Very soon now, we will have 3 children in our house. Melody is currently on Doctor mandated – Papa enforced, bed rest. When Mia said her prayers last night she said, “Please help Mom not be bad so Papa doesn’t have to yell at her”. This is because I insisted she lay back down and check her blood pressure for the millionth time that day.

I was happy when we adopted because I would never pass on my corrupted genetic string on to a child. Mix that with the medical problems Melody’s had, and I was ecstatic when I saw how healthy CJ was, the day we met. The boy may be taller than me before he’s a teen and is fit as the fiddle Johnny beat the Devil with (I was born in Georgia – we embrace our legends).

Being healthy is a pain in the butt for me. For a good 2 years – in my 30’s I was in the best shape of my life. I went from 300 to 200 lbs, but it seemed I had to dedicate every spare moment to it. 6 days a week at the gym. Worrying over every bite of food going into my mouth. It was laborious. I liked the results, but I was never able to crack that 200 mark – and things like 6-pack abs were as elusive as the moon is now to our space program (uh-oh! He just got political!).

Now that we have 2 kids, (and soon 3), I am rarely at the gym. I’d just rather spend the time with them, or time with Melody when they’re asleep. But I don’t want my son to slip into the habits that increased my predisposition to be a tub. So we bike ride. We go outside and play ball, even though the heat and humidity make it feel like Florida, minus the alligators and increased chance of hot female teacher on student sex crimes (ok… now I’m pushing it). My goal is to teach CJ to stay active and not shove every available calorie into his mouth on the same day. In my house we have a lazy dad with a growing waistline, a mom who’s had almost every ‘optional’ organ removed, a daughter with one kidney that doesn’t work right to begin with, and a baby on his way that is driving his mother’s blood pressure to numbers higher than Nascar speeds.

Help me CJ, you’re my only hope.

This week’s comic had a guest writter of sorts. Its punchline was written by Bill Mothershead at He posted it on a board we both frequent. Its laconic phrasing summed up perfectly a conversation I’ve had with the boy. Please check back Wednesday for the all new comic at