got up to 219lbs feasting on terrible food and sitting at the computer for hours on end editing. I was like 6 months away from becoming the comic book guy. So Cole and I teamed up, and she is trying to shed her 3 and tone up, and I am trying to get the extra 30lbs off of me. I feel bad because we will do the same exercise for the same amount of time, and I will burn like 250 calories to her 100. So she has to work twice as hard to burn the same amount.

This Mothers Day weekend as a special treat, we are all going to the Bahamas, like all of us, Cole's father put this giant group of family together and said "get your passports in order, we're all going." So we will go. I mean I'm not going to complain about it. Happy Mothers Day indeed. And so we set our sights on getting into as good as shape as we could before the trip happened. It wasn't enough time to hit our goal weights or anything, but we wanted to work hard so at least we felt better about a shirtless retreat in paradise. So here is the thing-- when you have 30lbs to lose and all your muscles turned to a mushy mess, when you first start to get back into shape, you don't lose the weight around your fat gut. No, my flabby spare tire isn't budging at all, but the fat around my ribs is all gone, and my chest doesn't look like it is melting any longer, so the immediate problem right now is that I thinned out all around my spare tire, so it looks even more ridiculous, like I'm showcasing it. It looks like I am wearing a flesh colored donut. A perfect circle of fat all around my body, accentuated now by my nice thin rib cage. I have half an hourglass. So I might just embrace the silliness of it all and slap some zinc on my nose, slip into a banana hammock, and get some beads and shells braided into my hair. I'll be drunk on rum and sun anyway, so why not make everyone else around me as uncomfortable with my body as I am with it. Drink it in people. The Bahamas is going to be awesome.

Enough about all of that.

I need to get going. I miss the blog, but at the same time I feel like I need to focus on making some projects that don't involve my family. I'm really excited about some of the jobs that are coming up, and I'm in the process of finally putting an official business together for myself. I have been operating without a portfolio or resume for far too long, and feel like I am screwing up bigger chances, and missing opportunities by not being professional. I think the fear to start my business was because I couldn't stomach the thought of it failing. Crazy to think that way I know, I am working on it. So I will be launching "Panic Room Pictures" in the next month or so, and will finally stop hiding from the fear. I had a business when Cole and I first got together and it failed when the big financial meltdown hit. In my head, I figured if I didn't have a business, then how could it fail? Genius. Ugh.

I will drop in soon and say hi and post some pictures from the Mothers Day trip. No banana hammock shots or anything, nobody needs to ever see that. To you Mothers out there that read here, I hope you have a great weekend and get spoiled rotten, you deserve it. Soak it up this weekend. Happy Mothers Day.

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