Thanks for the Birthday Wishes

I thought I’d write my thank-you in a journal post this time, and figured you all would at least catch the title on Facebook. I’m behind on posting and might get a bit wordy.

In short, though, thanks to everyone who sent me well-wishes yesterday for my birthday. One of the fun parts about our social-network enabled society is the deluge of wishes for your birthday. I also know I’m particularly bad about doing it for others, so I doubly appreciate you all taking the time to drop me a nice note, especially since I’ll probably forget to hit you back at some point this year. (Though I will try to be better!)

I also wanted to post a quick update on Baby Watch Hofferth Version. Our little girl keeps growing, much to our delight and mommy’s stomach muscle’s dismay. Kate hasn’t exactly had the easy, storybook pregnancy (if such a thing exists), but has been a real trooper. She’s endured both lots of random vomiting and a couple spontaneous cravings for Subway. I wish I could put another couple of women on the job to help complete the Baby Hofferth project more quickly but, alas, it is a one-woman job. (Were it possible, I’m sure my own mother would be willing to chip in at least a portion of pregnancy, or even a couple body parts to get the grandchild show started. Patience has never been my family’s strong suit. We’re not taking the hip though, Mom. That sucker needs replaced or something.)

Posting may continue to be sparse as we’re still recovering from combining a move with Kate’s first tri-mester, even well into the second. May will be here soon enough, and there is plenty to do to ready the nest.

Thanks again for all the positive vibes. As I speed away from 32 and toward fatherhood, I definitely approach this new phase of life with a healthy dose of fear, anticipation but, most importantly, great support from loved ones.

P.S. If you hadn’t seen our version of holiday card combined with gender reveal… might as well post it in here for posterity:


(In case you needed the not included hint: yes, the pronoun was intentional.)

(I wanted to send exploding pink powder holiday cards, but they were fresh out.)





Obviously, writing hasn’t gone well for me this year. I’ve missed almost as many months as written, but it’s been a busy year. Building a house is a big deal, and now the end is in sight. We just sold our current house this past weekend, and we close on our new house at the end of this month. Exciting times.

I will say that I’m glad we only had a small handful of showings. Trying to juggle jobs, dogs, football, keeping the house in top shape, and then making room in the schedule for folks to stop by… it was not easy. But, thankfully, the market is in our favor, and we got an offer quickly.

Football is off to a 3-0 start, so that’s fantastic. I’ll admit I’m a little surprised since we graduated so many starters from last year. The current crop of kids have really stepped up, and it’s been a fun ride so far. Here’s hoping that continues.

And that’s about it from me. I suppose I wanted to check in because there’s a lot going on and this is, after all, my journal. I can’t help but feeling a lack of time for reflection on, well, anything… so you get a check-in list of things, Dear Journal. Ah well, hopefully I’ll squeeze out a better entry before the year ends. My word-chops are becoming dull.


And It’s June

Well, Dear Journal, I wouldn’t say May Flowers exactly, but we’re on the right path. Things are still busy (which is why I’m a few days late). The house has grown, I’ll see if I can find a picture…

File May 24, 3 55 39 PM

Yep, we went with the Big Green Monster floor plan. It actually has a roof now (this pic is a few weeks old). And a front porch. And dormer. And some exterior trim. And rough mechanicals on the inside. No windows yet though. Soon, very soon.

Also, Dear Journal, before you give me the typical “it’s huge” comment, I want to point out that this image (and the way it appears coming up the street) is a solid optical illusion. This is, quite literally, the largest horizontal profile of the house possible. It’s still big, just not quite THAT big. Or maybe it is. I don’t know, your call.

In other news, we’re continuing to work with the dogs. Chloe is still being a bitch. (Which is not profane. It’s what she is. But also, yes.) We’re working hard on obedience with her. I’m not sure our dogs will ever be best friends again, which is really, really sad. That being said, we have a pretty good system worked out where everyone has their own space and no one gets bitten. Mostly.

Perhaps the only other thing of note that happened in May (apart from the usual work drudgery and feeling stressed about a challenging project) was that I braved the Indy 500 Snake Pit. In case you are unaware, Dear Journal, the Snake Pit is an EDM Festival that happens to be held while there’s a race going on. They’re really only very loosely related. Josh friend-shamed me into going (it was his birthday), but I’m glad he did. We had a good time. Let me see if I can find a pic from far too early in the day…


I will say, Snake Pit plays the long game. I thought I had won, surviving the day with minimal embarrassing moments, but then I “slept” for 12 hours and woke up with an awful sunburn and hangover. Well played, Mr. Pit, well played. Also, I am one pair of shoes poorer.

So that was May, Dear Journal. Summer has officially arrived. June has started well, and I’m hoping for an uneventful July. Hopefully the house will be done in the Aug/Sep time frame and my next post will describe the joys of listing a house for sale. We’ll see.



April Showers

Apparently my last entry was in January. Last I checked, there are couple of months in there that I missed. Shame on me. I’m supposed to be doing this monthly.

Well, Dear Journal, I have some excuses. I’ll relate them now, not to whine and, well, make excuses, but because this is a journal and you’re supposed to write about this sort of thing. The point is the mark the days, right? When last we spoke (though I do all the speaking), you suffered me waxing philosophical about life’s tragedies. Life apparently didn’t like my gossip, and decided to give me some real stuff to focus on.

First, we bought a house. Or, rather, we put a large deposit on a house that will be built throughout this year so that we can buy it all formal like in the fall. It’s just down the road, so we aren’t leaving the area we’ve come to love, but it is quite the upgrade from our current home. We hadn’t exactly planned on this, but found the perfect lot in a neighborhood we really liked with the option to build something in our price range… sort of a bit of a serendipity. With how quickly our area is being built up, it made sense to jump on the opportunity.

We heard a whole bunch of building horror stories when we began the process. It seemed like people came out of the woodwork with warnings and tips which, while much appreciated, left us a bit apprehensive. To this point, we’ve made a lot of decisions, and all that’s left really is to monitor as the build progresses, and I’m happy to say we found the process completely enjoyable. Granted, there is still a lot of time for things to go horribly wrong, so a small bit of apprehension remains, but we’re going to take a positive approach. Really, building a home plays to our combined strengths as a couple, and we find much better than getting a used house and then arguing about which projects to do for years to come. In this way, we’re getting what we want up front, and should have minimal DIY work to do… at least for the first handful of years. So, so far so good.

The second thing that happened to really eat up my attention was that our two fur babies have apparently decided they no longer like one another. That is to say, Chloe is behaving aggressively toward Chance. This is another instance where folks have come out of the woodwork with advice and reasoning. Apparently it’s pretty common for dogs not to get along, though the fact that our dogs were besties for 3 years is troubling. Why the change? Or, more importantly, how can we fix this?

After an initial confrontation that saw me as the only member of the family not with stitches, we’ve developed a segregated house while we work on the issue. We contacted a local “dog whisperer” and are working with him to rehabilitate our dogs. During the initial training session, one of the things he told us really struck me as truth: We will have to confront what most people forget: Dogs are animals.

Sometimes people comparing having a dog to having a child, which we are guilty of on occasion, though obviously there are stark differences between the two. Often we are chastised with how much more challenging having a child will be which, honestly, is kind of patronizing. I don’t subscribe to the notion that you have to be a parent in order to be aware of the challenge that a child poses. While I agree that there are emotions unique to parenthood that are difficult to explain to those yet to experience it, I think one can get a reasonable idea of what having a child is like simply by listening to the experiences of parents and caring for children that aren’t yours. Small doses are easier to stomach, sure, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t representative. It may not be a perfect understanding, but it is SOME understanding.

Anyway, it left me thinking that while having a child is surely more challenging in a lot of ways, there is one way that I believe it may be simpler: When your kids fight. You see, I would love to sit my “kids” down and give them stern talking to and explain why we do not bite. Maybe ground them for a few days, and not worry about the “animal” taking over. Yet in this way dogs may be more difficult. Not only do I not fully understand the cause of the conflict because, hey, different species. But I also have to find a clear way to communicate to the dogs that the behavior is not acceptable and that they need to follow the rules. Oh, and make sure my dog can actually listen and cope with stress because if she becomes overwhelmed… instinct takes over. And until we figure out all of that, the house is on lock down. That’s right, prison rules. We have procedures and dual lock doors with buzzers and scheduled time in the yard and… okay so maybe it’s not that crazy but we have had to severely alter our home life in order to limit the potential for violence.

I have confidence we’ll figure it out. We made a commitment to these dogs. It is not something easily discarded. I mean, not to again compare dogs to kids, but if you have a troubled child, wouldn’t you do everything within your power to help said child? They may just be dogs, but they’re our dogs and that means something to us.

So, needless to summarize, I’ve been a bit preoccupied Dear Journal. My writing has, indeed, taken a hit. Heck, staying dialed in at the day job has been pretty rough. Here’s hoping that April showers truly bring May flowers for us in the form of a more settled existence.



On “Winning” Life’s Tragedy Game

A lot of articles about grief tend to pop up around the holidays. If you take a moment to reflect, I think this makes a lot of sense. Holidays can be one of the worst times for emotional wounds, both new and old. That being said, I’ve seen what I consider to be a dangerous trend over the last few years as far as the tone of these articles.

First, I guess I should establish my “street cred.” Oldest of four, we lost my father when I was 18. It was a 5  year battle with a disease called neuro-sarcoidosis, and involved a lot of hospitals. The diagnosis part took several years in and of itself, so it wasn’t a very straight forward battle. It was neither the best, nor worst, of the many stories I’ve subsequently heard.

It probably should be pointed out that, in addition, I’ve gone through a divorce in my twenties, and my mother is a breast cancer survivor. The point of establishing this is to say that I understand grief, struggle, disease, loss, and helplessness on a very intimate basis. You could say we are old friends. But again I state: my life experience is neither the best, nor worst, of the many stories I’ve heard.

As my birthday rolls around, I find myself retrospective, as I often am at this time of year. It is another birthday my father will not see. I will likely celebrate it with my new wife, who my father has never met. He did not see me help coach a team to a state championship in football this past fall. He was not able to witness the Cubs finally winning a World Series. He did not see his youngest daughter, the last of four to begin attending Butler university. He has not been there for the dozens of little marking stones that happened last year, much less the many more that have occurred in the last 13 years.

13 years is a long time.

This is why loss hurts. This is the source of grieving. The fact that you have been robbed of a potential future, a future in which someone important to you existed, is painful whenever you choose to reflect on it. This truth is, this does not get better. It does not go away. You may get better at handling it, but you never really stop grieving.

But what about the whole “dangerous trend?” Right, sorry. I got lost for a moment. That is also something that happens, from time to time.

The thing that bothers me is that the tone of many of these articles seems to adopt the stance of trying to tell everyone else, everyone not in “The Loss Club,” how to treat those of us in the club. What to say. What to do. What not to do. All of that good stuff. And it is all said within the very positive frame of attempting to help those who have not experienced the same sort of loss try to understand. A noble goal, to be sure.

But, here is where I’m going to say something radical: Understanding is a two-way street. My problem with these articles is that, to me, they end up being preachy because while they make a valiant effort at understanding the loss side of things, they completely miss the boat when it comes to understanding the other side. You know, the one where everyone else hasn’t lived your life. I believe that the onus is as much on you to understand where they are coming from, as it is on them to understand you and your grief. Sometimes people express things imperfectly, but with the best of intentions. It is on each of us to look beyond the clumsiness of words and into the intentions and feelings that were meant to be conveyed. That is to say, it is not a one way street; it takes effort on both ends.

Or, to put it another way, I see a lot of it coming down do what I call life’s “tragedy game.” You, Dear Journal, there seems to be this unspoken competition where, unless someone can trump you with a worse life experience, then it’s as if you win and therefore you are in control of the relationship. You are also relieved of the responsibility of understanding them because, hey, your life is worse. They should then cater to you and your feelings because their life is better.

That bothers me. As someone who, for a good while in his life, was very much “winning” at the tragedy game… I don’t ever want to go back there. I’ve since racked up some positive stuff and distance, so my score has probably fallen to levels where I can more easily be “beaten” by others. After all, my losses didn’t continue. My mom survived. I got married again. I’m personally pretty healthy.

But it’s not a game. I don’t ever want to compete with someone for “worst life.” That’s a terrible competition to be part of. This fact has often led me to keeping my mouth shut when others are sharing their stories, for fear of unintentionally trumping them. Like: “I’m sorry to hear all that, but I’ve been through worse.” One of the most frustrating things I often hear from those going through something is: “You just can’t understand.” It is the cleanest, and most effective way to shut someone else out, and when we humans are hurting, that is often what we do.

Look, it is true that everyone experiences loss and grief differently, but there are some common human elements to the experience. I would argue that someone who has experienced a simple heartbreak, like from a high school date, or losing a dumb contest important to them, can absolutely understand loss if they choose to reflect on how they felt. It’s a simple matter of magnitude. Remember how it sucked when you lost and how helpless and scary it might have felt? Perhaps how robbed you felt of something that should have, rightfully, been yours? Magnify that by a lot when it’s someone or something you really loved. Same feelings, different scale. We have all felt sad, helpless, frustrated, scared, and alone sometimes. Loss is a lot like all of those things, except bigger and all together.

You do not need to “win” the tragedy game in order to understand others. It is not always the person who has lost most or the same that can understand best. Mostly, it just takes love and understanding. Effort, on an emotional level. People on both sides of the coin need to be willing to make that effort.

So, to those who have the best of intentions and are always just trying to empathize but feel like they can’t… don’t stop. Don’t let the advice articles or people push you away. Keep trying. Keep trying to empathize and understand, because if it comes from a place of love, love is awesome. You don’t need “street cred” to express love. Keep doing it in the best way you know how and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The world needs more love and understanding, despite the feedback it may be giving you.

And for those of us in the Loss Club, take care that you aren’t stifling the love flowing your way. It can be real easy to think that no one else can truly understand because, frankly, that is probably true. They aren’t you. But it doesn’t mean that no one else without the same experience can love you adequately enough to help. In our grief, we often turn from love, but instead should strive to grasp it with grace. Encourage love to flow as best you can can with whatever scattered shards of your heart you can sweep together. Putting yourself back together after being shattered by loss is one of the hardest things you will ever experience… but life and love does go on.

There are benefits that come out of loss if you choose to find them. Through loss we can gain a renewed appreciation for what it means to live and love. We can learn to harness and cherish the precious time given to us, acknowledging that it can all end unexpectedly. We can strengthen bonds among those that remain. We can bear more of a load on shoulders broadened by trial and adversity. We can recognize that it is better, truly, to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. We are always better off for love.

Be patient with one another out there. Find the intentions behind words, and forgive one another for never fully understanding. It is such a challenge to truly walk in another’s shoes. Try not to be too critical when someone inevitably falls short, especially if you can tell the attempt is rooted in love. Trust me, it’s something I still struggle with 13 years later, but when I’ve been able to succeed, it is absolutely worth it.



Consider This My Christmas Card

Not really. My wife will be sending real ones. They just may be more like New Years cards this year because we’ve been so busy. Adulting is hard.

I skipped last month, Dear Journal, in part due to the aforementioned busy-ness, but also because I didn’t want to jinx myself. You see, this November may have been the absolute best sporting month ever for me in my 31 year history of sporting months. (Yes, I came out of the womb playing sports. Blame my father.)

First, to start off the month in style, the Cubs broke their 108 year hiatus and won a World Series. I’ll be honest, I was an emotional wreck for a while in there. For a few days afterward, I couldn’t watch recaps without tearing up, which was a huge problem because, you know, world keeps on spinning. I still had to work, and I still had to coach.

Which brings me to awesome thing number the second. My football team, the Westfield Shamrocks, proceeded to win the the 5A state championship for the first time in school history. 1935 is the first  year I can find record of Westfield having a football team (high school records aren’t real great if you go back too far), so let’s just do some friendly rounding and say that, this November, nearly 200 years of non-championships was purged from my sports world. That’s pretty awesome, and to have really been a part of making the second one happen is even sweeter.

(Side note: I think how abysmal my Boilers have been in football is helping to balance my karmic scales a tad… but even with that – and they were REALLY bad this year – I still think I’m way ahead!)

Anyway, Christmas apparently came early for me. It was a great November and, except for the biting chill in the air today, December has been pretty decent. I’m just trying to catch up on everything that sat on the back burner while SPORTS were happening. Hopefully your fall was also awesome, Dear Journal, and may your Christmas be joyful. Safe travels if you’re planning to, I don’t know, mail yourself somewhere. And if I don’t get back to you before the end of the month, have a Happy New Year.


This Is Not About Politics

I absolutely hate talking about politics. That’s not entirely true. Perhaps more accurately, I love debating about things, respectfully. What I hate is when respect is lost and there are hurt feelings, which is very easy to do (and I, personally, am often guilty of this). It’s sort of the same way I hate making fun of people. I was teased a lot in middle and high school, and I guess I’m a pretty sensitive dude. Nothing wrong with that, Dear Journal.

On the other side of the coin, let me also say that I’m not a big fan of the “ultra PC” approach to things. That is to say, I believe life is going to offend you sometimes and you better grow some thick skin in order to deal with it. Just because something offends you, doesn’t mean it should be outlawed. This is a thin line, or slippery slope, or whatever, and ultimately I think it needs to be approached from both sides to form a lasting solution. To put that last point more succinctly: I think people become both MORE and LESS sensitive. More where it comes to how they affect others. Less with how they are affected. Not really an easy thing to manage in today’s “self driven” culture.

That was my preamble to a story I wanted to relate. This is a story that involves the current political race, and attempts to illuminate why I am ready, so desperately, for this election cycle to end. A tender heart like mine just can’t take it.

This is NOT a story meant to display any particular leaning. If you must know, I’m most likely voting third party, for Gary Johnson. I simply like him the most, all things considered. I can understand a lot of the arguments for other folks, but I do not find myself currently swayed by them.

That being said, I recently observed a situation where a group of professionals were chatting. They were laughing about a story where a pair of coworkers had staked off in a bit of a “political cold war.” Apparently, one has an “I’m with her” mug and poster prominently on display in their cube at work. The other, in response, has a computer background that is prominently anti-Hillary. Neither of these individuals were involved in the conversation as it took place.

The professionals were commenting about how funny it was to observe how the one individual liked to needle the other individual with anti-Hillary slogans and pictures… attempting to elicit an emotional response. It was seen as “all in good fun,” and the group had a good chuckle before progressing to other topics.

Big deal, right? Yet my insides were roiling. This is the sort of thing that I hate most about the current election cycle, and has become all too common. First of all, I’m of the opinion that the workplace should remain politically neutral. Politics do not belong in the work place. It is unprofessional. It can create a hostile work environment. So, one could make the case that, the original individual, by displaying the mug and poster, was “asking for it” and I wouldn’t wholeheartedly disagree.

But, here’s the thing, that second person? That’s textbook bullying and harassment. Just because one person, say, pushes the envelope of professionalism, doesn’t give someone else the right to harass them about their proclivities. And it grinds my gears that everyone just sort of laughed it off and didn’t for a moment consider how WRONG it was.

Now, Dear Journal, I agree, it wasn’t a big thing, and it really didn’t even involve me. I was mostly eavesdropping, which is probably impolite. But it bothered me, and I guess I wanted to write about it.

By all means, vote for who you want, support who you want, but refrain from harassing anyone. Be respectful. Try not to suck.

I can’t wait for this election cycle to end.