Eric G. Wiley

The fact that the pending arrival of a child into a family causes dramatic change in the mother is common knowledge with most people, including myself. I'm not talking about the obvious physical changes, rather the forceful drive and sense of purpose that radiate outward from a woman who is about to have a baby.

My wife, for example, successfully completed more projects in the last three months of her pregnancy than most people get done in a year. If she wasn't physically able to do it herself, she recruited me or some other available person.

If the beginning of the story was:

Colleen decided _________ needed to be _________.

What I didn't know about until recently, however, was that the arrival of children can also be a catalyst for powerful change within the father as well. Simply put: They experience a sudden and rapid growth of their inner-cajones.

Sometimes the changes are subtle: Polite and non-confrontational becomes assertive, sofa time gets replaced with sweat time, and BS tolerance plummets.

And sometimes they're conspicuous: Unquestioning loyalty to anyone outside of the family unit is displaced by a spirit of mutually beneficial collaboration and the employee transforms into the entrepreneur.

A percentage of new fathers experience inner-cajone shrinkage and bail out. Fortunately my family and peer group is full of examples of the former rather than the latter.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 09:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

7 months & 19 days after being born, Alec busted out his first crawl.

Technically he's been crawling for a week, but only in reverse. Yesterday he figured out how to get to what he wants by making a beeline for it on his shiny new wheels.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 04:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

My buddies and I try to get out to the shooting range once a year for a friendly competition we like to call the Grand World Championship Shootout. Was going through some old directories and came across a short video I cobbled together to commemorate it. We weren't allowed to actually take cameras onto the range, and we couldn't un-holster our guns outside of the range to pose, so I went ahead and made a video about a subject without any actual footage of the subject matter.

The results were awe inspiring. [5MB Quicktime].

Posted by Eric Wiley at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I remember the first few times I saw my father exude a blend of fear/panic/anger. Each time it was brought about as a direct result of something that I did. Like the time he left me in the car with the engine running and the emergency brake on.

The car, a stick-shift, was parked in a parking lot in our back yard facing a two story deep gully. These were the days before child restraint systems existed, so I was sitting in the front passenger seat. I had always been fascinated with the spring loaded button that protruded from the end of the emergency brake handle, and in experimenting with it succeeded in releasing the brake.

My father heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway as the car began slowly rolling forward. I did not get to see the explosive burst of speed that brought him to interior of the car as I was still fiddling with the emergency brake. My quiet examination of this mechanical wonder was abruptly interrupted as my body was thrown into the passenger side door with the swipe of a hairy forearm. The brake engaged with the sound of a giant zipper being pulled up and I felt the car jerk to a stop, although I didn't know it was ever moving in the first place. I heard heavy breathing and looked up to see the face of a man who was both angry enough to kill me and at the same time terrified that I might have died before he had the chance to do so.

Just one argument for having your children earlier in life rather than later. You may feel less prepared financially, but you'll still have the youthful quickness it takes to rescue your child from disaster in those inevitable hair raising moments. When the need arises, it's infinitely more valuable than a 401k...

Posted by Eric Wiley at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Been a busy week, this. A very distant relative died last Sunday. His death brought about some sadness, of course, but there wasn't much time for that as we had to convert a small handful of local family members into a crack team of mobile catering experts, pronto!

The death of a family member triggers the immediate need for at least one person to step up as the full time logistical commander, along with the loyal service of several hospitality and catering lieutenants who will, in turn, be in charge of a motley crew of busboys and mules comprised of the children and teenagers in the family.

In this particular situation, I served as both a mule and a mule manager. Motivating unpaid & unskilled children of various ages to set up and break down a self-catered event was challenging. They craftily disappeared like wood-elves. Upon being re-found and assigned a task they sagged at both the spine & knee and experienced instant retardation. When asked to carry a case of Sprite, for example, one would have thought by their reaction that I had asked them to construct a rocket and pilot it into the sun.

Fortunately, in the end we had only a small amount of complete defections from the crew: The two oldest snuck out, drove away and [I strongly suspect] got stoned. But even they returned in time to carry out the last two bags of garbage.

Great Uncle John, I hope you got to see how much everybody enjoyed the lasagna we made in your memory. Please keep an angel's eye on your lazy grandchildren and pothead nephews. Amen.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 10:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

1. Fresh Meat

If you don't know someone who can convert a currently live animal [cow, deer, lamb, pig] into a freezer-full of meat in your basement within 24 hours [subdivided into two lb. packages wrapped in white butcher paper and labeled with a grease pen], then you know someone who knows someone who can do it. Every Ohioan enjoys a maximum of two degrees of separation from a side of beef.

2. Fresh Water

The entire southwest portion of our fine country is a desert kept artificially green with water piped in from other states. Some day the repressed cacti will rebel and take back their dry land. Won't you be glad you live in Ohio when they do?

3. Hugs

Generous dual arm enclosure body locks. Whether coming or going, prepare to be hugged and hugged well. If you're a shy person visiting a home in Ohio, keep a table or some other piece of furniture between you and your hosts. As opposed to the "Bridge" style where both parties arch the back to ensure that the only things touching are hands-to-shoulders [this style hug is rarely seen in Ohio].

4. Comfort Casseroles

Crispy on top, hot & tasty below! Not hip, but your stomach won't care.

5. Natural-Disaster Proof

Even at her meanest and most vicious, Mother Nature can never take down more than five of us at once.

6. Square Feet

Ohioans enjoy kingly amounts of living space. None but the wealthiest of our contemporaries in New York has a den, game room, sewing room and Florida room.

7. Spare Parts

Oceans of inexpensive replacement car parts within a five mile radius. No matter what year your car was made.

8. Sauerkraut

Our German pioneers left their mark one each of our colons with this once per year treat. The perfect combination of stunt-food and comfort-food.

9. Farmers

This state is full of businessmen who somehow make a living selling us five-gallon-bags of delicious sweet corn for a buck.

10. FEST

Even the most introverted of us can easily make a friend by going to one of the hundreds of Fests held in this fine state. Oktoberfest, Italian Fest, Irish Fest, Pumpkin Fest, Coal Fest, Catholic Church Parking Lot Fest - Ohio is the capitol of the beer drinking, grilled food eating, live music enjoying FEST!

Posted by Eric Wiley at 03:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm a friendly guy, generally, and like to talk to people. I've noticed over the years that I freak some people out with my friendly approach, which always strikes me as odd. Apparently to some poor souls out there, me talking & smiling = "I'm going to kill you."

The fact that I'm married has greatly alleviated this social occurrence. People tend to treat me better when they discover I'm legally joined to a woman, and they're even more amenable when I have that beautiful woman by my side.

One of my favorite social benefits of being married, I call it my "Marriage Shield", is that I'm now freed up to talk to anyone I want. Guys don't automatically wonder if I'm gay and hitting on them (unless they happen to be gay themselves, in which case they assume I'm hitting on them). Women don't feel pressured by the fact that we're having a nice conversation to either blow me off or feel like they're leading me on.

The only time my Marriage Shield ever fails is when talking to women in their 20s. For some reason, a small percentage of women in that age group dig older guys. That's just fine with me. The downside is that they are blind to the Marriage Shield. Even when turned on to maximum power, they don't see it.

Like doe in the most wild regions of Canada that don't run from man because they've never seen one before, women in their 20s are completely unversed in the subtle social cues of the married man. They may see the ring as I casually pass it before their eyes, but its positioning carries no deeper meaning. Often, a conscientious married man will be forced to brutally wedge the "my wife" phrase into the conversation completely out of context, which [at best] results in mild embarrassment on the behalf of both parties. At worst, she'll flash a disgusted look and file you in her mental folder marked 'Creep'.

The only way to avoid this scenario with these nascent few is to accessorize your body with 'I'm married' paraphernalia: Belt buckles, t-shirts, buttons, trucker hats, etc. Or take the more built-in approach and just let your personal hygiene go to hell (I mean, you're already married, right?). Your choice.

PS: To those women who thought "Eric's not all that." while reading this entry: Jeez, I know!

Posted by Eric Wiley at 11:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

When I was a kid, my mom used to send me to the welfare office in her stead to take care of business because she was too embarrassed to face the people that worked there. It wasn't any party for me either, but the people I had to deal with were at least a generation ahead of me so my presence there didn't have any direct impact on my social standing amongst my peers.

The free lunch program at school, however, was a different matter. Every morning during first period, our teacher would call out each student's name on her 'Lunch List'. It was understood that the students were to call back one of three responses: Pay, sack, or free - to which our teacher would check the box in the appropriate column. Only a handful of us were in the free lunch program, so it was painfully obvious when the rhythm of sack-sack-pay-sack-pay-pay was broken with an interjection of 'Free'.

I don't remember how long it took me to get a paper route after that, but eventually I was shouting out 'PAY' a little louder than was necessary thanks my newfound income.

My mother always had either two or three part-time jobs or one full-time job while we were on public assistance. Eventually she got a job with the state that allowed her enough income to pay for everything herself. Before that happened, however, if it weren't for the help of the State of Ohio we would not have been able to afford the groceries we purchased. Just in case you're wondering - we never ate steak.

Today our economy has worsened to such a degree that 71% more of Ohio's working families are relying on food stamps to make ends meet than in the year 2000. If the cycle of history continues as it has in the past, then this percentage will drop as soon as the economy improves. In the meantime, if you see someone in line ahead of you paying for food with something other than cash or credit, know that they'd rather be in a different situation than the one you're currently viewing.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 09:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Well well well. Looks like a couple dudes think my house is pretty sweet and want to buy it. I've never wanted to leap forward in time more than I do now. Blip, bloop, flick, click - toggle all switches and push all the right buttons to take me to the end of the month so we can close on this deal.

The house has been on the market, unoccupied, since June 2006. Been keeping the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter so it'd be cozy for every mud-tracking potential home buying yahoo that wanted to traipse through it. During its vacancy, crooks have stolen every exterior item on my property that wasn't nailed down. Garden hoses, potted geraniums, firewood, light bulbs and the realtor's 'For Sale' sign (six times).

Last week, the day before the pre-sale home inspection, the furnace died. The outdoor temperature, which soon also became the indoor temperature, was 0 degrees F. After a week of frenzied scheduling, coordinating, logisticalizing, yelling and whipping out the credit card there is now a new furnace purring away in the basement. We haven't turned the water back on yet - want to make sure all the ice is melted out of all the little nooks and crannies of the pipes. Lets hope she don't blow.

I loved that little house. I lovingly tended its gardens, painted its walls, cleaned its gutters and polished its floors. And, like an spiteful cell mate, it shanked me just before I got out on parole. The house and I still have 2.5 weeks in the cell together.

God of Realty, Please Watch Over Me.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 03:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

2006 was another year of big changes. Here's a brief summary of the highlights:

• I began to dress a little snazzier. Erik and Amy gave me an entire wardrobe of suits that they purchased at an estate sale...so if you see me looking nice, it's probably because I'm wearing a dead man's clothes.
• The model year of our car matched the calendar year.
• Colleen got pregnant.
• Both sides of our family lost their matriarchs. Strong leaders and role models that can't be replaced. Fortunately, they influenced us in such a way that everyone will continue to benefit from their model behavior, love and good genes for generations to come.
• We said goodbye to the city life. Aside from the absence of our easy-access-friends & some good coffee shops, we've been happy with the change.
• I became a web developer. Again. Goodbye tables, Hello Style Sheets!
• Colleen had a baby. Dec. 11. The icing on 2006.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My belongings are quickly dissapearing. Due to the move, freedom of choice within this man's home is limited. I crave a vodka tonic, but the vodka is five boxes deep in a stack of ten. I threw the tonic out days ago. Why move cheap carbonated liquid in glass? I'm drinking creatively - rum and Perrier. The only reason the rum isn't packed is because I bought the warehouse size Bacardi and it doesn't fit into any boxes upright. The Perrier is here because Colleen is pregnant and it calms her stomach. There's no ice in the house because our ice machine broke last month - we'll pass that little quirk on to the buyer. Hey, they're getting a free fridge, right?! I've resorted to throwing the bottles of Perrier & rum into the freezer in hopes that they instantly cool in time for the next drink. Which I, because all the highballs are packed, will be sipping from a coffee mug. Lukewarm rum and Perrier. The drink of Moving-Champions.

Posted by pedestrianwave at 12:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

At 3:37am I woke up and called the cops. Again. I always call the cops.

This time is was because a drunk Mexican teenager got dissed at a club, drove to the home of the dissER (who happens to live across the street from me) and broke a window in her parent's home. The girl he was mad at wasn't even back from the club yet, so he aired his grievances with her father. He yelled, waved his fist, stomped back and forth across the yard, yelled some more, reached behind his back to his belt line several times (was he packing heat?) then got in his car and peeled out of there. It was then, of course, that the police arrived. They always come after. They swept the home with floodlights, talked to the father/homeowner, stood with hand on hips and left.

It seemed that the criminal I had dialed so hard to apprehand had gotten away. However, I was in for a treat. The wife came home from work (restaurant industry). As she pulled into her driveway, the same drunk Mexican teenager rammed her car with his.

I called the police and happily reported the news. As I talked to the dispatcher, the husband got into a fistfight with the kid on the front lawn. I hung up and made myself comfortable at the picture window. A neighbor came out from another house to break up the fight. White guy in boxer shorts only. He was pretty buff and had his dog with him. She was excited and barked once at the fighters. That sparked an idea for the white guy.

He yelled "My dog is a police dog, and she'll eat your face off if you don't get the hell out of here."
He was obviously lying, but kept trying to quell the teen's aggression with the face-eaten-off threat. It was really fun to watch him try to sell the idea of his dog being a killer.

The second arrival of the police ushered in the final act of this story. They pointed their guns at the two men who were fighting - they really do have laser pointers on them. Each fighter had two red dots moving around on his shirt.

I got all the details about the club stuff from eavesdropping on the lady homeowner as she talked to the cops. The husband didn't speak English, so she translated his side of the story, too. Had to open a window and lean out to hear everything because they were all the way across the street. It was cold, but I toughed it out. As she caught the police up on everything, five more emergency vehicles arrived. A herd of firemen, medics, and more cops sauntered down the street and formed a big circle around the two homeowners and the drunk teenager. Highly trained, uniformed gawkers.

The bad guy is in jail now. I don't consider myself a hero. I just did what comes naturally to me: If I sense trouble, I pull the curtain back a little and dial 911.

Posted by pedestrianwave at 06:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was packing some things in the kitchen tonight and picked up a bag of sugar.

My brain sent up a red flag and stopped my hand from putting the bag into the box as it calculated the number of teaspoons I would need for the next ten days. Four cups of cofee a day multiplied by ten makes fourty. Which introduced the next calculation: How many teaspoons of sugar did that little sugar bowl hold, anyway?

STUPID ALERT: I'm going to end this post because it is stupid. But it is an accurate description of what I've been doing lately.

Posted by pedestrianwave at 12:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Not too much has changed since we found out. For me, I don't think anything will until the little character makes his appearance. Colleen, on the other hand, will experience tremendous changes before that happens. These are things I currently am not qualified to write about.

I've had the opportunity to watch from afar as my friends/friends wives' experienced the experience. It had become my tradition to stay out of the way until the child was mobile. In this case, however, I will have to engage much earlier in the game. This is something I am willing to do. Engage, that is, from the get-go.

For someone who thinks a month from now is an eternity, this baby is like the book of Revelations to me. A weird, scary story, but far-fetched enough that won't affect me for a long, long time. If ever!

I'll keep you updated as the denial turns to shock.

Posted by pedestrianwave at 12:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Been panicking about once a day now. The sheer volume of our stuff is ganging up on me. Why did we not throw away those thirty half-full fruit scented bottles of conditioner that are stacked up in the back of the bathroom cupboard? We've no brand loyalty in the hair product department...Tre Semme, Paul Mitchell, Loreal, you guys obviously need to work on customer retention.

Candle products. I now see that the girl-gift of choice for the past decade has obviously been glass votives from Crate & Barrel. Too late to stage a candle warehouse sale and I'd feel guilty if I threw them out, so I've developed a new strategy: Pack them poorly in hopes that they break in the move.

Hair clips. If you're having a hair-in-the-face problem, stop by my place within the next two weeks. Just come on in and help yourself to one of hundreds of Colleen's sabre toothed plastic ponytail biters. They don't even run when I turn the lights on anymore.

Loose photographs. I need to hire some more cowboys for this here operation. There's a stampede of unsorted pics running unchecked through evrery level and every room of our ranch. Yeehaw!

Posted by pedestrianwave at 11:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)