Mr. Handsome

Due to some scheduling conflicts, we were not able to celebrate Ellie’s birthday on the actual day. As a loving husband, I suggested that we designate another day as Ellie’s Day, a day to be focused entirely on Ellie.

 “What would you like me to buy you for your special day?” I asked my wife. “How about something really nice? I want you to treat yourself.”

“Well I was thinking that Little Buddy would really like a toy sandbox, and I would just love to see him play in one.” That seemed like a good idea to me. Ellie picked out a turtle-shaped sandbox from Walmart and had it delivered just in time for Ellie’s Day.

To start the day off, I insisted that she sleep in and I get up with Little Buddy, who is a very early riser. As I crawled out of bed, I whispered “Is there anything I can make you for breakfast?”

“There are two of my favorite jalapeño cheddar sausage patties left in the fridge that would be delicious,” she responded.

As I was cooking breakfast, I told Little Buddy that we were letting Mommy sleep in and that she would wake up to the sweet fragrance of sausage cooking in the fry pan.

 “Is something burning?” Ellie wrinkled her nose as she stuck her head out of the bedroom.

“No, everything is going great” I stated as I fanned the billowing smoke away from the smoke detector.

“Fire, Mama!” exclaimed Little Buddy, as he pointed to the pan.

“One of my greatest desires for Ellie’s Day is that you don’t burn the house down,” Ellie explained gently. “Maybe you should just microwave some oatmeal.”

After breakfast, we loaded up the minivan and went to visit the historic Carter House in Franklin, Tennessee. This has been on Ellie’s to do list ever since we moved to Nashville. She enjoyed it so much that she already wrote a blog post about it. Unfortunately the weather was a little rough (approximately 37 degrees Fahrenheit with freezing winds). But thankfully only half of the two-hour tour was outdoors.

On our way home, I decided to really treat Ellie and let her do some birthday shopping.  She chose Kohl’s. As we walked in, I handed her a $100 dollar bill and told her that she was required to spend it. Unfortunately she couldn’t find anything that she liked, but there was a nice leather jacket on clearance that was perfectly my size. It was usually $180 but was on sale for 50% off, putting it right at $90.

“That still leaves $10 to spend on a pair of socks for myself!” remarked a happy Ellie

“Well this is Ellie’s Day,” I exclaimed. “So go for it!”

We also stopped at one of Ellie’s favorite places in the world, Costco. She loves the good deals and free samples. I took her straight to a beautiful display of organic goat cheese and gluten-free crackers.

“This looks delicious!” exclaimed Ellie. “Can I try a sample, please?

“Sorry, no free samples due to COVID,” the clerk replied.

“Oh well,” I consoled Ellie, “It’s been such a good day for you already, and of course nothing is perfect.

“You are right about that,” replied Ellie. “Nothing is perfect.”

We each took a cart and decided to meet at the cash register in 30 minutes. Ellie came back with food, tissues, and paper towels. I had also picked up a few essentials.

“Why is your cart filled with new power tools and a pellet grill?” asked Ellie.

“I thought since it was Ellie’s Day we could celebrate!” I exclaimed.

“We are not buying any of that,” Ellie informed the clerk at the checkout line.

Next we stopped at the Vegan Vee Gluten-Free Bakery to get Ellie a delicious pastry. Unfortunately, the Vegan Vee had new hours that they hadn’t yet updated on their website, and they were closed. I have to say, that put a bit of a damper on an otherwise perfect Ellie’s Day.

But thankfully there was a grocery store down the street, and we were able to buy her a loaf of plain gluten-free bread. And it turned out that my favorite donut shop was just down the street, so Little Buddy and I ate donuts while Ellie enjoyed a plain slice of bread.

“This has really been a special Ellie’s Day,” I said.

“Yes it has,” she responded. “Very special.”

And now, another word from Mr. Handsome…

One of my worst fears growing up was that I would turn into my dad. Now don’t get me wrong, Dad is a wonderful man and a good father, but when I was a teenager, he was certainty not cool. In fact, it seemed like he went out of his way to try not to be cool.

Other kid’s dads would gel their hair, wear stylish jeans, get tattoos, work out at the gym, drive sports cars, and wear Air Jordans. My dad wore farmer jeans, paid $10 for the same haircut from the same barber for 20 years, wore plain white New Balance casual footwear, and drove the 15 passenger family van. But the more I grow older, the more I find myself doing the same things he does. It’s horrifying. Here is a list of the things I swore I would never do.

Purposely Wear out of Style Clothes           

It takes effort to be as out of style as my dad. His classic outfit around the house was a flannel shirt with sweatpants. Looking back, I think he was doing it purposely to embarrass us kids. But now I am doing the same thing. The only difference is I am trying to embarrass Ellie.  I still love the look of horror on Ellie’s face when I walk out of the bedroom in my purple shorts and red t-shirt.

Embarrass the Younger Generation

Dad was always saying ridiculous stuff around our friends to embarrass us. It was awful. But now I find myself doing the same thing to my little sisters, who are almost two decades younger than me. I still laugh about the time I dropped them off at summer camp six years ago. Right before I drove away, I said, “I put your blankey and nightlight in your suitcase because I know you get scared in the dark.” I made sure to say it loud enough that all their little teenage friends heard me.

Tell Long-Winded Dad Jokes

My dad had his go-to dad jokes that he pulled out whenever he could possibly squeeze them into a conversation. Every time he told them, they got longer and longer. Of course, trying to tell dad you had already heard the joke was of no use because he was going to finish it regardless. Every time he would start one of his long-winded dad jokes, I would groan inside and swear I would never tell one of his jokes. But then I was sitting around a campfire with a group of friends, and somehow one of his jokes just fit the conversation perfectly. I had no choice but to tell the joke, complete with all of dads sound effects, commentary, and vocal inflections. The worst part was, all my friends starting howling with laughter after the punchline.

Read all the Displays at Museums

On family vacations, Mom and Dad would always make sure to stop at a few museums along the way. They wanted our vacations to be both fun and educational. All of us kids would scamper from display to display and make it through the entire museum in about 20 minutes. Then we would start begging mom to let us get back on the road so we could head to the beach or wherever our final destination was. “We have to wait until your dad is finished,” she would say. So we would search the museum to find Dad, and inevitably he would still be at the first display, reading every single word. We would then spend the next three to four excruciating hours watching him read every written word in the entire building. And heaven forbid there was a self-guided radio tour, because then we would be at the museum all day.

Well on our last trip before Covid, Ellie and I decided to stop at a museum on the way to the beach. It was something like $20 per person to get in. Ellie and Little Buddy made their way through the museum very efficiently, while I settled in and started reading the plaques. I had just spent $40 for this experience, and I was going to get my money’s worth. Ellie has since swore to never take me to a museum again.

Tinker Around in the Garage

Dad was always tinkering around in the garage, and I always thought it was the biggest waste of time. Well now I understand. When Little Buddy is running around like a crazy kid, tinkering around in the garage sounds like a very attractive option.

Talk About Politics

Growing up, my dad was always talking about politics with his friends, and I always thought that was the biggest waste of time. But when I became an adult and received my first significant paycheck, I quickly realized just how much money the government felt it was necessary to take out. Let me tell you, those politicians just sit there and spend my money and waste it on pet projects and fraud, and let me tell you what I think about blah blah blah…

Flirt with Mom

This is a family blog, so I won’t get into much detail, but there was nothing more disgusting then watching Dad kiss and flirt with Mom. Well let’s just say Little Buddy may have the same complaints one day. But hey, it’s a sign of a strong marriage.

So I suppose it’s just best to accept that I am slowly but surely turning into my dad. My dad was far from cool, but he was always there for us, and we always knew he loved us. I suppose there are worse people to turn into.

Mr. Handsome has been on a roll with his blog posts. I hope you all are enjoying his humor as much as I do! And now, another word from Mr. H…

“What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.”

Has anyone else noticed that us millennials really don’t want to do things the same way our parents did? If our parents did it, it certainly cannot be cool. I have a feeling that every generation throughout history has felt this way. The terms we use to describe what we are change–from “totally rad” to “groovy” to “hip” to “cool” or whatever–but the idea remains the same: We all just want to be more trendy than the generation before us.

I have compiled a list of things that my parents did that myself and other millennials wouldn’t be caught dead doing; but in reality, we rjust do these same things but with different names.

Talk Radio

 One sure way to be labeled a “fuddy duddy” is to listen to talk radio on the am stations. Whether it’s NPR, Rush Limbaugh, ESPN radio, or Dave Ramsey, if you accidentally land on one of those radio stations, you need to change it immediately, or else you are in serious danger of being labeled dull and boring. I mean who would want to just listen to someone talking on the radio?

Thankfully, us millennials have a much more intelligent way to spend our time. We listen to podcasts. What are podcasts? They are completely different then talk radio. Talk radio is just lamely listening to someone talk about some random subject.  Podcasts, are…well….uh…basically listening to someone talk about some random subject. But podcasts are cool because, you know, they are totally different than what our parents did.

PBS Documentaries

We all remember seeing our dad sitting on the couch watching horrible documentaries. I mean, who wants to waste their time learning about sports history, an unsolved crime, or some flamboyant character in history? That feels way to much like school. In fact, some of us even had to watch these boring documentaries in school. Today we have much more interesting things to watch: Netflix Docudramas.

Shows like The Last Dance, Making a Murderer, and Tiger King are “all the rage” among millennials. What are these shows about? Well they are shows were you learn about sports history, an unsolved crime, or a flamboyant historical character. Wait, isn’t that exactly the same thing as a documentary? No way, these are hip new docudramas.

Remodeling

Remember when your parents decided to remodel your childhood home? It was miserable. They took out all the shag carpeting, fake wood paneling, and avocado green bathrooms and painted the entire house beige. How boring! They probably made you help scrape up all the old wallpaper, pull up the carpet, and repaint. Remodeling was just about the lamest thing you could do and certainly nothing you would do now as an adult.

As a millennial, you watch HGTV, and you don’t remodel your home, you do a “home makeover.”  You go in and remove all the disgusting beige colors your parents thought were cool and replace them with the new, exciting, trendy color of our time: gray.

Being a Handyman

Remember how your dad could fix anything? He would never call a plumber, electrician, or mechanic. He would never even look at an instruction manual. He would always try to show you how to fix stuff, but you just wanted to play with your friends.

Now that you have your own home, you certainly are not a handyman like your old pops was. You are a DIY-er. You also won’t hire someone to work on your house, but that’s just because you are a millennial and you are broke. You also don’t read an instruction manual or one of those home improvement books they used to sell at Home Depot; you look up how to do things on YouTube. As you can see, a DIY-er is completely different than a handyman

Antique Furniture Collecting

Growing up, you parents had antique dressers, mirrors, and chairs. The furniture could have come from grandparents, flea markets, or antique store. Nowadays you don’t want to look like you are living in the past, and nothing screams outdated like filling your home with antique furniture.

 Instead, millennials fill our homes with “reclaimed” furniture, which is completely different than antique furniture. The definition of antiques is “old objects, such as a piece of furniture or work of art, that has a high value because of its considerable age.” “Reclaimed” furniture, on the other hand, is just old junk that has been repurposed. See how much more hip that is?

Farm Fresh

 If there is one thing millennials understand, it’s the importance of farm fresh, pesticide-free, organic, free-trade produce. We understand that mass produced food is not as healthy and may be harmful to the environment. Amazingly, we are the first generation to figure out that getting your produce straight from the farm is the way to go.

Our parents just don’t understand this. They certainly didn’t go to the farmers’ market to get farm fresh. When my parents grew up, they got their food a totally different way. They would…..well now that I think of it, my dad grew up on a farm and grew his own food. And my grandparents…..well come to think of it, my grandma would actually raise and butcher her own chickens in the backyard. But you see, that’s not how you are supposed to do it; you are supposed to go to Whole Foods and spend three to four times as much to buy something that says “farm fresh” on the mass produced packaging.

So there you have it, millennials just do things better. The good news is that I know my children will understand that the way I do things is the best way.

From Mr. Handsome:

Occasionally we like to use this blog to alert our readers about public safety issues. It is important for people to know what’s going on in the world and how to keep their families safe. We thought we would bring awareness to a major safety concern: dads being left unsupervised at the park.

Earlier this week, Ellie had an appointment and decided it would be nice if she dropped Little Buddy and me off at the park while she was away. It was the first time I had taken Little Buddy to a park alone, and I was very excited, although slightly nervous.

Thankfully there were only three other people at the park, a mom and two children, so there was plenty of room to social distance. I was impressed by how calm and collected she was, watching as her kids ran wild but still somehow keeping track of them. She was a real pro.

The park consisted of a large, multi-level structure with slides and ladders and other climbing structures coming off the sides. Basically a McDonald’s play place on steroids. Little Buddy was very excited. He immediately climbed up to the first level and started running. No big deal, I thought. The first level is only about four feet above the ground, and I can just stay right below him to make sure he doesn’t try to climb down the ladders. 

While I was running along the side of the structure and looking up at Little Buddy, I didn’t notice one of those little horses coming out of the ground. You know what I’m talking about, those plastic animals on springs that kids bounce around on. Well you would think that the springs would make the horses pretty harmless if you were to run into them, but I am here to tell you that that is not the case. 

As I picked myself off the ground, the mother on the other side of the park pretended not to look at me, as she tried to hold back a chuckle. I dusted off my pants and looked up, only to realize that Little Buddy had now climbed to the second level of the structure. “Little Buddy, come back down!” I exclaimed, to which he just laughed and kept climbing. He then grabbed a horizontal pole and started to swing on it.

 I knew I needed to climb up there and get him down. I thought the easiest way would be to scale the rock wall, but when I got to the top and tried to squeeze through the child-size holed, I got stuck. So I jumped back to the ground, climbed the fireman’s pole, and raced towards Little Buddy. I tried to slide under the horizontal pole, but I unfortunately I didn’t get low enough.

When I finally stopped seeing stars, Little Buddy was rubbing my head, saying “Daddy got ouchy.” The mom with the two children was holding her sides and shaking as she attempted to hide her laughter.

After that, Daddy decided that playgrounds are too dangerous, so we went into the open field and played tag. Little Buddy got bored of that pretty quickly and started pulling flowers out of a nearby flowerbed. “Buddy weeding,” he said, as I picked him up.

When Ellie finally returned to pick us up 30 minutes later, we were sitting on a park bench, and Little Buddy’s hands were covered in dirt. Unfortunately, there were some tears flowing. “Mr. Handsome stop crying,” consoled Ellie. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Daddy got ouchy” explained Little Buddy.

As we drove away, the mother with the two children gave Ellie a look that said, “Honey, you should know better than to leave you husband unattended at the park.”

If you took a survey asking men what the most stressful day of the year is, I think February 14th would win in a landslide. The pressure to keep your girl happy on Valentine’s Day is immense. Especially because you know that on February 15th, she is going to talk to her girlfriends, and all their significant others are undoubtedly going to have done something more impressive than you. Trust me, you don’t want to be the guy who bought her a mixed flower bouquet and Milk Duds from Kroger when her best friend got an engraved 24 karat gold locket.

I, unfortunately, have a history of disappointing Ellie on Valentine’s Day. On our first Valentine’s Day as a dating couple, I was very inexperienced in the art of valentine-ing. I had no idea you had to make reservations ahead of time. After stopping by a half a dozen restaurants, we were very lucky to find two open seats at the counter at Steak and Shake at 9:30pm. At least they were serving half-priced, festive milkshakes.

So the next year, I decided to avoid the restaurants all together and cook chocolate fondue at my house. Of course no one told me you had to periodically stir the chocolate to prevent it from burning. (I grew up with six younger siblings. We never ate fondue anything.) I figured this out right as Ellie was arriving at my door, so I just went with it.

“This chocolate tastes a little funny,” Ellie stated, after dipping a stunning, succulent strawberry in the concoction. “It has a burnt, bitter taste.”

“That’s because it’s high quality Belgium dark chocolate,” I stammered. “It has a high class taste. I ordered it straight from Belgium. Had it shipped here last week.”

“Really?” she raised one eyebrow at me. “Then why are there a bunch of Hershey’s milk chocolate wrappers in the garbage can?”

Busted.

Fast-forward seven years later.

This year, I decided to go all out and surprise Ellie with a nice piece of jewelry. I left work early and swung by the jewelry store. As I handed my credit card to the clerk, I was imagining the look of surprise on Ellie’s face when I presented her with the beautiful necklace I had just purchased.

My phone rang as I exited the store, and I answered to hear Ellie’s frantic voice. “Someone has stolen our credit card!”

“That’s not good,” I replied, “How do you know?”

“Well I just got a text message alert that someone spent $100 at a jewelry store.

My heart sank. “Honey don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Someone took our money! I have to hang up and call the credit card company.”

“It’s probably just a computer mistake. I’m telling you babe, it’s nothing. Let it go!”

“Mr. Handsome, what’s going on?”

As you can imagine, I had to explain right then and there what the charge had been for, thus ruining the surprise.

“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “Come on home so I can see my new necklace!” At least she still enjoyed the gift. Here’s to hoping that I can pull off a decent Valentine’s Day surprise next year.

From Mr. Handsome:

Last week I got in a wreck on a slick road. It was a minor accident but just enough for the insurance company to consider my 13-year-old vehicle to be totaled.

I was a little concerned when I called Ellie because I didn’t know how she would respond to the news. Would she be distraught about the fact that I could have been hurt? Would she break down in tears thinking about the finances?

My mind went to the worst possible scenarios about how the conversation could go. But I could not have been prepared for the trauma that the phone call would cause. As I told Ellie no one was hurt but that the car was totaled, I almost lost my hearing as she squealed “We can finally buy a minivan!”

My mind instantly became flooded with horrifying images: Cheerios scattered across the floor mats, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches rotting between the seats, juice boxes spilling on the upholstery, banana peels decomposing in the seat-back pockets, fold-down TV screens playing the same movies over and over, and soiled diapers everywhere.

“Honey I think I misheard you,” I chuckled. “For a second I thought you said something about a minivan? My hearing must be off after the accident.”

“You heard me correctly.” Ellie explained, joyfully. “I have been thinking how crowded everything is with Little Buddy and the car seat and all his stuff. And since we are planning on growing our family, we will need a car that is big enough for expansion.”

And with that, my worst fears were realized.

How many of you are familiar with the Man Code? It is a list of things that you simply don’t do as a man, such as enjoying the taste of vegetables, paying someone to mow your lawn, listening to Brittany Spears, or watching a Hallmark movie. And if you do find yourself doing one of those things, you certainly don’t admit it to your male friends. Anyways, at the very top of that list is one thing you should never do as a man: Buy a Minivan.

A minivan is simply the worst vehicle on the market. It’s not a hot sports car. It’s not a manly truck. It’s not even a real van! As any good homeschool family school, my family had a real van growing up. And by real van, I mean a 15 passenger. Honestly I would rather just go straight to that rather than buy a vehicle that is too big to be a car but too small to be a real van.

I decided that it was time to take a stand. “Ellie I am sorry, but I need to put my foot down. Under no circumstance will we be buying a minivan.”

So anyways, the next day we were at the auto dealer to buy a minivan. I will tell you all about it in the next blog post, but before that I would like to hear your thoughts on minivans?

My wife, Ellie, is a very efficient, detail-oriented person who completes projects in a timely and effective manner. For that reason, she is continually confused by my methodology of completing projects, which is completely the opposite.

She watches in horror as I wander about the house with various tools, hammering, sawing, and painting with seemingly no plan in mind whatsoever. She simply does not understand one of the key principles a man must follow when completing a project: He must always make the project as difficult as possible.

Making a project as difficult as possible is a specialized skill that takes years to develop. It is a skill that is passed from father to son and is perfected from generation to generation. Anyone can work efficiently and effectively, but where is the artistry in that? By making a task more difficult, a man can show off his superior tool knowledge and handyman skills, demonstrate the poor quality of store-bought materials, and most importantly, end up with a good story.

For example, say you have a broken bolt on your lawn mower. You could easily fix the problem by buying a replacement bolt from Home Depot. But that’s not what a “real man” does.

A “real man” first complains about the pathetic decline in craftsmanship in the modern, mass-produced era and states that if the bolt had been made right the first time, it wouldn’t have broken.

A “real man” complains about the inflated prices in today’s economy and states (multiple times, for effect) that it is highway robbery to pay $2.50 for a single bolt (not to mention 18 cents in sales tax).

In order to avoid such price gouging, the first step is to spend half a day searching through every drawer in the house to see if you have a spare bolt that would fit. Even after your lovely wife assures you that she has organized all the loose bolts into one container on the work bench and that if you can’t find the right size there, we definitely don’t have it. Like I said, she is very efficient.

When that doesn’t work, the next step is to forge a new bolt out of iron. After buying $500 worth of iron working tools and spending a month learning how to use them, the “real man” finally has a new bolt and fixes the problem. Okay, I’ll admit that I didn’t successfully complete this step. Just as I was about to press the order button on Amazon for my $500 of supplies, Ellie yanked the computer from my hands, confiscated my wallet, and marched over to Home Depot to buy a replacement bolt for $2.68. She was home within an hour, and our lawn mower was working 10 minutes later.

The principle of making a project as difficult as possible was on full display when my dad, my brother Wayne, and I repaired a privacy fence in my brother’s backyard. Three of the support posts had rotted out, causing the fence to lean over into the driveway.  “Why don’t we just put in three new posts and keep the fence otherwise as is?” asked my brother. My dad and I gasped in horror at this simple, straightforward plan. Wayne is a novice at house projects. My dad cleared his throat and said, “Son, to do it right, you have to redo the entire stretch of fence.”

“Well that would work, if you were trying to just get by cheap and easy,” I scoffed. “But to do this job correctly, you need to completely redo the fence, dig the new posts at least 4 feet into the ground for extra stability, and move it over two feet. That way you can enlarge the parking area behind the fence with a new load of gravel.”

Wayne, realizing the stupidity of his initial idea, responded saying, “You know I guess you’re right, but why would I stop with a load of gravel? I really ought to just pour a new concrete slab and add a row of street lights so people can see my new fence.” Having finally come up with a reasonable plan, we began construction.

During the process, we followed several common sense protocols, such as digging all the holes by hand (who would spend $20 to rent a post hole digger?), buying prefabricated fence panels only to disassemble and reassemble them “the right way,” working exclusively during the heat of the 90 degree day because that’s what a “real man” does, and building a custom gate because all the stock gates were just not aesthetically pleasing. After two months of work, we finished the project, and it looked great. But most importantly, it was completed in “the most difficult way possible.”