Ready or Not?

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table between my daughter, who is creating a world of Harry Potter/Homestuck role play on her tablet (my own little dungeon master!) and my son, who's in game 5 of the World Series on his iPod. And I'm writing. She's asking me how to spell words and using me for references to Harry Potter. He's twitching and making video game faces while play-by-play calling and home-run celebrating. And I'm smiling.

We're sitting together, doing separate things together; what they are doing respectively doesn't interest them. I'm the tying factor. He doesn't care about her role playing; she cares nothing about his baseball game. I care about what each of them are doing, and they have no clue what I'm doing.

The TV is blaring out the background music from the menu of "The Lion King." We've watched it several times over the weekend. Once yesterday before our trip to the Chattanooga Library, once this morning after my son watched "Thor: The Dark World," and just finished it again not 30 minutes ago. It was one of 3 movies we rented on our way home from the library. The others were "12 Years a Slave," and "The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug." They were all good, but "12 Years a Slave" was the best, so much better than the other rentals. Well, better than "Thor," at least. My son said it was sad. My daughter said it made her ashamed of America during that time period. I was still reeling enough from the fact that my kids had just seen boobs and butts to form an opinion...

The only time we've been apart this weekend was today when I went grocery shopping. Talia didn't want to go, so I took Trey with me. Part of the reason she stayed and he went was because she wanted to watch "Pan's Labyrinth." The main reason he went with me was because he didn't. I've seen this movie several times and absolutely love it. I explained to her that it was a brutal, yet beautiful story. She has seen movies that I consider worse than this one. Scary movies; ghost stories; supernatural sagas. It wasn't to my surprise that she loved it, Spanish language with English subtitles and all.

She's a young lady, caught somewhere between "The Lion King" and "The Conjuring." She resides in that place between not wanting me to be in her business and telling me everything about what she's thinking. She's 14 years old, no longer a little girl, not yet a woman, but I see the woman in her pushing her way from the future and into the present. She's graduating from the 8th grade tomorrow night. She's growing up too fast, right in front of my eyes...and it hurts.

They both think I'm being silly when I'm sentimental. I sat in front of my computer the other night, looking for pictures to send to her teacher for a slide show during tomorrow night's ceremony. I found some pictures from her kindergarten year that I wanted to use, but not before being distracted by videos and pictures from both of their toddler years. I sat there far longer than I should have, remembering, reminiscing, and wiping my eyes.

I know that growing older is inevitable. I've done it, you've done it, we are all in the process of doing it. Brief seconds turn into momentous minutes. Those minutes turn into hours; into days; into months, weeks, and years. It's no shock to discover that there's not a thing anyone can do to prevent it. I think that's why it hurts. I'm a fixer. I see something that needs fixing and I try to fix it. But truly, I can't fix anything.

I see my grandmother getting older. I was visiting her last month and it's hard to admit that, even though she's going strong, in my mind, every trip to the hospital is a major reason to be concerned that I might not see her again. I see myself getting older. It isn't something that I see in the mirror as a daily progression, but it's more something that's seen in one clear moment. I may still feel like the kid in the husky jeans with adolescent dreams, but in reality, I'm the guy in the size 36 boot-cuts with a few unrealized dreams. I see my kids getting older. Now that's something I notice more frequently. Every time they return from the week at their mom's is a fast-forward in time. It's a shoe size larger here, a wittier and more mature remark there, and an all-around development to wrap it all up in.

It's easier to see the growing up occur in someone else more than myself, especially in my kids. That's because I'm constantly looking outward. That's what your eyes were made to do. You don't look with your eyes inwardly. That's better left up to the duo of Heart and Brain, who can also take on the dual task of looking outward as well. But it's a one-way outgoing street for the eyes.

They've gone to bed long ago and I've retired to the bed to finish this. I know that it's late, but I have to get this written down. I know that if next week will be here before I know it, 5:30am is going to be here much, much sooner. And now tomorrow has become today, which means that her graduation is no longer tomorrow, but tonight. I know it's going to hit me. I can guarantee some tears will be shared. Not solely because of the inability to stop time and keep my kids from growing up before my very eyes, but because they are here to pass that time with. As much as I want to tell them to slow down; that adulthood is not all that; that their growth means my aging...I also want to tell them to enjoy the fullness of that childhood-to-adult trip at their own pace, keeping in mind that time isn't going to stop, much less slow down; not for them; not for me; not for anyone.

Bound

Man, it feels good to be in pajama pants and laying in my bed. Not that they're going to stay on when it's bedtime. I cannot stand things that constrict while sleeping. Shirts bundle up and I can feel every crease, seam, and wrinkle as if I was lying on sticks and stones. Socks? No way. They make my feet way too hot and besides, they make them itch too. And these pajama pants, even though they're not blue jeans held up with a belt that has had three extra holes punched in them to even hold said jeans up, they're too much to wear sleeping. Underwear? Like I said, I don't like things that constrict while sleeping. I'd rather feel skin on cool sheets (or better yet, skin on warm skin on cool sheets) under a few blankets than wear pajamas.

My kids came home last Wednesday from their bi-monthly week-long stay at their mom's. That meant it was time to start cooking again. I usually don't cook much when they're gone. I don't see the point of it. I can satisfy any hunger I have with a bowl of cereal or tomato soup/grilled cheese combo without breaking out more than a few cooking utensils and pots and pans, or coming up with creative ways of satisfying my hunger. Not that I mind cooking, it's just not worth the effort to cook for just me.

There's a guy I work with that always brings in his NutriBullet food blender and liquifies various vegetables and fruits. He says that the body easily absorbs the nutrients from food this way without that pesky process of digestion getting in the way. I dismissed it as a nutrition junkies banter. That is, I did until my boss bought one. Then someone else bought one. I suddenly started seeing them all lose weight, have more energy, and increase their overall health. I began to think that maybe it wasn't just health junkie talk after all. I shelled out the $80 for one to call my own.

For the past week and a half, I've been "juicing." I haven't started the regimens that are recommended in the product manual, but I've been mixing up my fresh veggies and fruits into these (surprisingly) tasty smoothies. And, I've begun to notice a difference. Don't get all excited, because it's nothing too drastic. I hit the time of day where a nap would hit the spot...and I'm not so tired. I find myself being less distracted (squirrel!). And there's less of a bulge above the belt (wink). Really, though. The scales don't show much of a loss, maybe a pound or two, but that's only after a short period of time of juicing.

So, when my kids came home, it was the first real home cooked meal I'd had in over a week. I picked at some food at work when I cooked for a dinner on Monday, but it wasn't a meal. For this meal, I made chicken, green beans, small potatoes, salad, rice-n-veggies, and Italian bread. As I was eating, I noticed something: I could barely finish my plate. That only meant there was plenty of leftovers for the next day's lunch for all of us, but that's not the point. I swear my stomach had shrunk. My plate held delicious food that I love, but I felt like I didn't want any of it.

According to the Great Statisticians of America, I'm obese. I don't see it. I do see I'm a bit soft in areas. I have these love handles going to waste (and waist). I'll be the first to admit I have moobs. But obese? I don't think so. But, the scales do tell me that I could stand to lose a pound or twenty. I can do it, if I set my sights on the goal, especially when there's incentive. A few years ago, I was the winner in a weight loss competition at work. The incentive was the Grand prize of $250 and a day off of work. Oh, I can eat a salad and exercise when there's money and time off from work on the line. I was bound and determined to win, and that's just what I did.

So, earlier today, as I thought about losing weight and being healthy, those words came into my head: Bound and Determined. Why do we say that? What does it mean? I know what "determined" means. Your mind is made up and come Hell or high water, you will do what you mean to do. You are resolved. But the word "bound" has several definitions or meanings. What does "bound" mean, especially when applied to that phrase? What do I think it means and, for the sake of finally coming to the point, how can I apply its meaning to my life?

Bound as a verb, noun, adjective...
  - 1. To leap forward or upward; To progress.
  - 2. A limit. 
  - 3. To be confined by bonds. 
  - 4. To be under legal or moral obligation; under contract.
  - 5. To be equipped with a cover or binding, as a book.
  - 6. To be determined (hmm...) or resolved.
  - 7. To be headed; on the way to.
 
I'm pretty sure it isn't the first definition, at least not totally. I don't do much leaping or jumping these days. As a kid, there was quite a bit of jumping, but not so much anymore. Gone are the days of climbing trees and jumping down from great heights. As far as making progress, I think that is something we all try to do every day. Unless you've dropped something or know there is something to learn by going back, there's no point in regression.

I don't think it is referring to setting a limit either. In a lot of games, there are boundaries, hence the phrase, "out of bounds." Volleyballs go out of bounds. In baseball, you must stay in the base line when rounding the bases. The pitcher must throw the ball into the batters box. There are reasons for setting boundaries in more than just games. Laws like "Don't murder" and "Don't steal" are based upon set boundaries. They're areas you don't go into unless you want to pay the price. Moral boundaries exist for the same reasons.

To be confined by bonds? I don't think so. Not just physically tied up...you can be tied up by your job, your habits, your attitude, even your own fears. Apart from some who like to be tied up (ahem), not very many people like to be confined or kept from doing something of their own free will. We've seen the atrocities from slavery and the breaking of the spirit that comes with it. It's just morally and inherently wrong.

That musician that signed up to a record label? Under contract. The crew that's replacing your roof? Under contract. The couple that slid rings on each others' fingers? They're under contract too. And since all of these examples are under the bounds of a contract, whether legal or moral, there are ramifications for breaking said contract. I'm under a contract with my place of employment. I signed a contract where they pay me a specified amount of dollars for a specified amount of work. What happens if I don't live up to my obligation? At the least, my paycheck is smaller. At the worst, I'm seeking other employment.

You know, another obligation I have is with my kids and with my kids' mother. We may not be married anymore, but I am bound to her for the rest of my life through our children. It's a contract; it's an obligation that I'm more than willing to uphold. That's not to say that I'm perfect. I do mess up. I'm no Super Dad. Actually, I'm far from it. But I would never, ever do something intentionally to regress in the working relationship, or contract, that we have. There's absolutely no point in it.

I'm pretty sure "bound" as in a covering or binding that a book would have isn't the meaning either. A binding does keep a book together, otherwise you'd be shuffling papers around, staying out of drafty places, trying to keep up with the stack of papers you just borrowed from the library. Could you imagine that? Although a binding or covering is good for giving you a glimpse of what's inside, we've all heard to not judge books that way. Same thing with people. You shouldn't go on looks alone to determine what kind of soul a person has. Some of the kindest people out there have the most unattractive covers...

The last two definitions go hand in hand with each other as well as with the first definition, and I think it's the perfect combined definition. To be bound is to be determined. To be bound is to be headed in a certain direction. And hopefully that direction is forward, on your way to where you want to be. So, if you are "bound and determined," you are doubly resolved.

And so I am. I'm bound and determined to live healthier and lose 20 pounds. I'm bound and determined to be a better person, whether that's my role as father, friend, brother, or lover. I'm bound and determined to see YOU again. I'm bound and determined to be who I am, surrounded by those who love just who I am. I'm bound and determined to live this life as best as I know how.

I'm also bound and determined to finish this writing, save it, close this tablet, get "unbound," and slip under the covers. Good night, dear reader, and sweet dreams.