Chapter 9

“We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.” Tom Robbins

I can’t even begin to tell you how wonderful it was to leave the hospital with Mindy and OUR son, Thomas. As much as I had loved her before, seeing her with Thomas somehow made my love for Mindy just seem to grow and grow.

Is there ANYTHING in the world more beautiful than watching your wife breast-feed your child? I simply could not imagine what it might be.

We had been home for about a month when Mindy was ready to resume our normal relationship. That means we were ready to have sex again. Wonderful, glorious sex again.

Mindy is so small, with such a small frame. She was the tightest woman I had ever made love to, and I was always conscious of this so I had to be careful I did not hurt her.

Only the one time had we ever really let our passions get completely out of control, and yes I hurt her that time. Actually hurt myself as well.

Or since she was the one who controlled our lovemaking that day, I guess you could say she hurt herself.

But I was determined not to cause her pain, either directly or indirectly.

When I entered Mindy that first night after Thomas was born, she was still tight. And is today, even after giving birth to our other children.

And while she was tight, it was a very comfortable tight, not an almost painful tight.

By the time I erupted inside her, she had cum at least a half-dozen times, amid cries of “harder, harder” and pleas of “screw my brains out.”

Believe me, I did everything I could to do exactly that.

In the afterglow, Mindy told me that that had been the best sex ever. I have to agree.

One thing really surprised me about sex post-Thomas, as opposed to pre-Thomas.

I had supposed after Thomas was born, the “opportunities” to be alone with Mindy would lessen. I mean babies are high-maintenance objects! Thomas turned out to be a perfect baby.

We would put him to bed at night, and he would waken once early in the morning. Mindy would breast feed him, I would change his diaper and he would sleep the rest of the night.

Pre-Thomas, the most times Mindy and I had made love during one day was seven times. Post-Thomas, we hit eight times! Yeah!!!

There were a lot more days when we only made love once or twice, than there used to be, but there were wonderful days and nights when we simply could not keep our hands (and other parts) off each other!

Thomas had a very healthy appetite and would usually drink nearly all Mindy’s milk during his feedings. And what he did not, I would certainly take care of during our lovemaking.

I loved sucking on Mindy’s breasts and getting a little of what Thomas missed. And Mindy certainly seemed to like my sucking on her nipples after she had finished breast-feeding.

A few months after Mindy and Thomas returned home, Mindy and I were lying in bed and she again started talking about all the songs I know by heart, and all the singers I was familiar with.

This time I carefully did not say ANYTHING about having a great memory – hey, I am capable of learning, even at my age!

She asked what the worst song I had ever heard was.

Of course, I had to ask what she meant by worst. The worst singer, worst lyrics, or what?

She said worst lyrics or titles, and I started laughing.

These are all actual songs:

“How Can I Miss You If You Won’t Go Away?”

“I Still Miss Her, But My Aim’s Getting Better.”

“Flushed From The Bathroom Of Your Heart,” by Johnny Cash.

Mindy, of course, is laughing herself silly, accusing me of making up these songs!

We got on the Internet and found most of them, and she couldn’t believe they actually exist!

Then I tell her there is one more, but first I have to explain.

A young guy meets an older woman, they fall in love and get married. Then his Dad meets her daughter. His Dad and her daughter fall in love and get married. That means, since he is married to his Dad’s mother-in-law, he is actually now his Dad’s father-in-law, and his Dad is now his son-in-law.

Both couples have a baby. So his Dad’s new son is now his half-brother, but since his wife is now a grandmother, and he is married to her, he is a grandfather to his half-brother.

And it actually gets worse. The name of the song is “I’m My Own Grand Paw,” and was first recorded by Homer and Jethro.

Mindy asked what my favorite was.

Of course I had to ask if she meant song or singer, and she answered either, or both.

I had to really stop and think about that for a while.

Finally I started listing some of my favorites.

One of my favorite songs has always been “Run For The Roses,” by Dan Fogelberg, but when Mindy says it sounds romantic, I start laughing and have to explain it is actually a song about a horse getting ready to run in the Kentucky Derby, which is called “Run For The Roses.”

Mindy doesn’t believe a song about a horse can be beautiful, so I play it for her – then three or four more times at her insistence. She agrees that it is, indeed, beautiful.

Another one was the incredibly beautiful “At Last” by Etta James. I told Mindy I was convinced this song was written with her in mind.

Mindy really liked that song, and we kissed for a long time while we listened to it on my mp3 player.

Other favorites are almost any song by Roger Whittaker, except “No Blade of Grass,” but I especially like his version of “Somewhere My Love,” and “The Last Farewell.”

Almost anything by Engelbert Humperdinck, anything by Al Martino, and anything by The Ames Brothers, The Mills Brothers, Andy Williams, Anne Murray, Brenda Lee ... I quickly realized this was almost impossible.

Then it finally dawned on me. There are a few songs that would be my choice if they were the last songs I were to ever hear. Amazingly enough, two of the songs were actually written by the same writer.

Those two songs were “Tennessee Waltz,” and “You Belong To Me.” Both were written by a man named PeeWee King, and my favorite versions of both were sung by Patti Page.

The other song is “Amazing Grace.”

Then I told Mindy if I had to choose one single singer, then it would have to be the best singer in the world, that nobody has heard of today. His name was Frankie Laine, and he actually was the number one recording artist in the world at one time, and this was when his competition included Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and others that people seem to remember.

I played a number of songs for Mindy, including “That’s My Desire,” “That Lucky Old Sun,” “Rawhide,” “Mule Train,” “North to Alaska,” “Moonlight Gambler,” and “Lord, You Gave Me A Mountain.”

He sang everything from big band, to pop, to rock, to gospel, to folk to blues to country.

Mindy could not believe anyone could hit the notes he could, and hold them for as long as he could. She also could not believe she had never heard of him.

I mentioned his nicknames included “Old Leather Lungs,” and “Mr. Steel Tonsils.”

Then I told Mindy there was one other song I wanted her to hear by Frankie Laine.

Of course Mindy already knew all about my trip from North Carolina to Florida, but I explained when I left, I had not turned a radio on, or anything. I was just driving. When I finally stopped for fuel the first time, I hooked my mp3 player up to the truck’s speakers, hit “random play” on the mp3, and this song was the first one that played.

It is entitled “I Believe,” and I told Mindy I now realized the song actually featured her in it. That certainly piqued her curiosity.

I stopped the mp3 player and told Mindy that was her. I had gone astray, and less than two weeks later, she came along to show me the way. She really kissed me then. I resumed playing the song.

Mindy, of course, is crying, and I am a little misty-eyed myself.

I again told Mindy I think this song was really about her, and she was the answer to my prayer, the one I had uttered during my personal storm, and my darkest night.

During most of this, Mindy was lying in her usual position with her head on my shoulder, one arm over my chest and a leg over my stomach.

As I am reflecting on the song, I have a sudden thought, and the next thing I know is I am sitting up in bed and yelling a very vulgar expletive.

It is not like Mindy has never heard me say the occasion, “damn,” “hell,” or if I am really stressed, even “shit,” but what I say today harks back to my Marine Corps days.

Back then, we often would take words, divide them in half, and put an expletive in the middle. Unbelievable would thus become “unfuckingbelievable,” or incredible would become “infuckingcredible.”

Once Julie and I had children, I realized I was going to have change the way I spoke after Joseph repeated one of my favorite expressions.

That is what I yell: unfuckingbelievable. Of course, for me to be sitting up in bed, means I have almost knocked Mindy off the bed.

She immediately asks what’s wrong, and I realize what I have done to her, and start apologizing, then add, “I am such a fool.”

She against asks what is wrong.

“I am so damn stupid,” I say, “a complete idiot!”

Mindy, bless her little pea-pickin’ heart, is not about to pass up this opportunity.

“Alan,” she says, with a great big smile, “don’t beat yourself up verbally. That’s why you married me. So I can beat you up instead!”

“While I might agree with part of what you just said, at least you were smart enough to marry someone we BOTH KNOW is smarter than you are,” she adds with a smirk.

I immediately think of a half-dozen retorts I could respond with, but decide one of us needs to be mature and adult, so I stick my tongue out at her and give her a raspberry, you know: pffffffft

Mindy howls with laughter, saying she can’t believe I “pffffft-ed” her.

I ask Mindy to wait until I can find a song. I know it is not on any of the mp3 players I usually use, so I start searching for one of my older ones, then finally find the song. I plug the ear-buds in, and start listening while Mindy keeps asking “what’s wrong!”

As I am listening, I get the biggest grin on my face ever!

Even bigger than the grins I usually wear while listening to Mindy puke when having a bout of morning sickness – you know, the baboon grin!

While I am listening to the song, I start crying a little, but continue with the grin.

Finally I finish listening to the song, and start trying to explain things to Mindy.

She had just finished listening to the first song I listened to while driving from North Carolina to Florida, so I tell her I have tried to forget the very last song I had listened to during that drive.

Remember, I was wondering since I didn’t know where I was going, how would I know when I got there?

“I kept thinking the song was about Julie,” I said, “but thinking about how ‘I Believe’ was really about you, I also realized the last song was also. I was just too stupid to realize it until now.”

I told her I had deleted the song from every mp3 player but one, because it made me feel so sad.

The singer was Tommy Edwards, and the name of the song is “At The End Of A Rainbow.” I played it for Mindy, stopping it several times to explain.

“I thought this was about Julie,” I explained, “that she was the pot of gold, and our story had ended because it had all been told.”

I again stop the music, telling her the main words I picked up on were “Without any end.” That I thought this would mean I would always be alone, I would never find anyone else.

Again, I explained, I was just thinking about the water stopping it flow, and no place to go, at the end of the highway.

“I was thinking I was only going to love Julie, until the end of time,” I said.

“I was at the end of my highway,” I tell this beautiful woman who has changed my life so completely, “but didn’t realize there WAS a place to go, but only if you told me you love me.”

“Mindy, you were my pot of gold!”

We listen to the song several more times, then make love before finally going to sleep.

“Having children is like having a bowling alley installed in your brain.” Martin Mull

Poor Mindy! And especially poor Jennifer.

I tried, repeatedly, to warn them, but they would not listen!

For months I had been told how easy it was going to be after Thomas was born, because Mindy had helped with Sara, and Jennifer had not only raised two children herself, but had also helped raise her three younger siblings.

Mindy, and especially Jennifer, already knew EVERYTHING about raising children.

There was only one problem with that. Jennifer’s three siblings, and her two children shared one thing in common – they were all girls.

I mean THANK GOD Jennifer’s children were girls – at least the oldest one – or I would not be writing this.

But nowhere in Jennifer’s background was any experience in raising boys.

I tried and tried to warn them, since I had raised two sons myself, but my warnings fell on deaf ears. They did not believe me when I tried to explain how boys behaved. How a little boy’s mind operates, how the “rules” for raising boys has to be different from the “rules” for raising girls.

Baby boys are different from baby girls. And not just the obvious physical difference.

Did you know that, from birth, baby girls hear better than baby boys? Girls’ hearing is also more sensitive in the frequency ranges critical to speech discrimination, and their verbal recognition centers develop much faster than boys. Thus girls will respond to both praise and warnings at a much earlier age. You can “voice train” a girl, using only inflection in your voice, and she will listen.

The boy, if he even knows you are talking to him, will respond in several ways:

1. Not understand.

2. Not listen.

3. Not care.

Boys are less verbal and much more impulsive.

I hate to say this, but it is true: girls “think” about something before they do it, and boys “do it” before they think about it.

I have tried to be brutally honest throughout this story in everything I write, so it is time to reveal something all men know, but have been sworn to secrecy never to tell. But if I don’t tell, then I am being less than honest!

All babies start out with the same number of raw cells, which over nine months, can develop into a complete female baby. The problem occurs when cells are instructed by the little chromosomes to make a male baby instead.

Because there are only so many cells to go around, the cells necessary to develop a male’s reproductive organs have to come from cells already assigned elsewhere in the female.

Recent tests have shown these cells are removed from the communications center of the brain, migrate lower in the body and develop into male sexual organs.

If you visualize a normal brain to be similar to a full deck of cards, this means males are born a few cards short, so to speak. And some of those cards are in their shorts.

This difference between the male and female brain manifests itself in various ways.

Little girls will tend to play things like house, or learn to read.

Little boys, however, will tend to do things like placing a bucket over their heads and running into walls.

Little girls will think about doing things before taking any action.

Little boys will just punch or kick something and will look surprised if someone asks them why they just punched their little brother, or kicked the dog.

This basic cognitive difference continues to grow until puberty, when the hormones kick into action and the trouble really begins.

After puberty, not only the size of the male and female brains differ, but the center of thought also differs. Women think with their heads. Male thoughts often originate lower in their bodies where some of their ex-brain cells reside.

Of course, the size of this problem varies from man to man.

I tried to tell Mindy and Jennifer, but they would not listen.

For months, all I heard was “Mindy’s baby will do this,” or “Mindy’s son will do that.”

Apparently my only contribution to Thomas was 10 or 15 minutes late at night (or perhaps on the lawn mower?).

By the time Thomas began crawling, that had changed.

Now, the only thing I hear is “Do you know what YOUR son did today?”

The nine months that Mindy carried Thomas inside her is like it never happened!

I kept warning both Mindy and Jennifer of the need to baby-proof both houses, but was assured it wasn’t necessary. “Mindy’s son” was going to be a perfect baby boy.

By the time Thomas began crawling and had pulled out every single pot, pan and baking sheet in every cabinet in both houses, I had to baby-proof both houses because of “Your son!”

All along, I had tried to tell Mindy and Jennifer that little boys were like plants: They need a LITTLE water, and a LOT of dirt in order to grow.

I was informed that NO, Thomas would NEVER be dirty, and would LOVE baths!

Yeah, dream on.

Even having raised two sons already, I must admit I am frequently surprised.

I honestly think it would be possible for Thomas to find the only mud hole in the entire Sahara Desert. And scream bloody murder if you tried to remove even a speck of that mud!

And believe me, he has his mother’s lungs, so it is not just MY son!

The next part most of you will not understand, without some explanation.

During World War I, the Marines fought the Germans at a place called Belleau Woods in France. We absolutely kicked their butts. The Germans said the Marines were the most dangerous, relentless enemy they had faced during the entire First World War, and wrote reports back home calling the Marines “Teufel Hunden” or Dogs from Hell, or Hounds from Hell.

That was later translated as Devil Dogs, and since 1918 has been a proud nickname for the United States Marine Corps.

Jennifer, as the wife of a former Marine Corps officer, knew about the history of the Marines of course.

But I really don’t think it was quite right for Jennifer to call Thomas “Devil Dog Spawn.”

I mean I love the name, but is it right to put that kind of pressure on such a tiny little baby?

Eventually, however, Jennifer accepted the fact boys REALLY are different from girls, and I know she has always loved him completely. Even after he climbed up on her dishwasher, while the door was down, and tried to make it his personal trampoline. I had to buy her a new dishwasher.

Before Thomas was born, in fact just a couple of months after we came back from the honeymoon, I finally got around to doing something I had wanted to do for a while.

Mindy would sometimes play the piano when we were at Tom and Jennifer’s, and I loved to hear, and watch her play. I finally bought her a piano for our house.

We had room for any size piano, and I could afford anything Mindy wanted, but she actually wanted a small electric, or digital piano. So that is what we bought. Many nights Mindy would spend an hour or more just playing, with me sitting beside her.

A lot of times we would sing together, or separately.

Probably because of the singing, it didn’t take long for Mindy to realize I could read music, and so her obvious question to me was to ask if I played any instrument.

I told her my Mom, before she died, had insisted I take violin lessons, so from age eight to 12, I studied violin. After her death, playing the violin just reminded me too much of her, so I quit.

I don’t know what tipped Mindy off I was being less than totally forthright, but I guess she has learned to read me well by now.

Mindy also knew the best time to ask me a question was after we had made love, just as I was falling asleep.

I was almost asleep one night.

“Alan, other than the violin do you play any other instruments?” she asked.

“Hmmm, oh, yeah, I used to play the trumpet!” I muttered.

“How many years were you in the high school band?” she asked.

“Hmmm, oh, just three,” I answered.

Mindy’s shouted “Ah HA!” completely woke me up.

“What?” I asked, looking around, “What’s wrong!”

She then explained she had asked me what “other” musical instrument I played, and I answered trumpet.

The only people she knew who played the trumpet were in her high school band, so she asked how many years I had played in my high school band, and I answered “three!”

“You weren’t just a nerd and geek,” she proclaimed, “You were an even bigger high school band nerd and geek! You were a bigger nerd and geek than I ever was!”

That, of course, led me to repeat my disclaimer that nerds and geeks don’t join the Marine Corps and jump out of planes and helicopters, but she didn’t even bother responding. Just kept looking at me, smiling and saying “Bigger nerd, bigger geek!”