I envisioned a truly special night. I had a little room booked for me and the wife. Nothing fancy and we weren’t going to travel far, just a few towns over to Hyannis. Some of our friends would’ve come with us but there would have been plenty of other people around too who would devote themselves to us, take care of us and cater to our every need. All the anticipation would’ve built up and then just after the stroke of midnight, a new year and a new life would have begun.

Alex was scheduled to be born on New Year’s Eve.

Usually I love celebrations. Christmas, New Year’s, anniversaries, birthdays—if there was a reason to party I was going to be first in line. But since we lost Alex, I just don’t feel it anymore. Christmas was fun, but subdued. I didn’t even go out and get a tree. I’m going out for New Year’s, but mainly it’s to be around good friends who I know can put up with me when I’m drunk. Which I most definitely will be. And as an added kick to the testicles, MJ and I have our fifth wedding anniversary coming up on Jan. 13.

Normally I’m the one who makes a big deal out of birthdays and anniversaries. I remember the exact day I first kissed MJ and the day we first made love. MJ, on the other hand, has forgotten my birthday on more than one occasion and simply isn’t one to celebrate sentimental milestones. Usually I just ignore her and plan something fun anyway, but this year I didn’t plan anything because I don’t feel like celebrating and I figured she wouldn’t mind.

Well, she does mind. She’s really upset we’re not making a big deal out of our anniversary. She misses me and wants to spend time with me. I miss her too and I really do love her more than ever.

But I physically ache when I look at her.

She should be HUGE right now. Her gigantic belly should be just about to explode. I’m supposed to be massaging her swollen feet and making midnight runs to get her weird food combinations. We’re supposed to have a bag packed for the hospital and I should be at work, checking my cell phone every four seconds, waiting for the “IT’S TIME!” phone call.

The crib is supposed to be ready and decked out with bright new pink sheets. Girl clothes and all that cute shit should be overflowing from the nursery as relatives call everyday to get progress reports so they can be the first to show up at the hospital. Will is supposed to be ridiculously excited (and slightly pissed off and jealous) to become a big brother. I would have purchased a newborn-sized Patriots cheerleader outfit she could wear on Sundays.

And if she held on until New Year’s Day, maybe she would’ve been the Cape’s first baby of 2011. A reporter’s kid as the New Year’s baby with a front page spread. It would’ve been perfect.

But things are not perfect.

MJ doesn’t think Alex was a person. She thinks we lost a fetus, nothing more than a damaged collection of cells that failed to survive. I don’t hold that against her at all, and in fact I’m rather envious she can reconcile things like that. I wish I could convince myself to feel that way but I can’t.

I admit I didn’t know how to feel when we lost Alex. On one hand we’re talking about a 16-week-old fetus I never met. Technically we don’t even know it was a girl (although in my mind she was). So how do you grieve someone who you’re not even sure counts as an actual person? I don’t know the answer to that, but I think it’s at the heart of my struggle. MJ and I talked recently and because she’s much smarter than I am, she made me realize my heart has been treating this like the death of a loved one, but my brain is constantly trying to convince me that’s not the case. Therefore I never really dealt with it. Each time I tried to I’d get about halfway and then pull myself back because I’d tell myself this wasn’t a “real” loss.

But it was real for me. Whether I’m right or wrong, I see what happened as the death of a child. I know it doesn’t compare to the actual death of a living child several years old (a horror I selfishly hope I never encounter), but at times it feels that way to me. And instead of repressing that thought I need to deal with it so I can move on and be a better husband and father.

I’ve always viewed therapists and counselors as helpful people who are great options—for other people. Never me. You’d sooner see me in a Yankees hat than talking to some quack and admitting I couldn’t handle my own problems. Despite the fact I’ve seen it work for MJ with wonderful results, the thought of me on that couch is one of the most terrifying and embarrassing things I can imagine.

But the only thing worse is spiraling to the point that nothing makes me happy, my wife feels lonely and my son constantly tells me to cheer up. I don’t want that and won’t have it. I’m better than that and my family deserves better as well.

I’ve never made a New Year’s resolution in earnest. But for 2011, I’m hoping I can conjure up enough testicular fortitude to admit to my shortcomings and do something about it.

Happy New Year.

My grandmother died this year so this Christmas was a little tough because it was the first one without her. But when she was alive, we liked to tease her mercilessly about her John Wayne obsession. She adored the man and had all of his movies. Not only that, she had likenesses of him that adorned the walls of her apartment. And whenever we’d get fresh with her, she’d say “You just wait. When I kick the bucket I’m leaving all of my John Wayne pictures to you.”

So yesterday, as we finished our Christmas dinner and silently expressed our lingering sadness over her absence, my uncle pulled out something that’s going to affect our lives forever. It’s a painting of John Wayne. Not only that, it’s an awful picture with his mug and horses pulling wagons. And it’s painted on a piece of wood and the sides are tree bark.

It is truly hideous.

My family is big on board games of all kinds, and we routinely play them after we’re done with holiday feasts and present-opening. But this year, we decided the winner of our games would be entitled to more than just bragging rights. From now on, whichever household wins the game will also get to pick one of the losers, and that loser will have to hang the ugly John Wayne picture somewhere in their house for an entire year until the following Christmas.

My grandmother would’ve appreciated the thought of any one of us grudgingly hanging a picture of her favorite actor in our homes.

This year my Aunt Val, Uncle Arthur and cousin Bradley won. And despite my incessant lobbying for them to send the picture home with my brother to Baltimore where he would have to explain the “art” to his girlfriend, they did not choose my brother. I think you can see where this is headed.

The Duke is currently hanging in my living room for the next 363 days. And somewhere, my grandmother is laughing her sick, twisted ass off at me. She always told me I’d end up with John Wayne in my house. But I guess it’s fitting, because none of us could ever say no to her anyway.

However, getting saddled with John Wayne was not my favorite part of Christmas. In fact, my favorite part of Christmas wasn’t even on Christmas Day itself.

On Christmas Eve I ended up spending time at my parent’s house while Will and MJ were visiting with her dad (Papa) and his girlfriend Donna (Grammy). Little did I know, that meant I had unwittingly volunteered myself to help assemble the present my brother bought Will. What was the present you ask?

That’s right, a 125-piece wooden train table set. And that’s in addition to the dozens of Thomas the Train Engine gifts that Will received for Christmas this year. But Nate’s present was easily the largest in both size and generosity. And while I appreciate the obvious amount of thought that went into the gift, I soon realized actually giving it to him was going to be easier said than done.

You see, Gouveia men are a lot of things. Witty, intelligent, handsome and humble to name a few. However, the one thing we are not, is handy. In a nutshell, we’re mechanically deficient and putting things together or assembling anything even remotely complicated is not our strong suit. Not only that, but we’re also all extremely argumentative, short-tempered and sarcastic.

Not exactly a winning combination.

Things started off…well…poorly, to say the least. The instructions had no words, just pictures. And not all the parts were labeled correctly. And did I mention this thing had 125 FRIGGIN PIECES?!!?!? Not only did we have to assemble the table, but once that was done we also had to build the multi-level train track. The first half hour left me convinced the night would end in bloodshed.

But then a funny thing happened.

We connected a few of the pieces and started working together, knowing it was all for Will. Then we kept on working, but we also were talking and kidding around. The next two hours featured some testiness, but mostly laughter and good-natured ribbing while my mom cooked delicious smelling Christmas food and the speakers played some Christmas tunes. It may have taken awhile, but in the end we got it done and Will absolutely loved it.

And, strangely enough, it ended up being the best part of Christmas.

]]> http://www.daddyfiles.com/2009/12/28/john-wayne-lots-of-trains/feed/ 10 http://www.daddyfiles.com/2009/12/09/o-christmas-tree/ http://www.daddyfiles.com/2009/12/09/o-christmas-tree/#comments Wed, 09 Dec 2009 14:39:55 +0000 DaddyFiles1 http://www.daddyfiles.com/?p=1980 We had a real Christmas tree in 2005, our first year in the condo. Since then? Nada.

Four years ago we weren’t married. We had no dogs and plenty of space. Both of us grew up with real Christmas trees and it was of the utmost importance. We decorated the tree with lights, we hung stockings and we even strung garland and other corny holiday cheer all over the house. Because really, what else did we have to do with our time?

Then we got a dog. And then another. Then MJ was pregnant and I’m pretty sure the smell of the tree (like seemingly everything else) would’ve made her vomit. And last Christmas, well…let’s just say postpartum depression combined with taking care of an 8-month-old leaves little time (and money) for a tree and decorations.

But this year is different.

This year we were determined to have a tree and decorate the shit out of it. Plus Will is almost 2 now and we want to start a tradition. At first MJ suggested an artificial tree. That did not go over well. Having an artificial tree is a cardinal sin for me. I like my Christmas trees how I like my boobs, exposed and within reach REAL! So we agreed to pick one out just as soon as we had the time. But time is something neither of us have.

So when I got a call from MJ telling me she found THE PERFECT TREE for only $30, I told her I trusted her and to buy it. In hindsight, the bargain basement price of $30 should’ve tipped me off, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.

That’s why Will’s first Christmas tree has been lovingly dubbed, “The Christmas Shrubbery.”

Look at that thing. I’m a mere 5’10″ tall and I look down on it. It’s the Spud Webb of Christmas trees. It’s a Christmas tree that Kiefer Sutherland can see eye to eye with. I kept waiting for the Knights Who Say “Ni” to come out and demand a shrubbery. In short, this is one tiny tree.

It’s diminutive state is made even more noticeable by our cathedral ceilings, so it has the effect of parking a tricycle in an airplane hangar. I nearly pissed myself laughing when MJ asked if I needed help bringing it in the house. I could’ve put this tree on the backs of a few ants and had them carry it in. But as I continued to make fun of the tree, I noticed MJ was getting angry. But since I’m stupid and that never stops me, I kept harping on it. Until MJ struck back out of the blue.

“Well what can I say? When it comes to trees and men I pick out the short, fat ones,” she said.

This time it was my turn to be agitated, but MJ wasn’t done.

“I felt bad for it, sitting all alone with all the other better looking trees surrounding it. Plus look, it’s getting bald in spots too. So really I had to take it home, because no one else was going to.”

Ouch. Merry-freaking-Christmas.

So we put on the lights and the decorations and I have to admit, it’s a cute and unique little tree that cleans up OK. And Will absolutely loves it. He walks over to it when it’s all lit up, stares at it and just says “WOOOOOW!” It’s cute as hell.

We had a slight problem with him wanting to grab the tree and pull all the ornaments off. I repeatedly told him not to touch it with his hands, and he got the message. But as I’m quickly learning, if there’s a loophole kids will find it and exploit it. You see, I told him not to touch it with his hands. So what did he do? He started kissing the tree and all the ornaments. Touche my boy, touche!

And, as is tradition in our family, the youngest child gets to put the angel on top of the tree. Since he’s the only child (for now), he did the honors.

I’m not an overly positive person. So even though it’s Thanksgiving time and every blogger on Earth is making lists of all the wonderful things in their lives, I just can’t bring myself to go along with the herd.

So I’m compromising.

The following are things I’m thankful for, followed by related spin-offs of the original topic that irritate the piss out of me. Enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving.

• I’m thankful for my healthy, beautiful, wonderful son who I love more than anything in this world. But I am less thankful for the “NO” phase he’s going through right now, in which every answer to every question you ask him is “no,” and every time you ask him to do something he automatically replies in the negative. Not to mention he spent Thanksgiving dinner running around the house and flicking on and off the one light switch he could reach. I nearly had a seizure with the strobe light effect.
• I’m thankful for my wonderful, sexy, hard-working wife who I love almost more than anything in this world. But I am less thankful for the fact that her memory these days seems to be deteriorating faster than any Alzheimer’s patients in the world right now. We get into arguments because she literally makes up things she thinks I said. And conversely, she fails to remember important things other people tell her. Things like our daycare provider isn’t working today. That’s kind of a biggie, and thank God my brother and my dad have the day off. Or the fact that I told her I’m spending Sunday with my brother watching football. I’ve told her this THREE TIMES so far, and she’s acted surprised each and every time. It’s like living the script of Groundhog Day over here.
• I’m thankful for the bountiful feast I shoveled down my throat this Thanksgiving. From turkey to stuffing to cranberry sauce and a heap o’ mashed potatoes, Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday for food. But I am not thankful for the after-effects. I ate so much and crippled my stomach to an extent that my gastrointestinal faculties must look like Paris Hilton after a bender that ended with a sex tape. My poor wife had to sleep in the same bed with me last night as I farted up a storm. No lie, my ass sounded like an out of tune tuba. I even grossed myself out at times.
• On a bathroom-related note, I am thankful for those “no slam” toilet seats we have at our house. You know, the ones where you just push them down a little bit and then they softly and silently descend to the toilet bowl? They’re fantastic. But I am not thankful for all the rest of the world’s population who haven’t purchased these things yet. You get so used to just lightly flicking the seat down, that when you go to someone else’s house you forget not everyone has the same toilet seat technology. The result is me unintentionally slamming a whole bunch of toilet seats, as people wonder what the hell it is that I’m doing in the bathroom to make such a racket.
• And finally, I’m thankful for all you. My readers. But I’m not thankful that you all seem to be much smarter and wittier than I am. There’s nothing like writing what you think is a funny and snarky post, and then coming back to the site an hour later to see a half dozen comments which end up being funnier than my original post. It’s a bitch attracting intelligent, witty people. But I guess we can smell our own huh?

But seriously, this is my blog and I’m an attention whore so if you insist on being smart and witty and showing me up, I will be forced to take action.

Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving.