Stay-at-Home Writer

Making Memories

2012-01-11T12:26:00.001-06:00

Memory Maker

By Travis Naughton

Published: Wednesday, January 11, 2012 9:37 AM CST

One day when I was a teenager growing up in Hannibal, Missouri, I suddenly became aware that my days of worry-free childhood were numbered. Most of my friends had part-time jobs by then, which I thought was pretty much the worst thing that could ever happen to a person. I remember telling my dad, who had been strongly encouraging me to get a job, that I wasn’t ready to be a grown up just yet. Shortly thereafter, I was flipping burgers at a fast foot joint for $3.35 an hour and hating every single second of it. I came home each night smelling like 100% pure beef lard, French fries, and unfulfilled childhood dreams. It was horrible.

On a day off from work a few weeks later, I was playing football with some friends in Riverview Park when my father drove up and interrupted our game to tell me that my boss had called and needed me to come in to work for someone who had called in sick. I got in the car with my dad, changed into my polyester, grease-stained uniform, and begrudgingly reported for work. At that precise moment I realized the impending death of my care-free boyhood could not be avoided. I was miserable.

I quit that job a few days later and resolved to make the most of the time I had left before I was forced to become a responsible adult. Knowing that once I finally became a permanent member of the rat race I would have precious few opportunities to recreate and enjoy the simple pleasures of obligation-free life, I vowed to experience as many fun and memorable things as I could. I planned to take those memories with me wherever life’s journey took me, to sustain me through the dark ages of growing older and being weighted down by the pressures of the real world.

It was a fine plan, and I do have lots of unforgettable memories of my time in high school, many of which are documented in my book Naked Snow Angels. I continued this mission in college, which may explain why it took seven years to earn a four-year degree. From taking a roadtrip with friends from my dormitory to New Madrid to be present for the predicted apocalyptic earthquake that never happened in 1990 to going on an epic roadtrip to Las Vegas with my roommate Bill (who is still working on his four-year degree twenty-two years later,) I did it all and made lots of blurry memories.

Bethany and I eloped and honeymooned in New Orleans in 1996 and I became a father in 2000. Great memories. Sure I’ve had to work to put food on the table, but as soon as any job begins to suppress the kid in me, I find something else that will pay the bills. I’ve been a meat cutter, a groundskeeper, a used car dealer, a dog treat baker, and a writer. More experiences. More memories. Lucky for me, my wife the Enabler has allowed me to drop out of the rat race in order to be a stay-at-home dad. When she sees me playing with our three kids, Bethany often says she has four children. She’s not wrong.

Every now and then, I fall into a rut and catch myself just going through the motions in life. Such has been the case recently. The kid in me hates that. Therefore in 2012, I am rededicating myself to making memories (for me and my family). I’ll write about those experiences in this column. I hope you will be inspired to make some of your own unforgettable memories, too.

Happy New Year

2011-12-29T17:11:00.001-06:00

My last column of 2011:

Happy New You

Published: Wednesday, December 28, 2011 9:40 AM CST

I love the tradition of making New Year’s resolutions. One year, back when I was a teenager, I resolved to stop using the word “smurf” as a verb. I have say, I really smurfed that one out of the park. Another year, I vowed to drop “cornucopia” from my vocabulary. I survived by substituting “plethora” in its place. Don’t even get me started on the year I promised to stop saying the word “fixin’,” as in, “I’m fixin’ to go fix me a turkey dinner with all the fixin’s.” As you can imagine, that was a pretty tough one to stick to, but I somehow I managed.

Most New Year’s resolutions are slightly more meaningful. We’ve all vowed to eat better and exercise more. Some of us have promised to give up a bad habit such as drinking, smoking, or cursing. A few of us have sworn to build our sons treehouses. I put that one in writing on December 30, 2006. You may recall that I finally fulfilled that promise just a few weeks ago.

The beauty of making New Year’s resolutions is that it gives us an opportunity to reinvent ourselves. If we have become less than satisfied with who we have become over the past 365 days, we can hit a reset button and start over on January 1. The following is an excerpt from my blog written on January 1, 2009:

“I love to reinvent myself each year. I make resolutions that help to redefine who I am. It’s almost like creating a character in a story. I can write my character to be however I want. In years past I have changed my character from a shallow, self-centered drunk to a caring father and husband who writes a ridiculous blog. Last year, my character was a mostly tragic figure beginning with the death of my beloved dog Jake on January 10 and ending with the death of my dear mother on December 30. This year, my character will be a comic figure. I resolve to play the role of an unemployed philosopher who is writing his first book and blogging about his adventures as a stay at home dad. He is a man who makes people laugh wherever he goes. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and when life gets messy, he just rolls with it rather than feel sorry for himself. When people are around him, they can’t help but smile. He lives to make others happy, which in turn makes him happy. He treats his wife and kids with love and respect. He rarely gets angry and when he does he gets over it quickly and never holds a grudge. He spends more time with his friends no matter how far away they live and no matter how high gas prices get because he understands how fleeting life is and how few opportunities we have to spend time with those we care about. Guys want to be him and girls want to be with him. He is Magnum P.I., Cosmo Kramer, and Buddy the Elf all wrapped up into one irresistible, enigmatic, and ridiculous character. This is the character I have always wanted to play…”

How did I do with that resolution/reinvention? Well, I wrote and published that first book. I turned my blog about being a stay-at-home dad into this column. I continue to try to make people laugh. I am good to my wife and kids and friends. I guess you could say, I really smurfed that one out of the park.

Happy New You!

My Take on Albert Pujols

2011-12-14T23:08:00.001-06:00

Living on $69,589 (or $2.67) a day

Published: Wednesday, December 14, 2011 9:40 AM CST

I don’t get out much. Living in the sticks forces me to limit my excursions to civilization in order to conserve gas, so often times the only contact I have with people not related to me occurs when I go to pick Truman up at preschool. I enjoy visiting with the stay-at-home moms who gather outside the classroom each day very much, but sometimes I yearn for an opportunity to talk about “guy stuff” such as sports and cars and flatulence.

That is why I was thrilled this morning when one of the moms broached the subject of Albert Pujols. The all-star first baseman who thrilled the fans of the St. Louis Cardinals for the last eleven years broke the hearts of those same fans last week when he accepted an offer to play for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. The Redbirds offered King Albert a ten year deal worth around $210 million, but the slugger opted to take the ten year, 254 million dollar deal offered by a team with a fan base who has not lived and died with every swing of his mighty bat for the last decade. While Albert claims that his decision to move on was not about the money, it is hard for Cards fans to accept the implication that our adoration and the organization’s $21 million per year was not enough to convince him to remain a Redbird for life.

I am not mad at Albert Pujols for leaving. I am disappointed in him sure, but I am more disappointed in myself for investing so much of my heart and soul and time and money in supporting him so fervently over the past eleven years. My oldest child Alex is eleven, and I am beginning to realize how much time I wasted watching a complete stranger play a game while my own son patiently waited for his dad to give him a little attention. That’s a pretty sobering realization.

One of the other moms involved in our conversation had a vague notion of who Pujols is, but admitted she didn’t even know his first name. At first I wondered if she had been living under a rock, but then I realized that this was a person who had her priorities in order. She said she didn’t own a Cardinals ball cap, but the more she thought about it, she actually didn’t want one. Instead, she wanted a cap with the number 3 on it. When I asked her why, she said, “Because of my three kids.” Priorities.

$254,000,000.00. The moms and I tried to wrap our heads around the concept of any one man earning that much money. The calculator on my iphone tells me that Mr. Pujols will receive $69,589 every day for the next ten years of his life. I guess he didn’t think he could survive on the $57,534 per day that St. Louis was willing to give him. My wife gives me a monthly allowance of $80 (which she labels in our budget as “Trav’s Fun Money”) for doing the housework and performing the duties of being a stay-at-home parent. That’s my walkin’ around money, my going out with my friends once in a blue moon money. That amounts to $2.67 per day. $2.67 for the privilege of raising three wonderful children. I should probably pay to have that privilege. (Don’t tell my wife that.)

I think I’ll save up some of my allowance for a new hat. One with the number 3 on it.

Princess Naughton

2011-12-07T11:45:00.002-06:00

Princess Naughton

By Travis Naughton

Published: Wednesday, December 7, 2011 9:48 AM CST

My daughter Tiana is not the first princess to be adopted by the Naughton family.

Six years ago, following a visit to Bethany’s family’s farm, we brought home a Saint Bernard named Princess.

My wife, the Voice of Reason, apparently had taken the day off. I know this because Bethany the Enabler acquiesced to my desire to adopt the one year old dog without protest.

Her only question: “She isn’t going to get any bigger is she?”

“Of course not,” I lied. Most dogs are done growing by the time they are a year old, but not giant-breeds.

Tipping the scales at a mere 45 pounds, Princess weighed a fraction of what most Saints do by age one.

Of course she was going to get bigger. Much bigger.

Within three months of bringing her home, Princess’s weight doubled. Our veterinarian, the lovely and talented Dr. Patti Cuddihee, cautioned me that perhaps I didn’t need to give our new pet six cups of food per day.

I’ll admit that I may have been overcompensating a little. You see, Princess had had a rough first year, and I was determined to make up for it.

Her life began in December of 2004 as the runt of a litter of thirteen puppies. Strike one.

Before she had even opened her eyes, she ventured over to her mother’s water bowl, fell in, and drowned. Strike two.

When Bethany’s step-mother found her, the puppy was cold and unresponsive. By all rights she was dead. Without knowing how long the poor creature had been gone, Helen decided to try to revive her.

She administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and believe it or not, it actually worked. But the puppy had suffered brain damage, as was evidenced by the fact that she was completely paralyzed. Strike three.

Not willing to give up on the pathetic pup, Helen took her in the house (the other dogs lived in the barn) and began to nurse her back to health. She and her children took turns bottle feeding the dog they had by then named Princess.

The kids also cleaned out her kennel and encouraged her to move her limbs.

The pup was a fighter, and no one was surprised when she started to move her front legs one cold day in December.

Bethany, Alex, and I were introduced to Princess when we came to visit for Christmas a few weeks later. She was adorable, but unable to move her back legs or stand.

I remember wondering what would become of the handicapped puppy in the kennel. Perhaps a Christmas miracle would save her.

One year later, as we returned to the farm again for Christmas, several dogs followed us from one barn to another as the kids showed off their prized sheep, cows, and goats.

Helen leaned down to pet a dog and asked, “Of course you remember Princess, don’t you?” I said that I did not. “She was living in the house last year when you were here,” she continued. “The one that couldn’t stand or walk.”

Princess had made an amazing recovery in the year since we last saw her. She not only stood and walked, but she could run, albeit with a decidedly awkward gait.

With her enormous tongue, jowls, and ears flapping in the wind as she ran, Princess was the goofiest-looking lummox of a dog I had ever seen. She was beautiful.

Then Helen said, “You know we can’t sell her because she’s not up to breed standards, and we don’t want to give her away to just anyone. Would you like to have her?”

“Well, as long as she doesn’t get any bigger.” Wink, wink.

Princess has been a member of our family ever since. Believe you me: Miracles really do happen this time of year.

2011-11-23T13:31:00.001-06:00

Giving Thanks

By Travis Naughton

Published: Wednesday, November 23, 2011 9:36 AM CST

When I was a kid, Christmas was always my favorite holiday. Now that I’m older and people are less inclined to give me toys as gifts, Thanksgiving has become my favorite day of the year. If Valentine’s Day was concocted for the benefit of women (and the diamond, greeting card, and floral industries), then Thanksgiving must have been invented for men. Only on that most special of days can men be forgiven for eating three or four platefuls of the most satisfying and calorie-rich comfort food on Earth, watching up to nine hours of football on TV, and cat-napping on the sofa as their wives wash dishes and put away leftovers. Don’t try to get away with that on any other day of the year, fellas. It won’t work out well for you. Trust me.

Thanksgiving is of course more than just an excuse to be a gluttonous-sloth. To me, it is all about family. Rather than feeling pressured to come up with the perfect gift for that third-cousin you only see once a year, as is often the case at Christmastime, Thanksgiving is about spending time with those relatives, visiting with them, and getting to know them better. And sometimes they bring wine—lots of wine if you’re lucky—with them. That’s a nice bonus.

Thanksgiving has been cast into a new light for me this year. While I have always tried to remember to take a moment on this holiday to express my thankfulness for the family that I have, sometimes the copious amounts of turkey gravy and televised football distract me from that priority. Not this year. Not since my daughter Tiana came into my life.

Having spent her first seven years of life in a Chinese orphanage, Tiana has no concept of the holiday we call Thanksgiving. But she knows exactly what “family” means. As her English proficiency has improved over the course of the four months since we adopted her, Tiana is able to articulate some of her memories from her time at the institution. The other night as I tucked my daughter in bed, she looked at me with her sweet and innocent brown eyes and quietly said the following:

“Tiana…um…in China…uh…no mommy. No daddy. No Alex. No Truman. No lau-lau (grandmother).”

I didn’t know what to say. Then she continued, “Tiana sad.”

I had to take a minute to compose myself before I could speak. “No, you didn’t have a mommy or a daddy or brothers or a grandma in China, but you do now and we all love you very much. We’re your family now, and we always will be. Forever and ever. I promise.” Then I kissed her goodnight and went in the next room and told Bethany what she’d said.

Bethany and Tiana had apparently had the same conversation the previous evening, during which Tiana said that she used to cry when she thought about not having a mommy—about not having a family.

For me, Thanksgiving will never be about food and football again. It will always be about family. I’ve lived forty years knowing that I have a family who loves me and will always love me no matter what. I simply cannot imagine what it must have been like for that precious little girl to lie awake night after night for seven long years, crying herself to sleep, and wishing for nothing else in the world but for a family to love her.

Well, her wish came true, and so did ours. For that, you can bet that on this Thanksgiving Day, we will all be very thankful indeed.

Writer's Block...of Wood

2011-11-16T11:33:00.000-06:00

http://www.bocojo.com/articles/2011/11/16/opinion/doc4ec3d6da35f0b215269145.txt

Trophy Husband

2011-11-09T13:14:00.000-06:00

Here's today's column. Enjoy!

Barbie Boy

2011-11-04T07:16:00.002-05:00

Here is another of my recent columns that I forgot to post to my blog initially.

10-26-11

New Column

2011-11-04T07:14:00.001-05:00

For Ben, and the other three people in the world not on Facebook, here is my latest column. Enjoy!

http://www.bocojo.com/articles/2011/11/03/opinion/doc4eb15457142e5811201969.txt

New Column

2011-10-19T12:47:00.002-05:00

I forget that not everyone is on facebook or has a subscription to the Boone County Journal, two places where my weekly column appears. So here is the link to this week's installment for you Blogger folks. Enjoy!

http://www.bocojo.com/articles/2011/10/19/opinion/doc4e9ede4ea5856750649730.txt

My Latest Column

2011-09-08T20:48:00.002-05:00

My most recent column appeared in this week's Boone County Journal as part of a 9/11 commemorative spread instead of the opinion section (there's no link to it on the Journal's website.) For those of you who don't subscribe to the paper, I've pasted the article below:

I woke up on the morning of September 11, 2001 giddy with anticipation. My 30th birthday would be exactly two weeks later and I was busy planning a party to end all parties. Then, the unspeakable happened. Four hijacked planes and thousands of tragic deaths later, plans to celebrate the anniversary of my arrival in this now terrifying world were immediately discarded. Suddenly a party that only minutes earlier was a rite of passage and a good excuse for acting like a fool seemed foolish and grossly inappropriate.

I left work not long after the second tower of the World Trade Center collapsed knowing there was no way I could make sales calls while the chaos of the day’s events were still unfolding. I went home and turned on my TV. The images I saw that day are permanently etched into my memory. I am sure that is the case for you, too. One particular image is still so painful to recall that I hesitate to write about it. However, I believe I recall this image so vividly because I was meant to write about it.

An anonymous firefighter, one of the many true heroes of that horrific day, walked swiftly past a camera crew in lower Manhattan carrying something in his weary, ash-covered arms. While most eyes were trained on the debris and smoke blocking out the sun, my focus shifted to the bundle in the first-responder’s embrace. I became physically ill when I realized that it was the lifeless body of a very young child—a child that appeared to be almost exactly the same age as my own son Alex.

My child was at daycare that morning, happily oblivious to the tragedy befalling our country. I thought about going to pick him up early so that I could hold him and reassure myself that the world was not ending, but realizing how lucky he was to be so happily oblivious at that time I decided to let him enjoy his day with his friends.

Then I realized that mine was not the only birthday celebration the Naughton family had been planning. Alex would be turning one year old just a week after I turned 30—just three weeks after the terrorist attacks of that morning. Somehow, despite the darkness that had descended upon our nation that day, Bethany and I would have to pull ourselves together and make Alex’s big day the best of his young life. We would deal with raising a child in the Age of Terror later.

It occurred to me while watching my son stuff chocolate birthday cake into his cute, little ears at his party that as long as American families were willing and able to come together to make the next generation’s special moments the best they could be, the terrorists would never win.

How can parents help America win the War on Terror? By teaching our children that no matter how determined some evil people are to change the way we live, we must be more determined to live our lives the way we choose. We cannot let the actions of a few maniacs cause us to live in fear. We cannot allow a madman on the other side of the world to influence how we raise our children. We must carry on with our lives in honor of those who lost theirs that day and in the ten years since.

And we must not cancel our birthday parties, even during our darkest times. Life is a precious gift and a birthday party is a celebration of that life. I can attest that the expression of unbridled joy on a toddler’s face while he coats his entire head with chocolate frosting on his first birthday, just three weeks after the attacks of 9/11, is a glorious affirmation that America has already won the War on Terror.

Support Your Local Columnist

2011-08-03T10:24:00.002-05:00

I know, I know. Why buy the cow if the milk's free? If I keep posting links to my column for you to read on my blog for free, then why would you ever buy the paper? Well, if you live in Ashland or Hartsburg, or if you just want to read my ramblings the good old-fashioned way in ink, then you'd be supporting a privately owned small business AND yours truly. Subscriptions are only $15/year for the Boone County Journal, so order yours today--and tell 'em Travis sent you!

http://www.bocojo.com/articles/2011/08/03/opinion/doc4e395e3bcbb33627656492.txt

Settling In

2011-08-01T19:54:00.002-05:00

Sorry to leave you hanging for the last few days, but a severe case of jet lag has left me with precious little energy for writing. Tiana is adjusting well to her new home. I wrote about her actual moment of homecoming for my newspaper column which will be published this Wednesday. Suffice it to say that her reaction brought tears to my eyes. You've never seen a happier kid. Ever. All of us are adjusting to life as a family of five, and of course there are moments of disharmony now and then, but all-in-all, I can't complain. Tiana is an amazing girl and aside from Truman's occasional temper tantrums, the three siblings are getting along well. Life in the Naughton house is as normal as it will ever be.

In addition to my column, I wrote a feature article for the newspaper that will appear in next week's edition about my observations of China. It points out a few of the differences between our two countries and the ways this small town boy was affected by being surrounded by a billion and a half people. Also, I plan on revising my book Naked Snow Angels in the coming weeks in advance of releasing a second edition called Naked Snow Angels 2.0--Now With Fewer Typos! (Or something like that.) Plans are in the works for a book reading/signing event to be held at the Ashland branch of the Daniel Boone Regional Library sometime in November. And today, I received two royalty checks in the mail from Amazon for the copies that sold in May and June. Thank you to everyone who has supported me as my writing career has begun to take off. Who knows how far it will go from here, but I know that with the support of my family and friends, I'll always feel like a success.

Flinal Blog post from China

2011-07-27T14:27:00.002-05:00

It's 11:00 on this Wednesday night in Guangzhou. I am happy to say that it is our last night in China, having spent the previous 14 nights in this country cooped up in a hotel with three bored kids who have a desperate need to get back into a daily routine at home. For a time, China was home to two of the members of our family, but it has never felt like home to me. I have tolerated the sensation of claustrophobia while being swallowed up by the throngs of people who crowd every sidewalk, restaurant, park, and street, but I have reached my threshold. I'm a country mouse who is content living in a very sparsely populated corner of the world, completely opposite of the world full of city mice I've been visiting for the past two weeks. In our two trips to China, the smallest city we stayed in had a population of 6 million people. That city is Nanning, which is where we got Truman two and a half years ago. Harbin, where we got Tiana, has 10 million inhabitants. Guangzhou, where we are now, has 12 million, and Beijing has 20 million. To put it into perspective, New York City would only be fourth on that list. And most of the people there speak English. Well, at least half do.

Tomorrow, we'll be on our way home--for a full 24 hours. The kids, and especially Tiana, will test my patience throughout the journey, but by 9:00pm Thursday in Hartsburg, MO (10:00am Friday in China), the never-ending flight, the crowds, the language barrier, the relentless stares by curious Chinese everywhere we have been, and the feeling of complete isolation despite being surrounded by millions of people will instantly vanish as we walk Tiana up the stairs of her new home and into the beginning of a new chapter in all of our lives.

I'll be back on facebook Friday (without the help of my cousin Larry Barr, who has been doing a great job of converting my emails to blog/facebook posts for the past two weeks--THANK YOU, CUZ!!!) so I can respond to your comments finally. We really appreciate all your words of encouragement and support. Thank you all!

Finally, here's the link to my latest newspaper column in today's Boone County Journal. Enjoy!

Girl in motion

2011-07-25T15:38:00.002-05:00

Here's a video to illustrate how animated Tiana is. She's a Naughton alright!

Saturday in Guangzhou

2011-07-23T14:23:00.004-05:00

Today was literally a walk down memory lane. Everywhere we went reminded us of our journey to adopt Truman two and a half years ago. Same hotel. Same city park. Same medical center for the kids' examinations. Same souvenier shops on Shamian Island. Same guide (Simon). Same Starbucks. But not everything is the same. We met two other American families who are going through the adoption process who are wonderful people, but we miss the families we befriended here back in 2008. (Lisa, I let the kids ride the escalators in the hotel just for fun in honor of Avery.)

Tiana was pretty good today, but when she gets bored--she is a rotten Naughton. It is hard to keep someone who doesn't understand a word you're saying entertained, but we're trying. As an exaspirated Bethany just said after putting the kids to bed a moment ago, "Someone must think we can handle these three kids!"

Travel day from hell

2011-07-23T04:33:00.001-05:00

Things have been going so well here that I should have known we were due for a day like we had on Friday. As sweet as Tiana is, she is equally as rotten when bored. Imagine sitting next to a seven year old girl who loudy moaned in feigned agony for half of the five hour flight to Guangzhou. Just as my nerves thought they couldn't take any more and just as the captain said to stay seated in preparation for landing, my precious little angel began repeating the phrase "la ba" which means "get me to the crapper" in Chinese. We thought she might have been crying wolf, because before we even got on the plane, she said "niow, niow" (I have to pee) three times in 20 minutes while sitting in the terminal. Apparently she thinks it's fun to make her new parents scramble to find a pisser whenever she gets bored. Well, our hunch on the plane was right. When mama found a bethroom in the airport, Princess Tiana miraculously did not have to poop at all.

The ride to the hotel was uneventful, with the exception of watching Tiana upchuck all over herself due to car sickness. I thanked her for not warning us. I praised her for ralphing in a reclined position, making sure to cover her shirt and pants in puke. A few minutes later in the hotel lobby, she started pleading "niow niow" again, with a smile on her face and vomit covering her entire ensemble. The hotel messed up our reservations, putting our two rooms on two seperate floors, so Bethany spent over a half hour getting a new room on the same floor as the other. During this time, the kids were all bored and exhausted from a full day of travel. The boys started arguing loudly in the lobby of the five-star hotel. Tiana picked her nose and made a grandiose production of eating it in front of all the hotel guests waiting patiently in the registration line behind Bethany. When I scolded our not-so-lady-like daughter, she laughed and ran over to a sitting area, grabbed a table lamp, and tried to yank it to the floor. Finally, we headed up to our rooms. The key cards didn't work in the new one, so we waited in grandma's room for the bell hop to bring a new key. When we eventually did get in, we discovered that our non-smoking room reeked of cigarettes and cheap perfume. (I didn't bother to look for the dead hooker.) It nearly made our eyes water. When Bethany went to the front desk to complain and get yet another new room, the only one available was three floors below grandma's. We took it and went to bed harried, exhausted, and in my case ready to snap.

Today is a new day. Tiana is singing "Happy Birthday" in English. The kids are all rested and in a good mood. I don't feel like killing people. I'll post an update about our first full day in Guangzhou later today. Hopefully, it will be much better than yesterday. It couldn't get much worse--could it?!

Last full day in Harbin

2011-07-21T05:43:00.009-05:00

Thursday was the last full day of our stay in the northeast of China. Friday afternoon we will fly south to Guangzhou, which is near Hong Kong. Guangzhou is where Tiana will receive a medical check-up and her travel visa to immigrate to the U.S. She will also take the U.S. citizenship oath! One week from today, we will finally be home. (The poor girl thinks we live in the hotel.)

I've included a picture of the hotel at night, which is located on the bank of a major river. Another photo shows a tour boat house illuminated just down the street from the hotel. We visited the biggest Russian Orthodox church of the East today, also pictured, which is now a museum. And as you can see by the other pictures, Tiana and her family are getting along great. My favorite Chinese phrases are; "Qing qing Baba" (cheeng cheeng baba) which means "I want to give you a kiss daddy" and "Wo ai ni" (woh eye knee) which means "I love you." Music to my ears.

Thursday - Keeping it simple

2011-07-20T20:18:00.002-05:00

My latest column in Wednesday's Boone County Journal.

Wednesday in Harbin

2011-07-20T03:02:00.011-05:00

While you were sleeping, the Naughton family visited a children's science museum in Harbin. Tiana and her brothers laughed and played for hours until their exhausted parents and grandmother waved the white flag of surrender. During the van ride home, Tiana and Alex took turns cracking each other up by imitating one another. This little girl is a real comedian and she is smart as a whip, too. She's already picked up several English words and understands almost everything we ask her to do. She even made a point to tell our interpreter (without being asked) that we communicate well with each other.

This girl is amazing. She hasn't cried once or thrown any temper tantrums (although she does like to test her boundaries.) Even when she is being corrected, she can't help but smile and give kisses. (Which does have a considerable affect on the one scolding her.) Every time her awkward gait causes her to fall down, she just laughs and hops right back up. After living in a communist-run orphanage for seven years, Tiana would have every reason to be a sad and pathetic child, but this little girl's spirit is the brightest I've ever seen in another human being. I am simply in awe of her. We all are. And you will be too.

Worth Five Thousand Words

2011-07-19T00:21:00.004-05:00

Daddy's Girl!!!

2011-07-18T02:35:00.011-05:00

At about 11:00 this morning, I became a father to the sweetest little girl in the eastern world. When she walked into the room where her new family awaited her, my heart skipped a beat and I instantly fell in love. Head over heals. We introduced ourselves, shared hugs and kisses, and posed for pictures. Then, Tian Tian came up to me, smiled, softly whispered "baba" (Chinese for daddy), and reached out for me to pick her up. I melted. Later, as we ate room service rice and noodles back at the hotel, I served my little princess a second helping of rice. She smiled and said, "Xie xie baba." (Thanks daddy) in such a contented tone that it seemed we had known each other and loved each other all our lives. Mama gave her a bath after lunch and then Tian Tian lay down beside me in bed and fell asleep in my arms. No, it does NOT get any better than that my friends.

Alex, Truman, and Grandma Glee all love her as much as her mama and I do, too. The Chinese officials are giving us a 24 hour period to bond and decide for sure if we want to go through with the adoption although we knew the moment we saw her that Tian Tian (Tiana) belongs with us--and always has. I'll write more tomorrow. In the meantime, dig these pictures. Pretty awesome, huh?

Sunday - Change of Scenery

2011-07-17T13:10:00.002-05:00

We left Beijing and her 20 million inhabitants this morning and arrived in the cozy little river town of Harbin in the northeastern province of Heilongjiang at about noon. Okay, so it's not exactly a little town. The population here is 10 million, making it more populous than any city in the United States, yet it is only the 8th biggest in China. And this country boy got a teeny bit overwhelmed during our first foray into the streets.

After a white knuckle van ride from the airport to the hotel, I nearly got down on my hands and knees and kissed the filthy pavement when we were finally out of the chaotic city traffic. Our guide told us that in this formerly Soviet-controlled area, we would look like Russians to the locals and we would probably be spoken to as such. She pointed out a nearby Walmart, said she'd see us Monday morning to take us to our new child, and then she split--leaving us to fend for ourselves in a very strange land. We ventured out of the hotel within an hour or so and tried to find some Russians to blend in with. No luck. Here we stand out like...well, we stand out like four Americans with a flamboyant Chinese boy in tow wandering aimlessly in a sea of black-haired, extremely curious Asians. People here don't try to hide the fact that they are checking us out. They stare at us like we're walking around on fire. A young woman at McDonald's (yes we gave in to the temptation of a taste of home) stared at me unflinchingly the entire time we were eating. People snapped pictures of Alex the fair-haired rock star again. We are fish out of water and are treated as such.

Walmart here is at least three stories high. It took us five minutes just to figure out how to even get in the store. We rode the escalator in circles trying to figure out where the milk was (we never found it). A male employee followed us around and stared at us with great suspicion, trying to figure out if we had just kidnapped Truman or something. And the crowds! Imagine going to the morning after Thanksgiving "Black Friday" sales in the U.S. and multiply the chaos by a thousand. I went into full sensory overload and nearly freaked completely out while searching desperately for the poorly marked exit. I virtually sprinted out the door as I fought my way past the throngs of prying eyes and flying elbows.

We're hunkered down in the hotel now. It is a Russian-designed place situated on the banks of a large river. We may venture out again this evening to take in the sights along the shore when the place is lit up for the night. I should be more relaxed by then. I'm pretty sure I spotted a Harbin Brewery beer tent across the street as I ran to the hotel earlier. And tomorrow, all the insanity will be forgotten, or at least rendered insignificant when we get to meet Princess Naughton at 10:00am. I can't wait!

Saturday in Beijing

2011-07-16T05:42:00.005-05:00

When we last visited Beijing, the 2008 Olympics had just concluded. Drivers were only allowed to use their vehicles every other day in order to make the world think China had clean air. I'm here to tell you: They do not. The smog is so thick here that the sun is only a faint orb at noontime. And the tops of the relatively small mountains where the Great Wall is situated are invisible. But we wouldn't let a little pollution prevent us from enjoying the Wall and the Forbidden City. My eyes are still burning, but it was worth it.

First we scaled the steepest part of the Wall just outside of Beijing--in 90 degree weather. Alex and I were the only two to make it to the top out of our group. (The others had more sense than us and turned around about halfway up the ridiculously steep stairs.) But the hazy view was worth the effort. Several people asked to have their picture taken with Alex during our ascent. Light colored hair is seen so rarely here that people can't believe their eyes when they see someone like Alex with his reddish, light-brown locks. Several more Chinese tourists had their pictures taken with him in Tianenmen Square, too. He said he felt like a rock star.

The Forbidden City has nearly 9,000 rooms in dozens of buildings covering 160 acres. At one point in history, over 30,000 people lived within its walls. It is an amazing place. And you could tell Truman was really impressed. No sooner than we had walked through the first few buildings, he passed out from exhaustion, forcing Bethany and I to take turns carrying him the rest of the afternoon. Did I mention how hot it was today? It was Missouri hot. But we survived, and had a good time.

Right now, the kids and Bethany are swimming to beat the heat. Grandma Glee is already in her jammies and sacked-out for the night (although it is only 6:20pm). I am enjoying the peace and quiet (a rare commodity in a city of 20 million people) and the air conditioning. I am also plotting a trip down to the lobby bar to unwind with an authentic Chinese brew or three after the fam gets back. Enjoy the photos and stay tuned for tomorrow's update after we fly to Harbin, the city where we will meet our little Tiana on Monday morning. Wait'll she gets a load of us!

Ni Hao from China

2011-07-15T13:16:00.003-05:00

Ni Hao from Beijing, China! Upon our safe arrival following 18 hours of travel, we discovered that my blog, my website, and facebook are all blocked in China. Sleep deprived and exhausted after being awake for almost 30 straight hours, I emailed a few folks, dispaired over how to reach the rest of you, and finally passed out. Then I woke up at 1:30am Beijing time with an idea: Enlist the help of my cousin Larry! I emailed him with instructions on how to login as me on my blog and facebook page and voila! He will be copying and posting my updates for me while we our under the big red thumb of the communists. Thank you Larry Barr for doing this and thank you to everyone who is following along with our journey. ~~I'm sorry I won't be able to read your comments, but you can email them to me if you like.~~ I'll send another update after today's visit to The Forbidden City, Tianenmen Square, and The Great Wall. And hopefully I'll be able to post pictures, too. Stay tuned and Zai jian! (that's "goodbye" in Chinese).

One week till Harbin

2011-07-10T11:24:00.003-05:00

One week from today, the Naughton clan will be traveling from Beijing to Harbin, a city in Heilongjiang province in extreme northeastern China. The following morning, our sweet little angel Tiana will be introduced to us at long last. The day that couldn't get here fast enough is suddenly very close, but we are ready. I've been ready for this day for over ten years. Moments after Alex's dramatic entrance into the world, I whispered in Bethany's ear, "I never want you to go through that again. Next time, we're adopting a little girl from China." True story.

Facebook is blocked in China, but I will be able to blog daily and link my blog to my facebook page as usual. I won't be able to access facebook to reply to your comments and/or messages on there, so you'll need to post comments directly on the blog if you want to share your reactions to the accounts and photos of our adventures. Signing up for a blogger account is free and pretty painless.

I will also continue to write my newspaper column for the Boone County Journal while we are overseas. Folks who live in the Mid-Missouri area can subscribe to the Journal for only $15 per year. Others can view my column online. I encourage you to share the links to my blog and my column with anyone and everyone you know who might enjoy following along with our journey. I will try to post pictures and at least a short account of events for every day we are in China, so check the blog daily. I hope you will enjoy this experience as much as we will.

My next post will be on Wednesday, the eve our our odyssey. We will be in the air for over 20 hours from Thursday through Friday, so when you wake up Friday morning, I hope to have a new entry posted for your reading pleasure. One final thought: Thank you all for the love and support you have shown us throughout this adoption process. We are truly blessed to have so many supportive friends and family members who have been there for us every step of the way. We love you all!

I love my wife

2011-07-05T17:55:00.003-05:00

I wrote the following love letter to my wife yesterday. Afterwards, I thought I should tell the whole world how just much she means to me.

B,

Do you know how much you mean to me? I wonder if you do. You mean EVERYTHING to me. Everything. You gave me your heart once and I broke it. You gave me a second chance and I took it. You gave me your hand in marriage. You gave me a hand up whenever I needed it. You gave me our children. You gave me the opportunity to stay home with those children. You gave me the opportunity to find my voice as a writer. You gave me a chance to find happiness. And I am happy. I've never been happier in my life. You tolerate my whims, my friends, my old girlfriends, my mood swings, my lack of height, my beer belly, and my morning breath. You love me. And I love you. I hope you know just how much. Because I am not a good enough writer to put it into words. Just know that I love you and I appreciate you and I can't imagine living without you. Thank you for sharing your heart and your life with me. I'll never take either for granted.

I love you,
T

"Stay-at-Home" Writer

2011-06-23T19:19:00.003-05:00

Today was a very good day. First, after catching up on some much needed beauty sleep (my kids let me sleep in till 10:30 this morning!), we dropped by Maple Hill Vintage Market in downtown Ashland where shop keeper Mary Millar gave me a check for the copies of Naked Snow Angels that she sold last week. It was the first "paycheck" I have earned in over three years. You read that right: Three. Years. After thanking Mary and buying some treasures for the boys, we walked across the street to the Turtle Club where we had lunch with Bruce Wallace, the publisher of the Boone County Journal. Bruce and I had a great conversation and discovered that we are birds of a feather, and Bruce officially agreed to hire me as a columnist for his paper. My first installment will appear in the June 29th edition. I have wanted to have my own weekly newspaper column ever since I started writing this blog, and as I try to find the words to express how elated I am to be given this opportunity, I am stricken with writer's block. Suffice it to say that Travis is a very happy camper. To subscribe to the Journal, click here.

After bidding my new editor farewell, I took the boys to the Ashland branch of the Daniel Boone Regional Library. There I spoke with the head librarian Tim about the copy of my book that I donated. He said that someone on the library board read it, loved it, and agreed to add it to the library's collection--and possibly purchase additional copies! Tim also invited me to do a reading/signing sometime in the future. Of course I said yes. While still floating around on Cloud Nine, we drove up to Columbia and checked in with the folks at Get Lost Bookshop where they reported that several copies of the book have already sold. I may do a reading there sometime in the fall, so if you buy a copy now (because really, who could wait to read such a gem?) just bring it in with you for me to sign. Speaking of signings, I will be at Kerley's Bar in downtown Hannibal on Saturday, July 2nd at 2:00pm to sell and autograph copies of the book. Hannibal peeps: you'd better be there! I ordered 50 copies just for you!!!

So as you can see, for a guy who vowed to never have a job again, I sure am doing a pretty good imitation of someone who is "working" for a living. When people ask me what I do, I usually tell them that I am a stay-at-home dad (for lack of a better term) or a stay-at-home writer. After today's flurry of activity however, I may have to rethink that. Call me whatever you like, I think I'll just call myself a writer. That sounds pretty good to me.

Stay-at-Home Newspaper Columnist?

2011-06-10T10:03:00.002-05:00

In my book Naked Snow Angels I am a world-famous syndicated columnist and a best-selling author. Is this fiction or is it the future? Only time will tell, but in reality my book is growing in popularity, so I figured: Why not work on becoming a columnist now, too?

I have been in touch with a newspaper publisher recently who said that he would consider hiring me to write for his paper. I proposed writing a series of dispatches from China describing our journey to our little girl Tiana. I would also write about the ups and downs of riding the stay-at-home parent roller coaster and many other topics--all from my unique perspective. Does this sound familiar? If you've read my book, then it should. Is it art imitating life or vice versa? My book is basically a 286 page answer to "What do you want to be when you grow up?" In my case, I'd change that to "if" I grow up.

Anyway, if any of you peeps in central Missouri think it would be fun to read a weekly column written by yours truly in your local paper, then respond by commenting on this post or writing something on my facebook page. If enough of my fans voice their support, then perhaps you'll be reading my blog in print, as well as online, someday soon. Thanks again for all your support!

PS: Go to Get Lost Bookshop in Columbia, MO or Maple Hill Vintage Market in Ashland to buy a copy of NSA today!

Book Tour

2011-06-07T13:08:00.002-05:00

I wanted to let my fans know that I am planning a "Why Not a Book Tour?" book tour for the coming months. As you know, my book Naked Snow Angels is now a runaway hit--selling dozens of copies since its release two weeks ago. Okay, "runaway hit" may be a bit of a stretch, but so is most of the material in the book, so please forgive me. Anyway, I am hoping to hold a book signing in Hannibal, MO during National Tom Sawyer Days (July 1-4) if I can lock down a location. I plan on contacting a local business or two about hosting the event, but if all else fails, I may just sell books out of the trunk of my car and sign copies for everyone who buys one. Also, I am waiting for a shipment of books to place on the shelves of Get Lost Bookshop in downtown Columbia, MO. Those of you in central MO should be able to buy your copy this week. I'll make an announcement and add a link to my website with the bookshop's info as soon as the book is available for purchase there. Also, I may have a retail outlet lined up in Ashland, MO, too. Eventually, I would like to hold a reading/signing in Mid-Missouri for all my central MO peeps.

Stay tuned for more information, tell your friends about the book (better yet, buy them each a copy), and thank you for your continued support!

Due Date: 7-14-11

2011-05-24T12:58:00.002-05:00

No, Bethany is not seven months pregnant. She's not pregnant at all actually. But she is going to be a mommy again sometime around the middle of July when we adopt our little angel from China, Tian Tian (Tiana). Last night my bride was feeling overwhelmed by the amount of things we have to finish before bringing our daughter home such as painting her bedroom, buying a new bed, buying clothes, applying for our travel visas, buying intercontinental plane tickets, etc. She was down on herself for what she called "being moody" lately. But while trying to tie up all these loose ends, she is also holding down a full time job, is busy being a mother to two young boys, and being a supportive wife to a first-time author/head case. I told her that she was entitled to feel moody or however she felt because just like any expectant mother who is in her third trimester, she has a lot on her mind right now. However, unlike most pregnant mothers, she only deals with the logistics of bringing home a child, she doesn't get to enjoy the feeling of carrying a new life inside of her. She doesn't get to feel her baby kick when she eats spicy foods. She doesn't get to see her baby's heart beat on a sonogram. She won't get those tiny diapers and adorable clothes for a newborn at a baby shower. She doesn't have people coming up to her to feel her pregnant belly or asking her if it's going to be a boy or a girl. People don't approach her and say, "You're positively glowing today--are you pregnant?" (Although our friends and family have been very supportive and have shown great interest in our adoption journey. Thank you!)

I told Bethany that she needs to start thinking of herself as being seven months pregnant. She asked, "So it's okay that I'm all emotional and crazy lately?" I said of course it is: All pregnant women are crazy and emotional. Whether adopting or giving birth, all expectant mothers get a free pass on that. I think that made her feel a little better. Now is the time for her to start enjoying "being pregnant" and to daydream about having a daughter with whom she can have tea parties and go shopping. It's time to have some fun! Although she has no "due date," the date for her to begin to think like a mommy-to-be is long overdue.

I just want to proclaim for all the world to read: I love Bethany Naughton, the mother of my children. Honey, you're positively glowing today--are you pregnant?

BREAKING BOOK NEWS!

2011-05-20T12:16:00.003-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you have all been waiting for has finally arrived. My first book, Naked Snow Angels is now available to purchase in paperback form! I used two different self-publishing websites so that the book would be available in multiple outlets. The first site createspace.com is a subsidiary of amazon.com. Here is the link to NSA on that site: Naked Snow Angels. The second site is lulu.com and will feature a special collector's hardcover edition as well as a paperback. Here's the link: Naked Snow Angels/lulu. Don't forget, you can buy an eBook version for Kindle here: Naked Snow Angels/Kindle. Both paperback versions are priced at $15.99 and the Kindle version is $5.99. The hardcover will be $25.99 once I receive the proof and approve it for sale.

These two sites are of the "print-on-demand" variety. This means that they don't hold multiple copies of books in inventory. Rather, they print a copy when it is purchased. This lowers the risk to the printer and to the author who may be required to purchase a large quantity of books that may or may not ever sell. When you order your copy of NSA, allow a week or so for printing and delivery. It will be worth your wait, I promise.

Finally, I chose not to include an acknowledgements page in my book. I didn't want anyone to feel left out, so I left everyone out. That being said, I want to thank my cousin Larry Barr for working feverishly on setting up my new website www.travisnaughton.com and for his early editing efforts and feedback he gave me. Also, thanks go out to my brother Blake for properly formatting my manuscript so that the finished product looks like a million bucks. It's a real book folks! Now go out and buy it, and tell your friends!

Naked Snow Angels available on Kindle

2011-05-16T19:18:00.002-05:00

It's official: my book has been unleashed upon the unsuspecting public. If you own a Kindle eBook device, then you can follow this link and buy my book today! If you don't have a Kindle, you can wait for the printed versions to be released next week or you can download a free Kindle reader app for other devices. Click on "Free Reading Apps: Your purchase will be sent automatically to your iPhone, PC, Mac, iPad, or BlackBerry device. Don't have a free Kindle Reading App? Download one here." on my book's page.

Watch for future announcements regarding the release of both the hardcover and the paperback versions and the launch of my new website travisnaughton.com. And thanks for your support!

Updates

2011-05-14T16:51:00.002-05:00

First and foremost, here's the latest on our adoption process. We have received approvals for Tiana to immigrate and to apply for a visa. We are waiting on the go-ahead to apply for our visas and to have everything certified at the Chinese consulate in Chicago. Then we will receive our actual travel dates--our agency estimates that we will fly to Beijing on July 14. We hope it won't be later than that so that we can have some home time with our little girl to bond with her (and to teach a little English to her) before school starts in the fall. As always, check the blog for further updates.

Secondly, I think I have my book formatted correctly on a couple self-publishing websites. I should get the proofs in the mail next week. I still need to tweak one paperback version that will be offered on Amazon.com, but on another site I should have another paperback and a hard cover version available to purchase sometime next week. I also uploaded an e-version to Kindle and once they look it over and give me the green light, it will be offered for sale, too. In an effort to market my book to the fullest, my cousin Larry Barr is developing the website travisnaughton.com. The site will include links to all the different outlets for buying my book, a calendar for book tour dates and other public appearances, a fan message board, photos, etc. I know with Larry at the helm, it will be great. So stay tuned for the site launch and get ready to experience the phenomenon that is Naked Snow Angels.

Hope

2011-05-01T23:37:00.002-05:00

Osama Bin Laden is dead. Immediately, the world is a better place. I hope that the families of the victims of 9/11 can begin to finally heal their broken hearts and find happiness in this world. I hope that we as a nation can come together and remember that despite our political affilations, religious views, or ethnic backgrounds we will recall that we are all brothers & sisters united in a common belief that ours is the greatest country on the face of the earth. Over the ten years since 9/11 occurred, our solidarity has been tested. The deaths of our countrymen in New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington D.C. on that day and the deaths and horrific injuries of our citizen-soldiers on the battlefield every day since have weighed heavily on all of us. We have at times turned against one another as our frustrations with the way the War on Terror has been conducted have mounted. Political discourse has degenerated into counterproductive rhetoric in the form of Bush-Bashing and The Birther (Bowel) Movement. The undeniable sense of unity Americans felt nearly ten years ago had all but disappeared--until today--hopefully.

Hopefully, we will remember that we're all in this fight for justice and the American way together. Hopefully, we will come together as Americans and not politicize this moral and military victory. Hopefully, we will begin to turn our attention once again to making America a better place for our children instead of living in fear and with revenge in our hearts. Hopefully, George Bush will be given credit for resolving to track down Bin Laden. Hopefully, Barack Obama will be given credit for remaining committed to that end. Hopefully the special ops forces who bravely took down the world's most wanted mass murderer will be treated as the true heroes that they are. Hopefully, they will receive a tickertape parade in New York City. Hopefully, they will be awarded the $25 million reward for the killing or capture of America's #1 enemy. Hopefully, we can bring home the rest of our brave men and women in uniform soon. Hopefully, we can focus on domestic issues that have been neglected since our attention has been rightly focused overseas. Hopefully, a new era of peace and prosperity has begun.

Hope. I don't want to live in a world without hope. Today, to honor the memory of all those who were lost on 9/11 and in the War on Terror, I hope we will all make the committment to come together and remember how lucky we are to be Americans. I hope that we will all tone down the rhetoric and remember that United We Stand, Divided We Fall. Today, I am not a Democrat. I am not a Republican. I am an American. And I am damn proud of that. And I hope that Osama Bin Laden rots in Hell. But as my friend Roger eloquently put it, "I pray for the soul of this man. I pray he comes to understand the horrors he unleashed in this life and is remorseful." That being said, I hope that Osama spends all of eternity in Hell and that he fully feels and appreciates the pain he has inflicted upon the innocents of this world. In this one case, if rejoicing in the death and suffering of another human being is wrong, then I don't care to be right. I hope I can be forgiven for that.

Garage Sale Blues

2011-04-30T12:02:00.003-05:00

I love going to garage sales, yard sales, auctions, etc. I love it so much that if I had a job--and an income--our house would be so full of other people's junk that I'm certain my wife would invite me to pack it all up and take it with me after inviting me to move out. Oh, but she tolerates the occasional purchase such as a singing fish for the wall of my man cave or an odd toy or two for the boys. A few weeks ago I scored a sweet Kenwood home stereo system complete with a stereo receiver, 200 watt amplifier, tape deck, record player and three-way speakers--all for just $25! Bethany the Enabler agreed that this was the deal of the century despite the fact that we already owned three other stereo systems (one in the TV room, one outside on the Party Porch, and one in our living room upstairs.) She agreed to the purchase when I explained to her the "necessity" of hooking up two amps/receivers together in the living room to power the two energy-thirsty sets of speakers that I had procured second-hand over the course of this winter's gathering/hoarding season. MORE POWER! Three garage sales later, however, Bethany the Voice of Reason put her foot down when I spotted a complete 200 watt Pioneer home stereo system (minus speakers) for the low, low price of just $50. That system cost well over $1000 new I explained to her, but to new avail. "Just try to imagine the wall of sound I could generate with over 500 watts of power and three sets of speakers!" No dice. What could I do to convince my overly logical bride to let me buy this treasure? Then I saw it: a clothes dryer sat in the middle of the garage with a sign that read, "$25 works great." Our dryer had just died earlier that week, so I thought rather than spending $400 on a new one, we could buy this used one and then Bethany would be so happy that she'd gladly let me buy another stereo or three.

"Oh, no. I am NOT buying another used dryer," she declared. (Admittedly, it would have been our third since we've been married.) I knew not to push my luck any further. I decided to be grateful for the $25 superfluous stereo that was already squirreled away in my trunk and sped home as fast as humanly possible to hook it up. And when I did connect all the components together and fire up my new super-system, I discovered that it was so loud that when turned up halfway, Truman covered his ears, Bethany pleaded for me to turn it down, and Alex fled outdoors. It was GLORIOUS! If I ever get a moment to myself without the delicate ears of my family around to injure, I will attempt to crank it up even higher.

I recently rediscovered a box of my mom's old vinyl albums and another full of some once belonging to my grandparents and have been playing some of them on the "new" stereo today. A flood of very warm childhood memories came rushing back to me as I listened to Billy Joel's The Nylon Curtain, the original Star Wars soundtrack, The Police's Synchronicity, and my favorite of the day, The Charlie Daniels Band's Devil Went Down to Georgia. When Blake and I were kids/indentured servants to our mother, we listened to those records as we did chores around the house every weekend. It made the drudgery of vacuuming, dusting, and doing dishes almost enjoyable. I loved watching my mom as she danced to Wings' Speed of Sound featuring Paul McCartney, the Eagles' Hotel California, and Fleetwood Mac's Rumors. Of course, she had a lot of great records from the 70s that sadly are no where to be found. Some of my all-time favorites are long gone including Rumors and Speed of Sound. Also missing are three of the greatest comedy albums of all time by Redd Foxx, Steve Martin, and Bill Cosby that I used to sit and listen to over and over as a kid. I miss those old records, and of course I miss my mom. She never had much money, so I suppose at some particularly tight financial time in her life she must have sold those old albums at a garage sale. She probably did it to raise a few bucks for a birthday present for me or Blake. If she only knew that those old records and the memory of listening to them with my mom were all I ever needed.

From now on when I go to garage sales, I'll avoid buying stereos or clothes dryers. But if I ever stumble upon some classic vinyl, you can bet I'll take my time looking through them, and if I decide to buy two or three, I'll be sure to be respectful of the seller and the emotions wrapped up in those old records. And I'll think of my mom, too, and I'll tell her thanks for the memories.

Baseball Fever

2011-04-27T01:20:00.004-05:00

Tonight, I watched the movie Fever Pitch starring Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore for the third time. The passage of time has finally afforded me the opportunity to fully appreciate the movie's message: Baseball (and life) is beautiful. You see, when it was released, the film depicted the Boston Red Sox victory over the St. Louis Cardinals in the 2004 World Series. That was a hard pill for me to swallow. I have been a Cards fan ever since I can remember. Sure, there was a brief period when I lived in south western Iowa and north central Missouri when I tolerated the Kansas City Royals, but obviously that ended with the tainted 1985 World Series. Since then, I have devoted my fandom to the Redbirds. But after watching the movie tonight, I was reminded of another team I had an affection for. The Bo Sox.

People my age will remember a television show from the 1980s called St. Elsewhere featuring Denzel Washington, Ed Begly, Jr., Mark Harmon, Howie Mandel, and the guy who was the voice of Kitt, the car from Knight Rider. The main thing you should take from this is that Howie's character always wore a Red Sox ball cap, and because I thought he was the only funny person on an otherwise melancholy show, I gravitated towards him. I found myself emulating his comedic stylings and even convinced my dad to procure for me a fitted Red Sox cap. In 1986, the Sox battled the Cardinals' hated rivals, the New York Mets in the World Series. Bill Buckner, the Sox first baseman broke not only every heart in New England, but also my own when he allowed a routine ground ball to pass between his legs allowing the Pond Scum Mets to win the game and the series. I was as distraught as the Bostonians depicted in the film I watched tonight, but despite their lamentations of an 86 year curse on the club following Babe Ruth's trade to the hated Yankees, I felt even more troubled by the fact that the curse was broken against my beloved Cardinals in the 2004 series.

As much as I liked the Sox, it killed me to see them beat my Redbirds in the fall classic that year. It may not have been 86 years since the Cards' last World Series win, but 22 years seemed like an eternity to me. Tonight's movie brought back many painful, yet romantic memories of my life-long love affair with the National Pastime. Suddenly, I didn't hate the Sox. I remembered how heartbroken I was when I first saw poor Billy Buckner commit the worst error of his professional life. I recalled how disgusted I was when Kansas City raised the trophy in 1985 after umpire Don Dinkinger blew a call at first base that would have sealed the championship for St. Louis. I suddenly realized how much baseball has meant to me over the years since I first took the field when I was in the second grade. I recall the pride and horror of having my dad and mom coach my little league teams. I relish the joy of coaching Alex in his first ever year of "organized baseball." I recoil at the errors I made while coaching a t-ball team and arguing with parents over the way I mismanaged their children. But overall, I am overcome with the realization of how much I love the game of baseball.

I have been involved in organized ball, including coach-pitch, little league, Khorey League, junior high, high school, men's slow-pitch softball, co-ed softball (in which I hit my only over-the-fence homerun--with a dislocated knee cap no less!--and won my only league championship), and Alex's teams since I was seven years old. That's over thirty years of dedication to the game. Nowadays, I am in a fantasy baseball league--my first--and I have really enjoyed delving into the details of my favorite sport. I hope that I can win a buck or two when the season is done, but if not, at least my love affair with the game will have been rekindled. Alex doesn't want to play ball this year, and I won't force him. Baseball is a game that can only be appreciated by people who truly love it. My next book may even be about the game, so stay tuned for further updates. In the meantime, take your kids to a ballgame. Have a beer and a hot dog. Teach your son or daughter to keep score. Tell them about your childhood love for the game. Give them your bubble gum card collection and review it with them. Above all else, remember that our national pastime serves a greater purpose. It brings fathers and sons together. It gives us "heroes" to look up to. It reminds us that life is not all about work and drudgery, but also about seeking out the things that we can share with the ones we love. Baseball is not just a game. It is the glue that bonds us together every summer regardless of whether one is a Yankees fan or a member of Sox Nation. It is an opportunity to hold true heroes such as Stan Musial and Jackie Robinson up as examples to our children of what it means to be a great American. No matter what team you root for, baseball has the power to unite the world. In an age of radical differences between various countries and political movements, baseball is the one international constant that has the power to bridge the gap between us.

So do yourself and the world a favor: Go out and rent The Natural, or Fever Pitch, The Bad News Bears, or Field of Dreams. Coach a Little League team. Join a fantasy league. Take your kids to a ball game. Take a moment to remember that life has some pretty sweet things going for it once you stop dwelling on all the negatives we are bombarded with in the media such as the economy, wars, and the New York Yankees.

Beisbol, is been berry, berry good to me.

Work Wife

2011-04-24T23:56:00.004-05:00

First of all, I have to preface this post by stating for the record that I love my wife more than anyone else on Earth. More importantly, I am in love with Bethany with every fiber of my being. That being said, I do love another woman--platonically of course. That woman is Kim McCullough. I'm pretty sure her husband Rob knows how I feel about her--after all, she was my work wife at Treats Unleashed before she was his real wife. By the time I met Kim, Rob had already swept her off her feet, and I was a very happily married man with a young son. I was also fourteen years her senior. How many times did I have to endure hearing her repeat the phrase, "Oh my god, you're HOW old?! You're almost the same age as my mom!" So there was a bit of a generation gap, sure. But we became good friends during the years we worked together nevertheless.

I watched Kim mature from a relatively naive 19 year old college student to a 25 year old college graduate, retail store manager (after I "retired" from that same post), and a loving wife. In the process, my real wife grew accustomed to hearing me refer to Kim as my work wife, and she seemed to appreciate the friendship that developed as much as I did. Rob & Kim and Bethany & I have become great friends and we have enjoyed painting the town red together whenever we've been able to convince Grandma Glee to babysit our kids for an evening. But sadly, those opportunities will be few and far between from now on. My work wife and her real husband are moving away.

Rob shall forever more be referred to as Doctor Rob since he landed a coveted residency in a Kansas City hospital after graduating from the MU School of Medicine this spring (Congrats, Doc.) But of course that means we will not see our friends very often from now on. Luckily, they are moving to Liberty, where Bethany's sister Charla lives with her family, so we will surely see each other now and then. But I will certainly miss having my friend Kim nearby.

Kim is a vibrant, vivacious person. Spunky. Sassy. Smart. Funny as hell. She and I share many of the same philosophical and political views. We laugh at the same jokes. We both enjoy drunken bowling. We love dogs. In truth, she is much more than a work wife to me. She is my friend. And I am going to miss the hell out of her when she moves away. So Kim, if you are reading this, I want to tell you right now (so that when we all go out one last time before you move, I won't start blubbering like a little baby) that I am going to miss you like crazy. You are a wonderful person and you mean the world to me. I have a lot of "guy friends" who I could never say these things to, but that's the cool thing about having a female friend: You won't laugh at me for being all sappy and telling you how I feel. Well, maybe you will, but that would be tolerable coming from you. I will always cherish the time we shared at the store, especially while my mom was battling cancer and we were going through Truman's adoption process because you were always there for me to talk to. And I was so proud to watch you walk down the aisle with Rob. You looked so beautiful in your wedding dress--and happy. And you have always been great to Bethany and my kids--and to me. I am damn glad I met you. (You too Rob.) :)

This is not goodbye, but good luck. Good luck, Kim & R0b, in the next chapter of your lives. May you always be as happy as you have made me feel over the past few years. And Kim, my work wife, my dear friend; always remember that there is an old married guy in Columbia who is forever grateful for having had the chance to get to know you. I love you.

Writing vs. Parenting

2011-04-20T10:24:00.002-05:00

Obsess much? Why yes I do. Whenever I begin an undertaking, I commit myself to it fully, maniacally, forgoing sleep, food, and sanity to complete my chosen task. I ignore the rest of the world while frantically scrambling to accomplish my goals. Once, I sat on the living room floor at my mom's house and assembled a model car from start to finish--over the course of twelve straight hours. Because I have a need to finish tasks in this fashion, the other things in my life tend to get ignored. And if I am worried that I won't be able to finish a project immediately, I'll often not begin it at all. Some may call that procrastination or laziness, but I call it staving off madness.

This same sad truth applies to my writing. I love writing. Whenever I get on a roll, I lose myself in the process and inevitably lose all track of time. I've written for as many as twelve hours in a day, during which time my children may have been arrested, convicted, and incarcerated for some or other egregious offense that should have been easily averted by an attentive parent. Therein lies the problem. I want to write. I want to begin another book and I need to work on getting my first book published. But I do neglect Truman during the day while I am in obsessive-compulsive writing mode. Next year, he will attend pre-school for three or four hours a day, so I will have some more free time to write then. However, I will still have to stop what I'm doing, drive to the school to pick him up, make lunch, play with him, pick up Alex and Tiana at the bus stop a couple hours later, do some chores around the house, and get supper going for Mama, etc. Had Hemingway been required to clean house and take care of a pre-schooler, would he ever have written A Farewell to Arms? I doubt it.

I imagine that very few of the world's most successful writers were stay-at-home dads. Now don't get me wrong, I love being a stay-at-home dad. I wouldn't trade it for any 9 to 5 job on earth. But just imagine if you will, working an 8 to 10 hour shift at your job, spending time with your family after work, and then trying to find the time and energy to write the great American novel. Oh yeah, and you'll need to sleep once in a while, too. Once all three of my kids are in school full-time, then I will have a lot more time to work on my writing. But that is still another year and a half down the road. In the meantime, I will try to strike a balance between being a housekeeper, chef, babysitter, taxi driver, coach, husband, handyman, groundskeeper, mechanic, carpenter, pet groomer, writer, and lunatic. Wish me luck.

A Rose by Any Other Name

2011-04-08T10:42:00.007-05:00

Friends, after months of deliberation we have finally decided upon a name for our little girl. Her Chinese name, which was given to her at her orphanage, is Dang Tian Tian. Of course in Chinese, Dang is her surname, so she is called Tian Tian, which translates to "more and more." That's nice, but we have a few problems with keeping that name. First, the orphange gave her the name, not her family. Second, it is actually a boy's name in China. Third, it is the name of the male panda at the National Zoo in Washington DC. Three strikes and the name is out.

Some time ago, I thought about calling her Anna Lee, but Bethany vetoed that idea. Later when watching Disney's The Princess and the Frog we decided we liked the lead character's name Tiana (pronounced tee-on-a). It was close to her given name and also the name of a princess, so it became the front runner. Then one day my beautiful bride threw out another idea: Tianna Lee (pronounced tee-an-na). Immediately I loved the name, but first I had to chastise her because she so quickly and bluntly rejected the strikingly similar Anna Lee idea of mine. Nevertheless, all of us in the family have embraced the name and are relieved to not have to refer to the poor child as simply "our little girl" any longer.

Today we are mailing the last of the adoption paperwork to our agency and to the immigration folks to start the process of bringing home our daughter: Princess Tianna Lee Naughton.

Happy Birthday Princess Tian-Tian

2011-04-06T11:19:00.003-05:00

My Precious Daughter,

Today is your seventh birthday. I hope it is a great day, despite the fact that you will spend it as you have your last six birthdays--in a cold and lonely orphanage. Now that you are getting older, you may be wondering why you've never been able to share your special day with your family. "Why haven't Mama and Baba brought me gifts? Why haven't they visited in all the years I've lived here? Don't they love me?" These are perfectly reasonable questions to ask and I will do my best to answer them.

Do you know why grown-ups have wrinkles in their skin and grey in their hair? It is because of the important decisions they have to make every day of their lives. Often times, these choices they have to make are not easy and as a result, they suffer more than you could imagine. Undoubtedly, the woman who gave birth to you has developed a lot of wrinkles and grey hair in the seven years since she decided to give you up. We will never know her reasons (or her husband's reasons) for doing so, but I am certain that she has agonized over her decision.

Here's why you've never received any gifts or visits from your parents: Because your real parents live all the way across the world in the United States and it took us a long, long time to find you. We actually talked about adopting a little girl in China the day Alex (your Ge-Ge, or big brother) was born in 2000. In 2006, when you were still a baby, Mama and I started searching for a daughter, but we found Truman (your Di-Di, or little brother) in China in 2008 while we were waiting for our baby girl. Not long after that we decided to resume our search for our daughter. And do you know what? About a month after your sixth birthday we saw a photo of the most beautiful girl in all of China and we knew that at long last we had found our daughter. And of course, that beautiful girl was you!

We're sorry it has taken so long to find you and we're sorry you have to spend this special day apart from your family, but we promise that you'll never be alone on your birthday ever again. We promise to give you a cozy home with a nice soft bed to sleep in, two silly brothers and a bunch of toys to play with, and all the love we have in our hearts so that you will never doubt how special and cherished you are. Happy birthday Mei-Mei. We'll be there to bring you home as soon as we can. Wo ai ni! (I love you!)

Love,

Daddy (Baba)

Breaking News: Pujols Optioned to Triple-A

2011-04-01T10:50:00.004-05:00

Memphis, TN (AP)-- St. Louis Cardinals first baseman Albert Pujols, former league MVP and perennial All-Star, has been optioned to the club's Triple-A affiliate effective immediately, sources within the organization confirmed Friday morning. Following a protracted contract dispute, the slugger had his career worst day at the plate in Thursday's season opener, going 0 for 5 while grounding into three double-plays. Manager Tony Larussa said at his post-game news conference, "Obviously Albert isn't playing the way he is accustomed to. He knows he let the team down. He made it clear to me that his contract situation is a big distraction, so he wasn't surprised at all about being sent down to Memphis to get his act together." When asked how long Pujols' demotion might last, the skipper quipped, "As long as it takes."

Teammates of "El Hombre" were shocked when they found out the news. Lance Berkman, a former first baseman with the Houston Astros who signed with the Cardinals during the offseason to play right field expressed his disbelief. "Does that mean I'll be at first (base) now? I never thought I'd be the man to replace King Albert. I wonder if I can get a bullet-proof vest sewn into my uniform. I'm sure I'll hear some death threats tomorrow night."

Pujols declined to comment on the club's decision, but a brief statement from his agent summed up die-hard Cards fans' worst fears. "Albert's going to look really good in a Cubs uniform next year."

April Fool!

Good Luck, Coach Anderson

2011-03-24T10:05:00.002-05:00

Just days after telling the Columbia Tribune that he planned to win a national championship with Mizzou and retire as a Tiger, Mike Anderson bolted for the University of Arkansas. Although he should have stuck with "no comment" rather than lead on Mizzou fans, I am not bitter about the coach's defection. Lots of other Tiger fans are, however. They feel betrayed. Lied to. Abandoned. We in Tiger Nation aren't used to this feeling. And here's why: No basketball or football coach has left Missouri of his own volition since the legendary Dan Devine quit to take the top job for the NFL's Green Bay Packers in 1970.

Think about that. Every single Missouri coach for the last 40+ years has been fired (or in Norm Stewart's case "encouraged to retire" by Mike Alden.) None of these men ever dared to leave the University of Missouri to pursue greener pastures. Not one. Some Mizzou fans are calling Anderson a traitor. That's ridiculous. He was an assistant at Arkansas for 17 years, so if anything, he is just going home. It's not like he left us for Kansas or anything.

Here's one more thing for bitter MU fans to consider. Anderson's style of play "The Fastest 40 Minutes in Basketball" is a gimmick. It is basically a frenetic full-court press that lasts the entire game as opposed to most teams' half-court style of play. It is entertaining to watch, but really good teams such as Kansas, Texas, UConn, etc can beat a press and punish you for stubbornly sticking with it. Anderson's teams have had a hard time adapting when their opponent beats their press. At times his players looked clueless during games this season. They got flustered and made silly turnovers and fouls. They yelled at each other on the court and during timeouts. They only won one conference road game all year. In short, the shine wore off Anderson's gimmicky game.

So do not be bitter, Tiger fans. Join me in wishing Coach Anderson the best of luck at Arkansas (except if Mizzou plays against him). He seems like a good person, a family man. He is back home with his family and that's alright with me. Our paths may cross again some day, which would be pretty neat. Not since 1972 when Al Onofio's football Tigers beat Dan Devine's Notre Dame Fighting Irish have MU fans had the chance to cheer our team to victory against a former Tiger coach. An Missouri-Arkansas meeting in the NCAA tournament sure would be fun to watch wouldn't it?

Parenting is very glamourous...

2011-03-15T11:30:00.002-05:00

Truman had a fever the other day and wasn't feeling too whippy, so I told him to go lay down in my bed and watch some cartoons while the Children's Advil worked its magic. A short time later he emerged from my bedroom to tell me he accidentally drooled on his blankie. I told him this was not a big deal and we went on with our day. When Bethany got home from work, he told her the same thing, so she grabbed the blankie and tossed it in the laundry hamper without giving it another thought.

That night, she and I got to bed at about 2:00am, both of us dead tired after a long day and a "date night" in town. As my weary head hit the pillow, a strange odor wafted over me. I examined the pillow and the bed, but saw nothing. Exhausted, I lay back down and tried to put the stench out of my mind. But that was impossible. I woke my bride up by exclaiming, "The bed smells like ass."

Bethany said, "I don't smell anything, just let me go to sleep, please." I did as I was told, but as my face was buried under the sheets, the aroma started to overwhelm me and a great realization occurred to me: The bed did not smell like ass. It smelled like vomit.

"Honey," I pleaded, "I think Truman puked on his blankie--and our bed."

To which she replied, "He said he drooled. Maybe he sweat a lot when his fever broke and that's what you're smelling."

I said, "I know what puke smells like. I'm telling you, he barfed in our bed. I can't sleep in this."

"Well it doesn't smell on my side. Just roll over here and we'll change the sheets tomorrow." She seemed so unaffected by it all.

"Honey, I love you, but if someone took a dump three feet from your head, would you just roll over and deal with it in the morning?" How could she argue with THAT logic?

"Fine! I just wanted some sleep dammit. Is that too much too ask?" She jumped out of bed and as she started stripping the sheets, the funk started to spread throughout the room.

"Can't you smell that?" I gagged. It was horrible. I grabbed the offending linens and hurried them down to the laundry room. I pulled Truman's blankie out of the hamper and as I tossed it into the washing machine, a wave of noxious fumes doubled me over as waves of nausea cemented my theory that our four-year-old had in fact barfed in our bed. I had to stop twice to compose myself as I tried to fit the king-sized sheets, my pillow, and that damned blankie into the washer. My vision was so blurred by the tears in my eyes that I struggled to find the detergent. As I finally closed the lid and started the wash cycle, Bethany walked in--apparently tired of waiting for me to bring the clean sheets. She saw that her spouse was suffering and detected the hint of vomit scent lingering in the air. And then she laughed at me. She laughed all the way up the stairs. She laughed as we walked into our bedroom. She laughed as we put on the clean sheets. She laughed as I ripped off my t-shirt which had evidently absorbed some of the fragrance du jour. She laughed as she admitted that perhaps the four-year-old misspoke when he said he drooled on his blankie. She laughed as she acknowledged that maybe he had in fact puked on my side of the bed. She laughed as I screamed "And you were gonna make me lay in another human being's vomit all night long because you were too tired to get up and change the sheets!" And then I laughed, too, and took a scalding hot shower to strip away any remnants of the carnage that may have remained in my hair or on my person. And she was still laughing when I came back to bed.

Parenting is very glamorous.

I DID IT!!!

2011-03-05T18:48:00.003-06:00

Ladies and gentlemen, Travis Naughton fans of all ages, I am proud to announce that after several false starts over the past several years, I have fishished writing my book Naked Snow Angels, The Authorized Biography of Travis A. Naughton!!! What a feeling!

I plan on self-publishing a few copies to start some home-grown publicity going and then I will start submitting it (and hopefully some good reviews/recommendations) to publishers very soon. Thanks for all your support (and in some cases for providing me with some great material). Wish me luck and stay tuned for further developments.

Wa-hoooooo!!!!!!!!

Adoption Update

2011-03-04T14:23:00.002-06:00

Yesterday, we received a packet in the mail from our adoption agencey Children's Hope International. One piece of paper was of particular interest: we got word that on February 18 our dossier was officially logged in at the China Center for Adoption Affairs (CCAA). Normally, families can expect to wait up to four years after they receive a log-in-date (L.I.D.) to get their Chinese child. In our case, since our daughter is on the "Waiting Children" list (for special needs or older children) we can expect to travel to China within a few months.

Although we are still at the mercy of the CCAA, at least we are one official step closer to being united with our little girl. As Tom Petty so eloquently put it, "The waiting is the hardest part..." We're coming Mei-Mei, hang in there!

The Quagmire of My Creation

2011-02-28T23:53:00.003-06:00

After our neighbor Ron bladed the nearly two feet of snow off our 500 yard long "gravel" driveway, not much gravel remained. When the snow melted and more snow and heavy rains followed, the driveway became a quagmire. And since Ron showed me how to operate his Bobcat so that I could clear the driveway in case of snow while he's out of town, I made a bad situation much, much worse by tring to "fix" our driveway once and fore all. Will someone please remind me never to attempt anything resembling manual labor ever again?

Yesterday, I spent five hours trying to repair the mess I created last week when I first tried to blade the driveway. I scraped down to the original layer of crushed limestone and 3" rock that is the base of the road. The "repaired" driveway was firm, if not hilly, but there were no potholes or mud left by the time I was through. But I never thought to check the weather forecast. Last night, approximately eighteen feet of rain fell and turned the driveway into the thickest, stickiest, sloppiest melange of mud and clay I have ever seen in my life. Returning home with the boys from her mother's house last night, Bethany called me during of the heaviest of the downpour and said simply, "I'm stuck in the middle of the driveway." I said nothing. My spirit was instantly extinguished. "Did you hear what I just said?" Yep.

When I drove down to the van, I saw it was buried to the frame and the storm was getting worse. I stood in the driving rain long enough to become thoroughly soaked and to realize the situation was hopeless. I couldn't sleep at all last night. Guilt and helplessness wouldn't allow it. I felt like a total failure. I just waited for the light of day and hoped that it would change my perspective. I did not.

This morning, I went out early to try to pull the van out with my truck, but my old Dodge decided to sleep in. It wouldn't start. (The starter has been going bad for a while now.) So I walked to the neighbor's and hopped on the Bobcat again. I drove up to the van to try to pull it out, but it was sunk so deep that I couldn't even get under it to hook a tow rope to it. At that moment, the hours and hours of wasted effort, the ruination of our only way in or out of our house, the realization that we couldn't get Alex to school or Bethany to work, and knowing that it was all my fault caused me to have a total meltdown. I started convulsing, I doubled over in anticipation of throwing-up. I yelled. I cussed. I threw things. I paced. I screamed. I kicked at the mud. I cried. And my wife stood there and smiled. (She's good about seeing the humor in these situations. I am not.) Right then I am pretty sure I had a complete break from reality. I really don't remember much after that.

Well, Bethany saved the day. She always does. First, she called-in to work to take a personal day, then she called a tow truck. Then she called a gravel outfit and had six loads of rock brought in. I eventually got the truck to start and took Alex to school an hour late. Then I hopped back on that goddanged Bobcat and spread gravel between dumptruck loads all day. Then I shoveled rock into the barn and around the edges of the driveway. I emerged from the ordeal a shell of my former self. But the driveway is better than it's been in years, and I have my wife to thank for it.

I learned a valuable lesson today. I will never attempt to perform any type of manual labor ever again. Everyone who knows me will tell you that I hate work and am lousy at it, so I'm swearing it off once and for all. We're debt-free for godssakes. I will gladly pay experts to do the work for me from now on. I also learned that when the going gets tough, beg Bethany to fix the stuff I messed up.

Bunny Bowling

2011-02-23T15:08:00.000-06:00

A favorite activity of mine and my friends whilst habitating in Laws Hall dormitory was “Bunny Bowling.” A guy who lived next door to my roommate Bill and me had a pet rabbit in his room which in hindsight was probably not a very good idea. Nevertheless, a plan was hatched to set up a bunch of empty beer cans in a crude bowling pin configuration. The rabbit was then slid gently, yet purposefully toward the cans. Technique evolved with each frame. I developed a strategy that involved giving the bunny a slight spin, which caused him to splay his little furry legs out in an attempt to find purchase on the slick linoleum–to no avail of course. But the rotation of the rabbit almost always resulted in achieving a strike. One would think that after being tossed like a bowling ball, Petey the rabbit would run and hide between frames, but on the contrary, he always ran straight back to the bowler, thus making it possible to pick up spares. No harm came to Petey, although we did dye his snowy white fur with muliti-colored highlighters which made night bowling under a blacklight a thing of sublime beauty.

A Walk On Down The Hall

2011-02-23T00:00:00.003-06:00

It's midnight and I'm happy. I've had about three Blue Moons and my bladder feels as full as my heart. So I walk down the hall to the pisser and I see five things that make me smile. An autographed photo of Bob Barker on my left. A mosaic poster of Darth Vader on my right. I round the corner by the bathroom and see a hand-painted reproduction of the cover art from Pink Floyd's album "Pulse" shooting a knowing wink at me. Below it, my mother's elephant figurine collection. Across the hall, a framed document certifying my ordination as a minister of the Universal Life Church. I take a leak, walk back down the hall and into the storage room, where a 50 year old, chromed-out Crossley refrigerator inherited from Bethany's grandma Viola hums and chills one last Blue Moon with my name written all over it. I push past the fridge, open the basement door, and step out into the crisp February night. The spring peepers that chirped so boldly two nights ago have returned to their warm burrows underground. The cool breeze makes the blonde hair on my arms stand on end. I stare into the inky blackness of the starless night sky and I smile. I am smiling because at this moment in time, my boys are asleep and safe and sound in their beds and my beautiful wife is slumbering upstairs in a bed that she inexplicably has agreed to share with me for the rest of her life and I am THIS close to being done with writing my first book. And this house and this hallway and Bob Freaking Barker and Darth Vader and everything else I see around me is paid for including my "new" old cop car. And in a couple months I'll have a new daughter. I pour that last beer in a frosty mug and I flop down in my broken down recliner and I realize that I am happy.

Remaking Naked Snow Angels

2011-02-08T21:04:00.004-06:00

It should please you, my adoring fans, that after a pep-talk from my editor/webmaster/cousin Larry, I have resumed writing my book Naked Snow Angels. I am currently revising it from the beginning so that I will be prepared to write a satisfory ending when that time comes. Reading through the first 76 pages today, I am actually quite pleased with the overall feel of the book. Will it ever be a best-seller? I don't know. In fact, I may self-publish it to get it "out there" in the hopes that a publisher may stumble across it and fall in love with it. Part of the reason for this strategy is that contained in the book are references to at least seven other books that I may write once this one is complete. In other words, it is something of a demonstration of my writing abilities that I hope will one day earn me a book deal. I've got stories and lots of 'em. So stay tuned and spread the word: Travis Naughton is on his way!

Reunited and it feels so good...

2011-02-03T18:43:00.003-06:00

On Tuesday morning, the Great Blizzard of 2011 began and I drove my beautiful wife from our home in Hartsburg to Columbia so she could be at work at University Hospital instead of being snow-bound like Alex, Truman, and I. She didn't want to go, but I assured her I would be able to come get her the next day in my four wheel drive. I can admit now that I may have made a slight miscalculation. Apparently, when two feet of blowing and drifting powdery snow accumulate on top of a quarter inch of ice, four wheel drive becomes useless. Especially when the overconfident driver of said vehicle foolishly crosses over an icy dam with no guardrails at the bottom of a steep hill that doubles as his driveway only to realize too late that it is impossible to drive back across the next day to pick up his now highly irritated wife. Oops.

Our next door neighbor, who usually plows our driveway when it snows, had a stroke-like episode the night the ice started forming. He was resting comfortably in town as the snow fell the next day while we were stranded three miles from civilization. And Bethany was stranded in Columbia. After being released from the hospital, Ron (our neighbor) was feeling much better and hitched a ride with his son-in-law to our neighborhood as soon as the county worker had plowed to the top of our quarter-mile long, hilly, ice and snow covered driveway. He walked from the road to his house, threw some snow chains and a plow on his tractor, and proceeded to spin his wheels in vain on the slick driveway. I advised him to give up before he slid to his death in the pond that our driveway dams up. I missed my wife, I was running out of beer, and soon, all hope was lost.

Today, Ron was able to get his Bobcat out of his son's driveway after the county plowed his road. He trailored it to our road, hoppped on, and quickly realized that it was yet another futile attempt. A steep hill covered in snow and ice is a formidable opponent to any piece of machinery. Undeterred, Ron drove to the nearest Bobcat dealer and purchased a new set of bulldozer-like treads and had them installed to the tune of $3,000. Yes, you read that right--THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS! He returned a short while later and successfully cleared a path from the road to our garage--and his garage, too. I was able to drive my truck (which I spent over $1000 on to get the four-wheel-drive fixed and new snow tires installed one week ago) to the top of the hill and retrieve my lovely wife, who I hadn't seen in 2 1/2 days. And she brought beer!

To unwind after the stress of the past few days and to kill the pain in my knees and lower back after three days of useless shoveling, I took a nice, hot, three-beer bath. That is to say, I listened to Coldplay's X and Y from start to finish while downing three beers in a scalding-hot tub of life-affirming water. I am happy now. Life can get back to normal. And I may even be able to finally enjoy the remnants of the Blizzard of '11.

Dance Party

2011-01-31T00:16:00.001-06:00

For those of you who aren't on facebook, I posted a new video of Truman on YouTube. Enjoy!

Road Trip

2011-01-25T11:34:00.003-06:00

When the warden at the Hartsburg Sanatorium graciously granted me a furlough last weekend, I seized the opportunity to visit some old friends and make some new ones in Lee's Summit, Missouri. The getaway was just what the doctor ordered.

First, I bought a twelve pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon long necks and headed to see my old friend Grant Barnes. He and his lovely bride Brenda were going on a dinner date that evening, so after drinking a couple beers I had them drop me at Sorano's Sports Bar just down the road from their house where my friend Paul was slated to perform his unique brand of acoustic comedy that night. It was 4:30 in the afternoon and the comedy show wasn't set to begin until 8:00. Naturally, I started drinking 22-ounce Boulevard Brewery Oatmeal Stout after 22-ounce Boulevard Brewery Oatmeal Stout in order to pass the time.

Sometime between beers one and six, I struck up a conversation at the bar with a husband and wife who within twenty minutes invited me to stay with them in their ocean front condo in Daytona Beach and attend the Daytona 500 next month. I was sure they were joking until the wife asked, or rather insisted, a second time a few minutes later. The husband wasn't quite as enthusiastic about the idea(perhaps he wasn't into threesomes with men twenty years younger than him) so I discretely ordered a fried pork tenderloin sandwich and made sure my mouth was too busy masticating to exchange contact information with the overly friendly woman. The husband saw his opportunity to flee as I asked for more ketchup and I graciously pretended not to notice when they slipped past me and into the night.

As I finished my sammich, which did little to soak up the overabundance of alcohol in my belly, Paul arrived and we sat down to discuss some notes for our musical that we are co-writing. He's the Rogers to my Hammerstein--I think. He suggested a tweak to the script I had written and assured me that the lyrics are coming along nicely. (Stay tuned for further progress reports and performance announcements). At any rate, showtime was drawing near, so Paul started setting up. I continued to make friends at the bar. It is a strange feeling when you are sitting on a barstool two and a half hours from where you live and the attractive woman tending bar says to you, "You must be Travis." I said that I was. She then said, "Naughton, right?" It seems that the legend of me is growing--as is my ego. In fact, I made friends with two Amys that night in addition to a Kollin, a Del, a Tom, and some fun ladies whose names I can't recall. By the time Grant showed up to give me a ride home, I'm pretty sure I had met about half the people in the joint and drank shots of Jagermeister with at least two or three of them.

Of course Paul & the Violent Farmers killed that night. Paulie never fails to make me laugh, no matter how many times I've heard his material. Ironically, one of his most popular/notorious songs is called "Road Trip", although this epic tale of a lover's desperate journey to get home to his girl is a horse of a different color compared to the road trip I was on. You can hear a sample of the song, and many others of Paul's on iTunes. http://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/paul-the-violent-farmers/id367246554

I spent the rest of the evening visiting and laughing with the Barneses and I eventually went to bed when the waves of nausea subsided and I could lay down without the room spinning. As I drove home the next day, the details of my therapeutic road trip gradually became less fuzzy. I am sure that more than one passing motorist became concerned when they saw a bleary-eyed driver laughing out loud for no apparent reason. From what I remember, I had a very good time in Lee's Summit that night.

I wonder where my next road trip will take me... Suggestions? Invitations? Admonitions?

Heeeeerrrr's Johnny!

2011-01-17T11:08:00.003-06:00

In recent years, I have noticed that I am more prone to suffering from cabin fever than I used to be. I become very moody and restless. I become depressed. I stay up all night talking to imaginary bartenders. I have yet to grab an axe and attempt to butcher my family, but Alex has been known to curl his finger and say "Redrum" in a very unsettling voice just when I'm feeling particularly "off."

Last night, at about two in the morning, I think I finally came to understand the cause of my "condition." Certainly being a struggling writer cooped up with his family in a house miles from civilization in the dead of winter may contribute to my unbalanced state, but that is not the real culprit. The fact is that as a "stay-at-home" dad, I have no life outside of this house. My beautiful spouse says, "So go into town and do something" whenever I complain about going stir crazy after a prolonged spell of not venturing out. That's nice of her to offer me a hall pass, but it doesn't really change the reality that I have no life outside of these four walls. I explain to her that she is out of the house interacting with adults upwards of 50 hours per week. I am lucky if I am away from our domicile five hours per week. Prisoners benefitting from weekend furloughs spend more time in the real world than me.

Don't get me wrong: I love being a full-time parent. I enjoy being able to spent so much time with my kids. However, I am beginning to think it is unhealthy to spend ALL of my time with my kids. Sure, we drop the boys off at Grandma's house once in a while so Mom & Dad can have a little reprieve, but that doesn't come close to giving me the feeling of having a life outside of the home. Wintertime just compounds the problem. We live a half hour from town (Ashland doesn't count) down a mile and a half of snow covered gravel roads. Our house is tucked into ten acres of woods, completely hidden from view of the outside world. Maybe it is best to keep a Naughton boy hidden from the outside world, but nevertheless--when it is cold outside, when my hiking trails are too snowy or muddy to traverse, when gas costs $3.00/gallon and my gas-guzzling truck's four-wheel-drive is making a hideous grinding, metallic sound when it's engaged--Travis starts getting a little twitchy.

The solution? Bethany thinks everything will be better next fall when all three kids are in school. I should be able to get out and do my own thing for at least three hours a day while Truman is in his half-day preschool. I think she may be right. But between now and then, I need to make more meaningful forays out into the world. I feel some road trips coming on. If you hear an unexpected knock on your door at some ungodly hour in the near future, don't shoot! And don't call the cops. (Unless I have Bill Herrin with me.)

Blog Daddy's Sports Roundup

2011-01-12T11:40:00.002-06:00

Mizzou football head coach Gary Pinkel was approached by the University of Michigan in hopes that he could be persuaded to interview for their "coveted" job vacancy. He declined. Once considered to be one of the most prestigious coaching positions in all of football, it seems that Michigan's mystique is wearing off. Stanford head coach and Michigan alumnus Jim Harbaugh spurned their advances. LSU head coach and former Michigan assistant Les Miles said "no thanks" to their offer. Now we learn that the Big 10 powerhouse program couldn't even persuade Pinkel, head coach of a second tier Big 12 program, to join the dark side. These are dark days in Michigan indeed. Perhaps one day soon, we won't have to see Missouri natives wearing blue hats embossed with the Michigan "M" anymore. Maybe the Missouri "M" will be the preferred "M" of college football fan merchandise from now on. Dare I dream?

Auburn quarterback, Heisman Trophy winner, and National Champion Cam Newton gave his father Cecil a warm embrace on the field after the big game Monday night. Big deal, right? According to some folks (especially Auburn administrators) it is a big deal--considering the fact that Dad agreed not to attend the game as a result of an NCAA investigation that concluded he had tried to extract nearly $200,000 from Mississippi State in exchange for his son's commitment to play there. Since no one has shown that he tried the same tactic with Auburn or that his son even knew about the pay-for-play proposition, Cam was allowed to continue playing for the Tigers, but Cecil was effectively banned from being near the program. Yet there he was at the game anyway, apparently thumbing his nose at his son's school and their wishes to distance themselves from the controversy. Should he be punished for this appearance? Should he be scolded for not staying at home to watch the big game on TV? Or should he be applauded for supporting his son despite how uncomfortable it made school officials? I simply cannot blame a father for being there for his child's big moments. In fact, I commend Cecil Newton for being in the stands that night. His son was playing in the biggest game of his young life. That's precisely when Cam needed his dad's support the most, and Cecil made sure not to disappoint his son again. As parents, we all make mistakes. Cecil made a big one when he tried to cash in on his son's talents. But bolstering his son's confidence by being there for him at the game was not a mistake. It was the right thing to do. I wonder how many players at the game that night looked into the stands and didn't see a proud father beaming back at them. Too many, of that I am certain.

WE'RE DEBT FREE!!!

2011-01-04T17:10:00.003-06:00

In 2001, Bethany and I each owed over $15,000 in student loans. We owed a monthly payment of $400 for a brand new truck we foolishly purchased. We owed thousands of dollars on at least two credit cards. And we owed well over $100,000 on our home loan. Plus interest. Let's review:

$30,000 in student loans

$25,000 auto loan

$5,000 credit card debt

$110,000 balance on home loan

=approximately $170,000 of debt PLUS interest

Today: We're debt free. Here's how we did it. First and foremost, we followed the advice of financial guru Dave Ramsey. We obeyed every step of his plan called "The Total Money Makeover." We set up a monthly budget, paid cash for everything, and bought nothing on credit (if you don't have the cash, you don't buy it.) We worked on our "debt snowball" paying the smallest debts first, then rolling the extra money into the next smallest and so on. We sold the expensive truck and drove cheap vehicles that neared 200,000 miles on their odometers. We went to the movies about once a year. We bought virtually nothing but generic. In short, we lived like no one else, so that later, we could live like no one else.

Eventually, we paid off over $110,000 in debt by following Dave's plan. Bear in mind that we also adopted the cutest boy in China during this decade of no-decadence. (International adoptions are not cheap, but when you eliminate debt, you find the money for things that really matter.) Also worth noting, I only worked part-time for two of those years and not at all for two more. So our mountain of debt was removed with the help of only one full-time income for nearly half the decade.

With only four years of house payments remaining (taking only 14 years to pay for what was originally a 30 year mortgage), we were well on our way to paying off the house and being completely debt-free. But last month, our hard work and years of sacrifice were rewarded by a gift from Bethany's dad. After his untimely death two years ago, his estate was eventually divided among his six children and just yesterday the Naughton family was able to use Bethany's share to pay off the balance of our mortgage. I am sure Bill Lemon is smiling down upon us, proud to have helped his children in this way.

Another silver lining to the dark cloud of Bill's passing is that we will be able to fully fund the adoption of our little girl this spring with the money we would have spent on house payments. Our greatest regret is that he was never able to meet Truman or our little girl.

So there you have it. Even if we had never received a dime from Bethany's dad, we would have erased over $170,000 of debt plus interest by living within our means. By buying only what we needed. By saving every penny. By living simply. Oh, and did I mention we were able to start college funds for the boys and retirement accounts for us while this Total Money Makeover took place? Well, we did. I hope I don't sound like I'm bragging. I only wish to inspire others to free themselves from the bonds of indebtedness like we did. I assure you that it is worth every bit of sacrifice along the way. I'm only 39 years old and as I look around me, I know that everything I see around me--ten wooded acres, a four bedroom house, a minivan, a truck, a classic car, a party porch, a beautiful family--is all mine. That's a damn good feeling.

Happy New Year

2011-01-02T11:37:00.002-06:00

As most of you know, I am not shy about writing about the various goings-on in my mind and my daily life. The number one reader response to the status updates I post on facebook is "TMI!" (too much information). So I am guilty of the occasional overshare. You know you like it. It's why you keep coming back to my blog or my facebook page for more. But when it came time to post my yearly New Year's resolutions, I decided to try something different. I am going to keep my list to myself. Nothing on the list is particularly embarrassing or anything like that, (how could a guy that writes about making snow angels in the nude be embarrassed about anything?) but I have decided that my personal goals for self-improvement should remain personal. That's all.

One resolution I will make public is the promise to write more this year. I kind of fizzled out last year and fell two chapters short of completing the book I have been writing. I will finish it soon and then I will endeavor to write several others throughout the year that were inspired while writing the current story. From one book, seven or eight others may spring to life. Stay tuned for more updates as the year rolls along. Also, check my blog often as I plan to post notes to it more frequently this year. I hope that in April or May I can start blogging about our second trip to China to adopt our little girl Tian Tian. You won't want to miss that.

I hope 2011 is good to you. Perhaps I can make it slightly more entertaining with my creative contributions. If you promise to keep reading, I'll keep writing. It's what I do. God knows I'm not gonna go out and get a job or anything. Who does that?

13 Months o' Music

2010-11-07T17:18:00.002-06:00

After attending the fantastic performance of world-famous bluesman Robert Cray last evening at Jesse Hall on the MU campus, I stopped to reflect upon the incredible series of shows I've been lucky enough to see in the past year or so. It started last fall with a show at the Blue Note featuring singer/songwriters Robert Earl Keene and Todd Snyder. Then at the Roots'n' Blues festival in Columbia, I got to see blues legend Booker T and rockabilly phenom Junior Brown.

This past spring, Bethany scored tickets to see the greatest blues singer of all time: Mr. B.B. King at Jesse Hall. At this year's Roots 'n'Blues, I took Alex to his first concert to see Anders Osborne, a New Orleans-based blues guitarist whom I had seen several years eariler in St. Louis (which I ranked at that time as the single best concert I had ever been to.)

Last night's show took the cake though. On Friday, Bethany received an email offer for half-price tickets to see Robert Cray. We jumped at the chance and when we arrived at the ticket window to redeem our coupon one-half hour prior to the start of the show, we nabbed two tickets in the center section--in the fourth row! And the blues legend did not disappoint.

If you are unfamiliar with any of the artists I just mentioned, do yourself a favor and check them out. All have at least a little bit of the blues in them. A couple have a lot. A couple have an alternative country twang. A couple have some jazzy undertones. All are incredible musicians and entertainers.

CDs are great, iPods are pretty neat, but watching a live show featuring your favorite artist can't be beat. So take out your earbuds, get together with a couple buds, have a few Buds, and go see a concert. You'll be glad you did.

It's a Girl!

2010-10-22T11:47:00.003-05:00

Many of you out there have already heard the news: I'm gonna be a daddy again! This time, to a precious six year old girl from Daqing City, China. Found abandoned on a sidewalk on April 7th, 2004 with her umbillical cord still attached, she was taken to a hospital where doctors determined that she had probably been born the previous day.

No one can say for sure why she was abandoned by her biological parents, but simply being born female in a society that favors male heirs was the likely reason. Many times in these cases, the mother wants to keep her baby girl, but her family will pressure her to abandon the child and try again for a boy. The reason for this is quite simple. In China, a boy will eventually take care of his parents when he grows up while girls have to take care of their husband's parents. Who will take care of a girl's aging parents? No one. So in a country where each family is only allowed to have one child, boys are in high demand. What happens if you have a girl? You drop the child off in a public place and hope she is discovered before succumbing to the elements or starvation. Then you go home and try to give your husband a son.

The girl found abandoned that day was brought to an orphanage where she was soon diagnosed with cerebral palsy. As she grew up, she struggled to walk, but her personality and mental development was as normal as any child's. Eventually, she had two achilles operations to make it easier for her to walk and it is reported that today she is able to get around on her own, albeit slowly. Despite having lived with this disability and without a family to love her for the first six years of her life, she has become a smiling, talkative, and typical six-year-old girl. The resilience of children amazes me.

We spotted Tian Tian's photo on the website of our adoption agency months and months ago. As we have been filling out forms, getting background checks done, and having our entire lives scrutinized for our homestudy, we have been keeping an eye on this beautiful girl on the Waiting Children (special needs) list. We were selfishly hoping that no other family would apply for her before our paperwork was completed because we knew that she belonged with us. Fate agreed apparently, and yesterday we were informed that the officials in China approved us for adopting our little girl. We are overjoyed of course.

"Tian Tian" means "more and more" which seems pretty appropriate. We feel more and more connected to her every day. Our home has become filled with more and more love as we have filled it with more and more kids. The joy in my heart grows more and more as I share my life with my growing family. Hopefully, Tian Tian will love us more and more as she gets to know us. With Bethany's therapy skills, our daughter will become more and more independent as she learns to overcome her physical obstacles. More and more, I feel like I am the luckiest man who ever lived.

More and more, I am convinced that I was born to be a dad. I'm not the best at it, but I'm not the worst either. I can't tell you how much I've looked forward to being wrapped around a daughter's little finger. When Bethany and I first started thinking about adoption five years ago, we wanted a girl. Then Truman came along and happily altered that plan. But before we found him, I had bought a Chinese tea set as a birthday gift for my mom. I told her how much I looked forward to watching her have tea parties with her granddaughter some day. Unfortunately, that day will never come, but you can bet that my daughter and I will drink from that tea set as soon as we have the chance and have a toast to Nonna. Somewhere, my mom will say, "Ya done good, son. Ya done good."

As usual, she'll be right.

Outdoors and Offline

2010-09-28T10:51:00.002-05:00

Well, the oppressive heat and humidity of summer have finally passed and my favorite time of year is here. The crispness of the air in Fall instantly sparks memories ranging from trick-or-treating to tailgating to bonfires to hayrides to watching the World Series. It is also birthday season in the Naughton family with Bethany, Truman, Alex, and I all having our birthdays within a span of 33 days. Plus, on November 3rd we'll celebrate Truman's "Gotcha Day" followed in a few weeks by Thanksgiving, which is perhaps my favorite holiday of all. I love Fall.

Today's weather, and the forcast for the next two weeks, makes me feel so alive. I'll be celebrating that feeling by spending a good portion of my time outdoors and offline. If you need me, you know where to find me. In Autumn, the virtual world of facebook just won't cut it. It's back to the real world for me. (Minus the working for a living and paying taxes thing of course.)

39: An Odd Birthday

2010-09-26T23:47:00.002-05:00

On my birthday, September 25th, I went to a birthday party--for two four-year-olds. I watched them blow out candles on a birthday cake. I watched them open presents. I sang "Happy Birthday" to them. Then I supressed the urge to scream at the top of my lungs, "But today isn't even their birthday! Today is my freakin' birthday!" But I knew no one would care. It's hard to compete with four-year-olds.

Is it selfish of me to want my actual birthday to be about me? The "birthday" boy (Truman) was enjoying his second birthday party of the week while the "birthday" girl (Rebecca Barnes) was enjoying her third--both on MY birthday! Did the parents and grandparents (or my own wife and kids) stop to acknowledge me on my special day? Of course not. Did it hurt a little? Can I say yes?

But when you get to be 39 years old, people expect you to handle this type of slight maturely. Don't these people know me? Mature? I don't think so. Mature describes wines, not Naughtons. Therefore, I have decided to have a birthday do-over. I will start preparations now for a belated birthday bash to make every four-year-old in Missouri jealous. I'm gonna have a cake, ice cream, pony rides, and a Disney princesses theme. I'll hire a clown, or a stripper, or a mime. Fun will be had--in my honor! Stay tuned, peeps. I'm thinking a bonfire, or a party on the porch, or both (will have a garden hose at the ready.)

Stay tuned, and Happy Birthday to me!

500

2010-09-23T10:28:00.002-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen, you are reading my 500th blog post. While that accomplishment may not compare to Hank Aaron's 755 home runs or the number of times Larry King has been married, I still think it is noteworthy. While many of my older posts are painfully awkward and many others are barely readable, some are of a high enough quality that revised versions have made their way into my book Naked Snow Angels. But how did it all begin?

My friend Paul Shields started his own blog back in 2004 and immediately I recognized the potential of this new medium. Paul held photo contests, haiku contests, and provided his friends with a means to exchange witty barbs--almost always at his expense. The result was comedy gold. Paul even wrote some original songs using material gleaned from reader contributions to his blog. (He now has a fan page on facebook and on myspace under his stage name of "Paul & the Violent Farmers" which you should check out--when children are not in the room.)

If you go back through the archives of my blog, you will see the evolution of a writer from a blogger to a bona fide author. At times I have written angry tirades, humorous observations, and melancholy lamentations. I've dabbled in philosophy, politics, satire, and sports. If you have some free time, I welcome you to go back to the beginning and re-live this writing journey with me. The payoff? You will have a unique perspective of Travis Naughton the author when my book finally gets published. Naked Snow Angels is a reflection and culmination of all of the different forms my blog has taken over the years. I now have two final chapters outlined that are ready to be written in order to complete my manuscript. Hopefully, it will be published sometime in 2011. When I'm internationally famous and you see me on TV during Oprah's final season, you'll be able to say, "I've been reading that incredibly handsome young man's work since he was a blogger. Now he's a celebrity and I want to have his babies." (Men, you may say, "I'd like to have a frothy, malted beverage with that handsome and clever fellow!")

Thank you for all your support and encouragement over the years. My readers and fans, afterall, are the ones who are really to blame for unleashing me upon the literary world. Just wait'll Oprah gets a load o' me!

While the Cat's Away...

2010-09-06T22:32:00.003-05:00

Contrary to popular opinion, I was not naked all four days that Bethany and the boys were enjoying their long Labor Day weekend in Michigan. I was nude on no more than, like two days, not four. (Including some quality outside time spent talking to the Centurylink help desk on the phone while standing on the porch sipping coffee in my "business very, very casual" attire.)

Instead of being lazy, as was expected, I spent most of my time checking off "To-Dos" from a massive, twelve item list. I cleaned out our pole barn/garage, filling my truck bed twice with trash. It took over six hours to finish the job. I drove one load of garbage to the dump and set the other on the curb. (We'll see if they pick it up this week.) I scrubbed our vinyl-siding to rid it of a few years worth of mildew and grime. That took three or so hours. I mowed our yard and my mother-in-law's yard. That was about three hours. I purchased--as a surprise to my wife--a new screen door and installed it myself over the course of about three or four hours. I bought and assembled the new book case my beautiful bride wanted for our living room as Bethany's birthday present. I did laundry. I did the dishes. I cleaned the boys' toy room and their bedroom. I got Centurylink to finally come out to our house and fix our DSL (hopefully for the last time.) And I helped my friend Rob get his Ford Bronco going again and followed him as he drove it back to his house after an extended period in which it sat beside our barn gathering dust and accumulating an impressive collection of mosses and lichens. A rolling Ford gathers no moss.

As you can see, I've been a busy boy. It will take a few days to recover from all that manual labor, and then I'll dig in for the final push to finish writing my book. But for now, chillin' in the recliner is in my immediate future. (And possibly some gratuitous nudity.)

Pussy Magnet

2010-08-19T10:04:00.002-05:00

For a guy allergic to cats, there never seems to be a shortage of them in my life. Despite the fact that exposure to cat dander triggers potentially life threatening asthma attacks in yours truly, I can't get away from the walking fur balls. A litany of bewhiskered feline drifters comes calling at our house fairly regularly. A few years ago, one that we named Jager had a litter of kittens, all of which we later had spayed and neutered. Two of this family remain, a female named Boots and her brother Gray-Ray. (Jager, and my favorite of the litter Cletus, disappeared into the woods surrounding our house and never returned.) This sibling pair is tolerable, if not actually quite loveable for outdoor, semi-wild cats. Periodically, a loner will swing by and try to "take over the pride" through bullying and intimidation. One such cat, a male we called Blackbeard due to the black "soul patch" on his chin--and the fact that he was a marauding pirate of a cat bent on stealing the "booty" in the food bowl on our front porch--took a ride in the country with me not once, but twice before he finally took the hint that he was not welcome here.

Another drifter has made himself a permanent fixture recently. A handsome white cat with a black toupee and matching tail, Steve (as named by Alex) is here to stay. Our dogs have tried to run him off, as have I, but to no avail. Alas, I have given up. He is fairly nice and although Boots hates him, Gray-Ray doesn't seem to mind him much. Steve is a remarkable cat. The other day, I saw him take a dump in the yard that was so big it could have been mistaken for one of our St. Bernard's landmines. He didn't bury it like most cats, either. No sandbox, mulch pile, or any effort to conceal it whatsoever. No sir, he was proud of that pile. It almost looked like it could have been human. I imagined what my neighbors might have thought had they heard me yelling, "For god sakes, Steve! Don't shit in the yard. I just mowed!"

I think all pets should have human names. Yesterday I saw that cat stalking a mourning dove in the driveway. I threw open the kitchen window and shouted, "Steve! Don't you eat that bird!" Think of the fun you can have shouting at a crowded dog park, "Keith! Quit licking yourself!" Or, "Stop sticking your ass in Keith's face, Joyce!" When people ask me for tips on naming their pets or children, I always advise them to pick a name that they won't be embarrassed to yell in anger in a public place. Of course, our St. Bernard's name is Princess, which can be a little awkward when she's doing something like, say, chasing a helpless puppy at a local park. "Princess, no! Don't eat that Yorkie! Bad Princess!"

I hope that Steve will the last wayward cat to stumble across our homestead. But I doubt that will be the case. Alex is already planning to name the next one Bob. Let's see: "Bob! You pissed on my patio chair didn't you?!" Yeah, the neighbors will have a field day with that.

Twenty Years

2010-08-16T10:07:00.002-05:00

In May of 1990, some 250 or so young people graduated from Hannibal High School. However, our commencement took place in the wrong decade. We were children of the 1980s. We listened to Guns'n'Roses, Duran Duran, and Young MC. We wore acid-washed jeans, parachute pants, and in some unfortunate cases--leg warmers. (Not me!) Girls' hair rocked bangs big enough to shroud archeological treasures. Boys sported the timeless "mullet" (business in front, party in the back.) We witnessed the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Iran-Contra Affair, and the advent of the personal computer. Our beloved St. Louis Cardinals made three World Series appearances during the decade. Our red-headed stepchild of a sports franchise, the St. Louis football Cardinals flew west to Arizona. It took 18 years for anyone to notice that they were gone.

Last weekend, the class of '90 held its 2o year reunion back in that "white town drowsing" on the banks of the Mississippi River. Several of us toured the high school building before the official festivities and heavy drinking commenced on Saturday evening. Memories that had long since faded into oblivion were made suddenly vivid again as I showed my family the "Senior Star" that adorned the floor in the main foyer of the building. I laughed as I recalled making my brother Blake and other freshmen polish the star with toothbrushes as a rite of massage that I hope hasn't been since banned as a form of "hazing." Our tour group explored the three floors of the building with a child-like enthusiasm that none of us remembered having twenty years prior. Nostalgia isn't a strong enough word for what we felt. It was more like stepping into a time machine and being transported back to 1990 for a few glorious minutes. It was, in short, pretty damned cool.

But of course, seeing old classmates that evening was the real reason for coming home to Hannibal. I saw, embraced, and laughed with people I have known since I first came to town in 1980. That's right--I've maintained some close friendships for thirty years now. That's pretty damned cool, too. The capacity for human beings to instantly rekindle decades-old friendships after years of being out of contact with one another amazes me. I can't convey with words how much it meant to me to be reunited with so many very dear friends after so many years apart. (I would call you all out by name right now, but there are far too many of you to list here.) Which helped me come to a wonderful realization: I am truly blessed to have so many good friends. As time and distance isolated us from one another since the glory days, it would have been understandable to feel more like aquaintances rather than real friends upon seeing each other again. But not so for the class of '90. Real friends have the ability to pick up right where they left off--even after twenty years of not being in touch. Two decades apart is nothing that a few shots of Jagermeister can't fix.

I just want to thank the organizers of our reunion for their hard work in throwing this shin-dig together. Dawn Tate Weber, Shelly Taylor Bode, Lisa Sheffield Pemberton, Amanda McBride Brown, Lori Landrum Mueller, Matt Kirby, and everyone else who contributed to the weekend's success: THANK YOU!!! And, thank you to all of my very good friends who made me laugh so much that I woke up in the middle of the night with back spasms. (Hey, we are getting a little older, you know.)

Long live the members of the class of '90. But just in case our livers can't hold out much longer, let's get together again sooner rather than later.

Fourteen Years

2010-08-03T10:43:00.003-05:00

Aside from the births of Barack Obama, Jeff Gordon, and Bill Herrin, August 4th is truly a special day to me because on that date in 1996, a certain girl from the big town of New London, Missouri entered into a legally binding contract to love me forever--for better or for worse. Poor Bethany. Was she duped? Hoodwinked? Deceived? Bribed? Blackmailed? Bamboozled? I choose to invoke my Fifth Amendment Right to not answer these questions.

One does have to question Bethany's judgment though. Why would an apparently smart and obviously attractive young woman agree to marry me? She's tall, fit, and sexy while I am none of those things. Why would she settle for me, when she clearly could have done much, much better? Was she dropped on her head as a child? Her standard answer to the question of 'why?' is, "I was drunk." She lies.

For better or for worse. Lately, she would probably label life with me with the latter. My astute wife has pointed out that since I've become a "real writer" I've begun acting like one. She's noticed that I'm moody and prone to angry outbursts of late. I reply with, "Yes, but what's new about that?" Nevertheless, she is stuck with me, so she makes the best of it I guess.

To my wife, I would like to publicly say thank you for putting up with me for fourteen years. I don't deserve someone as good as you. That isn't to say I don't deserve to be loved--just perhaps loved by a crack whore or a woman with three teeth and an affinity for chaw. Yet here you are, still with me after having had ample time to come to your senses--or sober-up. If your mom did drop you on your head, then remind me to thank her for that.

I love you, Mrs. Naughton, more than a moody writer could ever put into words. Happy anniversary.

I love it when a plan comes together

2010-07-19T09:58:00.002-05:00

After just a few days of making revisions, my original manuscript for Naked Snow Angels is barely recognizable. I have become so consumed with writing this new version that I spent nearly twelve hours working on it yesterday alone. But as I lay in bed last night, more and more ideas kept popping into my mind, causing me to toss and turn until about 4:00am when I finally decided to get out of bed and get my thoughts down on paper. I grabbed my notebook, plotted out the second half of the book including a new ending, and went back to bed in time to watch the sun rise through our bedroom window.

This book has taken over my life. I know my kids need more attention from me, but I rationalize away any guilt for their neglect by reminding myself that I have been staying at home with them for over two years now. They could probably use a break from me for a little while. When Bethany asks, "When are you gonna get off that computer and spend some time with your family?" I remind her that if I ever sell this book, the royalty checks will be my first contribution to our finances since May 2008. "Well then quit talking to me and get back to work!"

Yes dear.

Book Report

2010-07-16T10:33:00.002-05:00

I am happy to report to my many tens of fans that after a lengthy delay, progress on my book Naked Snow Angels is coming along quite nicely. After the first draft of the manuscript was completed back in the waning days of winter, I set aside the work and put it out of my mind for awhile in order to be able to attack it from a fresh perspective later. As spring and the beginning of summer came and went, I struggled to find the ideal format for telling my story. This week, I finally made a breakthrough.

You may recall from my past updates that when I first decided to write a book, I grappled with the notion of writing a purely fictional novel. (I have two unfinished manuscripts saved on my hard drive that will likely never see the light of day.) Somehow, a novel felt contrived and artificial, so I gave up the idea--for now. Next, I attempted to compile a collection of essays gleaned from my blog and from the two aborted novels. The result was a mish-mash of disconnect that left me scratching my head searching for any rhyme or reason to my yammerings. Eventually I came to realize that by re-ordering my essays, what I had actually written was really a pretty decent memoir. However, I wasn't comfortable with the notion of a 38 year old, relatively unknown person writing his life's story. It seemed like a bit of a stretch to believe anyone would want to read it. As an acquaintance once quipped when I told her I was writing my memoir, "Honey, you haven't been alive long enough. That'll be one short story."

My immediate response was, "I've done a lot of livin' in 38 years." My more reasoned response has taken up until this week to formulate. I have begun re-writing my "memoir" in a completely new way. To my knowledge, a book has never been written in the manner that I have decided upon, so if I'm right, I am currently writing a truly original style of book. Of course I can't tell you what that style is just yet. Suffice it to say, of the myriad variations of memoirs, biographies, and autobiographies that have ever been written, I have found no examples using the exact device that I have implemented for my book. There are a few books out there that are somewhat similar, but I believe I've come up with a novel twist (pun intended).

So stay tuned, my loyal followers. Your devotion and patience will be rewarded soon. I expect to have the manuscript completed by the end of summer and will then begin the process of trying to get it published. Any help you can provide in that department would be greatly appreciated.

An open letter to our house

2010-07-12T18:43:00.003-05:00

Dear Mr. (or Mrs.) House,

I can't help but notice that you seem to be mad at us. What exactly did we do to deserve such rude treatment from you? For starters, you decided that we don't need air conditioning during this most unpleasantly hot and humid Missouri summer. In my humble opinion, the Naughtons have done nothing to you that would justify cooking us alive within your walls. Rude. Second, you sabotaged the clothes dryer, forcing us to hang-up our damp unmentionables out of doors in the stifling heat. That's plain mean. Next, you cracked the shower head in our bathroom, making it almost impossible to take a cooling shower in a vain effort to stave off heat stroke after hanging laundry all day. All of these things are inconvenient, uncalled for, and ill-timed. But they fail to get under my skin to the extent that your latest effort has. You broke the Internet.

Every day during the past week, you have severed my ties to the outside world from the hours of 10:00am through 6:00pm. I don't know how you managed to accomplish this, but somehow you've made it to where I have no Internet connection for those same eight hours every single day. It is bad enough that I have to sweat, do laundry outside, and take baths instead of showers, but now you've decided to monkey with my best distraction from all of your needless destruction. House, you and I have had a pretty good run up until this year. Oh sure, I remember when you maimed the furnace on a sub-freezing night a few years ago and when you thought it would be funny to make the exhaust fan in the bathroom stop working just when the lingering stench of a partially digested Big Mac extra value meal desperately needed to be removed from the stagnant confines of your smallest room, but lately--you've really been trying my patience.

If I promise to paint the three rooms Bethany has been wanting to get "made-over" for the past five years, will you promise to stop making my life difficult? If we clean out your gutters, will you quit messing with the Internet? I think we've been pretty decent occupants over the years, don't you? We've replaced your worn carpet with hardwood floors. We've repainted three rooms. We landscaped around you and mow your yard regularly. We vacuum, scrub your siding, and even wash your windows once a decade or so. What more do you want from us? We'll be bringing another child from China home to live with us in the next year or so, filling another of your cozy rooms. Do you think you could help us save the money for the adoption by not destroying every appliance we own? Speaking of appliances, we replaced your aging fridge and stove a couple years back as well as the old washer and dryer, or did you already forget that? Please, big fella, give us a break okay? If you choose to keep doing things the hard way, we can play that game. I could unleash the full destructive power of two young Naughton boys on you. Trust me, ask the houses from my youth: you don't want that.

Think it over. And do the right thing.

Sincerely,
Travis "The Man of the House" Naughton

Brother Travis

2010-07-07T21:20:00.002-05:00

Don't laugh, but today I became a legal, ordained minister of the Universal Life Church. Okay, go ahead and laugh if you want, but it's no joke. The ULC explicitly frowns upon becoming ordained as a joke. I read that somewhere on their web page. However, the mission of my ministry will be to promote and encourage laughter, which will help make people happy, which will in turn help make the world a better place. Naive? Maybe. I can hear you snickering as you read this. And that's perfectly fine with me. That's the whole idea.

After witnessing my friends Troy and Anita getting hitched by their mutual friend The Right Reverend Brandi Woolery (a beautiful soul who became ordained for the sole purpose of officiating their ceremony) I became intrigued by the idea of becoming a minister. After some soul searching and Internet surfing, I decided to take the plunge. The ULC has two specific reasons for being: To promote freedom of (and/or from) religion and to always do that which is right. They will ordain anyone from any denomination including Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Pagans, Atheists, etc. And they do it for free. The idea is to encourage people to feel free to practice (or not practice) their religion of choice without fear or shame. And we all know I have no shame.

By now you must be asking yourself, "What denomination is this wacko going to align himself with?" Well, the simple answer is none of the above. I have a working knowledge of several of the world's religions and have yet to find one that has satisfied my lifelong quest to make sense of my existence. Having a degree in philosophy, I have come to the conclusion that no single religion has all the answers. Each offers something of spiritual value to anyone who can stay awake during their weekly services, but none are absolutely right (or wrong.) Therefore, I think the world needs a new "religion" if you will. That's where I come in.

Welcoming believers and non-believers from every walk of life, the "ministry" I am creating will be focused on making the world a better place through laughter. (I know, it's not much different from what I've been doing up to this point of my life.) There are a few distinct differences though. As an ordained minister, I will legally be able to perform wedding ceremonies, baptisms, funerals, and even exorcisms! So I've got that going for me.

Why? For one thing, I think it will be really fun to call myself the Right Reverend Travis or Brother Travis, or whatever title I am willing to pay ULC twenty bucks to put on my certificate. For a little more, I could call myself Dr. Naughton, but somehow I think that would really piss off my brother who paid dearly for his doctorate from Stanford. Also, I can see all of my friends laughing and smiling and shaking their heads in disbelief every time they think of me being a minister--and that makes me happy. Really, the only goal I have is to make my friends laugh and hopefully they will take that laughter with them wherever they go and spread it around like the flu or herpes maybe.

Anyway, I thought you would be amused to know that your friend Travis Naughton is a now bona fide man of the cloth (well, some or other kind of cloth.) I am leaning toward calling myself Brother Travis or Brother T, but you can call me whatever you like, as long as there's a smile on your face. That's why I'm here.

Stay at Home Writer

2010-07-06T19:14:00.002-05:00

*I wrote the following essay as a sample of what I am capable of as a newspaper/magazine columnist. Feel free to forward this and my contact info to any publishers or editors you may know. My wife would appreciate it if I could generate some income this decade.

Moments ago, I sat down to write an essay about the ups and downs of pet ownership. I was feeling inspired (and a slight stinging sensation) after having my hand bitten—again—by our pet bird Chi-Chi, a parakeet who apparently didn’t get the memo about not biting the hand that feeds him. I had just typed the title to this future masterpiece when I was interrupted by the ear-splitting screams of righteous indignation coming from my three-year-old son Truman—a phenomenon more common than parakeet pecks and often much more painful. I set aside my laptop, meted out some swift justice to Tru and his older brother Alex (the party who frequently claims to be the victim, but more often than not is the victimizer), and settled back into my work station/easy chair to resume writing. But the moment was gone. The pain from the bird-bite had dissipated, as did my inspiration to write about my feathered and furry friends. I’ll admit that I was tempted to pack it in and postpone writing until the boys’ bedtime, but I decided instead to write this piece about a day in the life of a writer/stay at home dad.

Just while I was typing the above paragraph, several distractions occurred that would derail most professional writers. The phone rang while I was responding to yet another domestic dispute, causing me to threaten Truman with a great deal of bodily discomfort if he refused to cease his screeching long enough for me to say, “Hello.” As I greeted the caller, he resumed his caterwauling, which forced me to repeat my initial cordial “hello” with a more irritated one. The caller turned out to be a telemarketer, a fact that removed any guilt I may have had for sounding particularly rude. She wanted me to pass along a message to my wife Bethany that her eyeglass prescription was now expired and that she should come in to get new glasses as soon as possible. First of all, I didn’t know glasses had an expiration date. Do they get all brown and mushy like bananas or are they no longer legally valid after two years like, say, a driver’s license? I was tempted to ask the caller these questions, but opted instead for the old stand-by, “I’ve got a screaming kid here. You understand. Have a nice day.” Click. Minutes later, another squabble ensued as did another phone call—this time from Bethany, who was “just checking in to see how everything was going.” I kept my response short and sweet, which she correctly interpreted as “It sounds like you’re busy.” She was right of course. She usually is. Oops, I mean she always is.

Although my kids can derail the creativity train that runs within me at the drop of a hat, or the taking of a toy, they provide me with a wealth of material to write about—if ever I can find the time. Take this morning for example. I was drifting in and out of sleepyland at about eight o’ clock, dreaming about peeing in the Pope’s Jacuzzi (I wish I was making this up, but it is unfathomably true) when I heard the toilet lid go up in the master bathroom. I pried open an eye in time to see Tru getting on the potty like a big boy. I was pleased to notice him dabbing a stray droplet or two off the rim with a square of toilet paper. What a conscientious little fella! When he finished, I instructed him to get a clean pair of underwear from his room, which he set out to do without argument. I was a proud papa.

Moments later, Tru returned to inform me that he couldn’t find any underwear in his dresser, and so I begrudgingly crawled out of bed—an unheard of act for a dad who is accustomed to staying in bed and “watching” TV with his kids in the early morning hours (until Sesame Street is over at the very least.) I dug up a pair of skivvies that were as yet unpacked from a bag of clean laundry following a week’s vacation and put them on my curiously smelly child. No sooner had I pulled up the Thomas the Train tighty-whities, than I spotted the source of the offending odor. An instantly recognizable brown streak was making its way from Truman’s nether-region to his ankles. I sprang into action, fully awake, putting aside all thoughts of how I would explain to the Pope why his hot tub was defiled and ran at a dead sprint with filthy child in hand to the bathroom.

Upon re-entry into the bathroom, I flipped on the light. The horror! My first thought was something along the lines of how relieved the Pope would be that I didn’t do that to his Jacuzzi. Poo was everywhere, and I don’t mean the Winnie-the-Pooh sheets, jammies, and toys that were scattered about the house. Real, non-Disney poo. I set Tru on his feet in the middle of the room and like a CSI detective, I began to piece together what had happened. Judging by the brown streak on the side of the tub, Tru must have leaned against it as he stripped off his diaper, which was protruding from the trashcan like a brown and white flag of surrender. From there, the trail led to the toilet where it became apparent that the boy had not been dabbing a few drops of pee that errantly landed on the rim. If only. Instead, as he hoisted himself up to the seat, he very obviously smeared a British Petroleum sized slick all over the commode.
I peeled off his fresh underwear only to find that it was—not so fresh anymore. I began to clean up the bathroom fixtures while my patient but stinky child stood motionless and eerily emotionless in the middle of the floor. He seemed to be completely unaffected by the whole affair, unlike his father who was alternately gagging and holding his breath while depleting the disappointingly limited supply of wet wipes in a vain effort to remove the now tacky substance from the boy’s, well, boy parts. The only remaining course of action was a hasty shower, one that left no time for proper preparation or the securing of a washcloth. That unfortunate fact left me no choice but to use soap, water, and my bare hands to extricate the thoroughly stuck-on poo from Truman’s little “peanut butt” as his mama calls it—a cute name for a portion of his personage that was anything but cute at that moment.

After some serious scrubbing, Tru was his old self again. I sent him back to watch his cartoons while I took a shower that I hoped was hot enough to sterilize my hands and burn away the nauseating memories from my mind. I guess I only succeeded on one of those fronts. And for that I’m somewhat glad. Without these types of experiences to draw upon, I would have very little to write about. Oh, I could make stuff up and call myself a novelist, but in regards to my life I’ve found that the truth is much more entertaining than fiction.

Fun in the Sun

2010-07-03T18:28:00.003-05:00

Having retired for the second time just over two years ago, I am living the dream. Of course I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. You may remember that I formally declared the first summer of my retirement as the Summer of Travis. But the summer of 2010 is making a strong play for the title. In the past month, I have gone fishing many times, spent a lot of time with my boys, and visited friends and family in Colorado, Philly, KC, St. Lou, and most recently the Riveria Maya in Mexico.

This was my second vacation south of the border since 2005 and proved to be just as much fun as the first. I drank muchas tequilas, toured Mayan ruins, spent an afternoon zip-lining (including one run hanging upside down), and laughed myself to tears too many times to count. Accompanied by my beautiful wife, John & Kristen Briscoe, and Grant & Brenda Barnes, I had one of the best weeks of recreation and brain cell culling in my life. And I made some new friends in Mexico, both American and Mexican that I'll never forget. Grant and John accused me of developing a "bromance" with a bartender named Rodolfo who plied me with Don Julio shots throughout our stay. They may be right. We exchanged email addresses and I am thinking very seriously of asking him to become my first Mayan facebook friend.

The Summer of Travis version 2.0 continues next weekend with a reunion of the families who adopted kids through our agency, Children's Hope International. Also, next month will be my 20 year high school reunion, although I contend that most of my friends have failed to mature mentally past an eighth grade level. Both of these reunions will be fun--in very different ways of course. Hopefully I will see you at one of these events, but if not, don't be surprised if you hear a knock on your door at three in the morning followed by, "It's Travis Naughton. Remember me? I was the captian of our co-ed naked bingo team. I think. Let me in please. It's the Summer of Travis! And I gotta pee."

Good Medicine

2010-06-15T20:42:00.003-05:00

If ever you find yourself so overwhelmed with the responsibilites, boredom, and/or chaos of being a stay-at-home parent, then I recommend taking a few days off to reconnect with your former, pre-parental self. Last weekend I did just that.

One of my very best friends in the universe, Troy Lepper, and his best gal Anita (a muy caliente Latina that Troy affectionately calls "Brown Sugar") got hitched in the scenic but chilly mountains of northern Colorado. I was blessed with the opportunity to attend said nuptials sans familia. Bethany agreed to take some time off from work to spend a long weekend with the kids while I was given a rare furlough from my incarceration at the Hartsburg Sanitorium. My friend Rob Scott accompanied me on the epic road trip to Ft. Collins in anticipation of a three day wedding celebration that we were certain would rank as one of the most fun of all time. We were not disappointed.

On Thursday evening, Troy and Anita held a backyard movie night at their home for thirty or so of their favorite people. Apparently, Rob and I qualified. Everyone let their hair down, enjoyed various intoxicants, and laughed until it hurt. The highlight of the evening was an unforgettable burlesque show performed by a very close friend of the happy couple named Lady Ginger Licious, a lovely and unique woman I had had the pleasure of meeting once before.

Friday night involved a fantastic rehearsal dinner at the mountain resort that played host to the wedding festivities. Troy convinced several members of his family that Rob and I were a gay couple, and we enjoyed keeping them guessing for the rest of the weekend. (If you don't know Rob, I'll tell you that he is about 6'4", 240 pounds to my 5'7" 147. An odd couple if there ever was one.)

Saturday was the big day, and I have to say it was one of the neatest ceremonies that I had ever attended. Troy and Anita's good friend Brandi procured a ministerial certification from the ad in the back of "Rolling Stone" magazine and officiated the ceremony as the Right Reverend Brandi Wine. Spirit wands were waved by members of the audience as a blessing of the union. The bride wore a stunning white gown with a rainbow patterned bow tied around her waist which looked absolutely perfect. The bride and groom shook their groove thing while exchanging vows that included the promise to "love, honor, and get funky" with their counterpart for as long as they both shall live.

The reception featured great toasts by the best man Steve "The Fonz" Winkler and the maid of honor/burlesque dancer Ginger. Troy thanked the wedding guests for sharing the big weekend with him and Anita and his speech left the crowd both laughing and crying. As I mingled with the other guests, I realized I had made several new friends over the course of the all-too-brief weekend. Brandi and Ginger are two of them as well as a couple named Billy and Leigh. I spent a lot of time visiting with old friends Ben and Steve and got to know their wives Tara and Rachael quite well. They are now officially friends of mine, too.

Last weekend was just what the doctor ordered for me. I had been feeling quite impatient, quick-tempered, and exhausted by the never-ending responsibility of my job as a stay-at-home dad. But spending a three day weekend with dear friends made all of my stress melt away and now I feel like a new man (for the time being anyway.) This unique group of friends has the ability to lift my spirits unlike any other circle of friends I have had. Each of them is a very positive person who lives life to the fullest while marching to the beat of their own drum. They remind me that it is okay to be myself and not worry about looking or sounding foolish. Troy especially has been a colossal influence in my life and has helped me through many a rough patch during my younger, self-destructive years.

Troy is more than a friend. As I told him after his wedding, he is the big brother I never had. I am the oldest of four kids in my family, Troy is the youngest of four in his. A few years older than me, I think he considers me the younger brother he never had. Sharing the same height and build, the same first initial, the same hair color, the same tastes in music, and at one point a blues show on Mizzou's college radio station, we have a lot in common. Not the least of which is a love of life and a love for one another that was once again, over the course of three days in Colorado, reaffirmed.

Congrats Dr. & Mrs. Lepper, and much love to you both. Stay funky.

Memorial Day

2010-05-28T11:00:00.003-05:00

In Thurdsay's online edition of the Columbia Daily Tribune, a reader posted the following comment; "I always admitted that "W" was a bungler and truly wished we had a better speaker to put forth the conservative ideals that most true Americans hold dear."

I responded with the following:

Most TRUE Americans hold conservatives ideals dear? So if I am not a conservative then I am not a TRUE American? There is the TRUE problem facing our country today. Why can't we have an intelligent debate about issues without questioning each other's patriotism or love of country? I voted for Obama, as did the majority of voters in the last election. Therefore, I don't see how it's possible that "most true Americans" hold dear the values of conservativism.

I am a true American. I support your right to question my patriotism, even if it makes me angry. I support your right to cling too tightly to the belief that yours is the only correct point of view, although in my opinion you couldn't be more wrong. But I do ask you, with all due respect, to please refrain from insinuating that people in this country who disagree with you are not true Americans.

My great grandfather fought for America in WWI. My grandfather in WWII. My father in Vietnam. They fought to preserve your right to say incendiary things like proclaiming that you, and not their own descendant, are a true American. I hope that you and every true American remembers my ancestors' service to this great country of ours this Memorial Day.

As for this liberal, yet TRUE as they come American, I say thank you to all of the men and women who have fought, been injured, or died so that I can have the opportunity to sit here sipping my coffee, typing on my computer, and listening to my kids playing in the next room--a pretty damn good life if you ask me.

I'm Still Alive

2010-05-18T09:39:00.002-05:00

Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I have been taking a writing hiatus following the completion of the first draft of my book Naked Snow Angels. I needed to step away from the demands of finding something creative to say on a daily basis, and so yes, I must admit that I have been spending way too much time on the mindless distraction that is Facebook.

All the cold and rainy weather we have had for the past few months has caused me to slide into a very unsatisfying rut of checking email, checking facebook, reading the online version of the newspaper, and searching online listings for classic cars for sale that I cannot afford. Well folks, the sun has come out today, and I am feeling frisky.

Four or five more cups of coffee and I may be ready to start revising my book. I am not sure whether to change it from a non-fiction memoir to a novel, a collection of short stories, or a collection of humorous essays, but I'm pretty sure it will be quite changed in version 2.0. Stay tuned for further updates and excerpts.

And thank you for remaining my loyal and patient fans.

WWII in HD

2010-02-28T12:29:00.002-06:00

Last night, I stayed up till two in the morning watching most of the WWII in HD marathon on the History Channel. I had seen most of these episodes the first time they ran, but this time I got to watch them all back-to-back. I couldn't turn it off.

My first thought after watching the series was that most people under the age of 30 probably don't have a living family member who fought in WWII. For these young people, the war is just another chapter in their history books at school. That is why this program should be required viewing in every high school history class. It makes the abstract concepts of world-wide warfare, genocide, and self-sacrifice very real.

I feel so indebted to my grandfathers and great uncles who fought in World War Two. Aldace Naughton, Jr served in the Pacific Theater while James Everett Naughton, his cousin, fought in the Battle of the Bulge against the Nazis. My mom's father, Robert Keller served in the Pacific, too, though I am not as familiar with his history. Part of me wants to know more about their experiences, but another part of me is afraid to know what these men saw during their tours of duty. I owe my life and my freedom to these great men. We all do.

I hope free people everywhere are aware that were it not for the incredible sacrifices of "The Greatest Generation" our world would be a very different place today. Can you fathom what life would be like on our planet if the Allies had lost the war? An estimated 70 million people died during the six years of WWII, half of them civilians. Imagine how many more would have perished had the Nazis and Japanese won. When we play with our i-phones and nintendos, listen to gangster rap and heavy metal, and tolerate baseball and football players going on strike because their $100 million contracts are never enough, shouldn't we stop for a moment to reflect upon what our grandfathers who froze to death in foxholes in France or were burned alive on Tarawa would think of our shallow, self-indulgences?

The next time you start to complain about the way the boy at the store bagged your groceries or the apparent shortage of foam in your Starbucks latte, think about the millions of men who were conscripted into the military, taken from their families, and thrown in front of a Japanese or German pillbox full of machine guns. Whenever you start to whine about how unfair it is that someone at work gets a better office or parking space than you, think about the men who were assigned to storm the beaches of Normandy or Okinawa, who knew that they may never see their wives or children again. When you get impatient waiting in the emergency room to see a doctor about your sprained ankle, think about the field nurses who held the hands of thousands of young men as they bled to death after being blown to pieces by exploding mortars.

The men and women who served in WWII are true heroes. Tiger Woods was never a hero. It amuses me how many people tuned in to watch his mea culpa press conference. I don't care how many strippers he was with. I don't care how far he can hit a golf ball. There are men and women in Iraq and Afghanistan getting killed or maimed everyday who don't even get a mention in the news for the sacrifices they've made. I wonder how our WWII vets, the few that are still with us, can tolerate living in a society that is so shallow and so oblivious to what really matters in the world. Freedom. Family. Love. Those things matter.

Next time you see an 85 year old, thank him or her for saving the world. Thank them for what you have and the life you live. We owe them everything. Absolutely everything.

Ice, Ice Baby

2010-02-15T13:56:00.003-06:00

Photos of the boys enjoying a frozen waterfall in our woods.

Revisionist History

2010-02-09T16:47:00.003-06:00

"Naked Snow Angels" is one step closer to completion. I just finished the first revision of my manuscript and will be heading to Kinko's to print a couple copies off. I will send these to a couple of people whom I trust to edit and critique my book. This makes me more anxious than writing the 25 chapter, 262 page manuscript in the first place.

This book is more than the story of my life--writing it has become my life's work. I have realized after years of bouncing around from one job to another and never feeling satisfied with any particular occupation, that I just hadn't stumbled upon what I was really cut out to be--a writer. It isn't that I'm allergic to good old fashioned hard work or that I'm just extremely lazy. It turns out that some people are butchers, some are salesmen, some are groundskeepers, and some are writers.

I think the book I have created is actually pretty damn good. The process has been very interesting as the manuscript has evolved from a novel, to a collection of random essays, and finally into cohesive memoir that while not written in a strictly chronological order, flows naturally from start to finish. There are stories from my childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, and my life as a husband and father. I've included a good balance of humorous, cringe worthy, poignant, and enlightening material that I think will leave the reader looking forward to my next book.

And I have several more books in me. At first, I wasn't sure that I had enough material to write one full-length book, but now I know that the wealth of experiences that I have to draw story ideas from is virtually limitless. The question now becomes, will anyone in the publishing world take a chance and buy my book? After making my final revisions, hopefully in the next few weeks, I will start sending out queries to literary agents and editors in the hope that someone in New York City will give an old country boy a shot.

Thanks for your support and stay tuned for further updates.

Good Lookin'

2010-02-01T20:57:00.002-06:00

I realize that I haven't posted new photos of the boys lately, so here you go. They're almost as good looking as their old man, don't you think?

I'm Gonna Live!

2010-01-26T17:47:00.002-06:00

After two EKGs, an ultrasound, a stress test, and bloodwork, it has been determined by a bona fide cardiologist that my irregular heart beat is nothing to worry about and that I am perfectly healthy.

"Your bloodwork came back absolutely perfect. It is exactly what you want to see in a man your age. I couldn't be more pleased with the results," the good doctor said.

"Great," my wife sighed. "Now I have to hear about how perfect you are for the next year or so."

She's just jealous because I eat like a human garbage disposal, rarely exercise, and manage to keep my cholesterol levels perfect.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful- and healthy."

At Last

2010-01-25T14:40:00.002-06:00

I started to write a novel way back in 2005. I muddled through the first four chapters until I realized that the awkward work of fiction could never be completed. I began a second novel in 2008 that had great potential, but suffered the same problem as the first: it was forced, contrived, and not very good.

Today, I just completed authoring my first book. I gave up on the idea of a fictional version of my life's story because in my case, the truth is way more entertaining than fiction. My non-fiction collection of humorous and sometimes poignant essays combine to form a memoir of sorts, although I am hesitant to use that term to describe the book. Rather, I compare it to a music album. Each song is strong enough to stand on its own, but when played in order on a full-length record, they combine to create a cohesive volume of work. Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" album is a good example of what I mean. Any particular song on that album is a hit. But when you play the entire record from start to finish, you discover a masterpiece.

My book may not be a masterpiece, but it is the culmination of a lifetime of mistakes, adventures, highs, and lows that when written about in this form, combine to become my greatest creative achievement. My life's story is tragic and triumphant. It is disturbing at times and inspiring at others. The reader will want to slap me one minute and hug me the next. My hope is that it will entertain and enlighten whomever is brave or bored enough to read it.

So keep an eye open and watch for "Naked Snow Angels" to come to a bookstore near you; hopefully in the not-so-distant future. And thank you for all of the encouragement you have given me throughout this process and throughout my life.

Almost There

2010-01-20T16:30:00.002-06:00

I just finished writing my 21st chapter. 219 pages and 70,000+ words. I think I've got another three chapters to go and then I will be done with the first draft of "Naked Snow Angels." I have edited as I've added new chapters, so I don't think the revision process will be too lengthy. Hopefully, I will have a finished manuscript ready to submit to publishers within a few weeks.

My family is rooting for me. The boys have been feeling a little neglected lately and Bethany no doubt feels that the house chores are being neglected, too. So the sooner I get this book done and things get back to normal, the better.

Stay tuned...

The End is Near

2010-01-18T19:06:00.002-06:00

I just finished writing the 19th chapter of my book. I know I shouldn't get hung-up on page counts, but I am at 189 so far with at least four or five more chapters to go. So I'm feeling pretty good about my progress. Word count: 61,500+.

Let's get the buzz going on the internet right now. Hopefully, by the time I submit my manuscript, publishers will be fighting each other for the chance to buy "Naked Snow Angels" by Travis A. Naughton. (Free autographs to all my friends when you buy your copy!)

Silly Me

2010-01-14T11:07:00.002-06:00

I'm new to the field of "legitimate" writing. My third attempt to pen a full-length book is progressing nicely, but I was beginning to become concerned about the relatively small amount of completed pages I had produced compared to my total word count. This morning I re-read the chapter on submitting a manuscript in my copy of "Getting Your Book Published For Dummies." Turns out, I should have been double spacing my type-written pages all along.

I am happy to report that I have written 19 chapters, 54,000+ words, and 167 standard format pages. Now we're gettin' somewhere!

Snow Honey

2010-01-11T08:59:00.002-06:00

After Bethany and Alex left for work and school this morning, Truman and I settled back under the covers to watch cartoons and get a little more rest. Within two minutes, the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"I'm stuck in the stupid driveway in a stupid snowdrift and now we're going to be late," my lovely wife said with a tinge of rage in her voice.
"Oh, okay. Just give me a minute," I replied while shaking the sleep from my brain in an effort to comprehend what she was saying. I hung up the phone and walked to the kitchen window. I looked outside, but saw no van in the driveway. Confused, I called Bethany back.
"Hello?" It was Alex.
"Hey buddy. Let me talk to Mommy."
"She said to ask what you want."
"I want to know where you guys are. I don't see you in the driveway."
"We're stuck on the hill in the snow."
"Tell Mommy I need to talk to her please."
"She said she's busy."
"Too busy to talk to me? Tell her I have to talk to her right now."
"What do you want?" my sweet-natured bride began. "I'm trying to dig this van out and the gas light came on and now you're bothering me..."
"You called me, remember?"
"Well I don't have time to talk right now and I'm pissed off."
"I can tell. But I just wanted to know where you are so I could come pull you out with the truck."
"Oh. We're on the hill by the mailboxes. When I couldn't make it up on the first try I backed down for another run but went off the road into a pile of snow."
"I'll be right there." Truman and I scrambled to get dressed and jumped in the truck. I spotted the van on the gravel road at the end of our steep driveway. I parked and approached the vehicle and its distressed driver with caution.
"Thanks for coming to pull us out," Bethany said sheepishly.
"No problem. In the future, when you call someone to say you're stuck in the snow and they call back to find out exactly where you are because they are willing, early on a cold morning, to root around in the snow and come pull you out, you should probably take the call instead of insisting that you're too busy to talk and making the nine year old tell your would-be rescuer to ask, 'What does he want? and 'Tell him I can't talk right now'. Okay sweetie?"
"Okay." And then my beautiful wife smiled and laughed at herself, and I hooked the chain to her van and pulled it right up the hill. "Thank you. I love you."
My pleasure.

50,000 words

2010-01-10T12:03:00.001-06:00

Seventeen chapters, 88 pages, and 50,000 words are "in the book" so to speak. Thank goodness for coffee.

Book Progress

2010-01-08T11:18:00.002-06:00

After taking a hiatus from writing during the holidays, I have jumped back in with both feet. I have now finished sixteen essays (chapters) and have written 45,000 words on 81 pages. With this progress, I am starting to see light at the end of the tunnel. I expect to write about 8 to 10 more essays before I am willing to call it done.

Does anyone know anybody in publishing?

New Year's Resolution

2010-01-02T14:00:00.004-06:00

I am getting old. Or so my wife and children keep telling me. They delight in pointing out each new grey hair found on my head. They make comments about my beer belly. But they also sincerely worry about my health, specifically my cardio-vascular fitness. Some families are known for their philanthropic work. Others for their success in athletics. Mine is known for having heart conditions. My grandfather had a heart attack and a quadruple bypass. My dad had a heart attack and a stint inserted into an artery. His brother just died of a heart attack on Christmas Eve. My brother Blake and I both have irregular heartbeats that lead to fatigue and a general feeling of "I'm not a doctor, but it seems like a bad thing when my heart stops beating dozens of times per day." To my knowledge, due to heart problems, no Naughton man has blown out more than 65 candles on his birthday cake. So, I think my wife may be right to worry.

My New Year's Resolution is to take care of my heart. I will try to eat more fruits and vegetables, not eat as much fried foods, and limit my alcoholic consumption to anti-oxidant rich dark beers and red wines (in moderation of course.) I'll start taking a heart-wise multi-vitamin as well. I will try to exercise more often. I have been walking on our treadmill several times per week lately and will add cycling to the mix when the weather warms up. Maybe I'll start hitting the punching bag once in a while, too, just to remind it who's boss. Finally, the best exercise for my pumper is to love my family will all of my heart. That should be the easy part I think.

Happy New Year!

Christmas in Philly

2009-12-28T09:04:00.002-06:00

After a brief weather delay, our family landed at Philadelphia Airport on Christmas night, where Blake was waiting to drive us to his apartment. As we approached the vehicle, Bethany said, "Blake, I didn't know you owned an (Honda) Odyssey." To which I replied, "He doesn't. You do. Merry Christmas!"

For months, if not years, my bride has wanted an Odyssey van. About a month ago I asked her what year, miles, and price range she was thinking about. Lo and behold, I found a 2002 with 96,000 miles that had only one previous owner, located in Philly. The year, miles, and money were right for Bethany, so I bought the van, unbeknownst to her.

Blake and Meredith actually test drove the van and handled the transaction for me. (Thanks you two!) My biggest challenge was keeping the secret for a month. When Bethany finally grasped the fact that the van was hers, she was thrilled. She couldn't believe that I kept it a surprise for so long. "But how will we get it home?" She asked.

I gave her three options. The whole family could drive back together (about 16 hours). I could drive home by myself. Or Alex and I could go on a father/son road trip. Plan "C" was agreed upon. I look forward to the journey.

Here in Philly, we have gone to an IMAX movie called "Under the Sea", ran up the steps to the museum that Sly Stallone did in "Rocky", ate cheesesteaks at world famous Pat's Steaks, and spent a lot of time playing with baby Kennedy. Today we will see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, and Truman will get to ride a train for the first time (something he has been wanting to do since forever.)

Hope you're having a happy holiday season. Be thankful for your many blessings and for your family. For the second year in a row, tragedy has struck the Naughton family at Christmas time. My Uncle Mike (my dad's brother) died suddenly of a heart attack on Christmas Eve while visiting his daughter in New York City. Our thoughts and prayers go out to my cousin Dora and her mom Kay as well as my grandmother Jean (Grandma Sweetie Pie, who has been in the hospital herself for a week or so) for the loss of her son, and to my dad for the passing of his brother. Parents shouldn't be allowed to die during the holidays. (Last year, Bethany lost her dad one week before Christmas and I lost my mom the week after.)

The moral of the story is to enjoy life as much as possible while you can. Buy a van to surprise your wife. Fly to Philly to visit your new niece. Eat one-too-many cheesesteaks now and then. Pretend to be Rocky and race your son up the steps of the city museum. See the Liberty Bell. Take your kid on a cross-country road trip. And Tell your family you love them as often as you can.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

Naked Snow Angels

2009-12-23T15:44:00.002-06:00

The revised title of my revised book is "Naked Snow Angels." You'll have to read the book to learn why. Thus far, I have finished writing 14 essays that fill 72 pages (8 1/2" x 11") containing 40,163 words. Call me butter, 'cuz I'm on a roll. Stay tuned...

Analyze This

2009-12-21T10:27:00.002-06:00

I have always possessed the ability to remember my dreams, often in vivid detail. Ask my wife and she'll tell you, "That boy ain't right." Last night was a very entertaining slumber.

Dream #1: I dreamed that I was at a class reunion which morphed into a memorial to a fallen classmate that died in elementary school. Nevermind that the person involved did not even exist in real life. By the end of the dream, I was selling subscriptions to Reader's Digest to all of my classmates. (I sold 30, by the way.)

Dream #2: I dreamed that Bethany and I went to a party at a couple's house. When I walked in, I proceeded to pinch a nipple of the hostess, as sort of an informal greeting, kind of like giving a "high-five." Well, the woman was not amused. Especially considering the fact that her entire family witnessed me giving her the "purple-nurple." Soon enough, as Bethany and I were making our rounds saying "hi" to everyone, the husband confronted me, demanding an apology. I immediately complied, but the wife's father insisted that I leave the party at once. Bethany tried to smooth things over with everyone by apologizing for me while reminding everyone that I am an idiot- what did they expect? But the damage had been done, and we took our leave.

Dream #3: I was abducted by two truckers and driven to a junkyard. I was tossed out of the cab and tried to hide from my rednecked pursuers behind a pile of scrap metal. The driver then tried pushing the pile on top of me with his big rig, and I narrowly escaped death. Then they gave me a ride back to town, no worse for wear, but without apologies.

What does it all mean? I really don't think I want to know. Freud would have loved me, though, don't you think?

The Doors

2009-12-16T09:12:00.002-06:00

As I sit here at my computer this morning, I am waiting for a phone call from the work crew who will be installing our new French doors today asking for directions to our secluded homestead. They were supposed to instal the doors last Wednesday, but they were concerned having a gaping hole in the side of our house for up to five hours while it rained and snowed would be counter-productive. I agreed. However, they were supposed to show up here today between 8:30 and 9:30 am. They've got 15 minutes.

Yesterday, I spent my morning with Truman and Princess (our St. Bernard) at the veterinarian's office. Princess has yet another ear infection, but that wasn't the main reason for our visit. She has a nipple so engorged and swollen that it looks like a cow's udder. I'm not kidding. It is the most disgusting thing I think I've ever seen on a dog. The worst part was when I picked her up to put her in the truck, I accidently grabbed the festering teet, which smeared a coating of god-knows-what across the palm of my hand. I may have thrown up in my mouth a little bit then. The vet said that the growth is benign, but needs to be removed and that while we're at it, why not scrape the six years of plaque build-up off of her teeth, too. Between yesterday's visit and the impending appointment, we should be out about $800. Merry Christmas, Princess!

On Monday, I got the oil changed in Mom's old car, a Nissan Altima. I washed it, cleaned it out, and delivered it to its new owner, Bethany's mom Glee. I am glad to keep it in the family and I'm sure Mom would be happy about it, too.

I have written 57 pages (over 30,000 words) of my new book so far. Nine essays are done with many more to follow. I have a list of over 40 essay ideas I'm working with. Stay tuned...

Book Progress

2009-12-12T15:00:00.002-06:00

As of this moment, I have written eight chapters, 47 pages, and 25,800 words of the new version of my book. And it's pretty damn good if I do say so myself.

Back in the Saddle

2009-12-11T09:58:00.002-06:00

I can hear you asking, "Blog Daddy, have you been making good use of your time since abandoning your friends on facebook?" The answer is a prolific "yes." For the past several weeks I have been trying to figure out how to proceed with writing my novel. If you'll recall, I had written 90 pages or so and had a pretty good idea of the direction the story was heading. Somewhere along the line however, I realized that I was really forcing the story to come together. Instead of a labor of love, it just became plain old labor. And we all know I'm against labor of any kind.

After taking some time off from writing and facebooking, I had an epiphany. Actually, I just remembered something that I had forgotten over a year ago. I had planned on reworking some of my old blog posts and adding some new stories to create a collection of essays. I was inspired to do this by David Sedaris, who uses this same format in his books with great success. I came up with this plan back in September of '08, (as I could ascertain by reading through some old notes I had saved on my computer.) I think I even blogged about my plan, too. Anyway, during this time period Bethany and I travelled to China to get Truman and brought him home just before Thanksgiving. Then when my mom's health took a sharp, downward turn, we moved her into our house so we could take care of her. Then after she passed away, Blake and I flew out to California to scatter her ashes. Suddenly February came and went. Spring followed. Life began anew. Truman's many firsts. Fishing. Camping. Alex's summer vacation. Road trips. Baseball. Birthdays. School starting. Football. Bethany's new job. The wheel kept on turning.

I finally started compiling my book of essays this week. I have completed the first four stories and have a list of about 20 more ideas to add to the mix. By the time I finish, I hope to have produced a collection of funny, poignant, ridiculous, offensive, and true stories worthy of the reader's time. I think you'll find that it was worth the wait. Stay tuned... And thank you for believing in me.

Uncle Trav

2009-12-08T10:10:00.002-06:00

I have been an uncle to my wife's sisters' children for years and love all those little curtain climbers very much. Until yesterday, however, I was not an uncle to anyone from the Naughton family. Kennedy Rylan Naughton was born yesterday to proud parents Meredith and my brother Blake Naughton in Philadelphia, PA at 8:22pm.

Weighing just over eight pounds and entering this world at just under 20 inches tall, my niece and her mama are doing well and should be going home tomorrow. Congrats, East Coast Naughtons! Can't wait to see you at Christmas!!!

Talking me down from the ledge

2009-12-07T12:00:00.002-06:00

Since I turned my back on facebook, several friends and family members have tried to "talk me down from the ledge" as two of them have phrased it. They ask, "Why quit facebook altogether? Why not just moderate your time spent on it? Why is it always all or nothing with you?" Why indeed.

I am an all or nothing guy. I don't know why I am, but it is true. I just don't do things halfway. As a child, I wanted a guinea pig. My brother and I begged our dad to buy us each one and we promised to take good care of them. Our obsession faded quickly and when one day we discovered two cannibalized corpses of baby guinea pigs lying beside the cannibalized corpse of their mother, it became obvious that a profound lack of interest and attention may have contributed to their ultimate demise.

Back in the late '90s, I bought a bass guitar and played it for hours each day until I became pretty good at it. However, I eventually hit a wall where I ceased improving and ceased enjoying playing so I sold the instrument to a buddy and haven't picked one up since (although I have toyed around with a six-string on occasion.)

In 2000, I quit drinking alcohol cold turkey. I went from drinking a 12 pack or so every day to nothing- for two and a half years. However, I did resume my love affair with fermented beverages eventually and have managed to consume a moderate amount per sitting (for the most part) ever since. Maybe I can live in moderation. Maybe it doesn't have to be all or nothing with me. But honestly, I just have no desire to be on facebook anymore.

Please don't take it personally, folks. At the risk of sounding like George Costanza, "It's not you, it's me." I spent so much time on facebook that I ceased deriving enjoyment from it. It became an obsessive habit, probably like smoking is to some people, that just didn't satisfy me anymore. Can smokers continue to smoke "in moderation"? Probably. But should they? Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should, right?

At any rate, I hope my legions of fans understand where I'm coming from and continue to read my blog. I also hope that if you have pictures or stories about your kids or yourself that you feel are worth sharing with your facebook friends, you will feel free to email me those same things any time you care to. In the meantime, rest assured that I am no where near the ledge and I am doing just fine, thank you very much.

Past Due

2009-12-04T11:40:00.003-06:00

UPDATE, December 7, 2:39pm: After posting the original "Past Due" story on my blog (below), I received a response from a customer service representative (CSR) from Reader's Digest. Through email, this individual explained that Mom had enrolled in the Continuous Renewal Service four years ago. The CSR apologized for any inconvenience and cancelled the account and waived the money owed without hesitation. I am very grateful and somewhat amazed by this unexpected, yet greatly appreciated gesture on the part of this kind and helpful person. Thank you Day Anne!

ORIGINAL POST: I received a collection notice from Reader's Digest today that was addressed to my mother, who has been dead for almost exactly one full year now, informing her that her subscription renewal balance is eight months past due. Does that mean she renewed her subscription four months after she died? According to Reader's Digest, yes. I have received several of these notices from the magazine publisher over the months since Mom's passing. I suppose I could have alerted them long ago that they stood no chance to collect, but the tact they took in trying to extract money from a dead woman pissed me off. So now we play.

It started shortly after Mom died. Reader's Digest automatically renewed her subscription, since they had not received a notice to cancel (In my experience, dead people usually can't be depended upon for picking up a phone or mailing a letter), and demanded payment. Each month I've received an "overdue" notice or a "we'll cancel your coveted subscription if you don't pay up" notice along with her other forwarded mail. Eventually, they stopped sending the magazine, yet have continued to try to collect the amount for a full year's subscription, despite having sent only two or three issues that were neither asked for nor read by the addressee (Did I mention she was dead?). The tone of subsequent statements became increasingly hostile and I resolved to jerk the chains of the idiots in the collections office for as long as they were willing to dangle them in front of me by never telling them that their delinquent subscriber has gone on to a better place (where magazines, Diet Pepsi, and Little Debbie Fudge Rounds are very likely free).

Today's notice took the cake. In gigantic bold letters at the top of the page it reads "OVERDUE BILL". Below those menacing words reads, "Subscription status: PAST DUE." Below that, le piece de resistance, "Previous attempts to collect: IGNORED BY Donna Keller." Don't you just hate it when dead people ignore you? I know I do. Do they think they're better than us? I mean honestly, the nerve of some of these corpses! Who do they think they are anyway? Do they think they're too good to stuff a check into an envelope (with perhaps a brief note of explanation- if not an apology) and mail it to the world's most beloved periodical ever to be read exclusively in bathrooms? I think somebody needs to take these stiffs down a notch if you ask me. At any rate, the letter goes on to say, "To change the status of your subscription, we must hear from you at once." Well, let me tell you, if they hear from my mother before I do, I'm gonna be pretty mad- especially if she doesn't call me or stop by or buy me something pretty or explain where she's been for the past year. Dead people. Can't live with 'em...

Day One of Post-Facebook Liberation

2009-12-03T11:21:00.004-06:00

This morning, Truman and I stopped by the Parents as Teachers room at the Southern Boone primary school for what is called "Drop in and Play." P.A.T. is an organization that provides helpful tips, developmental assessments, and support to parents of pre-school age children at no cost to the families. One service they provide is the opportunity for shut-ins like Truman and me to interact with other people "out in the world." You see, we don't get out much. Living 20 miles from Columbia and Jeff City leaves us with a long drive any time we wish to relieve our country-livin' induced cabin fever, so having a get-together at the school in Ashland (a very small town devoid of most forms of entertainment not involving cows and/or beer, but conveniently situated a mere three miles from our home) gives us something to do without making an hour's round trip into civilization.

As I sat in a metal folding chair observing my child NOT playing with the other children in the room, I discovered a book of advice for dads that was located on a bookshelf labeled "Parenting Resources." I thumbed through the pages while periodically peeking up to see whether Truman was having fun or bleeding to death. I saw no obvious indications of either scenario, so I continued reading. Eventually I found a passage in the book about toddlers at play that mentioned that they do not usually interact with other kids their age. They merely play near them rather than with them. Okay, I thought to myself, Truman is behaving normally for a child his age. Of course his being a Naughton prevents him from ever being truly "normal" however. (I admit that I didn't see that written anywhere in the book, but I'm sure it's true.) So if the kids aren't predisposed to play together, then I wondered why it was that we came to "drop in and play." It seems the appropriate title for the event should be "Drop in and watch your kid ignore other kids." If they would have called it that, then I would have known Truman was behaving normally without having to read it in a book. The only good parenting advice I ever read in a book suggested that when your toddler behaves in an outrageously infuriating fashion, the parent should pretend that their child is an alien born on another planet, unaware of how to behave appropriately here on Earth. Would you spank a Martian in the middle of Wal-Mart for refusing to put the family-size bag of gummy worms back on the shelf while screaming "You're killing me!" as you yank the contraband from his tiny alien fists? Of course not. You would simply say, "That's not how we act here on Earth. I don't know how it was back on your home planet, but that kind of behavior will not be tolerated in this galaxy, mister."

Even if Truman doesn't really play with the other kids, we will probably continue to "drop in and play" in the future. Living in total isolation here on Planet Naughton is probably not healthy for him. Take me for example. I've been holed-up here at the Hartsburg Hideaway for ten years now. Let's face it- "normal" is not the word you would likely use to describe me, is it?

PS: For the sake of my facebook friends, I will keep my fb account active so that my blog posts will automatically appear on my page. However, I will not check my messages or anything else, so if you wish to drop me a line, just email me. I'll be here. Or I may be in the P.A.T. room. Or I may be drunk and doing something with cows. At any rate, stay in touch.

Facebook vs. Blogger

2009-12-02T11:22:00.002-06:00

I have become lazy. But it's not entirely my fault. I blame it on Facebook. The social networking site has occupied countless hours of my free time - time I could have spent writing my book or writing on my blog. Instead, I have regressed to the point of writing one-sentence blurbs meant to get a quick chuckle from my 405 or so Facebook friends. While these friends are important to me, I don't feel that I am doing them or myself any favors by avoiding the task I had outlined for myself many months (and really years) ago: writing a book. Facebook is a fine way to reconnect with old friends, but so is a 20 year high school reunion (which is coming up next summer.) What the hell will we talk about if we already know what everybody is up to via Facebook? I mean, I know what these people eat for dinner, what virus their kids currently have, and how many times they get drunk every week. (I can't keep track of all that in my own life, much less theirs.)

When I started writing this blog several years ago, it re-ignited a creative spark that had dimmed over time due to various factors such as work, kids, damaged brain cells, etc. My writing has evolved through the years and I have only recently felt comfortable referring to myself as a "writer." (I have not yet published a book, but I have had two stories published in a local paper that I was actually paid for.) My novel was coming along, but when it occurred to me that fiction writing is not (at least at the present time) the format for my voice, I took a break to regroup. I intended to get started right away on a collection of non-fiction essays (some of which first appeared on this blog), but that damned old Facebook just kept getting in the way. No more! In order to save my blog and my budding writing career, I feel that I must say goodbye to Facebook.

But how will we stay in touch?! I seem to recall that I was able to interact with friends and family before Facebook was invented through something called "email." (And the telephone and snail mail for that matter.) My address is linked on my blog and can be found on the info tab of my Facebook page. I will keep my fb account active for a while in order for my peeps to glean this info, then one day, without fanfare, I will cancel my account. If you enjoy reading my random thoughts, then save this blog (travisnaughton.blogspot.com) to your favorites list and check it often. I promise that you will get a lot more enjoyment out of my blog posts than you ever could from the inane fluff I put on Facebook.

Thank you to my dedicated blog followers who have not given up on me through these dark times. Your loyalty shall be rewarded. Special thanks to my cousin Larry, my uncle TK, my friend Ben, my mother-in-law Glee, and my writer-friend (and cousin-in-law) Jane for believing in me and encouraging me to keep writing. I won't let you down!

Gotcha Day

2009-11-02T10:39:00.002-06:00

For anyone who has ever adopted, the day that you first met your child is celebrated just like a birthday. For many families, that day is called, "Gotcha Day" because that's "the day we gotcha." I am one of those lucky fathers fortunate enough to have both witnessed the birth of his biological child and experienced the joy of being handed his adoptive child after a long, long wait. Both events were life changing and more emotional than I could ever accurately describe.

As Alex was being born, on October 3rd, 2000, his heartrate dropped drastically while the doctor was trying to coax him out of his cozy little hideaway. Suddenly the medical staff leaped into action and as I was trying to soothe Bethany, my eyes met the panicked look on a nurses face. With no time to ease the baby out, the doctor abandoned her gentle and patient approach and basically yanked Alex into the world. It was not a beautiful moment. It was terrifying. For a while, he didn't make a sound, although his mama more than made up for that. Let's just say this: she used no anesthesia, and Alex weighed ten pounds. (I don't know how anyone can consider women to be the weaker sex.) A few breathless moments later, we finally heard a cry, and I was reduced to a quivering heap of sweat and tears. I whispered in Bethany's ear, "I never want us to go through that again. Next time, we're adopting a little girl from China."

Six years later and apparently unable to conceive another child, I remembered my prophetic statement in the delivery room. Bethany agreed that fate was telling us that we were not meant to bring another hungry mouth into the world. We would adopt. After two years of waiting for a baby girl, we found a picture of a beautiful, healthy two-year-old boy on our adoption agency's website. The listing included pictures of his left hand, which was missing two fingers and his left foot which was missing three toes. For these birth defects, he was abandoned on the side of the road by his birth parents and was found by a concerned stranger who then brought him to the local police station. After unsuccessfully trying to find his birth parents, he was brought to an orphanage where he spent the first year of his life with no mother or father to love him. He was lucky to be placed in a foster home after his first birthday where he remained for the second year of his life.

On Novemeber 3rd, 2008, we were escorted into a dingy room in an old government run hotel in Nanning, China. Along with our new friends Lisa and James Foard, who were adopting a beautiful five-year-old girl they would name Avery, we were told to sit and wait. "Whatever you do, don't cry. Crying upset babies," our translator/guide David warned us. We all knew we would fall to pieces when we saw our children for the first time, like any parent does when their child is born, but we resolved to be strong. Imagine laying eyes on your beautiful child for the first time, holding them, hugging and kissing them, but trying not to get emotional! Well, we somehow managed to hold it together when after an seemingly endless wait, a beautiful little boy was carried into the room and quickly handed straight over to Bethany. I think we both were so overwhelmed with emotion that we kind of had to go into "shutdown mode" to avoid breaking down in front of the child. We were trembling, but smiling and nodding when the "aunties" from the orphanage and the foster mother were telling us about our little bundle of joy. He was given the name Jiang Yizhan and was called "Zhan-Zhan" (which sounds kinda like "John-John"). We introduced ourselves to him as "Mama" and "Baba" (Chinese for Daddy). We had learned how to say "I love you" in the Chinese language course we had taken. "Wo a'i ni," (pronounced "whoa I knee") we told him over and over. "Baba a'i ni." Daddy loves you. "Baba a'i Zhan-Zhan." Then, "Ni shi Truman." (You are Truman.) Finally, we braved, "Baba qing-qing" (pronounced cheeng-cheeng) and "Mama qing-qing." Give daddy a kiss. Give mommy a kiss. And he did it! I will never be able to find the words to describe the joy that that first kiss gave me.

So here we all are, one year later, getting along as if Truman Jiang were born into this family. He's a Naughton thru-and-thru. Crazy, tempermental, funny, ornery. We love him as much as we love Alex. We know now that we were never meant to have another biological child. We were meant to fly halfway around the world and import the greatest item ever "Made in China." Happy Gotcha Day Truman. Baba a'i ni!