This Post Breaks All the Rules

Socially speaking, I’m not allowed to write this post.

Even the business world would frown on me.

Because we’re supposed to only present our best selves, right? And as a business owner, I’m supposed to give the impression that I’ve got it all under control.

To a degree, these are good rules. Personally, I don’t like it when people show up to work and start crying about their broken marriage. But I don’t hold it against them. I don’t tell them to stop. I just ignore them if I don’t want to hear it.

So if you don’t want to hear it, I suggest you stop reading now. Because I’m about to unleash as a father, a husband, a middle-class citizen, an aspiring bestselling author, and a brand-new business owner.

This post breaks all the rules. I trust you’ll forgive me.

I’m mad. No, I’m perpetually pissed off. My wife sees it, my kids see it, and I wake up and go to sleep each day feeling it.

Today I had to take our foster son to the doctor to get staples removed from his head. A quick two-minute procedure. But since Kentucky passed a new law mandating that foster parents have to get consent from the kids’ social workers before a doctor can do anything, they have to get permission from the already-hard-to-reach social workers. We were at the doctor this morning for almost an hour. No response. We called and called. I ended up having to reschedule and leave with the staples still in his head so I wouldn’t be late for work.

Because, you know, being a law-abiding, working middle-class citizen is no different than grade school. Can’t be tardy! (My particular day job is actually good in this regard compared to others’, but you get my point.)

Which is half the reason I’ve started my own business. I’m tired of being told when to show up to work and when I’m allowed to go on vacation. That is, if my insurance hasn’t robbed me as blind as the previous month.  I’m tired of getting permission to be sick.

I hate that the foster care system is crap deteriorating to shit that even makes the bacteria sick, never getting better, always getting worse.

I hate the state giving drug-addicts every chance under the sun (and then years-worth-of-chances after that) to get their kids back only for them to likely be abused and neglected even more, just so the faceless assholes running our government can come out looking like the good guys. All the while we foster parents are trying to do a good thing for these kids and we’re treated worse than the felons!

I can’t do a single thing about it and that really pisses me off!!!

I hate that running a business and writing a book takes nearly all the risk and energy in the world. And it’s driven by pure fear. I hate that no hours in a day is not just a cliche saying. It’s really, really, really, really true. And that sucks so bad.

I’m terrified that I’m going to fail. I’m terrified that you’re all going to read my book and hate it. (I’m not so terrified that you’re going to hate the other authors’ books because they’ve got more talent than I have in one of my graying hairs.) But the bigger fear is that you’re not going to buy our books. You’ll like the pages and posts and share the excerpts, but come book release, you’ll shrug it off.

I’m terrified that my kids won’t discover their passions until late in life, like me. And they’ll be stuck clocking in at a job they don’t care for making money for someone they don’t even know.

I’m terrified that my wife and I will just be done with each other. I’m terrified that I really can’t change. I hate that I love my kids so much and that one day they’re not going to care. I hate that I can’t take care of babies. I make them cry. My rapid heart-rate and boiling blood freaks them out.

I hate that I don’t know how to raise my kids.

Just on my way to work this morning (I made it on time, no thanks to the foster care system), blasted the music and just screamed. I’m sick of working my ass off and being robbed nearly half of my paycheck by our insurance. If you don’t know that money is only going to fatten corporate wallets, then you need to do your homework. (Where do you think your premiums are going if you still have to pay extreme medical bills?) And that doesn’t account for taxes.

I’m sick of the hardest working people getting paid nickels and dimes and the comfortable corner-office inhabitants getting perks and hiring maids to dust out their Ferraris.

I can go on. And believe me, each day I do. But I’m not going to be another one of those bloggers who pretends everything is great and that my life is all peaches and flowers. I’m a human being with real issues and real problems and real effed up emotions.

I’m a terrible husband at best.

I’m a paranoid and angry father.

I’m a terrible writer.

I’m a terrified business owner.

I’m completely unraveled.

You’re all going to comment and say things like, “It’s okay, we feel your pain,” or “You’re a great writer! I’ve been following you for years!”


In fact, you’re as messed up and in as bad of a situation as I am. Gripe. Just let it out. Writing this didn’t fix anything, and honestly, it didn’t make me feel better. But at least I’m not lying or presenting a false image. Because this is who I am. This is how I feel.

And I’m really sorry, but I’m going to keep trying my hardest. Because I’m just. That. Stupid.

I’m Back!

I hate that blog title because it insinuates that I’m just a casual blogger and just remembered to post something after an eight-month hiatus. Well, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve posted anything on here, but let me fill you in on what’s been going on in bullet-points:

  • I tried to earn a Dad of the Year award by spoiling my kids and taking them to Chuck E. Cheese’s each Saturday.
  • Sarabeth said that place is dirty.
  • I laughed it off.
  • “Come on, kids! Do you want to spend another Saturday at Chuck E. Cheese? Show me your happy dance!”
  • One sick kid.
  • Two sick kid.
  • One very sick dad.
  • Spots. Fever. Chills. Hallucinating (apparently). Bed rest.

Basically that bed rest is what did me in. I developed a blood clot in my left leg because I hadn’t moved in over a week. The blood clot developed because I had my ACL repaired ten years ago and had a blood clot then. Apparently they’re famous for encores.

So that required an impromptu trip to the ER. Mind you, this is after a stubborn and determined walk around the zoo with the kids and an uphill walk to the library even with my leg swelled to the size of an elephant’s testicle.

“I’ll be fine,” I kept telling Sarabeth. “Let me just run it off.” So I stretched, jogged, did Yoga, and continued doing the Happy Dance with the kids from Chuck E. Cheese’s Youtube channel. Some habits die hard.

Finally Sarabeth put her foot down (because I no longer could). She made me ask a trusted crmekjgxgaebxcadoctor and he said to haul ass to the ER pronto. The kids and I finished our snow cones (I was still going for Dad of the Year), I dropped them off at home, grabbed a book, and told my wife they’ll probably keep me overnight.

They did. For five nights.

The only reason the clot didn’t reach my lungs or my heart was because apparently I was born with abnormally narrow tummy vessels. So the clot couldn’t fit, even though it was trying.

Twelve episodes of Breaking Bad, four CAT Scans, three ultra sounds, two surgeries and about a trillion-and-a-half blood tests later, my leg was as good as new – new like a newborn baby’s who can’t walk.

Oh, speaking of babies, I came home from the hospital to a phone call saying that the state of Kentucky has a child they would like for us to take in. A normal couple would have said no, except this normal couple made a promise years back that we would never say no to a child. No matter what.

And, my mom-in-law was in town already, so she was happy to be around for the arrival of a new kid.

All of this to say that I’m alive and well, my publishing company is still (miraculously) on track for releasing our first two books next month, and we’ll be continuing the story of “The Underneath” by popular demand.

So… how’s your month been?

Let’s Get Physical!


The Olympics. While our athletic representatives are busting their butts to stack up our gold, Sarabeth and I have been doing our patriotic duty keeping the economy going by ordering pizzas, calzones, Chipolte, and lots of ice cream to root on our favorite Olympians.

First off, let me just say that we were totally robbed last night! I mean, what the hell, it’s track and field, not diving!! It’s a foot race! Not a stretchy-hand exercise! I say, good job, Allyson, you’re a winner in our house!


And why are people so upset with Gabby Douglas? What’s with this hashtag-CrabbyGabby crap? Folks, she’s an Olympian, not an actress. Her focus is on her performance as an Olympian. We and the media should not be enticing her to focus on her bloody facial expressions, too. If we want to be judgmental on anyone, I say release the four horsemen on Aly Raisman’s parents. I mean, they should be cheering and yelling and smiling for their little girl – she’s in the Olympics! If it were our little girl out there, we’d be screaming with foamy fingers and painted faces for little Kat.


Okay, so I got that off my chest. As you can see, the Olympics bring on a lot of stress, which brings on a lot of binge-eating, which brings on some questions. My wife asked one the other night.

Why have the Olympics at all? She doesn’t mean it like, Why are you wearing that plaid skirt with pink spikes in your hair and Clogs on your feet? She means it like, I love the Olympics, but when you get down to its origins, what’s the point? Like, why did Greece, in 1800-something, decide to reinstate it? 

I’ve been pondering this question for a few nights now, and I have my ideas. But I decided I wanted to hear your thoughts. What is it that draws every country together every two years to compete in high vaulting, bobsledding, Karate, and even handball? Why spend millions of dollars to promote people to compete in sports that, in the end, don’t matter? Like, if the world went to hell, how would trampolining save anyone? Why are the Olympics such a big deal and why do we have them? As much as we love them, what’s the point?

Tweet your thoughts to @AToy1208 or comment below!

Why It’s Good to Be Disturbed


Netflix is stepping up its game! They’re actually making movies available that I care to watch or revisit (Back to the Future, Jurassic Park, Lethal Weapon…) But scrolling through the other night, there was one that caught my attention that I had forgotten was on my to-watch list.

It’s a Peter Jackson movie, so that was my biggest reason for watching it. In my opinion, The Lord of the Rings trilogy and King Kong are enough to set him up as one of the greatest directors of all time. But then, this one in particular seems to go unnoticed.

It’s called The Lovely Bones. Usually when I turn on a movie, I’m asleep within fifteen minutes. This one kept me up for the full two-hour-plus runtime. I was intrigued, disturbed, riveted, emotional, and all those other feelings a good film should evoke. But mostly I was terrified.

It’s the story about a girl who is kidnapped and murdered but doesn’t cross into heaven until she can help her family cope and find her killer.

I’d say it’s probably one of the most haunting movies I’ve seen in years. But these stories are so important! They’re important to us as parents because they remind us that our kids are never ever safe. Let me tell you, it’s going to be a long while before my daughter is out of my sight for a split-second in public.

Yes, we need the Finding Nemo reminders that we should be brave enough to let go of our kids every once in a while, but we also need the hard, cold slap in the face that there are psychopaths out there that will take our kids at a moment’s notice.

And we must be vigilant.

The movie also inspired me to begin drafting a new novel about kidnapping. Let’s just say it will be an exercise to visit my deepest fears and blow the siren for the rest of us.

These types of stories might be upsetting and disturb us, but they’re necessary. I hate hearing about people who don’t watch the news simply because it’s so depressing. I mean, that’s just the way the world is, and it’s better to know what’s going on in it than to be ignorant (these are strong words coming from a guy who wants to live at Disneyland).

My kids are going to be taught at a very young age not only to never talk to strangers, but why they shouldn’t. “Because you can be killed,” I’ll tell them. “There are people you can trust after your mom and dad are friends with them and as long as they never ask you to be alone with them. There are people you can smile and nod to at Target and the grocery store, and you move on. And then there are people that want to hurt and kill you. They’re the ones who go the extra mile to be friendly to you. They’re the ones you want to run away from and scream at the top of your lungs. No one will ever fault you for that.”

My children are going to be as prepared as I can make them.

I’ll never forget the story a friend of mine told me about how he was at the park with his two daughters and he saw a guy just looking at them. “I’ve seen that look before. I’m a man, I’ve had that look before. But when he starts looking at my girls that way… I walked up to him and told him, ‘You need to get out of here.’ I made sure he got in his car and left.”

My friend is a hero. It might sound like he let the guy off scot free, but at least for a while, that pervert is going to wonder who else is noticing him. Hopefully he’s going to think twice before acting …or looking.

I recommend The Lovely Bones to every parent. Forget the whole heaven vs. hell and afterlife stuff. Watch it for what it’s meant to be: A wake up call to us parents, and an attempt to fuse just a little bit of beauty into a tragedy we cannot fix or prevent.

How Pixar Movies Can Make You a Better Dad

We had on The Incredibles the other night and I was stuck by a crazy thought. Bob Parr, as Bob_Parrincredible as he is as a super hero, is actually more endearing as a dad. When he’s playing catch with his son or hugging his daughter, there’s a certain gleam in his eyes that you don’t get when he’s fighting crime.

I’m not trying to be sappy here. I’m not. I’m just making an observation.

That made me think. Of course that’s how it comes across. Pixar movies are made primarily by parents who live in the world world. They know firsthand the trials and joys of parenthood. And it comes across crystal-clear in their films.

Finding Nemo is perhaps the most obvious one, and possibly the best father/son movie ever made. It reminds us as parents not to take our kids for granted, because they can be taken from us at any moment. And that’s a reality made even more clear as foster to adopt parents.

marlin and nemo share one last hug

Actually, Pixar movies even make us closer to our kids just by their mere existence. My son and I bonded when I took him to see The Good Dinosaur last year for his birthday. Sure, he couldn’t talk yet, but it was an experience we got to share together that we’ll always have. It was fun!

It’s not like going to the latest installment of Ice Age (not Pixar) where, as a grown-up, I’d likely fall asleep.

heart-in-handPixar films are brightly colored adult movies that just happen to be appropriate for kids. It would be inappropriate for me to gather our kids on the couch to watch Apocalypto, but it’s far from a sacrifice to snuggle with my daughter and watch Brave for the eightieth time.

Most Pixar movies appeal to us as parents. They show us the world through our own children’s point of view so that we can better understand them and better parent them.

I can’t count the number of times I put the computer away to play with my kids because Inside Out reminded me that my kids will always remember these days. It’s my job to make their memories yellow/gold. Not blue. So I chase them around the house pretending to be Bruce the shark or Mor’du.


Woody couldn’t have said it any better: “I can’t stop Andy from growing up, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That’s a haunting and encouraging reminder. But multiple viewings of Toy Story 2 has implemented that message in my head permanently. And then, of course, the next Toy Story installment screams out: “No, seriously! Your kids are going to grow up really, really fast! Don’t bloody miss it! Don’t miss it! Don’t miss it!”


Don’t throw your daughter’s bow in the fire. Don’t tell your kids to act happy when everything sucks. Buy your kids lots of toys (not video games). Go on road trips and put the brake on at rest stops. Don’t lose your temper over their limitations. Don’t try to convince them that a rock is a seed. Teach them to slow down. Cross the ocean if you have to to find them. Your kids are your greatest adventure. Teach them to cook!

I’m not an expert parent and will never claim to be. But Pixar movies have been a better parenting resource than any psychology book I can think of.

Have a happy Father’s Day and take your kids to see Finding Dory. Or buy them a bunch of toys. Make today about the kids, because without them, there would be no Father’s Day.

Disney Animation and Baseball

I think every parent wants their kids to show an interest in what they’re invested in. I’m no different.

With my kids being just 1 and 2 their minds are young enough to mold. Obviously, if they show an interest in licorice making or the study of different types of sand in Mid-eastern countries, then I will support them and show an interest in their passions. But until then, I want them to know what their father loves so maybe I can pass that love onto them.

5My first passion is Disney animation. In the next couple of years I will be watching a lot of Disney animated films from Snow White to Gigantic in order to study and analyze them. I’m even writing a book about the history and current success of the Disney Animation Studios, so my kids are going to be well-versed in Disney lore as I read aloud to them Walt Disney biographies and animation books.

Perhaps it will inspire one of them to be an animator. Or a screenwriter. Or a storyboard artist.

My other passion is baseball. I don’t watch it on TV or root for any particular team (if I had to pick, it’d be the Dodgers). In truth, I couldball never figure out the point or excitement in televised sports when you have the ability to actually play them or go to the stadium. Instead, I’m talking about playing baseball. I’m hoping to find a local baseball team to join this summer so my kids can watch their old man attempt to knock one out of the park. Or sprain his ankle trying to get past first base.

I’ve been taking the kids to the nearby park so they can chase the balls I hit and bring them back to me. I even bought them a T-ball stand, but they still think it’s fun to hit the stand and not the ball. I’m working with them.

But I hope to infuse the love of baseball in them because it’s one of America’s greatest pastimes and one of the elements that helped make America what it is today. The same goes for Disney animation.

They may not be interested in my passions, but really my goal is simple:

I want them to discover their passion while they’re young so that I can have time to encourage them to pursue it with all their might before they get out in the real world. Too many of us discover our passions too late and I don’t want that to be the case for my kids.

So for now, we’re starting with the basics: A few colorful movies and a baseball.

Don’t forget about our new writing contest that’s currently going on for a chance to win $200. The deadline for submissions is April 18th.

What Moves You?


We are each moved by different things. Some people are moved by the mountaintop view, others are emotionally impacted by a rock concert. Maybe it’s a family gathering or witnessing wild animals run free into an untamed horizon, or maybe it’s art, or waterfalls.

For me, it’s Story. I’m a can be a bit of a robot when it comes to real life stuff, but I am deeply impacted by a well-told story.

I’m probably the only person to have actually cried in The Incredibles. There’s nothing sad in the movie, but just the quality of storytelling and the raw, honest character development move me to tears. There is unbridled talent that is at work behind every facet of movies like that.

And if I’m honest about it, it’s because I’m envious of that talent. I strive to reach that level of creativity in my own books.

And you know what? I’m thankful for people that are better than me. They set a ridiculously high bar. And every time I sit down to write, I gladly take on that challenge and push forward to be as great as I possibly can.

What movies you? What do you aspire to be? What skills or challenges do you dream of mastering? How do you use your emotions to propel you toward your goals? If you answer these questions in the comment section below, be sure to answer the next two questions as well:

What’s stopping you from reaching your goals?

If you haven’t yet, what’s stopping you from entering our writing contest? If you want to enter, you have just three days left before we close out submissions. Enter, and you could win $150 plus publication opportunities.