If This Is Mid-Life...Where's the Crisis?
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If This Is Mid-Life, Where's the Crisis? Explores the peaks and pitfalls of being forty-something and married--with kids. Sam Cook takes you on a rollicking ride through mid-life with stops along the way to enjoy life's special moments. Finding humor in the little things that drive us all crazy, he helps you laugh at the trials and tribulations of family life. But Sam is not just funny--his delight in life's small pleasures shines through every story.
love. No more longdistance phone calls. But reality rears its head. In most marriages, especially young ones, both partners work. You get up in the morning, a little later than you should. You race around for an hour or so, 41 WORKING IT OUT making yourself presentable for the rest of the world. You spend eight or nine hours with the rest of the world. You come home. You're tired. You're hungry. Somebody forgot to thaw out the chicken. Welcome to the real world of marriage. Throw in a kid or
night. You can talk all you want about male bonding between fathers and sons. Somehow, I pictured the two of us in a canoe together, tossing Shad Raps at the shoreline. Or hunkered against a wellplaced log in front of a campfire. I did not picture the fireboat at 2:30 A.M. The trajectory problem is a mere diversion in this whole weehour agenda. There are more serious problems. Like, who in the heck is in charge of arranging the snaps on those baby outfits? The rest of the world is sleeping,
with whom to share the sweet shots and the exhilaration of a fast run. And part of it is simply being allowed to be a kid again, free of responsibilities for two hours on a river or three on a golf course. I remember few times seeing my dad being a kid, and maybe that should come as no surprise: If I was there, he was being a dad first. But I remember one time when I was about a first-grader. He had been passing me the football in our front yard, and when we were through, he kicked that football
give my wife credit. She wanted to stay out and party. "Let's go to Perkins," I said. "Let's go to Target," she said. I yawned. "Let's go to a bowling alley," she said. Somehow, when we were eighteen and madly in love, I didn't envision us at forty-two, driving along at 9:30 P.M. in a minus-seven wind chill debating the pros and cons of going to a bowling alley. Call me crazy. I just didn't see it coming. 25 Leftover blu My wife and I should have lived together before we got married. I can see
containers. I'll tell you something about that drawer. It drives me nuts. We must have between thirty and forty million covered containers in that drawer. They're stacked, nested, packed, and squished. Their lids are randomly tossed down sides and into cracks between the stacks. These containers date back to the earliest days of our marriage, when Phyllis began collecting them. Phyllis grew up on a farm. She's thrifty and practical. She could no more throw out a covered container than she could