New Year’s Eve

If you know me, you know I’m far from a Debbie Downer. I’m usually the life of the party, the one with the grand plans for a great time… yes I’m a pessimist by heart, but deep down I know things always seem to find a way to work themselves out (for the most part). I live in some sort of reverse psychology universe. Yet for some reason, the “holiday” that is supposed to be about eternal positivity, new outlooks and second chances makes me want to barf. 

I have so many amazing things to be grateful for over the past year. Although it’s brought many hardships, scary truths and countless trips to the hospital and cemetery, I’ve also seen my son grow into an amazing little boy… so full of life and happiness. It’s hard to have a negative outlook when you constantly hear the cutest little laugh known to man. It’s also easy to be grateful when you love what you do. They say if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life. I feel that way each and every morning I’m driving to my new job. 

Yet, even with all that… I still hate New Year’s Eve. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my entire life as an educator and to me and the real New year starts in September and ends in June. I guess it’s possible that it’s because of the insane amount of people who forget the damn apostrophe on “Year.” It’s New Year’s Eve. Even my first graders know that! Or maybe I’m just a New Year Scrooge.

I’m not glad 2016 is over, nor do I care that 2017 is here. If New Year’s Eve 2016 is like any other night I’ve experienced lately, especially now that I’m a parent, I’ll be in bed by 8:30. Here’s hoping everyone just does their own thing this year or month or whenever. Whatever you do… I’ll be over here doing me or at least doing what the little guy wants to do! 

PS: Hey 2017, bring me a Packers Super Bowl victory and I’ll quickly change my tune. ❤

Pizza’s Lazy Brother

We had a major breakthrough in the father-son relationship yesterday. It wasn’t anything you’d think… it wasn’t a bonding moment that most non-parents would immediately think of when talking about bonding with your child… but those of us who grew up in the ’80s and ’90s understand the spiritual type experience that comes from taking the first bite of your very first English Muffin Pizza.  

Jackson’s palette consists of liking hotdogs, toast, donuts, chicken nuggets and pizza. But it’s about time where my son becomes a man… he needed this day to come… this is a more important day in the life of a young man than even the birds and the bees talk. The day you are first introduced the meal that will literally get you through toddler years-college is a monumental occasion. I’m thankful that it was me who was able to introduce Jax to this nutritious and delicious meal. 

The next step on the trail to becoming a true snack connoisseur is introducing the little guy to bagel bites… English Muffin Pizza’s lazy younger brother. It’s no my job to help him decide which he will like better… it’s just my job as a father to provide him with the opportunity to decide for himself.

There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes who he is and what he’s all about. And that time comes when he finally chooses the path he will set upon… that path which will feed him and his friends for the rest of his adolescent life (and honestly his adult life): Bagel Bites or EM Pizzas. 

Honestly, I think this is one of the most important question every boy needs to ask himself; it’s the point when boys become men. Now I’m not here to judge anybody for which side they ultimately place themselves on, nor will I judge my son for the choice in lifelong snackhood he makes… But let me make this crystal clear: NEVER TAKE THE EASY WAY OUT! If you prefer Bagel Bites, you are lazy… the reward at the end is always worth the effort and this is the case and point of that motto.

I understand how amazing Bagel Bites are I mean think about it… they take two of the greatest inventions in the world, pizza and bagels, and just makes one delicious snack all in one (and it’s already puts them together for you!) I have to imagine that not even Gordon Ramsey or Bobby Flay have ever created something as perfect as that. Trust me bagel bites were the BHS Boys Basketball team’s snack of choice back in the day. Josh, Quez and I could house a couple packs of them in one sitting on game day. I know the significance of the Bagel Bite. 

Yet, still to this day… I prefer the thin crusted, home made sauce and melty REAL mozzarella cheese of the OG Snack… the English Muffin Pizza. I know Jax loved them too! 

PS: How long do you actually cook English muffin pizzas for?… And does it matter if the English muffins are oatmeal, cinnamon flavored? …asking for a friend.

*BTW pizza in any form is always a good choice. ​​

Santa’s Homeboy 

Waking up before your two year old on Christmas morning is like finding Bigfoot. It’s like discovering the Lockness Monster. It happens once in a lifetime. But it happened here on Sunday. A real life miracle.

Coffee was brewing and I was able to conduct a full home inspection to make sure Santa wasn’t still lurking around somewhere. I heard somewhere on the internet that the last one up on Christmas Morning gets to open the first present. Jax must have read that one too, because he slept in like he was on vacation (in all reality I guess he’s always on vacation).

 

The walk down to see what Santa brought wasn’t as exciting as I’d expected. I guess Santa and “Bammy” are one in the same? Once we were able to coax him down to the Christmas tree the wrapping paper and cardboard boxes became airborne and toys flooded the family room floor. The people who thought up Peppa Pig and the good folks over at Disney’s who created Frozen made a fortune off of this household.

 

I think this is the last year we are going to get away with a relatively “small Christmas.” Now that Jackson and Santa are homeboys I have a feeling next year’s Christmas list is going to be quite big.

Merry Christmas to all… and to all a good night from all of us and of course from Jax in his Peppa Pig tent that took three adults to put together (even though it only had four pieces).

 

Thanks again Santa. Until next year…

 

Homemade Christmas Presents

So it’s about that time where we start getting homemade Christmas presents from Jackson. He’s hit that age where he makes ornaments googlie-eyed closepins that resembles a reindeer.  Or a pop sickle stick Christmas tree with his school picture in it that 25 years from now we can give him to put on his tree so we can laugh at how cute he was and how messy his finger painting skills were. 

I figured that’s what we’d be getting when his teachers told us that he had made us a gift. Then we opened this:

Homemade ✅

Thoughtful ✅

Cute ✅

The Pose he’s in… 🤔

Why does it look like my son is posing for a centerfold?

Well 25 years from now he’s going to regret this Christmas gift when we break it out at his first Christmas in his new home. 

“More Coffee Dadda?”

Thunder woke the house up at 4am. The following transcript is a semi-accurate representation Saturday morning… more specifically the sick day Saturday morning… 
Jackson (from his room): “dad…. daaaaad….. dadda…. daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad…. dad, dad, dad…”

Seven seconds later… 

Jackson (from his room): “dad…. daaaaad….. dadda…. daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad…. dad, dad, dad…”

Enter both dogs who are now barking and scratching at the door.

Jackson (from his room): “No Didi-Da!” (Jackson’s name for Buster)

More barking is heard

Jackson (from his room): “No Da!” (Jackson’s name for Max)

Seven seconds later… 
Jackson (from his room): “dad…. daaaaad….. dadda…. daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad…. dad, dad, dad…”

Enter Dad into Jackson’s room as both dogs are now scratching at the front door. 

Jackson: “Dad… Up”

Dad (with visions of sleep still dancing in his head): “Yes, Dad is up… are you surprised? You’ve been telling my name for ten minutes.”

Enter Dad and Jackson in family room as both dogs are now peeing on the floor in the kitchen. Jackson begins coughing up a lung and then proceeds to cry non-stop until he is completely dehydrated. 

Dad (after realizing there is no more children’s fever reducer in the house): “Jackson, where is the Tylenol? Here buddy drink some Gatorade it will help.”

As Dad attempts to get Gatorade into child coughs so hard that he actual throws up on himself. 

Jackson (opening front door and begins yelling): “Purple-on” (child’s way of letting the neighborhood know he wants the Christmas lights on).

As the screen door closes… zoom out on the exterior of the house with Jackson waving at the neighbors evergreen tree that decorated with lights and is lit up since it is still dark outside… in the background you can barely make out dad. It looks as if he is pulling his hair out as he awaits his coffee to finish brewing as it is yet to even hit 5am. 

Fade scene… 

Sorry Son(s): Chronicles of a New Dad (For a Second Time)

Starting over was never one of my strong suits. I like to get things right the first time around (let me just state for the record that with JAX we definitely got things right the first time… he’s amazing to the nth degree). That being said, I thought starting over always had to be a “bad thing.” But honestly, starting over is not so bad this time around. Starting over is a new opportunity, a way to broaden your horizons and see the world in a way you never thought possible.

As a “young” guy I always had so much going on, I was trying to figure life out, what it was all about, what’s coming next, or how I was going to build my career. Then it became not all about me anymore. It was “I’ve got to take care of a baby” and of course it gets easier as time goes by and you get older and parenting becomes easier. I was able to slow down and appreciate what I had… a healthy and ridiculously happy little boy and was totally OK with putting him first.

And then… Jackson hit two and a half. I spent nights watching him throw kitchen chairs around and sprawl out across the floor because he didn’t want cheese on his macaroni… (the same cheese he ironically had just asked me to put on his macaroni). You would think this kid had learned that Olaf wasn’t a real snowman or something. Life got tough. Days got longer; nights became more and more sleepless. Still, my days were bright because I was so in love with this little guy and because, I knew we had been through so much. I knew that it would just keep getting easier and the answers I was looking for were just around the corner.

That was until I found out I was going to be a dad… AGAIN. I thought things were just calming down. Life’s craziness was just coming down off the climax of a never ending rollercoaster. How the HELL am I going to manage to take care of another human. Honestly, I am surprised Jackson hasn’t packed a bag and gone off to live with Auntie Tricia by now, let alone the fact that he still has 10 fingers and 10 toes.

This time there was no cake with blue frosting or a sonogram with GO PACK GO written across the top. There was no craziness of prepping a nursery (there still somehow has been enough baby clothing coming in to rival Hillary Clinton’s pant suit collection). Things are so much different than they were threeish years ago. Buster and Max are no longer running the roost and I am lucky if I get a few minutes to use the bathroom without seeing tiny little fingers reaching under the door like some sort of real life horror movie.

Now I have to start all over again!??!?? You know what? I am scared as hell. Two kids? With one kid you can play man to man with safety coverage over the top. On tough days you can even double team one kid. But two kids? That is zone coverage day in and day out, and for all you football fans out there, you know zone coverage is easy to beat. Jackson is slippery, one minute he’s under your feet, the next minute the screen door is squeaking and he’s half way up the front lawn. He can beat zone coverage every day and twice on Sunday.

I’m starting to freak out a little bit over here. Don’t get me wrong, Jackson has been the greatest joy and most precious blessing in my life. There is not a day goes by that his presence hasn’t made my life better, but raising one is hard enough. My body still struggles to catch up to the extra hours I need to raise a son. My calendar has become an overlapped mess of appointments, music classes and kid birthday parties weaved in and out of work meetings. If I wasn’t playing, feeding or inventing a way to get him to sleep, I was trying to find a quiet 20 minutes to catch some 💤s myself.

It was never easy, but it also wasn’t always as hard as everyone seems to make it out to be. Eventually we hit a groove and Jax slowly became adjusted to life in this crazy household and settled into his routines quite nicely. The feeling of exhaustion was reserved for times few and far between. Emails were answered in a timely manner again and I actually was able to clear out about 50% of my DVR (on a side note how do people actually have more than like 30% space available on their DVR. It’s Un-American to not have at least 25 unwatched movies recorded… just in case). Two kids though? All that is down the drain. It’s back to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, bath time in the sink and sleeping anywhere I can close my eyes.

Raising a kid is scary as hell, but when you start creating a team of them… scary is an understatement. The only hope is that Mom and Dad built a good foundation with the first one, so that we have a head start on what works for the next one. I guess we’ll find out in March.

Good luck mom… good luck dad… good luck Jax, Buster and Max… Good Luck Earth. There’s another Fragola on the way.

 

Undercover Santa


I have this theory about Santa that literally might blow your mind so I hope you are sitting down as you read this…

We all know there is only one Santa and his helpers come to malls to help Santa out while he is busy getting ready for his big night. He can’t be bothered with food courts and cell phone kiosks… Santa is making his list and checking it twice. He’s doing competitive eating practice drills so he can stretch his stomach for 793 trillion pounds of cookies that he’s gonna cram into his belly on XMAS eve.

I want you to think about literally every single Christmas movie you’ve ever seen. Think about the plot of every single holiday film, there’s at least an 85% chance the guy we met this weekend at the mall is actually Santa Claus. I’m so convinced that Christmas time is Santa’s time to come down and check in on what’s actually going on… sometimes he needs to get a closer look at a particular kid before he puts him or her on the naughty list. So what better way then to sneak into “Santa’s Workshop” behind the mall fountain and tap the fake guy out. It’s like a holiday version of undercover boss.

This one was so obvious to pick out though. The beard, the jolly laugh where his belly jiggled like a bowl full of jelly… you can’t fake that HO HO HO… you can practice it all you want, but even the best actors can’t completely imitate a Bronx accent or perfectly convey the voice of a character they are playing (except Allen Rickman… he is THE Professor Snape, he was perfect). There was something about this Santa’s HO HO HO. It was smooth and rolled off the tongue like it was natural to him… you know why? Because it was. This Santa was literally a saint. No “helper” Santa could have that much patience. No way, no how.

That brings us to the waiting line to meet Santa… Jackson screamed, yelled, ran, jumped and tried to attack Mrs. Claus (mind you that’s what you get for being all up in a two year olds personal space). There were a few children ahead of Jax and they pulled Santa’s beard and kicked him in the shin. What did Santa do? Smiled and calmed the child down with a reassuring touch and no break in character. Then Jackson arrived. I was so nervous, I apologized proactively and even asked one of the elves if Santa had good heath insurance. Jackson, the child with limited “sit still” ability was mesmerized by The Jolly Man in Red. It was instantaneous. This was nothing a mere mortal could do. This was the work of a Saint… Saint Nick.

I am so confident (I’ve seen The Santa Clause, and Elf and Miracle on 34th Street)… this guy was actually Santa Claus. I know that I’m going to see him in a few weeks smashing cookies in my kitchen and he’s going to give a small head nod and a knowing wink. And I’ll nod back. A “Jetereske” tip of the cap for not kicking my kid out of line at the mall when so many other “helper Santas” would have.

 

Hey Santa:

Christmas Disaster

You remember that scene in Old School where Will Ferrell’s character takes a tranquilizer dark to the throat and then stumbles around aimlessly knocking over everything in his path? Remember that scene in Harry Potter where the troll is loose in the dungeon and starts smashing everything and destroying anything that he comes across? Yes? You do? Good then you don’t need to do much to imagine what I went through last night attempting to put up the Christmas tree with a two year old.

It was like watching Godzilla march through a Japanese village and topple over buildings and houses with no regard for humanity. Strings of lights popped, glass ornaments were launched into orbit and the dogs were forced into hiding. It became every man for himself. What should have taken an hour and included hot cocoa, laughs and fun… was more about dodging projectiles, fear of injury and trying to preserve a level of sanity that would at least keep me from drop kicking the tree out of the window.

I’ve been part of a few insane missions as a parent: changing the first huge diaper explosion, or trying to coral a herd of children at a two year old’s birthday party, but even trying to put together “some assembly required toys” is nothing compared to the challenge of installing the North Pole in your home with a toddler on the loose. “You gotta keep your head on a swivel” is the understatement of the century.

Every time I turned to hang a candy cane, every time I stepped back to check the “swoop” of the string of snowflakes, literally at every turn there was damage done to something that has been in the family for generations. Grandma’s handmade strawberry ornaments were eaten as an after dinner snack, the “baby’s first Christmas ball was thrown into the fireplace faster than any left fielder trying to catch a running tagging up from third.

I mean I love my kid and I love Christmas… but I came out of this worse for the wear. I feel like I did in high school after football two-a-days. It was a long… long……. long night, but in the end another night worth the effort!


… now…. Calgon, take me away.

#ParentWin

Today is one of those awesome days where being a parent has really paid off… When you are getting out of the gym and starving and find a piece of peanut butter raisin bread your kid didn’t want earlier and had launched in the front seat. 
#Winning 

Carmine D. Tiso (The OG Carmine) 8.22.26 – 11.25.16


I grew up with parents who were loving, caring, supportive and generous. I owe so much of who I am to them… but there was always something about my grandparents that had me captivated.  I loved their house on Charles Place and the giant oak tree that we would spend hours sitting in front of and talking about life. That entire house smelled older, worn but safe; the aroma of nan’s perfume and hairspray filled the house. But it was pop’s calming voice that always made me feel loved and happy.

Legacy is what every man lives for. Whether it’s fame, fortune, love or the simple fact of leaving behind a name that will carry with it the utmost respect for eternity. Carmine is just that… whether you knew him as Uncle Junior (Sooranos reference), Uncle Carmine, Babe or Pop… Carmine will forever carry with it images of a selfless man who loved his family more than anything else in this world. He was a man who stood up for what he believed in and never told you what you wanted to hear. He told you the truth. He was my Professor Dumbledore even before Harry Potter was published. I learned to value what I hold near and dear to me and that the choices we make are at the heart of who we are.

I still remember the day I told him I was giving up baseball and taking up track… the silence was short… but his words were strong… “Are you crazy?!!” It was hard feeling like you disappointed the man you looked up to, the person who taught you everything you knew about sports. But when he learned how serious I was he supported me more than anyone… that was him. Say what you mean and mean what you say and support those who mean most to you. When he knew you did he believed in you. To him, “words were, in his not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.” He didn’t always say he loved you, but you knew he did.

I had more conversations about the Yankees with him than Mike Francesca had with Chris Russo. I learned how to turn a double play like Phil Rizzutto, I learned how to shoot a jump shot (by the way… I never ever once beat him in around the world), and recently he taught me how to hit my 5 iron. Those are the images that will forever be burned into my mind.

But for me and anyone who knew him it was who he was in the quiet times that made you love him. Whether it was a long time customer who came in to ask his advice on an air conditioner he sold them in 1983, or a granddaughter who couldn’t wait for a plate of pasta on a Tuesday night, he was always there.

He was a Military Veteran, but refused to think of himself equal to others who served out country. He would often tell a story of his cousin who was fighting on the front lines in Germany. He would write home from overseas and tell Pop to be careful and stay safe. Pop, at the time, was playing baseball for the army, traveling up and down the East Coast entertaining the troops… He called it the “Battle of the Hudson!”He would tell this story and with a laugh say, “he’s getting shot at by Nazis and he’s telling me to stay safe… like crossing the Hudson River on a bus for a doubleheader was more dangerous than that!”

When nan passed away… I honestly think I learned what real selflessness was. He went to that cemetery everyday. He planted grass seed (and for everyone who knew him you weren’t surprised that it was the greenest, most well groomed plot of grass in the whole cemetery). He loved her more than he loved anything in this world and he never let anyone forget it. He loved her more than an Eli Manning touchdown pass, more than nan’s potato and egg sandwiches, even more than a Yankee World Series championship… although that was definitely a close second.

I once read a quote that said “today is a new day. God gave us the this day to use as we will. what we do today is important because we are exchanging a day out of our life for it. When tomorrow comes this day will be gone, leaving in its place that which we traded it for. We want it to be good, not evil, gain not loss, success not failure.”

That was pop… if you were to measure a man’s life against that quote… then he won. He was a legend who left behind a legacy of good, gain and success. He leaves behind family, friends, a grandson and great grandson (both who share his name) and both who will forever be better people because of him.

Until we meet again (and I finally get that rematch in around the world)… Rest easy Pop… and tell Nan I love her.

The ones who love us, never really leave us.” -ADumbledore