Author: The Centaur

Sidenote: I’ve actually been a pretty good husband of late. I came up huge on my wife’s first Mother’s Day. And I’ve been helping out a lot with the new baby… Now, watch me squander all of that goodwill:

As you might have guessed, I am the Head of the Centaur Household. Along with that title, I am also the CEO and CFO of our organization. And I function as the Board of Directors too. Needless to say, we are very top-heavy in our family managerial structure.

As my titles would suggest, I oversee all aspects of the daily operation of the Centaur Conglomerate. However, at certain times, there is a need to delegate authority. For this purpose, I have crafted an organizational chart, illustrating the chain of command in our household.

As expected, the Xbox 360 is second in command, functioning as my deputy and right-hand man. In my absence, the Xbox 360 is left solely responsible for all household operations. My truck, the Manmobile III, then reports directly to the 360, who then reports to me. If both the Xbox 360 and the Manmobile III are unable to fulfill their duties, my wife assumes full command.

Of course, if you pay attention to the Org Chart, you’ll notice that my Original Xbox still holds a significant position of power within our family. This is done mainly as a precaution. While my wife is probably capable of managing the household on her own, she simply doesn’t have the leadership experience of my Original Xbox. Close to retirement, the Original Xbox functions mainly in an advisory role at this point. By having her working closely with the Original Xbox, I’m hoping it will help groom my wife for an executive position someday.

Some may question how the Xbox 360 achieved such a high-ranking position with such a short tenure. Normally, experience and years of loyal service will factor in heavily when deciding promotions. However, the hiring of the Xbox 360 involved special circumstances. The 360 was a heavily sought-after, big money acquisition. We couldn’t bring him on board without offering him a position of authority. While I would have preferred to promote from within, it was the only way to seal the deal.

Thankfully, my wife is accustomed to the glass ceiling in our household. She continues to be a loyal employee, devoting her time to tackling administrative work and handling all of my correspondence. Believe me, her positive attitude will be looked upon favorably in her annual review. And please, don’t feel sorry for my wife’s status in our organization. I’ve offered her countless opportunities to sleep her way to the top.

Finally, I recently decided to create a position for my son. I’m going to station him in the metaphorical mailroom of the household and let him earn his future promotions. He will report directly to the barbeque for all personnel matters, like getting vacation time approved and so forth. The barbeque will keep me regularly apprised of Charlie’s progress, and once a quarter I will give him an unbiased evaluation of his potential for advancement. As my wife can attest, there’s no room for nepotism in this organization.

My son Charlie clearly had enough of the womb. Even though it meant being born seven weeks early, he busted out last Thursday. After reflecting on his situation, I really can’t argue with his decision.

Consider the following:

The Food: For the entire gestation period, my wife has been force-feeding my son a steady diet of veggie bowls and yogurt smoothies. No prime rib. No pizza. No cheeseburgers. In other words, he’s been severely malnourished. You pretty much know the food is bad when the baby is actually looking forward to an exclusive diet of breast milk.

The Conversation: Trapped inside his mother’s uterus, my son was essentially a captive audience. And needless to say, my wife is not exactly Cedric The Entertainer. Essentially Charlie was forced to spend the last seven months listening to all of my wife’s interminable work stories. At least I had mobility, and could simply walk away mid-sentence during the third consecutive story about paper jams or the office printer being short of toner. Poor Charlie didn’t even have the dexterity to cover his ears. Frankly, I think he bolted just to hear something more stimulating, like the low buzz of hospital machinery.

The Television: There are few things more frustrating in life than to not be in control of the remote. I saw this coming once Gonzaga’s basketball season ended. Charlie was back to watching my wife’s sweet TV lineup of Desperate Housewives and The Gilmour Girls. In fact, I’m pretty sure all of this started during an episode of Oprah… Only it wasn’t labor. Charlie simply tunneled his way out like in the movie “The Shawshank Redemption.”

So Charlie, I don’t blame you one bit. If anything, I’m surprised you were able to hold out as long as you did. In light of the circumstances, I’m convinced that you decided to bolt early just so you could hang with your Dad. Fellow Zillionaires, please welcome the newest member to our ranks: Charlie Ryan Ring, The Centaur Jr.

Having completed three minutes of squat thrusts, I blow the whistle around my neck signaling to my wife that it’s time for her to change stations.

She dutifully proceeds to the next station, where she is to perform 100 reps of Kegel exercises. I monitor her activities, but truthfully, this is one exercise where I can’t tell if she’s actually doing anything. Nevertheless, I offer encouragement through the usual workout clichés…

Me: “Feel the burn!!”

Me: “That’s it. Push yourself!”

Me: “Ok, ten more reps… on my count: 1… 2… 3…”

And so on. This is how we spend our evenings, in intense physical training. You see, I am the birthing coach, and I’m transforming my wife into a birthing prizefighter.

At first I was unsure of my role. Once I agreed to become a coach, I immediately scheduled open tryouts so that I could handpick the members of my birthing roster. We had a weeklong tryout and evaluation period. Regrettably, I had to cut a few players, but I encouraged them to work hard, and to tryout for the team again next year.

Sadly, the team wasn’t together for long. As I was preparing my playbook prior to our first practice, I did a little research, and I found out that “birthing” isn’t a team sport. Go figure. This was good news for my wife, as she was going to have a tough time cracking the starting lineup. Now, she’s the star player of my team.

It worked out well. True, with a one-man roster it makes it impossible to hold a decent scrimmage. Instead, we focus on running crisp drills, putting in solid workouts, and perfecting our offense. That’s right… I tend to focus on offense more than defense. I do try to run intense practice sessions, but I simply don’t have the requisite fire to stress defense. I’d probably have to transform myself into the Bobby Knight of birthing coaches to pull it off, and the last thing my wife needs is for me to hurl a chair across the delivery room.

Anyway, I need to get back to my wife’s workout. I noticed that she slacked a little bit on that last station with the medicine ball. We both know what that means: She just bought herself a second round of wind sprints at the end of practice.