The Pleasant Surprise That I Should Have Remembered

We won yesterday! My Nashville Hounds are now 3 and 11, but still only 5.5 games out of first place. While I won't be here for any championship run in August, they're still my team. These are my guys. It's like "Survivor" down here. You're constantly competing with each other to be the next winner (who gets called up to New York), yet each time somebody leaves (occasionally one of us gets cut or demoted), it's sad. We don't cry on camera, gently wiping the tears from our eyes so we don't mess our makeup. But we do feel a loss. I felt that way when Felipe Castro was called up last week, and he was only here for just under half a dozen games. I'll feel that way when I head north for good. These are my Hounds, my boys. Every one is a winner.

I sound like the host of some children's TV show. "Every one of you won today, whether you have a trophy or disgraced your family name. Good luck in life. You're going to need it."

Not sure if you sense it, but I'm a little giddy today. Not due to my performance on Wednesday. To get some good work in, I pitched both the 8th and 9th. The 8th was great. 1-2-3 inning. I needed that. The 9th, not as good. Leadoff HR and two more hits before getting out of it. 2 innings, 3 hits, 1 run. That's not good enough yet. However, the 8th is what I'll remember. I felt good and pitched well. Remember the good, forget the bad, but try to learn from it too. Complicated.

The giddiness - don't worry, I remember - was brought on by... Oh, I won't spoil it for you. But this will help you know why I'll remember the 8th more than the 9th.

I was sitting in the bullpen beginning in the 6th inning and saw somebody familiar behind home plate. I squinted and thought, "Damn, she looks familiar." Then I shook my head and tried to forget about it by spitting pistachio shells all over the place.

Just before the 8th, I was throwing warmup pitches when the familiar woman caught my eye again. I froze, just as my catcher, Einer Rosario, threw the ball back to me, hitting me square in the chest. I dropped to the ground, everyone - I mean EVERYONE - came running. But I never took my eye off the familiar woman. Because I finally realized she was my wife, Vanessa. And I was supposed to meet her before the game. Hell, I was supposed to arrange to have somebody pick her up at the airport.

Um, I forgot.

Now you know why I froze.

My chest will be fine. There's a bruise. It's sore, but only when I breathe. "Serves you right," my lovely spouse said to me after the game as I gave her a tour of the stadium (took about 3 minutes). I just smiled (without breathing). It was so great to be surprised by my wife's visit, even though it technically wasn't a surprise since she told me she was coming. I mean, she gave me all of her flight information, including arrival time. This wasn't supposed to be a surprise.

But I forgot, so, uh, SURPRISE!!

When I said, "What a fantastic surprise," to her, she wasn't sure what I was talking about for almost a full second. Then she shook her head in that You May Be 40 But You Still Need A Nanny To Look After You kind of way.

She came down because she had missed my birthday over the weekend and also wanted to see the trailer that I'm living in in the Pepsi Field parking lot. Not sure if you've seen it. Here you go:




Vanessa slept here last night. Did I mention (yes) a while back that it had two sinks? It does. And let me tell you: Two sinks in a bathroom saves a marriage.





Vanessa got to meet my protege, Rey Marcos, who is 17 but looks 16. She asked me, around 10:30 last night, if Rey was ever going to leave. I told her yes. Around 11:15, she asked me again. I understood this time and asked Rey to leave by 11:45, after Vanessa said she was going to bed. Unfortunately, my trailer only has one room.

So in order for my spousal equivalent to sleep, I had to help Rey leave through the throng of groupies outside wearing thongs.

I assume he made it home to his hotel room since I didn't get a call from his parents (who call me if they haven't heard from him in more than 5 hours) or the police.

I went to bed happy, still giddy about the surprise visit from my wife. She's flying back to Newark Airport on Sunday morning, which will give us some much needed time together and also give her a break from her stalker "friend" Connie, who is as bad as ever. More on Connie tomorrow.

But today, I'm giddy all over. It's nice to be loved, even if you can't remember that you are sometimes.

In Stitches

It took 11 stitches to close the injury to my forehead. The doctor performing the procedure told me it looked like the cut was either caused by glass or scissors - very clean but kind of deep. He led me to believe my cut was worse than I had believed, if you can believe that. Vanessa took me home and I couldn't sleep. Horrible night of pain, headache, nightmares...

Meanwhile, I understand the team put Corey Belle on the restricted list first thing this morning. He can't come anywhere near the team and will not be paid. I'm sure he's going to get cut, but my kind of cut will still be worse than his. He'll easily get picked up by another team. I'll have this scar for the rest of my life.

Alvin suffered a broken nose. He was in the complex today with a big white splint-type thing on his face. His eyes were starting to get blackened. He didn't talk to reporters or, as a matter of fact, any of us. He's had a tough go this spring, with the sexual assault charges, the hearing that's scheduled to take place in a few weeks, the public ending of his marriage, and now the Corey Belle fiasco. I hope for his sake it doesn't get any worse.

As for Rick, he was here at 7AM this morning, arm in a sling. He's got a dislocated shoulder and a bunch of cuts and abrasions. Nothing terribly bad, but still, who expected one of his own players to attack him like that?

A few others - Lyman Gaye, Willie Cordero - came in today with cuts, black eyes, etc. Nobody had to take the day off. But this Corey Belle thing was a major distraction. First, he's probably going to hit 40 home runs this year for somebody, we're pretty sure not us now. And when something of this magnitude happens to a team, it's takes a little while to get over it. Getting into a fight is a traumatic event for someone. A freakin' all-out brawl offers ten times the trauma. That it happened twice... well, multiply the second number by a whole lot more.

We're still unsure if Rick or Alvin are going to press charges. The police were here today and questioned everyone. I told them I wasn't going to be responsible for sending a teammate to jail. He does need some pretty serious anger management classes, however. I mentioned to the cops that I was going to officially give Corey the silent treatment "for some time." They didn't know what to make of that, so they moved on. You could kind of tell these guys thought it was pretty cool to be talking to all of us on the team. They were very professional, but you could still sense they were a little in awe.

I didn't do any drills or working out today. My head still hurt and I had no energy. I hung around and chatted and ate a bit. The team breaks camp after a final game tomorrow. The timing is good. We're ready to get out of here.

Vanessa, Alyssa & Grace fly home today. The girls can't wait to go back to their "own" school. Vanessa's looking forward to sleeping in our own bed again too. Her only trepidation is Connie, the stalking neighbor, who keeps calling Vanessa's cell. Vanessa's probably going to get another one. She'll have two and be like some of the guys here who have one cell for their wives and the other for their girlfriends. Only Vanessa will have one for Connie and the other for the rest of the world.

I take off for Nashville on Sunday. My living arrangements are just about set, but I don't want to reveal them until I'm confident that I'll actually do it. My first game with our AAA squad will take place on Thursday. I haven't pitched in the minor leagues since 1988. Can't say I've missed it, but I'll try to make the best of it. That's all we can do when we have no control. I only hope Corey Belle turns his situation into something positive as well.

Spring Break In One Day

We had our traditional one day off in March yesterday (after a horrible start, we're now 13 and 7; meaningless unless your team lost 93 games last year). I decided to follow the schedule and do nothing. No workouts. No baseball. No sparring verbally with teammates or management. It was going to be a day of solitude, just me and my X-Box.

Was...

I was awakened at 7 am by Vanessa rumbling around the room. I asked her what her deal was (in those exact words, which she loved [I'm being sarcastic]). She reminded me - REMINDED ME - that we were pulling Alyssa and Grace out of school for the day and driving up to Disney World in Orlando. Right away. So move.

So long solitude, hello crowds.

I must admit, although you can probably tell, I didn't want to go. I didn't want to go so badly I'd forgotten we had planned this ten days ago when I got into an argument with the girls, who were mad I'd forced them down here to Florida only to never see them. I'm a jerk. I'll admit that too.

We got out of the house quickly. Not to beat the crowds. To beat Connie, Vanessa's stalker friend who won't leave. We pulled out of our rented driveway in our rental car, drove down our rented streets, past the rent-a-cop providing semi-insufficient security at the guardhouse, and sped away. In the rearview mirror, I could see a woman in a miniskirt and heels racing after us, arms waving, breakfast danishes falling to the sidewalk. Right before I turned the corner, I saw her make a beeline for the guardhouse. I was happy we'd told him we were going south and flying to Miami for the day. I hoped that would throw her off our scent.

We hopped on the highway and drove north, all four of us relieved that it was just the four of us in our spacious team-paid rental car and the fifth Beatle had been left behind. I was so happy, I let Alyssa sing about it, which she did. Horribly. She's taking up harmonica too, by the way. 'Nuff said.

We had breakfast at a waffle house, the girls begging me to park in back, out of view of the road. They "premonissed" (not sure if that's a word, but it sounds good) that Connie would pick up our trail soon enough. Both Vanessa and I, because we're mature parents, told them they were being silly. I made an extra effort to hide, I mean, park the car behind a dumpster just the same.

Food eaten and digesting, we were off again, driving toward the world's greatest theme park. In traffic. There was an accident up ahead which slowed us down for an hour. Sports car on its roof, resting between highway and median. Nice car. Recognizable. Two ambulances, four fire trucks and five state trooper vehicles cut the four-lanes into one. I couldn't see anything specific, so we continued onward. "Maybe we should switch cars with the one on its roof," Alyssa said. "That way Connie'll think we're in a hospital."

"No," Vanessa said in her "Now your imagination is running away with you" voice.

"Yeah," I said in my "Not a bad idea, Alyssa" voice.

We arrived in the Walt Disney World parking lot after paying $25 for the privilege, hopped a monorail and were off to the Magic Kingdom. I've been coming down to Florida for 20 years and think Vanessa and I had only brought the girls here once, when they were little kiddies. I could see in their fifteen year old eyes an excitement fifteen year olds are generally too cool to show. I didn't say anything and let them feel, thinking to myself, 'You are mature, Mr. Scott.' My outward, physical smile lasted as long as it took to read this sentence.

"Sh*t," I said. "Sh*t," Vanessa and the girls said simultaneously.

There, in front of us, was J.D. Bryant, our gifted and talented new third baseman, along with his wife Karen, gifted and talented anchor of ABC's Morning Comments, the top-rated show amongst the white female demographic of 27-43 year olds. They had their three kids with them, names unremembered. J.D. and Karen, when together, are wonderful people in small doses. About 30 seconds worth. Then it's best to move along. They bicker as a couple. They don't fight. They bicker. Little quips. Little shrugs. Little eye rolls. But these "littles" add up to a consistency that will drive you nuts.

"We should spend the day together!" Karen said! (worth two exclamation points). She's a very chipper gal, especially in the mornings when TV cameras are pointed her way.

Vanessa, who'd been saddled with a stalking friend for the last 9 days, thanked Karen for the offer (Karen is very liberal in her political views; Vanessa, if possible, would be part of a vast right-wing conspiracy if anyone let her.) But she (Vanessa) said we were meeting our friend Connie in Cinderella's castle in 20 minutes. But thank you.

At that point, J.D. and Karen were besieged by a group of autograph seekers, who thankfully didn't recognize me in my sunglasses, Hawaiian shirt and straw cowboy hat (yes, I word pants). We waved and skipped away, happy to have now avoided Connie, the Bryants, and groups of autograph seekers.

The next few hours were fun. We had a nice lunch. We saw Kai Goto and his family, but they kept moving (Kai looking a little harried), so an exchange of waves was enough. They were followed by about 30 Japanese photographers. Looked like fun.

We saw Paul Hudson and his kids. Raina, his wife, is suing him for divorce (and many millions of dollars [American]). I know as many details as the NY Post will publish, which is to say I know as much as you. He looked happy to be out and about and with his kids. But even as he hugged Vanessa, I could see a few stray onlookers, who were probably hoping to make a few bucks, taking pictures with cameras or cell phones. The guy can't even catch a break on a day at the theme park with his kids.

We had just left him when it happened.

Quietly, under her breath, Grace said the one word none of us wanted to hear. "Connie." We looked up. There she was, Connie, being driving on a Disney World golf cart by a security attendant. We couldn't run or hide. It was too late. She was coming straight for us.

"Go,"Vanessa said. "I'll deal with this."

We told her we wouldn't leave her. It wasn't fair to her. Seriously, Vanessa aged about 10 years in the ten seconds it took Connie to thank the golf cart driver, turn, and smile.

"I didn't think I'd ever find you!" Connie said!! (If you'd heard her voice, you might've added another exclamation mark.)

"Neither did we," I said. "Know what I'm saying?"

She did, but pretended she didn't. I wished the security guy would come back, armed, so he could escort this woman off the premises at gunpoint. But no security guy. No guns. No golf carts. Just Connie, smiling her sad smile. If she had given us some space, maybe I would have allowed myself to feel bad for her. Then I thought -

"It's not our fault your unhappy," Vanessa said. (Which I was thinking. It was kismet!!!!) "You've got to let us go."

"What do you mean?" Connie said, although she knew.

Vanessa tried to use her manners. "Go home, Connie," she said. "Go home now and talk to your family. You can't be with us anymore."

"Hello again!!!!" It was Karen Quinn, J.D. and the kids. Had they snuck up on us too?

"Dude," J.D. said to me. "Comere." (He was saying, "Come here," but he combines words a lot.)

Vanessa nodded. She was probably going to try to have Connie stalk Karen now instead. Not a bad idea. Meanwhile, J.D.'s three boys were oogling Alyssa and Grace, who were paying attention to text messages on their phones. I made a mental note (that I'd quickly forget) to remind my fifteen year old daughters that boys look at them a lot, so kicking these boys in the cajones is a viable option.

"Diju hear 'bout Lyman?" J.D. said to me. I shook my head. "Bad car crashnstuff. He'sinna hospital." (He said, "Bad car crash and stuff. He's in a hospital.")

J.D. didn't know any details beyond that. But we both wondered what would happen to our starting right fielder, a man the team expected 25 home runs, 90 RBIs and 20 stolen bases from starting in two weeks.

"You're kidding!!!!!" Karen and Connie were getting along. Vanessa had an evil look in her eye. "You've GOT to tell me about this!!!!!" Karen was enraptured by something Connie had alluded to. Vanessa took this as our cue.

My nuclear family of four left the Bryants with Connie, who was now allegedly going to dinner with them in Treasure Island. Don't ask me how Connie had traveled to Disney World or how she was getting back. I didn't know and didn't want to ask.

We decided to go before Connie decided to latch onto us again. We passed Kai and his family and the 30 Japanese photographers. He looked exhausted. The season hasn't even begun and the guy's held more press conferences than I have had in my career. Talk about an unwanted burden.

We hopped the monorail to the $25 parking lot, constantly looking behind us. No Connie. We got off the monorail, ran down the stairs, turned and ran back up, hopping another monorail and getting off at Epcot. We let two pass before jumping onto another and circling the entire park (I purposely left my hat at one stop and sunglasses at another to confuse the woman), arriving back at the rip-off parking lot. We split up then as we deboarded. The three girls (Vanessa included) ran to the car. I stood and watched other monorails come and go. No Connie.

The squeal of a set of rental car breaks told me I had but seconds to spare. I threw myself into our car, Secret Service style, and let Vanessa speed off at up to 7 mph. We all sat very low, pretending we were in our 80s (lots of those people in Florida at this, and pretty much any time of year). We reached the exit followed by a myriad of different cars. We hoped Connie wasn't in any of them.

After parking three restaurants down from where we ate dinner, I took a taxi back to the car while my familial companions hid behind an Exxon restroom across the street. I picked them up, returned our rental car (complaining it was "too roomy") and got something a little...different from what Connie expected. The rent-a-cop at the guard house of our rental home complex swore he hadn't seen Connie and swore he wouldn't let her in or tell her he'd seen us. I gave him a $50 bill and told him I'd find him and kill him if Connie bothered us for the rest of the night. I dropped everyone off at the house and parked my new rented big black Hummer down the street, hoping to keep this woman completely off our trail.

No lights that night. We were all in bed by 8:30. When the doorbell rang around ten o'clock, Vanessa and I both pretended we were asleep. As I wondered how I'd find and kill the security guard, Vanessa and I both knew that somehow this woman had to go.

At Week's End, The Weekend

You're probably wondering if Vanessa's "friend" Connie is her real name. Yes, it is. Long ago, when we first met, I asked Connie if she cared if I used her real name. She said no, everything about her is an open book. "You can look it up," she said. I've never Googled her, but maybe I should, because she's a little frightening.

Connie paid us a surprise visit last Sunday (the 9th). She said she would still until the end of the weekend, which to us meant that afternoon. She rephrased later and said, "until week's end," which to us was yesterday. It's Monday. She's still here.

She's not staying with us. Vanessa has a rule that beginning February 14th, we do not have guests stay at our home until the end of baseball season. This rule has been in effect ever since I was with Chicago and we had that remarkable run back in 1993. My first ring, Chicago's first in 80-something years... Unforgettable.

We lived outside of Chicago then, in Lake Forest. The relatives, the old friends, the acquaintances... they all came out of the woodwork that year, asking for tickets, a place to stay, signed memorabilia - you name it. I think the night before Game 7 we had 10 people staying over in addition to Vanessa, the girls and me. Not a comfortable situation when you're scheduled to pitch that night in 35 degree weather, the biggest game possibly ever in my life, and I'm home that morning wondering if Cousin Todd was smoking in my backyard and flicking his butts onto my lawn (he was).

Since then, nobody stays over. They can sleep in a tent at a nearby campground, or in an RV somewhere (not in our driveway), or in a hotel. Connie stayed in a hotel this week. All week. She's there now, but probably enroute as I type this. She would have liked to stay over. It's easy to tell someone wants to spend the night when you have to literally push that person out your door at 11pm (Vanessa claims she gave a friendly shove - I was already in bed).

Not sure when she's going home, but Vanessa is exhausted. Two weeks of spring training left before the season starts. We'll be back in New Jersey soon enough, and Connie lives just three houses down. Vanessa gets enough of her when we're home. I'm just happy I have a reason to leave the house alone every day. But Vanessa is stuck. Got a charity thing? Connie can help. Need to go food shopping? Connie will push the cart. Need to slit your wrists? Connie will be ready with rags to clean the blood off the floor.

Yeah, sick stuff. So, does Connie know I'm writing this stuff about her? Here's the weird thing: Yes. She does. She reads this blog every day. She comes over and quotes lines to Vanessa. Vanessa, who only scans this a couple times a week at the most (looking to see what I've said about her), thinks Connie likes the attention. So am I helping or hurting? Should I commit to a news blackout of Connie? Not sure what that would prove. She'd probably keep reading, waiting to see her name in print. I can write about her more often. No, she'd enjoy that too. I asked Vanessa. "What should I do?" She just held out her wrists and said she had no idea. I was pushed aside suddenly, as Connie came bounding out from another room, rags in her hands, ready to wipe up my wife's sacrificial blood.

Connie

Can a person you know be a stalker? What if they do it in the wide open, right in front of you, by ringing your doorbell and invited themselves in? Is that still stalking? Or just aggressive friendship?

Vanessa has a "friend" from up the street who is the clingy (not the rapper) type. She moved in last fall and instantly became Vanessa's best friend. Not sure how it happened. She has a son who goes to Alyssa and Grace's high school, but he's apparently very quiet. I've never met him. She has a husband, whom I've also never met, who is literally a brain surgeon. His hours are wacky - why would anyone schedule a surgery for 9:00 at night? But he's apparently one of the top brain surgeons on the east coast. I take it Connie doesn't see him very much, nor does she have much to do with her 16 year old son. She doesn't have a full-time job. So, she latches onto Vanessa as often as possible.

I think Vanessa liked it at first. Who wouldn't? Here's a total stranger - allegedly the non-murdering kind - who thinks the world of you and wants to be around you because you're fun and intelligent and someone who commands respect. See, that's what's so great about Vanessa. She's a respectable woman. She has a certain self-confidence that I lack, and that's an attractive feature. I think Connie's attracted to that as well.

Once Connie's foot was in the door, she kept it there. She became Vanessa's BFF, which is difficult for Vanessa since she's so busy with the kids, charitable stuff, me and my career... She's always got something to do. We assume Connie has very little to do. So she's over at our house all the time. All the time. When Vanessa mentioned going on a quick vacation during the kids' winter break (we considered Italy since we're not Italian), Connie booked tickets for her family, first class, to Rome and found hotels, restaurants, hot spots. She put together the whole trip and booked it in hours. We didn't go to Italy because of some commitments I had. Connie never went either. Vanessa was upset. She had wanted the break.

When I proposed to the family that we all go to Florida for spring training, Vanessa, who I thought would fight me tooth and nail, said yes almost before I finished reading from my notes. She helped get the girls to see things my way (they're still pissed off they had to come down here for 6 weeks, but they'll survive). We've been down for almost a month and have had neighbor peace.

Until Sunday. We're renting a home in a gated community. If somebody is going to visit us, they need to clear it with a security guard. Believe me when I say we've turned down lots of visitors this year, mainly media members trying to get me to talk. The only way somebody is going to get to our house is if they live in the community or are police.

Then the doorbell rang.

It was about 8AM. On Sundays I don't get up until 8:30. The kids were asleep. Vanessa was in the shower. I peeked out the window. It wasn't the cops at our door. It was Connie, platter of breakfast danishes in her hands, looking up RIGHT AT ME. It was like she knew I was going to check her out before leaving my own bedroom. But she saw me. Eye contact. I was caught.

I stuck my head into the bathroom and told Vanessa. The water was shut off immediately, but then the movement stopped. After a few seconds, we heard the doorbell ring again. I asked Vanessa what we should do. She didn't say anything for a moment. Perhaps she was thinking of a quick getaway. But she'd be leaving her family behind. She's too good for that.

"Let her in," was all she said.

I left the bedroom, walked down the hallway and passed a sleepy-eyed Grace. "Mom's psycho friend is here." Grace closed her bedroom door fairly hard.

"Hi, Jimmy!"

Connie stood at the bottom of the steps, holding her danish platter.

"Don't tell me you went all the way to Denmark to get those," I said.

She laughed, told me I was "humorous in nature," and found our kitchen.

I don't own a bathrobe and never entertain guests dressed in the clothes I slept in. But it was Connie, and I was tired and had to leave at 9:30 for the ballpark. She got to see how a real semi-balding baseball player dresses when he sleeps. I met her in the kitchen and sat down. "Visiting?" I said.

Connie spoke of how she'd booked a room at a Marriott less than 500 yards away. She said she'd gotten into our community by sweet talking the guard with fresh pastries. But she had a scrape on her calf and a scuff mark on her shoe. She'd also been sweating recently. It wasn't that hot or humid yet. I would have bet a million bucks that she'd scaled the wall. I checked the danishes to make sure they weren't covered in dirt. If I hopped a ten foot wall carrying a platter of breakfast stuff, I'd spill more than my share of donuts (which I like much better than danishes).

She told me she was down alone for the weekend to "get a sense" of Florida living. Since it was Sunday, I asked if that meant she was flying home sometime that afternoon. "No, I'll be here until the week ends." Six days and counting.

After ten minutes of stimulating discussion (I have no recollection of the subject matter. The woman is to a brain what cigarette smoke is to a set of lungs.), Vanessa came into the kitchen, very well dressed.

"I'm late for church," she said to Connie, "but you're welcome to come."

Connie's eyes lit up. She was like a kid seeing the gifts under the tree on New Year's Day. "Of course!" she said.

Vanessa and I made quick eye contact. It was pained. You see, Vanessa hadn't been to church since we'd gotten down here. My bet is she'd just been upstairs trying to find one in the phone book before making her announcement. She was taking one for the team. A grenade was in the kitchen, and she was throwing her body on it. She was giving herself up for the safety of her family.

They were gone within minutes.

I sat there in the rented kitchen, took a bite out of a danish without looking, and gave a silent prayer for my wife, a good woman. A solid woman. Somebody who was about to have a fairly rotten day.

And then I spit something out of my mouth. Dirt. My danish was covered in dirt.

The Kids Are Alright

My relationship with my two daughters tends to rotate between time bomb explosiveness and potential death-spreading wildfire. It's rarely easy, like instant oatmeal. And usually, it's all my fault.

Case in point: I convinced Alyssa and Grace to come down with me to Florida, along with Vanessa, for this last spring training. My "pitch" to them was this would be my last spring training and I wanted us all to spend it together. I'd be home every day by 3:00 and we'd have oodles of family time. I also mentioned how I'd miss them, but this didn't make the headline in their craniums. Being away from home, being away from their friends - that was the headline they remembered. We're almost a month into spring training now. I've been home by 3:00 twice.

I take much of the blame. My rehab and workouts (and this) have taken up considerably more time than I had thought. Vanessa and I still have charitable events that we attend (like a clinic for the Boys & Girls Club this past Sunday morning). And sometimes I just find myself driving around, hitting the road to let off some steam. The pressure this spring training is more intense than I've felt in almost 20 years. Battling the in-house competition, battling my own insecurities, battling with Rick and Alvin, and battling with my girls - if life becomes a constant battle, you need to take a breather sometimes. And that sometimes sometimes takes place around 3:00, when I said I'd be home but instead am taking the on ramp to 95 South with Van Halen's "Panama" blasting from my rental car speakers.

We attempted to have a family dinner last night. Here's an excerpt:

Me: How was your day?

Nobody answers; the "nobody" meaning my two girls. I already knew Vanessa's day was less than tolerable.

Me: Two daughters, specifically Alyssa and Grace, my offspring, how was your day?
Alyssa: Fine.
Grace: You are a wise ass.

It's hard to swallow a large stalk of broccoli when your 15 year old daughter just called you a "wise ass."

Me: Where did you hear that word?
Grace: It's two words.
Alyssa: Pretty much everybody we know.
Grace: You're also a blowhard.
Alyssa: A big mouth.
Grace: Pompous and selfish.

It's hard not to choke on a cheddar cheese sauce chaser when your kids, with incredible conviction, just repeated the same insults you've been hearing about yourself for the past 15 years.

Vanessa: How was your day, dear?
Me: I really like this broccoli.

Vanessa's upset, but not with me. Her stalker "friend" Connie paid a surprise visit this afternoon and said she'd be staying at a Marriott about 500 yards away from the gated (thank God) community we're temporarily living in. How long will Connie be here? She didn't give Vanessa a specific date, but I think she'll be here as long as it takes. As long as it takes to do what? is the question churning through my wife's head. But that problem is for another day. Right now, I was dealing with a couple of teenage malcontents.

Me: The important thing is we're having a nice family dinner.

At this point, both girls left the table. Nobody asked to be excused. When I made this point, Vanessa told me I hadn't made that point in about 9 years. I lack in consistency at times, was her point.

I sprung into action by calling Dr. Henry Cohegans, our team psychologist. For years, I thought he was our team psychiatrist. But I've been wrong for years. He's a psychologist. There's a difference. I'll figure that out at some other time.

Let me remind you of the confidentiality agreement I signed with Dr. Cohegans over the winter. He was explicit in stating he wanted to be no part of this blog and he did not want to ever be quoted by me, either directly or paraphrased. By signing my agreement to this, I have honored the doctor's wishes.

I can, however, include my side of the conversations. Not once have I asked my readers to keep what they read confidential. That's really hard on the worldwide web.

Dr. Cohegans -
Me: Not so good. It's my girls.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me: Get them on the phone? There are two of them? Does that mean I have to pay for all three of us?
Dr. Cohegans -

The good doctor waited 10 very expensive minutes (paid for by the team, so I don't know why I become so obsessed with what he charges) while I pounded on bedroom doors and gently coaxed my two young loved ones to share a phone line with a stranger. They did this and made me leave the room.

Dr. Cohegans -
Alyssa - He promised us he'd be here and he never is.
Grace - He played golf two Sundays ago after telling us we had to be home for a special 'Sunday dinner.' He didn't get home until we'd already gone to bed.
Alyssa - He thinks his stupid blog is more important than us.
Me - I do not.
Dr. Cohegans -
Grace - Dad!
Alyssa - Hey!

I hung up, forgetting that eavesdropping is supposed to be done in secret from the ones you are eavesdropping on.

Half an hour later, the phone rang. It was Dr. Cohegans.

Me - They hate me.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Why do I say that? You heard what they said. And you didn't hear what they said at dinner.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - What about respect for your elders?
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Yes Rick and Alvin are older than me. What's that got to do with - Oh. I see.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - No, I just wiped my eye. I'd been having trouble seeing out of it for a few minutes.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Because humor masks my true insecurities. I've used that word twice tonight and sound very intelligent.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Fine. Should I go apologize to them both now? I'd hug them but they'd run away and call me a molester.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Because humor masks their true insecurities.

I hung up and pounded on doors for 10 minutes. (Vanessa was out with Connie, trying to keep the woman away from a very private family issue. FYI - Keep this between us.) I eventually coaxed the girls out when I told them I was about to be arrested for disturbing the peace.

First thing I did was sit the two of them down and explain my situation. No, wait. I apologized first, then explained, which made me feel like I was justifying myself for being a jerk over the last few weeks. If I had explained first and then apologized, I would have been able to make it seem like I was apologizing as a favor to them, thus keeping me, the father-figure (and actual father) in power during this exchange.

But I apologized first, making me appear weak and vulnerable. I'm sure I was slouching too. Not attractive traits in a man. I was happy Vanessa was out with her stalker friend.

Grace - It's not fair that you kidnapped us and forced us down to Florida.
Me - But it's the sunshine state.
Alyssa - It rains every day at 4:00.
Me - Very humid here. Oh, and I prefer the word abduct to kidnap. Sounds like I was more organized.
Grace - Your friend Felipe wouldn't think that was very funny.

Grace was right. Felipe Castro's mother remains held in captivity while I try to justify to my daughters why I'm not spending enough time with them.

Me - Let's do this. Starting tomorrow, we make sure we do something together every day. Even if that means I have to make breakfast for you.
Alyssa - I only eat a yogurt.
Me - I'll pasteurize the dairy.
Grace - I skip breakfast.
Me - I'll force some bacon down your throat.

I think one of them smiled about this time. Which made me really smile. Kids are all the same. They just want to be loved. And even if they know they are, they want to hear it once in a while. Or be shown it. I know I need to do a better job with my kids. They're both terrific and smart and pretty like their mom. Maybe this was the beginning of a new relationship between them and me. Maybe this was a life-changing time for us all.

But first, I had to figure out how to tell them we were out of instant oatmeal.