The Fatherade.

The Stank.

2010-05-21T13:29:00.000-07:00

Still haven't found what I'm looking for

We all do stupid things. The trick is in trying not to repeat stupid mistakes. See, the one common denominator between all people is that we all do stupid things. The fine line that separates "normies" from "dummies" is how often stupid things are repeated. The good news, for anyone on the line between dummy and normy, is there can be extenuating circumstances. For instance, I'm use to taking showers in the morning. That's just when showers are taken. Lately, I'm finding a once normal behavior (showering in the morning) to be a stupid behavior. I take a shower in the morning and the next thing I know I've got some combination of spit-up, throw up (yes there is a difference between spit-up and throw up), poop, urine, bag balm, and "other". Why would I shower for that? It's like getting cleaned up to go mud wrestling. Regardless, I continue to shower in the morning, even though I know I'm going to be covered in a thin film of gross baby byproduct within a matter of minutes. On the other hand, if I shower at night, that just means I'm clean the few hours I sleep, then wake up and get dirty again. Maybe I should skip out on showering all together. Nah, that'd be stupid.

Another stupid thing I do, and I just can't seem to shake, is something I like to call "Hideapoophobia" (pronounced hide-a-poo-fobia). There are times when I'm cleaning up after what can only be described as a poo version of Chernobyl that I get this sinking suspicion there is poo on me somewhere. Usually I have a feeling it's somewhere on my arm, like that spot around your elbow you can't actually see. I try to wipe myself off with one of those baby wipes, just to see if there's something there, but I haven't found anything, not even once. Yet I can't seem to get over my hideapoophobia. This would make me stupid. I guess children really can give you "the brain damage". I'm sure this is just the beginning of what will be a long list of stupid things I'll do as a parent. Just hope they're not too severe.

The Skootface.

2010-05-07T19:51:00.000-07:00

IT'S SKOOTFACE!!!!

I've seen it a hundred times! Little Billy or Suzy is learning to crawl and those giant thighs are much stronger than their underdeveloped T-Rex arms. Frustration ensues. As a parent, we all want to give our children that extra little boost, leg up, or (if you've had a baby T-Rex) arm extensions. I present to you SkootFace. No longer will your child's forehead be red and raw from scooting their heads across the carpet as their arms drift helplessly along the ground. No more will your child's toy continue to be out of reach! Think of never again having to lie to your friends how advanced your child's development is! With the SkootFace your child will be crawling as early as four months old. For only 19.99 you can start your child on an adventure of your house! Think: Miner's helmet with a wheel instead of a light.
And the best part is, if you don't want them getting around, just take it off! They'll be like fish out of water. If your child is beginning to pick up speed, we have an optional head-bumper for only 5 dollars more! Five Dollars! Think of it! You can protect the Jell-O like consistency of your child's brain for only five dollars, now what parents wouldn't do that for their baby? Admittedly, your child's brain is losing neurons faster than than they can make them because of apoptosis, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't protect the ones that survive! So, go ahead and click on that "Donation" button at the top! I hope you don't expect to get anything, because this doesn't even exist, but still, it'll be fun! And you don't even have to sign up for an account, just give them all your credit card info. It's safer than it sounds... I hope you've been enjoying the blog. But seriously, SkootFace doesn't exist, and if you thought it did and still wanted to buy it for your child, seek help. Keep it funny!

The Cruelty.

2010-04-23T10:16:00.000-07:00

Num num num num num....

     Evy is finally getting out of her colic, rolling over, laughing, giggling, all the things a beautiful baby girl should do. It's wonderful. She's happy and agreeable and that makes my job a heck of a lot easier and more fulfilling. The last few weeks have been just like that, and the memory of her colic is being covered up, bit-by-bit, by new memories of enjoyment and smiles. But then the cruelty of life starts to kick in.
     I'm a fan of cruel humor. If you think you're not, you're wrong. Every person I know laughs at the crotch kicks in America's Funniest Home Video's. You do too, don't deny it. It's funny to see someone else get hurt, mainly because it's not us. I think George Gobel said, "it's funny to see a old woman in a wheelchair, rolling down hill, out of control. But it's only funny in America if there's a brick wall at the bottom of the hill." In that same vain of humor, God thought it would just be hilarious if, just a few short weeks after her colic went away, Evy would start teething. Admittedly, she doesn't cry nearly as much, but still, I thought we had done our time in the crying ward. Guess not.
     So, any teething advice? We've tried the frozen things, and they're okay, but they don't stay frozen forever and Evy drools so much they actually thaw out pretty quick. I'm all for the Orajel/Anbesol route, but I'd like to use as few chemicals as possible. I know they make baby versions, but still, I feel weird doing it. Some of my friends have used "homeopathic" teething pills, but I also want something that works. Now, I'm not saying all homeopathic remedies are a crock, but at three o'clock in the morning, I want instant sleep; ergo, I want instant fix. That's probably my problem for being so impatient, but still, is it so wrong to want to sleep? Is it?!?! I don't think so. I'm open to suggestions. What have you tried that worked? What have you tried that failed worse than the Pinto making a comeback?

The Eating.

2010-04-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

Before Magneto had a budget...

Evaline had her first meal today. She hated it. And, I gotta say, she did pretty awful. But it was funny, so that made up for her complete failure as an eater. It's okay though, we still love her. Also, I think I've figured out why her head, like all babies heads, are so big: counterweight. Seriously. She's starting to figure out how to roll over, from stomach to back and the other way! Oh it's true, she's a a full on expert at rolling over. Just as long as she can keep pivoting on that giant head of hers. But she seems to like it, so I'll let it go.
But back to something that might be remotely useful to the rest of the world. Turns out, it's a good idea to baby-proof your house a little earlier than necessary. Evy succeeded in peeing across her changing table, over to the wall, and right on the electric socket. There's no charred baby, which means it could've gone worse,but still, those little wall socket cover things might not be a bad idea. Catie and I weren't expecting her to do that...she's a girl! Apparently, that doesn't matter and Evy successfully peed straight through the glass ceiling. Well, here's a short video of Evy trying rice cereal. It's supposed to help her sleep longer, but I think there's a prerequisite for it to work: she needs to actually get some of it in her stomach... Oh well, maybe next time.

The Activities.

2010-04-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

Ahhh...pink crinkle paper, my favorite.

It's kind of difficult to know what to do with a four month old. I mean, I know what to do with her, like feed her, change her, hold her, etc., but right now, her absolute favorite thing in the world is a piece of cloth with cellophane in it. That's right, crinkle paper. It blows her mind. Some of my friends take their six month old to the zoo, the wild animal park, they might even take him to Kidchella at the New Children's Museum. It's pretty cool and all, but my daughter has an attention span of about twenty seconds. After that, all things stimulating just get filed away in the "OH MY GOSH I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE!" category. Evy would probably be as equally interested in my foot as she would be in feeding a giraffe.
On top of all that, I have a feeling the frustration factor would be pretty high at anyone of these places. I'm kinda (read very) cheap, so when I spend a bunch of money on something, the we're-gonna-have-a-good-time-or-else expectation goes up in proportion to how much money has been spent. But Evy's a baby. She doesn't care or even know about my expectations. She's probably gonna miss a nap, which will make her fussy, which would normally be fine with me, but now it's "costing" me money because we paid for fun but not getting any. We'll be the family walking by and some wiseacre will throw out that "ooo, there goes a happy camper!" comment, I'll get in a fight, and then we'll be kicked out of the park/movie theater/zoo/church. Which is no good, because (with the exception of the church) we paid good money to spend the most time possible having as much fun as possible. All this to say, when I see an ad about Kidchella, or my friends are taking their kid to the zoo, I think of that crinkle paper, and smile. Evy has no idea what she's missing, but she loves that crinkle paper.

The Attention.

2010-04-04T11:39:00.000-07:00

Things are starting to pile up. I haven't written a post, shopped for food, done dishes, or bathed in several days. Baby girl isn't even here yet. What's going to happen when she does come? I'll be running on less sleep than ever before, with more things to do, and less time to do them in. Right now I'm trying to find a job that will allow me to work from home, but that's not shaping up too nicely. Data entry jobs are few and far between, medical transcription gigs take 6 to 12 months to train for if I go to a reputable place, and by then I probably won't even need to work at home.
EDIT: I realized I never finished or even published this post. I came across it when I was getting ready to write a new post, and it sparked something in me. I was right. Never before have I wanted so much to not be right. I am still tired, running behind, and completely overwhelmed. If it wasn't for Catie supporting me (monetarily and emotionally, and spiritually for that matter), I'm not sure how I could do this. I have more respect for single parents than ever before. The thing is, this has me thinking about a second child. The dog is already running on about a quarter of attention he usually gets. However, if we had a second kid the dog would just about fall off the radar entirely and attention spent on Evy would necessarily be divided. Regardless, people have done this for thousands and thousands of years. So, why do I feel like I'm the first person in the world to have kids? On the other hand, I am the first person in the world to have this kid.

The Passion.

2010-04-03T12:58:00.000-07:00

We're not fighting, we're talking passionately...

     First of all, let me apologize for taking such a huge hiatus. Admittedly, it's only been a little over a month and I'm new to this whole parenting thing, but I use to post every day, so it's my own fault for setting up your expectations. Once again, allow me to apologize to all both of my readers. Second of all, I'm working on a book. Haven't shopped it around at all, but I'm trying to make time for it between school and diapers. I've already got the title: Breast Milk in my Coffee and other stories from a stay at home dad. I'm open to suggestions. Thirdly, Evy has helped create and maintain a new level of passion in Catie and I's relationship. Really, she has. Now, it's not necessarily in the way I thought it would happen and it's certainly not the same type of passion I'm use to, but it's there.
     See, somewhere during our maiden voyage into parenting, "talking" about how we're going to parent Evy stopped being an academic discussion on methods and turned into something else. For example, one day Evy was having another one of her marathon crying spells. When the screaming started Catie and I were just trying to make sure Evy was okay. Is she fed, is she hot, cold, sick, gassy, tired, wet, poop-filled, hurt? What?! What's wrong with her? After we'd checked off everything we could think of, we were left with empty brains and an enigma: What do you want?!?!
     Twenty minutes into the wailing marathon, we had about as many nerves as functioning brain cells. I'm throwing out suggestions, trying to calm down a child and empower my wife, but as near as I can tell she's politely ignoring my ideas and doing whatever she wants. Our "discussion" heats up quickly as the decibels rise in an attempt to make ourselves heard over Evy. At the end of this, Evy eventually fell asleep, but there were two adults, wide awake, very mad. Not at Evy, but at each other. The therapist in me had to figure out what just happened.
     After mulling it over, and a few more fights, I started figuring something out. Catie and I weren't getting passionate (read: fighting) about what to do for Evy, we were trying to establish who the better parent was. Turns out, Catie and I were no longer talking about parenting tactics. It had subtly become about who was the better parent. To not agree with my parenting tactics didn't mean there might be a better or different way of doing things, it meant I was a bad parent. That's not something I can handle very easily. That's already my greatest fear and anything that might confirm that is just too much to handle. So if I suggest sitting her up and burping her, and you lay her down and burp her, it means you're a better parent than me. Well, it doesn't mean that, but that's how I internalized it. Once I figured it out, arguing about parenting could just be arguing about parenting. Nothing more. I'm getting better at it, but it's still frustrating when you've tried everything you can and she's still crying. But that's life, isn't it.
    P.S. Don't call me Mr. Mom. Ever. That's like calling Catie Mrs. Dad because she works. I'm not a substitute mother, I'm a father. I'm not second string, I'm the other parent. We're equal, okay? Glad to get that off my chest...

The Lifting.

2010-03-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

     There's a scene in a Family Guy episode where Clinton's motorcade breaks down in front of Peter's house. Still excited about his new workout regimen, Peter tells the secret service he can lift the car all by himself. He says "the trick is to shift all the weight from your legs through to your back and groin, then lift with a twisting jerking motion. You wanna take your legs completely out of the equation". He proceeds to do just that and absolutely wrecks his back.
     Fellas, I have a feeling there's going to be a lot of heavy lifting involved in my wife's pregnancy; and not just by her. Oh no, on the contrary. The more pregnant she gets the less she's able to carry. Don't get me wrong, I understand. Her center of balance is off, she's already carrying a quadrillion pounds of baby, her ankles are the size of pony kegs. I get it, I really do. But this early in the pregnancy?
     My wife is a machine. She would give any terminator a run for its money. While coaching cross-country at the high school where she teaches is hardcore, the fact that the school is in the middle of a desert takes it up a notch. At the time of this post she's just a couple of weeks into her second trimester and she's still sporting a six-pack. There are claims her "skinny jeans"* no longer fit, but skinny jeans won't fit her after we spent four dollars at Taco Bell (which, admittedly, is a considerable amount of food).
     I'm a nice guy. I'm a giver. So I pitch in because I love her and I want to show it. Then, while hoisting laundry from the car I already packed to the second car she now wants it in, it hits me: this is a test! It's gotta be! My wife, the model for independent women of the 21st century, asking me to help carry laundry? I don't think so! She wants to know if I'm going to be able to pull my (literal) weight when the baby gets here.
     Apparently, there is a massive amount of pure and unadulterated stuff that goes into moving a baby from point "A" to point "B". I've heard some names the "stuff" has, but I can't pretend to remember them all. What I do know is, the world will stop if any one of those things gets left behind. So who's going to be loading up all this "stuff"? Well, yours truly! And you know what? I'm totally up for it. Can't wait. Bring it on!
     I'm gonna kick the stuffing out of moving baby stuff. I'm gonna make a Velcro suit and just stick everything that kid owns to my body. I'll be a walking baby daycare, one man band, DDR machine. Maybe.
     Then again, maybe she just wants me to move stuff for her because all I'm doing is watching tv.
It's probably that last one.

*"Skinny Jeans" define the type of pant, not the person in them. This is a critical distinction to make when dealing with a woman who, for whatever reason, can no longer fit in them. It's not that she's "not" skinny, it's just the jeans are too skinny. Trust me, gentlemen, this will save you lots of pain. Lots. Of. Pain.

The Frazzle.

2010-02-18T09:30:00.000-08:00

You remember Fraggle Rock? That was a great show. Well, now I live in Frazzle Rock. It's not nearly as good a show. When Evy sleeps I try to get school work done, or maybe clean up around the house, but not much happens because I'm too tired to work. So I try to lay down and catch some zzz's, when Evy wakes up, right on cue. It's getting a little brutal and the bags under my eyes are so heavy I can feel them. So, I'm writing this post because I realize I'm behind and I hope I'll be able to write one that's a little more impacting in the next few days. But for now, I'm off to sleep!

The Communication.

2010-02-06T23:43:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been walking down the street, and you see someone on the other side of a window, waving at you? You're not sure if you know them, and they're pretty far off, so you look around to see if there's anyone else around. Nope. No one. They must be waving at you! So, you start to wave back. But as you do, your feet have been carrying you closer and closer to your mystery waver. Now, you can clearly see them, and they can clearly see you. And you can clearly see a confused person on the other piece of glass...the glass. They're not waving, they're washing the window! You don't know them, you never did, and you look like a weirdo flailing your arm at some stranger as they clean. Okay, take that feeling, and experience it every few hours and you pretty much have my experience as a stay at home dad.
Evy's cries are starting to mean specific things, but many times it's hit or miss. It's like I think she's waiving at me, but she's really just washing the proverbial window. But, I'm getting a little better at recognizing what she's doing on the other side of that window. Eventually, she'll learn how to talk, and I may not have to guess... as much. I'll tell ya though, one thing I have learned how to read pretty well, is when poop shoots right out of her diaper and up her back. Know how I know? Because I can usually feel it on my hands as it soaks through her onesie. Ya. That one I've got down solid.

The Apparent.

2010-01-30T19:48:00.000-08:00

It's apparent that I'm slowly becoming a parent. I'm starting to realize that having a child only proves two fertile people got together. Creating a new life doesn't make me a parent any more than a bad toupee makes someone not bald. Membership into the parent club happens in tiny increments, one diaper at a time. Each time I pick her up when she cries, give her a bath, make a bottle at three A.M, I'm taking one step closer to being a parent. At least I think so. It's not like driving, I don't know if I'm half way, or even when I get there. What's weird about parenting is if I do it right, I'll work myself out of a job. I will always be Evy's dad, even after I die; but I won't always be her parent. And I guess that's the point, isn't it? I spend the first year of her life just trying to keep her alive. The rest of my life is spent trying to keep her safe and myself sane. There's parts of this job that really tax my patience and even my relationship with Catie; but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

The Science.

2010-01-26T16:24:00.000-08:00

Click on this link and check out "The Science of Babies". Totally helped me to appreciate Evy on a whole new level.

The Consensus.

2010-01-25T12:25:00.000-08:00

So, one of the easiest ways to decide if you're crazy or not is to see if other people experience reality the same way you do, there's a good chance you're not completely bonkers. As long as everyone else experiences the squares between the squares in the illusion on the left, even though they're not there, it's okay. Now, if you see Jesus in the picture on the left, you may have a problem. Seek help.
This is a very important thing to remember when you have a kid. If she cries a lot, all the time, and there's nothing you can do about it, you can often feel like a terrible parent. It's an easy assumption to make. She's crying, there's something wrong with her, I can't help her, so I must be a bad parent. But, when a seasoned professional, like grandparents for instance, can't do anything to help either, it's a good thing; in a way. It means it's not just me. If there's a consensus about Evy, that means it's not just me. But it doesn't mean there's nothing we can do. We're taking her to the doctor to have everything checked out, and hopefully we'll be able to give her something that will help. But, if not, we're just going to ride this out until she's over it, and we'll go from there. I just have to keep telling myself it won't last forever... It won't last forever...

The Running II.

2010-01-21T10:11:00.000-08:00

Day three of staying home with Evy. Day one and two, no problem! She was fussless, she was without fuss. I was a great father! This thing was going to be easy. While I didn't say it, I was confident I had this parenting thing down. Apparently, it takes three days for me to eat my unspoken words. Today, right now, as I'm writing this post, Evy is in the other room, swaddled, fed, clean, coming off a full night's rest (like six full hours!), in her swing, listening to the magic CD that's supposed to make her happier than a pig in poop, and yet she will not...stop...crying! It's driving me nuts! I pick her up, she cries. I put her down, she cries. I bounce her, rock her, shake her (in the good way, not the abusive way), give her a pacifier, give her a bottle, and nothing. Well, nothing but tears and screaming.
You may be wondering, if my daughter is in the other room crying, why am I in here, blogging? That's a good question and I'm glad you asked. The purpose of blogging at this particular moment is three fold:

It's important for me to be honest with what's going on inside my head and my heart, while this is happening.
I'm killing time until my father gets here so I can go running.
If I'm in here, I can't be in there, getting frustrated.

I'm not sure how much longer I can take this. I'm doing the right thing by calling my dad and waiting on him to give me a break. Don't get me wrong, I would never hurt my child. I'm not worried about that, it's just that I have no idea what to do to make her happy. And I think I may be close to realizing what "impotent rage" really means. My frustration factor is pretty stinking high right now...but there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing more than what I've already tried. Plus, it's not like she started crying and I just said to myself, "Self, let's see how long she can keep this up...it'll be fun!" I really have tried everything, but she's been crying for two straight hours and that's enough to challenge Mother Theresa. My dad's here now, so I'm going to go running. Thank God for grandparents...

The Disconnect.

2010-01-19T14:05:00.000-08:00

⁼

     I'm not a computer genius. I think I'm better than most, but there are a lot of people out there better than me, and I'm better than all the people that currently live in my house. This means that when something electronic does goes haywire, it immediately gets passed to me. A friend who's in the same electronic situation I am laughs about this with me. What our wives don't seem to understand is that we don't know right away what's wrong either! We do some poking around, do some research online, take a best guess, try to see if anyone else has had a similar problem, and just keep trying until we find a solution. But the wives, they don't want to know this. I think they truly want to believe I have some magical power over all things computerized. I've talked about this in a little more detail in a previous post. Well, apparently I am to computers as Catie is to Evy.
     There are times when Evy cries, I have no idea what the problem is. She's clean, she's fed, she's the right temperature, but nothing seems to make her happy. At a certain point, I just hand her off to Catie. Nine times out of ten, Evy stops crying, goes all limp and slack-jawed, and then her eyes close. It's like magic! I ask Catie about this, and she says, "Oh, she just wanted to be bounced..." Bounced? That's what she wanted? How in the world did you divine "she just wanted to be bounced" out of that particular cry? It makes no sense to me. Catie and I sit down and start talking about this, because I can't pass Evy off to Catie every time she cries. Partially because it wouldn't be fair, but also because I'm going to stay home with Evy while Catie's at work. So, Catie asks me how I fix problems with computers.
     I tell her there's nothing really to it, I just poke around and see what I can do on my own. If that doesn't work, I look for other people online that may have had similar problems, and try what worked for them. She starts laughing and says, "that's exactly what I do with Evy!" When I think about it, she's right. When Evy was colicky, we tried a bunch of things on our own, none of them worked, so we went out and did some research. We bought a book, tried several new things, and found something that worked. When she cries now, I feel way more empowered. I sort of look at her like a computer, and just try stuff until the disks stop making that noise. And I guess when it comes to parenting I'm a lot like I am with computers: I'm better than a lot of people, but there's a lot of people better than me. Which gives me a little bit of hope. It lets me know I can help a few people out there with their children, and it tells me there's a lot of people out there who can help me. I'm not alone, and neither are you.

The Wow.

2010-01-12T10:16:00.000-08:00

Everyone knows who this guy is. He's the guy that beats up prostitutes. What you may not know is that he sells kitchen kitch, like the SlapChop, and, more important to our conversation, the ShamWow. Vince says, you'll say wow every time you use it. Last night, I could have used something that absorbent. So here's the thing, if someone figures out how to make a swaddler out of a ShamWow, I'll buy it. Evy started a spitting up marathon style last night. She just wouldn't stop. She didn't seem to be distressed or anything, just unable to keep the milk down. Could've been the amount of food she ate, could've been the garlic bread we ate at nine last night, who can say? Regardless, we owe a pretty large wet spot in our sheets and a half full washer to her esophageal exploits last night. She's fine, but I totally want a ShamWow burp cloth and/or swaddler. It would make me say wow every time she spit up! I think parents need that; a reason to say wow when their kid spits up...

The Automobile.

2010-01-10T21:31:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago, we got what we thought was a good deal on a car. It was/is a Pontiac G5. While it has been immortalized in a terrible song by Jesse McCartney, the Pontiac has still been canceled and the whole idea was a total mistake. Regardless, a two door sports coupe is a great investment that only increases after you have a child. Have you ever tried to put a car seat in a two door? Houdini couldn't have done that. Well, he probably could have done it, but not in less than a minute, and that's saying something for Houdini. Anyway, I hate the car, but that's not what this is really about. I do hate the car, but it's not the point.
When we bought this POS, we had no intention of having a baby. it wasn't even in the plan. By the time we were going to have a baby the car would be paid off and we could drive it off a cliff if we wanted. Well at least there has been one lesson learned, you never know what the future holds, so don't do anything just for today. Like, right now, we're remodeling our new house. All the things we're buying, we are thinking about the future. Ceiling fans? Buy one for the future, not just for today. It's times like this when a little bit of extra money spent up front will pay off later. I think it even applies to the time we're spending with Evy right now. It's as if we have to take advantage of every opportunity afforded us from now until we're dead in order to make up for this Pontiac accident. I'm sure it'll be alright though, most people only make one financial mistake their entire lives, right?

The Hallelujah.

2010-01-05T16:22:00.000-08:00

So, my last post was about Evy's colic, which was genuinely awful. Then I remembered a book some random stranger told me about at a restaurant. Sleep deprived and desperate, Catie & I walked down to Border's to pick up the book...money was no option. I know people say that, but I would've dropped a hundred bucks if that book would help her sleep; and by proxy, help me sleep a little too. We picked up a book called The Happiest Baby on the Block and it's an absolute life saver. Seriously, this book has probably saved a few babies lives. Before, we'd lay her down, she'd freak out, scream, cry, and generally be inconsolable. We read this book with the intensity and ferociousness of someone with barely any hope. After a few hours, we read the important parts that applied to us (having a baby that wouldn't stop crying) and tried out the suggestions in the book. If you do them correctly and in the right order, it totally works. I'm gonna highly suggest this book to anyone with babies. Not just colicky babies, but any baby that has ever cried. Go. Buy the book. Thank me later.
P.S. Apparently, I was supposed to be posting this thing like a week ago. I said I'd post it in a day, but after having a baby, one day = a week. We've had the same todo list for the last month.

The New.

2010-01-01T10:48:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year everyone! For the last few years Catie and I have been in bed when the New Year rolled in. We just slept right through it. This year, that wasn't a problem. Evaline has decided to become colicky. It's not too terrible yet, but it's getting close. For the past four nights she's cried for about four hours straight, completely inconsolable. The new baby smell and charm is tarnishing quickly and my frustration levels are rising just as fast. A friend was over last night and told us it's not really colic until you start wondering how hard you could hit the baby's head against the wall to knock them out without doing any permanent damage. I can say we're not to that point, yet. Still though, most people stay out pretty late on New Year's eve. If you're one of those people, and you don't have kids yet, the way you feel in the morning is how I feel every morning. The only difference being that I don't have any crazy stories or incriminating photos that show up the next morning on Facebook.
In the mean time my room has been converted into an obstacle course, rife with rockers, swings, blankies, baby shoes, and who knows what else. Trying to walk around in the dark is going to shorten my life considerably. The worst part of the whole thing is there's nothing I can do to make her feel better. It's pretty much the most powerless I've ever felt. Regardless, she's healthy, she's pretty, and this isn't going to last forever. Even if it feels like it.

The Sickie.

2009-12-21T18:22:00.000-08:00

I have a little cold right now and a slight fever. Apparently, that's enough to put me in some kind of hermetically sealed room on medical lock-down just this side of a leper colony. Right now, Evaline is getting more antibodies than anyone else in this house and if she gets sick at this point it's not like she's going to be missing any school or work. Now, before I start getting hate mail, I do understand an adult cold can potential become a baby killer, but it's a long shot. But I guess it's better to be safe than sorry.
The weird thing is I actually want to be in there, you know? I feel like I'm in little league soccer all over again just hoping the coach will put me in. "Come on, Coach! I can do it! I know I didn't put that last diaper on correctly and poo got on your shirt...and I know I keep leaving dirty diapers in the crib...but I can do this man! One for the Gipper?" While I'm not a Notre Dame fan, I still get it. The point is to win. With parenthood, at this current time and place, that means keeping the baby alive. Anything short of that is pretty much considered a big "L". So, spreading my sick breath all over Evy probably isn't a good thing. I still don't think Catie should make me sleep in the guest bedroom, but I gotta listen to Coach...I mean Catie.

The Realizations

2009-12-19T10:14:00.001-08:00

Here are some of the things I've discovered in the first week of fatherhood:

Eventually, everything becomes a burp rag.
No matter how much they poop, there's always a little left.
The importance of the cleanliness of foolers/binkies/pacifiers is directly inverse to the immediacy of its demand.
If you're dropping a laptop and a baby, it's good when you catch the baby.
Women are just as amazed at their ability to lactate as we are.
Dogs love to lick babies feet. I don't know why, they just do.
There are never enough diapers. Costco couldn't keep up with that kind of demand.
Bellybuttons are gross.
Sleep is precious.
Kids are worth it.

The Rambo.

2009-12-16T12:30:00.000-08:00

Okay, yesterday was the first time we took Evy out. I mean, this was the first time we took her further than one city block. As I was packing the diaper bag, going through a mental list of everything we might need and how much of it should be packed, I had the recollection of the Rambo/Hot Shots Part Deux where the Rambo character is getting ready to kill everyone and he ties his headband tight, pulls his boot laces up, slams the giant knife into the sheath, ties some memento around his neck, and with renewed vigor charges out to defeat an undefeatable army. Packing the diaper bag is about as close as I'm ever going to come to prepping for battle. Now, there have been times in my life where I have gotten into some scraps, but there was rarely time to prep. I kinda wonder how long it will take for this to become ritual and second nature. In the mean time, I'll revel in the process.

The Normal.

2009-12-15T14:25:00.000-08:00

I've never been so wrapped up in the pursuit of normal. Ever. How much she's supposed to weigh, how often she should poop, pee, eat/drink, sleep, everything. I don't know what to expect or what's right. I've never had one before so I don't know what I'm supposed to pay attention to and what I shouldn't worry about it. I have never really cared how this much about what's considered normal. I don't even want exceptional, I just want what's right.

The Disbelief.

2009-12-11T08:36:00.001-08:00

This is my daughter. If I did my math right, that means I'm a father. I have changed her diapers, burped her, and woken up constantly to care for her. All of these are further indications that I am not only A father, but HER father. The thing is, I still feel like I'm babysitting. Not sure what I was expecting, some magic switch was supposed to get flipped and BAM I'd feel like a dad. I'm not worried, though. I know it will change and I know I love her, but a dad? I just don't feel like it yet. Of course, it could just be the sleep deprivation has a general numbing sensation... Now that I think about it, the lack of sleep thing may very well be it. I'll check back later.

The Validity.

2009-12-10T12:10:00.001-08:00

So, my baby girl is here. I'm no longer a (complete) hypocrite for running fatherade. And what have I learned in the first 24 hours? Get a hair cut. Seriously. So far I've been prepping myself pretty perfectly for this kid. I cut the chord without passing out, I felt totally helpless in the delivery room, I've already cleaned up three meconium filled sticky gross diapers, and I did a bunch of dishes in the days leading up to the birth. What I forgot about, what never popped into my head? I should've gotten a haircut. These pictures are going to be on our walls for years and I look kinda like a hobo. So there you go, my first advice as a father to expecting dads: get a haircut.

The Anagram.

2009-12-09T07:56:00.001-08:00

Catie is in active labor so here's the anagram. Good luck! "Do even all mice lie, sir?"

Just put your best guess in the comments section and I'll try to check it when I can.

The Waiting.

2009-12-07T11:09:00.000-08:00

     Sorry it's been so long between posts. I realize not many of you have been coming out & checking up on me. The blame falls squarely on my shoulders for not updating this thing with kitschy and pithy sayings you've all grown accustomed to. Well, it's not gonna happen now either. Catie is almost a full week past her due date, it's finals week for me, and this baby is just chilling. I thought preparing for this kid was going to be the hardest thing. We finally moved in our place with the help of her parents and a bunch of friends (thanks everyone!) & we're now just sitting in parenting limbo. More posts will soon follow, & here's hoping they won't involve stories of me dropping the baby, allowing her to roll of the changing table, or straight up forgetting where I put her. That last one happens a lot with other things & I'm seriously considering putting one of those whistling key chains on the baby so I can clap & just follow the sound. Some of my spare time has been spent reading baby books, but I'm hoping Catie & I will just find a parenting groove that works with baby and we'll just go from there.
     Our church has been instrumental in helping us prepare for the new kiddo. I had no idea we needed so many things. How have people been doing this for thousands of years without this much stuff? There's just no way to comprehend it.
     Last thing: We haven't told ANYONE the baby's name. So here's the deal. I made an anagram that contains all the letters for her name. As soon as Catie's water breaks I'm going to post it on Fatherade & all of you can take a crack at it. Follow my tweets or subscribe to this blog so you won't miss it because I doubt I'll be able to call all of you when it's time. Thanks everyone, & I promise the adventures are just beginning.

The Takeover.

2009-11-29T19:13:00.001-08:00

Have you ever heard of a corporate takeover? It's when someone buys more than 50% of corporate stock without announcing it, then they roll in and tell everyone to kiss up to the new boss. The kid isn't even here yet and her stuff has slowly, but surely, been taking up more than 50% of our space. It's crazy! Then people tell us all these things we're still missing... I don't get it! This is a private takeover. Well, as private as can be. No one else seems to be surprised. She's not even here and she has more clothes than me! Being a GQ reader, that's saying something.

The Thanksgiving.

2009-11-26T08:10:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I have so much to be thankful for right now, it's not even funny. I know I don't promote the fact that I'm Christian, and this site isn't necessarily just for Christians, but today I'm reminded of how thankful I really am, all I have to be thankful for, and why I have been taken care of the way I have. The "golden rule" of scripture is couched in a framework of parenthood (Matthew 7:10-12) and parents are to be models of God here on earth. The closer I get to having this little girl, the more I realize how God would do anything to care for me. All the things Catie and I have been dealing with in these last few months have only proven how much we're really cared for. We've always been provided a place to live, food to eat, jobs to do, and just the right amount of money. This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful my (new) family has brought me a greater understanding of what it really means to be loved by God. My faith has been renewed and I can't wait to see what is in store for us in the next few years. Happy Thanksgiving everyone. May we wake up every morning with thanks on our mind.

The Lamaze.

2009-11-14T22:40:00.000-08:00

Went to Lamaze class today. While most of the stuff in the class I already knew, there was a couple of things it provided I found helpful and one thing I couldn't have gotten anywhere else. The breathing exercises seemed to help and our instructor was honest about what to expect and how well they actually worked. This helped to make our expectations a little more accurate. The one thing I couldn't have gotten anywhere else is witnessing other couples in the same situation as Catie and I. Even though we were all at different places in our lives, we had similar questions, fears, and general confusion. It sounds odd to say, but there was a certain sense of solidarity in that confusion; at least for me there was. I saw that several other men were just as anxious and felt just as powerless as I did. I guess that it's only been Catie and I for so long now, I've kind been sucked into a whirlpool of our life, our future, and our plans. Seeing other people go through similar situations helped keep it all in perspective.

The Crunch.

2009-11-09T17:18:00.000-08:00

Well, Catie and I are coming down to the wire now. We have to be out of the place we're in now by the 15th, and hopefully we'll have a place to put our child before she comes. The funny thing is that we've working around this date of the 15th, but this kid is going to come when she wants to come. She doesn't know or care about where we're going to live, when we're going to go there, or what we're going to do with all the people that are coming in to see her. So, sorry I haven't been posting, but I promise I will give you a lot more after the 15th. Also, I'm going to be making a little video where I've interviewed a bunch of fathers. I'll cut it together when I have time, but I won't have time until after the 15th.

The Running.

2009-11-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

I'm glad my relationship isn't built on a lie because it'd be too hard to maintain; the lie, not the relationship. Could you imagine what it'd be like if the first time I met Catie I told her I was into running? I mean I could see the appeal; it'll make her think I'm healthy, in shape (read sexy), and disciplined. When, in actuality I'm not all that healthy, my shape is round (read pseudo-sexy), and the most discipline I have is stopping when the ice cream container is still half-full. Can you imagine the first day she'd ask me out to run? I show up in really new looking kicks and shorts that just seem too short on me, and I'm all, "WHEW! Yeah! Let's run!" We'd make it about three blocks (half a block) and if my wheezing didn't give me away, the collapsing that followed would. Then, as the paramedics resuscitated me, I'd make up some lame statement about how I'm use to running in colder weather. The next time she'd ask an old high school knee injury would flair up... This would probably continue until she just stopped asking.
I know it's a ridiculous lie and it wouldn't amount to much, but still, you get the point. The funny thing is we all do it! Yes, everyone. Not necessarily out-right full-on lies, but lies of omission or bending the truth. Actually, now that I think about it Catie and I's relationship is based on a lie! It's true. I asked her if she had seen the Lord of the Rings movie that was in theater's at the time and she said no. What I heard her say was, "Ask me out to this movie because I haven't seen it and I'll probably go because I like the movie, even if I don't like you..." So I told her I wanted to see it as well, even though I already had. Turns out we had a great time and even held hands on the first date! I just hope I remember this when my kids start stretching the truth...

The Magi.

2009-11-02T19:07:00.000-08:00

Read "The Gift of the Magi" with my students today. Some of the punch was lost because of the old English used in the story. When I compared the girls hair to their PS3's and his watch to an XBOX 360, it made a little more sense. Each person trading their systems to buy the other person games for their system made it a little more clear. Turns out, making the moral of this story a "little more clear" doesn't make it any easier to understand. They were so taken aback by this vision of piles of video games with no system to play them on they couldn't grasp the concept that it was the sacrifice made my each person that meant so much more than the actual gift. I tried to help them see the beauty in sacrifice and how it paralleled love. Realistically, love and sacrifice are pretty inseparable. Reminds me of the Death Cab for Cutie song, Meet Me at the Equator.

The Halloween.

2009-11-01T09:53:00.000-08:00

Had a lot of fun during Halloween last night. It was good times, good times. There were several little girls at the party we went to and they had the best costumes! Catie and I got to talking about what we were going to let our kid wear when they were growing up. Now here is a shot of me as dressed by my mother when I was young. That should put in context what I'm about to say. I want to allow my daughter to wear whatever she wants. If that means the princess costume she wore for Halloween is going to be worn out due to constant use, that's fine by me. If the other kids at her school make fun of her, I'll have to ask her what's more important: having friends or wearing cookey clothes. I figure it'll kind of iron itself out, right? It's hard to imagine clothes being all that important, especially when she's young. But we'll see.

The Two.

2009-10-31T10:10:00.000-07:00

Just stumbled upon this great site called TwoOfUs.org. It's all about tips and tricks for parenting with an emphasis on relationships. I like it and their philosophy seems to meld with mine very well. Check it out and let me know what you think. Also I'm considering starting a discussion board on here. Are there any recommendations on who I should go through or if there's some good opensource stuff out there?

The Toot.

2009-10-30T13:58:00.000-07:00

That's right! We're having a girl. And here I thought girls were cleaner than boys... Of course, if you're going to be made of sugar and spice, there is some inevitable fermenting that will happen.

The Cold.

2009-10-29T19:52:00.000-07:00

I would say that when I'm sick I turn into a little girl, but that would be an insult to little girls. I'm a total wuss. Now, my pregnant wife is packing stuff, taking care of me, and walking the dog. How is it that women are so stinking tough?
I've noticed that my wife sees me at my most disgusting, smelly, grossness. All so I can make sure I look good for people that I don't love near as much as her! She's had to request I no longer breath on her before we meet people to see how bad my breathe is. Instead, I just carry gum around with me. And I won't hesitate to flip my head back and have her check to see if there are any bears in the cave. That's the thing though, isn't it? We love each other in spite of all the grossness. It's GREAT! On the other hand, I need to make sure my wife sees me at my best...at least some of the time. She shouldn't have to sort through all my sickness to see a few good things. But if we can't be disgusting in front of the people we love, who can we be gross in front of?

The Dream.

2009-10-28T14:15:00.000-07:00

Down the street from where I live there's a nice family. They have a very productive lime tree in their front yard and they freely offer the fruits to anyone walking by. There's also a little shoe box with a slot cut in the top and a sign taped to cardboard and attached to the back of the shoe box. It says the little girl who lives there is trying to collect money for animals in shelters. I'm not really sure about the details, but it says she's setting up a foundation for animals. This started about four months ago, and now, the box is just laying on its side in front of the house, all wrinkled and water damaged. I wonder if she checks it every day to see if some passersby put cash in. Has she just forgotten about it or is she still hopeful every time she cracks the top of that box? Is her dream of saving every animal everywhere just dying? It's ironic because the animals the dream was supposed to save are dying as well. Okay, maybe not ironic, but it is sad. I guess that little box makes me wonder about my little girls dreams. I know they won't all come true, but that doesn't mean they all have to die; either. Any suggestions? Short of using a plastic shoebox...

The House.

2009-10-26T08:01:00.000-07:00

So, we finally found a house...we think. It's less than half the size of the place we're living in now and the beginning stages of claustrophobia are setting in just thinking about fitting all our stuff into that place. This is coming from someone who, speaking pretty humbly, is a Tetris MASTER! I can fit an Asian elephant in the back seat of Mini, but this place makes me cringe. It's not that the rooms are small as much as the lack of nooks and crannies to hold once a year things, like Christmas decorations, or in-laws. Plus, there's no garage space. Not that I'd put family in there, but it's still nice to know there are options.
In an earlier post I was saying the important thing was just getting a house. Now I'm wondering if this is the right house. Is this the right decision, the right time? Should we forgo the money from the government and wait, or should we get while the getting's good, make it work for now, and plan on moving out in a couple of years when the market goes back up? I just want to know this is the best choice, but I don't think it's something I can ever know for sure. I woke up last night around 1 AM and started watching a Psych marathon. It as if finally getting a house has created a whole new set of solution creating opportunities. We're up for it, and I'm sure it'll be worth it, and it's not like we're signing away our lives...but it kind of feels like that.

The Diagnostic.

2009-10-24T17:36:00.000-07:00

So, I was getting sick and tired of flipping through the pages in the back of the DSM-IV TR and I decided to make this little gizmo. It's pretty easy to use and it functions just like the differential diagnostic decision tree in the back of the book. I've taken this long to put it up because I wanted to test it out. It works fine for me, but please let me know right away if you find any mistakes. My email address is in a box on the left of your screen under "The Email.". Thanks for coming out and please leave a comment if you have any suggestions or questions.

The Haggle.

2009-10-23T11:32:00.000-07:00

Readers Digest has a nice little article about haggling over the price of a car. It actually got me thinking, when did everything become an option? When my mother use to ask if I'd do the dishes, she wasn't really asking! It was never a choice, she was just trying to be polite. Now, children everywhere have turned into little Monty Hall's with bad attitudes and no goats. And this isn't happening just in the juvenile hall where I teach, no, it's everywhere! Everything is about negotiating. Bedtime, bath time, tv time, are we going to have ice cream, can we buy a Porsche (that last one is actually one of mine...). A simple "No" doesn't cut it anymore. When did this happen? Who started it? I guess I don't mind negotiating some times, but it gets pretty tired, pretty quick. Of course, I could always buy one of those, "Win Every Argument, Every Time" books. Where they tell you to start with über higher expectations before the argument, then it doesn't matter as much when they whittle you down. So I should expect my daughter to be the first woman president, then when she becomes a CEO, I can act proud with a little bit of disappointment...right?

The Scare.

2009-10-20T09:47:00.000-07:00

For some reason, when I was little I lived to take years off my father's life, one scare at a time. I would hide in a closet, behind the over stuffed chair, or under a table for hours (read minutes as experienced by a kid with ADD) just so I could jump out and scare him. The only problem was, I would lay in wait, perfectly still, biding my time, until my dad would unwittingly stumble into my trap...then I would start giggling until my scare was about as surprising as getting junk mail. You know what he did though? He acted surprised. His acting wasn't all that convincing, but it worked on me. I felt like I really get the drop on my dad. It was cool! I think that's why I like Halloween so much. The Simpsons have their Tree House of Horror thing, SyFy (stupid name change, by the way) plays scary movies all month, and people get into a spirit I really dig. Any ideas on what Catie and I can dress up as? I was thinking we dress up real hillbilly like and tell everyone we're Brittney and K-Fed. Good?

The Steering.

2009-10-19T10:14:00.000-07:00

     Went and saw "Couples Retreat" this weekend, HILARIOUS. Seriously, go and see it. As the credits are rolling they are on jet ski's, in pairs, screaming across these crystal blue bays and inlets. It's a great scene, and I couldn't help but think of the first concert I ever went to: Smashing Pumpkins. I know it doesn't make sense yet, but stay with me to the end.
     It was high school and three of us piled into a girls car and took off down the highway toward the Pumpkins and good 'ol Billy C. Getting to that amphitheatre was kinda like getting to Rome, most of the roads in that part of Kansas led there. Well, this turned out to be a problem. The girl who was driving didn't really know how to get there, so the directions she was getting from me and the other guy were different. While they were both correct individually, if you tried to take them together you'd never get anywhere. Then, as we're speeding toward a busy interchange on the highway, I'm telling her to stay in the lane she's in while Michael was telling her to exit. At this point, her brain just locked up and she, along with the car, came to a screeching halt in the middle of the highway. I don't know if you've ever driven on a highway before, but I wouldn't recommend going any less than 55, much less stopping. There was no pulling over, no slowing down, no warning lights, just immediate and panicked stopping. While Michael and I couldn't agree on how to get there, we did agree in a very loud and insistent voice that stopping in the middle of the highway with cars whizzing by at 75 was a bad idea. I'm sure it was only a few seconds, but it seemed like we sat there for about five full minutes before Michael reached over and pushed the gas on the driver's side, forcing the car forward, and forcing the driver to make a decision. No one died and we got to the concert without further incident, but that little experience has stuck in my brain.
     This is where the story ties back into jet ski's, relationships, and driving. Just like driving, only one person can be in charge at a time in a relationship. This doesn't mean it's the same person all the time in every situation, just that only one person can drive a car at a time. Now, the driver can get input from whoever's in the car, but too much input or conflicting advice can make it pretty hard to know where you're really going. I guess what I'm trying to say is we should be careful who we let in the car of our relationships. I mean, Catie and I do a pretty good job of switching off between navigator and captain, but we're getting ready to have a new passenger. Not only do we have to make sure we agree on where we're heading, but also how we're going to get there. Otherwise, we may end up at a crossroads, and if we're not careful our marriage can come to a screaming halt in the middle of a busy road and we may just get hit by the proverbial MAC truck of divorce.
     That's how it goes, doesn't it? Two people, in a relationship, each one going different directions? How long can that really last? I'm not even sure how long I would want it to last. Even worse than that is getting tied to the bumper and dragged along like that dog on Family Vacation. How are you going to put any input into the relationship without being in the car? You could reach your destination and not even realize it. What a terrible and bitter way to go through something. That has actually happened to one of my dear friends and I miss him terribly. But she's got her foot on the gas, staring straight ahead, with no concern for him because he's on the outside of the car.
     Please hear me when I say this: I do not think men should always steer. Lord know's we got lost just as easily as anyone else and some comedian's have built entire careers on how we won't ask for directions. But I don't think women should be in control all the time either. It should be a group decision with input all along the way. Well, I'm starting to preach now, and I apologize. Anyway, let me know what you think. See you tomorrow with the new post.

The THX.

2009-10-16T17:55:00.000-07:00

So, just ran across this and I think it's a brilliant idea. If your local movie theater doesn't have a "Crybaby Matinee" thing, it totally should. It's a great move and you should call your local theater if they don't do it.

The Bargaining.

2009-10-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

Sprint PCS is driving me crazy. Yes, it's a short drive, but still being driven there! I'm on my third phone with them and it's junk. I'm more inclined to blame Windows Mobile is a terrible OS and I should go with something else. Regardless, Catie & I spent about two hours talking about how we were going to handle this. Going to a different cell provider would cost a bunch of money because we'd still have to buy a new phone. And let's be honest, I would probably want an iPhone. The other option is to stay here, hopefully Sprint will take care of me and make this better, but who knows. I may have to pay some money to get a new phone, but why pay money and resign a contract to stay with a company that kinda blows chunks? There was a point in time, before we got pregnant it wouldn't have been an issue. I would've worked a few more hours, made a little extra money, and bought the new phone. But now we're looking around at what we can sell (the treadmill topped the list pretty quickly) to make the money we might need if we want to buy it. Instead we're talking about setting up college funds for someone that doesn't really exist yet...it's just weird, that's all.

The Schedule.

2009-10-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

Alright, I think I'm gonna try to go toward quality a little more than quantity. Putting something out every single day is getting taxing, especially now that school is starting. Plus, I'm gonna expand the content of this site a little bit more, not only about parenting, and relationships, but also guy stuff in general. Also, there's some psychology tools I'm going to design that I'll put online. That's not for the general world, but I need someplace to put it! So, let me know what you think, men.
Free tip: Tell your lady five things you love about her some time today. You'll thank me later.

The Ruining.

2009-10-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

     Isn't this one of those things that should go without saying? The fact humanity has to let other people know they're not supposed to leave their children on the curb says that something has gone horribly and tragically wrong. Kinda sets the bar pretty low for me, though...
     Imagine Catie walking home, setting down her bag, looking at me on the couch and saying, "Hey Honey, how'd it go with the baby today?"
"Good...good."
"Did you empty the diaper pale?"
"Nope..."
"What?!? The thing was overflowing this morning! Considering the fact that our daughter has some super human ability to turn two ounces of food into fourteen pounds of fertilizer the diaper pale should be well past critical mass. The only way you could have fit another diaper in there is if you figured out how to make a black hole and put it at the bottom of the can. As we are still clearly here and not pulled into some infinitely small point of singularity, I can assume this has not happened...would you care to explain?"
"Didn't change any diapers...."
     The T.V. was probably still on up until this point. This is when Catie would lean over, turn off ESPN, and look deeply into my eyes and ask, "What do you mean you didn't change any diapers?"
"I mean I didn't change any diapers."
"You mean to tell me she's still in the same diaper I put her in this morning??"
"Yup."
"What is wrong with you?!?"
     Now I calmly look up at Catie and lay down the ultimate, one time use, gold plated, massive excuse:"Maybe I didn't change her, and I may have wrapped the tops and bottom of her diaper with duct tape to keep the poo in, but you know what I else I didn't do? I didn't leave our baby on some random doorstep..."

     Alright, so that probably wouldn't work, but it should help with the big picture parenting thing. I mean, taking your kid home from the hospital seems like a big step. Everything after that is gravy. I mean, parents can (real "will") make mistakes. There's nothing else to do but stick it out. That's what parenting is all about.

The Conscience.

2009-10-07T08:04:00.000-07:00

     When I was a boy my father told me a story I'll never forget. He said it was a Native American tale, but I haven't found anything to back that up. Regardless, there's something about it that has stuck with me for more than twenty years and I wanted to pass it along.
     I don't remember what I had done, but it was wrong. The real issue, the thing that scare my father the most, was that instead of feeling guilty for what I had done I was spending more time and energy trying to rationalize my behavior. He sat me down and told me that some people believed that when you're born, you're born with a square next to heart. In the middle of that square is a pin holding the heart in place and allowing it to spin. Then, when you do something wrong, the square makes a quarter turn. Sometimes, we even feel the tip of that square cut into our hearts as real pain. This reminds us of the hurt we caused in others and motivates us to seek healing for them, and our selves.
     However, if the square spins too often in too short a period of time, our hearts can grow calloused. When this happens, even though the square continues to turn, we do not feel it. This is dangerous, but can be fixed with time. If we go long enough without injuring someone else or, and this is what saves us most often, if a good friend comes to us and tells us we should be feeling our square, but we aren't, then we can allow our hearts to soften and we can allow ourselves to return to the way our hearts once were.
     But, if we have no good friends to talk to us when our hearts become calloused, then it is possible the square will continue to turn without us feeling it. If this happens too long, it wears the corners of the square down until they are rounded off. At this point nothing can be done. The healing words of friends will sound like poison, the helpful hands of family will look like fists, and the tears of those we hurt will look like weakness. After a time, the calloused heart that has worn away the edges of the square will heal; the callouses will fall away revealing a tender and vulnerable heart. The tragedy is there is no way to reach it. Nothing can touch that heart, neither pain nor joy, love nor fear, hope nor faith. This is the unforgiveable sin.
     I know this isn't my usual light hearted post but it's been on my mind and I wanted to put it out there. By the way, when my dad told me this story he actually used a piece of paper and tore the corners off the square. It really made an impact and probably prevented me from turning into an antisocial personality.

The Dilatory.

2009-10-06T07:54:00.000-07:00

I'm not saying I'm supremely lazy, but it's close. This morning, as I was walking to my car, I reached my left hand to the handle and with my right hand I clicked the little button on my key that unlocked the door. My left hand was already there. There was no good reason I couldn't have unlocked it with the key. Apparently making a twisty motion with my right hand was just too much to ask at seven a.m. Maybe it's habit, maybe I really am lazy, but either way, there is a certain part of me that just absolutely doesn't want to work any harder than possible. Before you judge, realize you're probably very similar. I mean, how many of you have memorized keyboard shortcuts on your compy just so you don't have to "move the mouse so far..." Or, better yet, gone ahead and created your own custom shortcuts in order "save time"? Save time? Really? We're talking milliseconds here, people. You weren't going to do anything with them anyway.
I guess a similar thing is happening while preparing for the new baby. Everything I look at is supposed to multitask, or transform into a billion other things. Just the idea of buying a car seat all by itself, that doesn't go with a stroller, and a rocker, and an airbag option seems ludicrous. Maybe I'm just being lazy, but I'd like to think I'm trying to prepare as best as possible as well. That maybe if I have the right stuff now it'll make parenting easier later. But I doubt it. It'll probably come down to Catie and I just trying to not screw it up. I keep reading in my psych courses about how to make a personality disorder. It's pretty easy, just start out with a predisposition and then throw in lousy parenting to trigger the inner coo-coo. And there ya have it; antisocial personality disorder. I doubt having the right car seat or changing table or crib/playpen/whosie-whats-it doesn't create a Ted Bundy. But you never know....

The End.

2009-10-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

You know what's unfortunate? According to the Mayans, the world is supposed to end in 2012. My daughter is going to be about three years old. That just doesn't seem fair. I mean, here she is, just getting started, really getting the whole walking thing down smoothly, and BAM, end of world. Three years old! "Hey, you going to be starting preschool this year?"
"Nope, planet is going to implode."
"Oh yeah, I forgot all about that! I was going to put it in my calendar but that year didn't seem to be there...kinda like the thirteenth floor of a lot of office buildings."
"Well, if the planet doesn't blow up, we're in trouble because I haven't even started the enrollment process..."
"I hear ya! Those things are murder. Tell you the truth, I'd rather experience apocalypse than have to sit in those asinine registration lines and plead my case for a kid that can't even read A Tale of Two Cities yet..."
"Right, right..."
Like I was saying, end of days sounds like it's going to be harsh. I mean, as long as books and movies are any indication of what to expect, I should be okay. Usually the mother ends up dying, I live on with my daughter, and we find some ruggedly beautiful woman to start over with...even though she can never really replace my "other" wife. Regardless, I guess I'm going to have to raise my kid as if the end of the world isn't right around the corner. Who knows, maybe she'll be the key to resetting the whole thing. Like, she'll accidentally turn the the calendar upside down and now we've got until 2102. Hey, it could happen...

The Nonoption.

2009-10-04T08:31:00.000-07:00

The other morning Catie woke up with a start. She was really upset about something, but I couldn't tell what. Turns out that for the first time the anticipation of the pain of childbirth had just dawned on her. I was at a loss. Unfortunately, before my brain could catch up to my mouth I said, "Well, it's not like you have a choice." Apparently that wasn't as comforting as I had hoped. So, I tried to reinforce the comfort level with, "Besides, people have been doing this since...well, since people have been around." She responded with, "Yeah, but people die doing this." Me: "Well, that doesn't happen as much lately..."
How am I supposed to comfort her when there is an actual danger? Her mom was in full on labor for two days. As much as I don't like the idea of using pitocin, two days is a little long to go without labor pains coming to fruition. They told Catie's mom to drive over railroad tracks and eat spicy food. Whatever works, I guess. But still, I have no way to comfort her, to provide certainty, to tell her that it's going to be okay when I actually don't know it will be. I can hope, and I can try to help, but really my work here is done. I was just around for the good bits, she's doing all the work. I just hope she knows that I'll do anything I actually can to help. Whatever that might be.

The News.

2009-10-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

     Have you guys watched Fox News lately? As near as I can figure, they're only producing fodder for the Daily Show. Seriously. What is with these people? Every once in awhile CNN will hit it wrong and completely contradict themselves withing twenty-four hours, but Fox, what are you doing? Now that I think about it, if Fox News had been around when I was a kid, I would've been able to watch more cartoons.
     I remember my dad walking into the room on Saturday mornings, grabbing the remote, and flipping to news. He would tell me that important things are happening in the world and I would never know what they were if I sat around watching cartoons. Don't think my dad was all mean though; I was 17 the last time he did that...so it wasn't like he was picking on a little kid. Still, had we gotten Fox News back then it probably wouldn't have happened at all. He would have walked in, sat down, and asked me to turn up the cartoons because Japanimation is the best thing happening. I would rather sit around all day trying to find out if there was ever a time when the old guy dressed up a ghost actually did get away with it, in spite of those "darn kids" than watch twelve seconds of Glenn Beck blubber on while his chins wag in silent discontent. It's just asinine gibberish and I can't believe they have a following.
     And yes, I realize this isn't about my daughter, but not everything's about her...is it?

The Capitulation.

2009-10-02T00:00:00.000-07:00

Capitulation is one of my favorite words. I learned it off those refrigerator magnet words at one of my friend's house. Capitulation is a surrender without terms. It means you give up so entirely, that the enemy can do whatever they want with you. It's kinda scary when you think about it. Surrendering with no plan of recourse is pretty final. Even asking to be thrown on the mercy of someone else is still making a request. There is no request in capitulation, there is no room to make your own desires heard. Sounds terrible, doesn't it? To be so completely powerless...
Welcome to parenting.
Catie and I weren't planning on having a kid. Now that she's on her way I wouldn't change a single thing. I am throwing myself into being a dad head first. No requests, my own desires are taking back seats, and my pride is becoming a dusty memory somewhere behind one of the couches. It sounds terrible, but it's not! It is scary and I'm not sure what's going to happen, but my life as a guy with no kids is over. I have raised the white flag and I couldn't be happier.

The Best.

2009-10-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever known someone who absolutely had to have "THE BEST" of everything? THE best television, the best dvd player, the best hand soap. I'm not kidding, I personally know a couple that claim everything they buy is "the best". It gets really old really quick. By saying I have the best of something, I'm implying you don't. I'm also assuming you care that I have the best. Chances are, you probably don't care at all.
While you probably know someone like this, they're going to come out of the woodwork when you're going to have a kid. I've been inundated with, "You absolutely have to have this kind of bottle", or "You must get this type of book", or "Blah blah blah, must have yakkety yak yak". I mean, realistically, that's all I'm hearing at this point. Thanks for the advice, but I'm don't think I'm that guy. I don't need THE BEST. I need the functional. Whatever will do what it's supposed to do is great. I don't need to pay a bazillion dollars for a bottle that's made out of gold. I just want one that will get the liquid into the baby's mouth. That's it. As a matter of fact, I hope we don't have the best of everything. I want my daughter to be able to make do with mediocre. She needs to know that "the best" should be expected of her, but not by her. Does that make sense? I expect her to do her best, but she shouldn't expect to have the best of everything. So the next time someone tells you about "THE BEST" thing, say thanks, and let it go in one ear and out the other.

The Divine.

2009-09-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

I can honestly say I've never seen that movie about girls trading pants and they some how make a deep and touching, even divine, connection with each other. Personally, I think it's ridiculous. Pants? Really? That's supposed to pull people together? The only way pants could pull people together is if you get those giant novelty pants, cram fifty people in there, then yank it shut Jethro style; with a rope. That's how pants can pull people together. Otherwise, the only thing they would have in common is rope burn.
Today, Catie and I are walking around our potentially new condo, when we see another family moving out. The guys wife looks thirteen months pregnant. Now, they guy moving out sees me, I see him, and his wife sees Catie. Him and I don't even look at each other. He's in the middle of moving, looks like he's got his brother and buddy out there helping him, he's busy! There's not even a nod. But I notice his wife and my wife have made eye contact, look at the others stomach, and then flash these big, knowing, we-share-something smiles. Guys don't do that. I have never looked at a guy, seen that his wife is pregnant, and flashed a big ol' smile, and been like, "Aw man, I know just what you're going through!" Because, I don't. Besides, when I do see a guy with a pregnant woman, he's too busy to notice anyone else on the planet...

The MASSIVE!

2009-09-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

Catie was flipping through the channels and A Baby Story was on. Some lady was giving birth to an 11 pound baby. I have never seen her change channels that fast. It was amazing.

The Wife.

2009-09-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

Just to mix it up a bit, here is my wife Catie to tell what's going on in her mind right now...

I have to ask myself why I am writing this. At the beginning of my pregnancy, Nathan asked me to help blog my thoughts, feelings, bodily changes, etc. I told him no because I didn't have the time, motivation, or inclination to share with the world what is going on with my crazy hormones, thoughts, dreams, or bodily oddities. And I must say that he has done a wonderful job painting me in a very flattering light, and tactfully discussing issues that are going on in our lives related to this pregnancy. Which brings me back to why I am writing this post for him. I am not tactful in my descriptions of what is going on with me. I am not graceful in my complaining of weird people touching me or my symptoms. Plus, when Nathan asks me what he should write about, my usual response is something elequant like "I dunno." or "Don't make me think right now, I am tired." Which begs the question, "What goes on in the mind of a 7 1/2 month pregnant woman?" Well, let me tell you. It is one of two thoughts, either: "AAAHHHHHAAAHHHHHHH! I am so not ready for this! Nobody asked me! I dont wanna! " and "Blah." That last one is usually accompanied by a vacant expression. It happens a lot. That being said, asking me about my mental state is really an unfair question. I have everything and nothing on my mind. So take anything I say during my pregnancy with a HUGE grain of salt. I am not in my right mind...

The Worth.

2009-09-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

     While helping a friend (Mark) pick up some new furniture at an über trendy Swedish furniture company where they refuse to sell anything that's already put together, we toyed with the idea of having the stuff delivered to his house instead of hauling it ourselves. They can usually do same day shipping and it only costs 50 bucks. We got the stuff, loaded it on the cart, went through the check out line, and then sent to the "we can probably get this stuff home ourselves but we're not sure if it's worth our sanity" line. In front of us was a complete idiot. That may sound harsh, but it's true and I have proof. Now, I'll give her some credit, she was paying the extra money to get the brand new refrigerator she just bought shipped to her house. There's a lot of people that would have tried to manhandle the thing into a buddy's truck, wrestle it inside, and proceed to remove the existing kitchen floor by dragging it from the entryway to where ever it's supposed to end up. She chose not to do that, so that elevated her above complete buffoon.
     So where's my proof of her idiocy? After paying at least 1200.00 clams for a new fridge and 50.00 dollars for delivery, she begins to argue with the clerk over the fee to hook up the new appliance. Had the fee been a hundred dollars, I would have conceded the point and been content to wait behind her. But it wasn't a hundred dollars; it was fifteen. One five dollars. Why was she arguing this? Because she believed she might be able to hook it up herself...but she just wasn't sure. Which we all know is a giant crock.
     What she really wanted was for some powerless clerk to be like, "Aw lady! Thank you so much for buying this! We were going to go broke if you didn't. Just to say 'thank you', we're going to waive this 15.00 fee because you're the best customer we have ever had; EVER!" It was clear to the huge line forming behind her that it wasn't going to happen, but she kept at it. Eventually the clerk grew a pair and just said, "Do you want to install it or not?" The customer seemed taken aback, but caved and agreed to let someone else do the work. As soon as she acquiesced and signed the paper there was a group sigh that almost came in unison. I looked at Mark and said, "It's really a no brainer. Let someone else set it up, that way, if everything just falls apart, it starts leaking water all over the floor, then falls through the ceiling of the people living beneath you, it's their fault, not yours..." But what I've come to realize now is that it's not just the liability issue, or the fact that 15 dollars is such a small price to pay when compared to the delivery charge or the price of the refrigerator: It's a good value because it would save me time, frustration, and effort. I can change my own oil, but I'd rather pay someone else to do it for me.
     This led to the real question: how much is my time worth? Catie and I have been struggling with this, trying to decide if it's more cost effective for me to stay home and not have to pay a sitter or day-care, or if it's more practical to put the kiddo in some stranger's house and both of us work. In all honesty it'd probably be about the same, with me spending my income on her care. But the question comes back to how much is my time worth? Is it more important that I do whatever it is I do, or is it more important for me to be with my child? We all know the right answer, but that's not always the answer when reality knocks on the door.

The SportsCenter.

2009-09-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

Fellas, the relationship we have with the mother of our children is important. Remember, it's even more important than sports. However, sports do have benefits because they can provide a respite, a shelter, where for a few precious hours we can lose ourselves in decade's old rivals and near superhuman feats. Yet, most of the time, women don't really understand. That's okay though, it really is. We usually don't understand why they want to see the newest Nicholas Sparks movie. But we (should) go anyway, we suffer through a few hours and a couple boxes of Kleenex because she likes it and it makes us look good. Well, here's a tip: Schedule the games you want to see. I use Google Calendar. It's free, and someone put a calendar for EVERY GAME EVER. Put it on there, email it to your lady, and she'll know what to expect. And, as G.I. Joe should've said, Having good expectations is half the battle.

The Touching.

2009-09-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

There have been a couple of posts about people touching my wife's belly without asking (The Questions. and The Stranger.), but it really hit home this evening. I'm sitting in class for the first time, with people I don't know, have never met, and am totally unfamiliar with. In order to send out the international symbol of, "Hey, I'm not really interested in talking to you right now", I've got my laptop out, I'm surfing, and I'm typing out an email. There has been no eye contact or smiles at all. None. And then, this rando dude walks over, puts his sweaty palm on my shoulder, flashes me a cheesy grin, and says, "I hope you're doing well tonight..." Well sir, I was doing well right up to the time when you walked over here and infected me with a terminal case of the creepies. Thanks for that. I'm not usually this kind of guy, but I felt like looking at him and saying, "Don't ever touch me again." But I didn't, I bit my tongue and just let the weirdness subside.
Later that night I'm telling Catie about this and she says, "At least it was just your shoulder. Think about what it's like when total strangers do it to your belly." Ya know, i never really thought fully about that because I don't think I had a good way to contextualize it. Well, thanks Mr. Creepy Pants Man, I now have way more context then I ever wanted. You were an unknowing messenger that brought Catie and I closer together with your inappropriate greeting. Thank you. Now don't ever touch me again.

The Schedule.

2009-09-24T08:16:00.000-07:00

Grad school is back in full swing again. Normally this wouldn't be news, and I have tried to make these posts generalized, but this is just too huge. I have my practicum (internship) coming up, after the baby is born. What am I going to do? Practicum's usually don't pay anything, and they usually take about 45 to 50 hours a week. The plan was for me to stay home with the kiddo while Catie works. But now, what are we going to do? Paying someone to watch the baby is out of the question because it's just too expensive. Plus, I'll be done with my practicum by the time she's 1ish, so it's not that long of a time, but I don't think taking an infant with me is an option. How am I going to do this?

The Flowers.

2009-09-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

I figure, since the baby is going to suck down our income like a roided up AIG going after your mother's retirement funds, now's the time to spend, right? So, go out and buy your pregnant wife some flowers. Partially because she's wonderful, partially because it may temporarily assuage the ever raging tide of hormones, and it may also get you points that can be redeemed in the evening hours... Seriously though, buy some flowers for your baby momma. If you think you can't afford it now, just wait. Gentlemen, start your wallets.

The Freaking-Out-Man!

2009-09-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

Seriously, freaking. Out. Right. Now. I was just sitting in class, going over the syllabus, and I realized that we're supposed to have a baby before this course is done. Started having tiny panic attack. Catie's been walking around with this big beautiful belly, I've felt the baby move, I have seen the sonogram, heard the heartbeat, I know there's a little creature in there! Why am I freaking out now? Shouldn't this have been done a while ago? Also, I was looking at the reading list and I'm going, "yeah...not sure if I'm going to be all read up on somatoform disorders by the thirtieth. Supposed to be having a baby on the third...sorry." Really? If this baby is RIGHT on time it'll fit pretty well into the schedule, but what are the chances of this baby being right on time? Are you kidding me? I gotta take a minute. I'll see you all tomorrow.

The Braxton-Hicks.

2009-09-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

Much like the Rh factor, Braxton Hicks is a good name for a band, but it's also fake contractions that start around the third trimester. I did a little research (this time) before saying Braxton Hicks isn't a band. Turns out, there are actually multiple bands called Braxton Hicks. So, I will make no such claim. Anyway, apparently it feels like the baby is curling up into a ball and doubling their mass. Don't ask me how, it just happens.
Really, this one scares a lot of people so I wanted to put some information & links on here. Biggest question? How do I know if it's labor or Braxton Hicks? Easiest answer? If a baby comes out, it was real labor. Also, if the contractions get less intense, then it's Braxton Hicks. Probably not blogroll worthy, but important information none the less.

BabyCenter Nice general stuff with some other links.
American Pregnancy Association Very professional site dedicated to baby stuff.
Kaiser Permanente: Recommended if you're on their insurance...

The Cart.

2009-09-20T07:43:00.000-07:00

I was walking walking around Target, shopping, and I see this guy with a little girl in the seat of the grocery cart. But there was something different about this set of shoppers. While the father was physically there with his daughter, he wasn't "there". It was like they happened to be in the same place, but were total strangers. Anyone else ever see this?
Is it possible there is a lesson in this? I've seen parents that are physically part of their children's life, but they just aren't emotionally part of their life. There's a level of intent that's important here. Instead of people who happen to be in the same room together, there can be a family that is actively participating in the lives of one another. This is what I want. I want to take my daughter to the grocery store, not go shopping with her in the cart. Does that make sense?

The Costume.

2009-09-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

One of our friends was lamenting about the fact that she couldn't find a Halloween costume that didn't follow the formula of a real thing, that is then either followed or preceded by the word sexy. Initially, I said, "there ain't nothing wrong with that...". Which she then followed up with, "let's see if you keep saying that when it's time to dress your daughter for Halloween." Turns out, there's a whole slew of sexy pirate, sexy nurse, sexy whatever-you-want costumes for children and preteens.

That's just not right.

The Questions.

2009-09-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

"I am a human. There is more to me than a due date, what sex the baby is, and what we're going to name it. It's the first three questions I get from anyone. And everyone keeps asking me if I feel okay. Do I look like I feel okay? I'm just going to get a shirt that has the due date, her gender, and a big freaking question mark where name is supposed to be. Stop it! Stop grilling me. Yes, I'm pregnant. I am fine with that. No, you can't touch my belly. And if you ask me if I'm having triplets I may very well eat you feet first so you can be conscious as long as possible and suffer the greatest. I'm pregnant, not ill. I'm may be huge, but I'm not fat. I'm pregnant. There's a big difference. And if you're a guy, your best move right now is just to act like there's nothing different about me at all. If I need help, I'll ask for it. Until then, back off, give me my space, remember that I make wide right turns, and if I drop a pen, leave it there; if I really wanted it, I probably wouldn't have dropped it in the first place. I do NOT need a "grabber" or a handicap placard. Thank you."
~Catie Croy~
This concludes the broadcast of our public service announcement. If you have any further questions, it is recommended you do not ask pregnant woman, as certain death may ensue. Instead, redirect all queries to an older male with more experience, or find a website (like this one) where you can post questions in a safe environment. Thank you, and remember: The more pregnant a woman becomes, the more space she will need...at least from strangers.

The Present.

2009-09-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

Did anyone else know that kids, while they're going through the potty training phase of life, will often hide poop in places like they were little encopretic Easter Bunnies? Just a heads up. So, there's always that to look forward to.

The Duplicates.

2009-09-16T00:00:00.000-07:00

    A couple of days ago when I was awash in a sea of baby junk, there was a sound piece of advice given in the comments. There was a lot of good advice about particular things to buy, but one person gave long term advice we may be able to use far into the future. The good thing is that it was pretty simple: Don't buy so much crap. Baby's want you, not stuff. Makes sense.
     I know I'm going to love my daughter, and part of that is trying to give her what she wants when I can, but I also don't want her to be spoiled. This means I'm going to have to say no when I could actually say yes. That's probably not going to be too hard. The tough part is limiting the toy intake from the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and birthday parties. One idea Catie and I had was asking people to make a small donation to her college fund instead of bringing toys or clothes. Is that insane? I mean, we'll buy her enough toys and clothes to keep her happy. But the issue is going to arise if/when we have more than one kid.
     There's no reason to have two of everything! Why do people do that? My sister and I had to share a lot of things. Not clothes...except for that one time...but sports stuff, school supplies, food. We had to share! Learning how to share was mandatory. Well, the other option was one of us (my sister) was going to be killed, but when ended up sharing...most of the time. I guess the idea is to help my daughter plan for the future while understanding that she can't get everything she wants. Trust me, I had a friend that married someone who thought she deserved whatever she wanted...it was bad.

The Car.

2009-09-15T00:00:00.002-07:00

I've already written about my car in The Transformer, but it keeps coming up. We have yet to change our car situation. We're still upside down on Catie's car and right side up on mine, but her's is the one we need to dump off on someone. Anyone. Having a two door, now that I've seen all the junk that goes with having a baby, just doesn't seem like an option. In addition to looking around for cars, we're still looking for a house and we've just finished with the financing process, so more credit checks are a bad thing at this point. The kid isn't even here yet and money is getting tighter already. Trading in a brand new car for a four door piece of junk seems odd, especially because we're going to end up putting more money into fixing and maintaining a 1982 P.O.S. I'm still feeling a minivan type of thing. Maybe not the full fledged minivan, but a cross-over or something.
We've looked at the SX4 from Suzuki, but as long as I was a mechanic for, I have yet to see a Suzuki impress me. But it looks like they've stepped it up a bit. Still though, all I want is something that will get us around without entirely castrating me. Is that so much to ask?

The Stuff.

2009-09-14T00:07:00.000-07:00

Went shopping today for baby stuff, just kinda looking around. Okay, really? Do we really need that much stuff? Really? Also, I don't get the difference in all the stuff. Graco or Evenflo or Chicco or BOB or a billion other names I can't remember. How am I supposed to tell which ones are good, which ones are bad, and which ones are just meh. I need help here, PLEASE! Can anyone of you tell me what you have, if you like it, and why I'm supposed to pay a kazillion dollars for one stroller or two dollars for a different one, when they pretty much do the same thing. I'm afraid I'm going to grab the wrong grocery cart, except I'll have to deal with a wobbly wheel for then next three years instead of just a few aisles. Little help here? Please?

The Words.

2009-09-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

     Some words are pretty easy to understand. Once you hear them, even if you've never heard them before, they just make sense. Like titillate. That word makes total sense: "later" you're going to see or get something great. But then there are other words that you're almost guaranteed to mess up because someone didn't know what they were doing when they suggested it to Webster. Penultimate is one of those words that means exactly the opposite of what I thought it meant the first time I heard it. The word ultimate is right there! It should mean better than the best, but it doesn't. It means second to last. Why is there even a word for "second to last"? Isn't that just another in the large group of losers-that-won't-be-getting-recognition-but-we-all-act-like-we're-proud-of-them category? I think so! Regardless, since Catie's pregnancy started I've been flooded with a bunch of words that, while I'm sure it wasn't intentional, have been sorta misleading.
     Great example: "Rh Factor". It sounds like a cool racing team, or even a big hair band. "WE ARE THE RH FACTOR, AND WE HAVE COME TO ROCK!!!" See, that totally works! But, it turns out that because my blood is positive and Catie's is negative, her body may try to eat the baby. That is not a cool racing team OR a big hair band. That is jacked up is what that is! Another one is c-section. Now, we all know what that is, but it still sounds like a nice place to set up on the beach! Or maybe the good area at a football game, "Hey Jack, where you sitting?"
   "I'm in the c-section, baby!"
   "Aw man! Jack gets all the good seats!"
     This is what I'm talking about. The confusion brought about by baby/pregnancy/neonatal/delivery jargon. On the other hand, if they used words that more accurately portrayed what was going on, I'm not sure if I'd be able to handle that any better. Instead of c-section, they'd take my wife in for a cut-n-gut. Instead of Rh factor, it'd be baby-eating factor. You know, now that I think about it, jargon is good. It's our friend. When I'm in the delivery room and the nurses and doctors are saying random stuff I can't translate, I'm gonna be okay with that. Since I'm going to be a dad real soon, I guess the confusion can start now.

P.S. Turns out Rh factor actually is a band, only they're jazz, not big hair. Actually, Roy Hargrove (Rh) kinda reminds me of Old Clifford from the muppets. See for yourself:

The Parasite.

2009-09-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

What are children if nothing more than glorified parasites that eventually learn to sustain themselves after 18 years? Viewing unborn children as a parasite has sort of stuck with me, and not really in a good way. Catie said she was listening to NPR and they were talking about how pregnant women are supposed to be highly susceptible to N1H1 flu because their bodies are already trying to fight off a foreign body. With Catie and I both teaching we get exposed to more runny nosed, sick, sniffling, hacking, coughing, wheezing, nasty, near death, people than nurses on death watch. It's bad. Yet Catie has yet to have a suspicious sneeze, cough, or sniffle. We're pretty sure it's because of the prenatal vitamins she takes, but who knows. Maybe it's because she's so healthy and (use to) exercises a bunch. I'm just glad the baby's going to come out without worrying if the head is going to stay attached. That...that's not a concern. Is it?

The Epidural.

2009-09-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

I've been hearing mixed advice on epidurals. Some people said it was terrible, they couldn't feel anything so it was difficult to know when to push, they were so whacked out of their gourd they have no real memory of the birth, and it was like getting the Space Needle inserted in their back. Other people said it was perfect, they adjust the medication just right, and right after the birth they walked of their own volition to get a burrito. Then, while we were at the OBGYN getting the run around and Catie was getting a dozen shots, one phlebotomist tells us she didn't get an epidural because she didn't need it. It's fine. According to her, childbirth was no big deal. The only thing I know is that I really have no input in the matter. She gets to choose between the giant needle in her back or a giant child in her...well, you know.

The Magic.

2009-09-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

Anyone ever see the Dark Crystal when they were a kid? I still remember watching it when I was young and I loved it. It was so magical and cool and puppets were never so real. Plus, I think it was the first movie I ever watched where I thought there was a deeper meaning. The whole thing with the Skeksis and Mystics being inextricably connected while at the same time representing complete opposite aspects of personalities presented a new understanding of people as neither good nor bad, but both. It opened a whole new world of imagination for me and I still think Henson was a genius. I like the movie so much I've shown it recently to friends who never saw it when they were young. Well, I've noticed that people who didn't watch certain movies when they were kids, and experience them as adults, the "magic" factor is severely reduced. I just figured the same thing would happen with my kids. But alas, I there is hope!
Dark Crystal 2 is coming out in 2011. Appropriate for a one year old? Maybe not. Will she remember it? Probably not. Is she gonna be there anyway? Oh yeah. I just hope the magic will be there for her as she grows up. Not just with Henson movies and super sweet sequels, but with everything. I want her to appreciate perfect mornings, sun rises, and real friends. I am beginning to notice that the older I get, the less magic there is in the world. The magic is probably still there, but my blindness to it is getting worse. I'm hoping our daughter may relight the fire of my imagination, just to make sure I can keep her imagination stays alive as long as possible.

The Timing.

2009-09-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

Finding time to fulfill all my husbandly duties is difficult. I work (sometimes) and go to school, and Catie works, coaches cross-country, and goes to school, and she's pregnant. Waiting for "the mood" to arise of its own volition. It's almost like the planets have to align before everything would sync up naturally. We can't just wait for it, so we have to create it. The timing isn't as important for us as the willingness. Because sex is such an important part of relationships it is something we should make time for, and I'm glad we do. It still seems a little strange to "pencil it in" my phone, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Strangely, this has nothing to do with her being pregnant, other than it makes her a little more tired than normal.

The Lies.

2009-09-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

     I define a lie as a willful and intentional misleading of the truth through omissions or fabrications of what is true in order to persuade another person or persons to encourage a false belief. Keep that in mind as you read the rest of this story.

     We were sitting around with Mark and Dizzy, talking about movies we enjoyed, and I brought up Boondock Saints. Aside from its gratuitous violence and graphic language, the movie is one of the best lower budget films I've ever seen, the action sequences are astounding, and Wilem Dafoe is great. Catie and I have watched the movie together many times and talked about its message of vigilantism, what it means to sacrifice for the greater good, and how Edmund Burke was right all along when he said that all it takes for evil to thrive is for good men to do nothing. This is when our friends admit they've never seen the movie. Well, Dizzy made it through the first few minutes, but just couldn't get into it.
     I was floored! How could they have not seen/not enjoyed such a cinematic great? Sure it didn't get big budget advertising, but it's been around for a while and they're making a sequel, plus, I know for a fact they've had the opportunity to watch the movie over at my house! Then I realized that Catie was being suspiciously quiet on the subject. For someone who had participated in as many conversations about the movie as she had, one would imagine she'd have some input. Then I remembered Dizzy saying she really couldn't get into it. Finally, yesterday, it clicked: There's a really good chance Catie doesn't like the movie at all. I'm sure there's parts or theme's she likes, but for the most part, she may be just as happy at an asphalt tasting contests as she is watching that movie. So why has she watched it with me so many times? Why has she participated in passionate discussions about it?
     There's only one possibility: She loves me. She loves me so much, she's willing to watch movies she doesn't like and talk about them with me because she knows I like them. She's never told me she hated the movie, but let's be real, she's probably not as big a fan as I am. But because she loves me more than her own desires she faked it. Maybe lies aren't always bad. Kant would disagree, but he's dead so there's not much he can do about it. I just hope I will continue to notice when my wife lies to me out of love. And I certainly hope I'll be able to lie the next time she asks if I want to go shopping. Not just lie, but do it passionately, because as much as I hate shopping, I love her much more. Catie, this is your letter.

     Here's a free tip, if you do go shopping on Labor Day, stay away from Wal-mart. It's bad. Really really bad.

The Holiday.

2009-09-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

No, seriously. Today is labor day. It's a holiday, go spend it with your kids. Sheesh, you think I'm going to post something today? Why are you still reading? Go! Go be with your family and have some fun. Happy Labor Day everyone.

The Hand.

2009-09-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

     Not sure if you've ever ridden in a cheap wagon with a kid who was battling childhood obesity sitting right behind you, but it's not as exciting as you'd think. First of all, the steering is not what I'd call responsive; it's actually not even sluggish. It's awful. Wagons either go straight or instantly turn 90 degrees. Plus, if I'm ever on a bobsled team, I'll know from experience where to put the big guy. If you put him in the back, you'll go way faster than you actually want, the only problem being stopping. There are no breaks on a Red Flyer Wagon; I've checked. Using my feet and hands far more than my brains, I tried to slow us down, only to have my hand stay in place while the wagon continued forward. After having my hand run over, and hearing an odd crunch, I decided that wherever the wagon stopped moving was the perfect place for me to get out and go home.
     I walked back home, pretty sure I broke something in my hand, wanting my mom to fix it. I went up to her, told her what happened, and asked her to take a look. She poked and prodded, then asked me if I could move my thumb, and wiggled stuff around. Her "professional" opinion? I was fine, now go play outside. I went out and started playing basketball by myself. Then, without warning, someone apparently inserted a tennis ball where my hand was supposed to be. It looked like I was wearing an inflated medical glove. The days of my mother being a doctor were over.
     Naturally, it was broken, which x-rays and a trained doctor proved. The thing that I still wonder about is how my mom could tell me it was okay, and all of a sudden it was! That kind of power is amazing to me. How is it that "kissing a boo-boo" is the salve of the god's? I hope I'll be able to illicit that type of calming affect in my children, but I won't be surprised if I can't. That's a mother's power. The best I can hope for is telling her to walk it of...

The Grumpy.

2009-09-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

They have everything at Wal-Mart! I mean, electronics, groceries, furniture, random people to give your crying kid something to cry about, clothes, cards, baby stuff, and anything else you could want. What's that? You're curious about the new random-people-to-give-your-crying-kid-something-to-cry-about section? Apparently Roger Stephens (who's face is actually on top of the Grumpy if you mouse over the image) will beat the tar out of your two year old if it cries too much. Sure he's 61 years old, but he can still take a 2 year old out!
Unfortunately, this story is true. Random old guy made it very clear that if a mother didn't shut her kid up, he would do it for her. He then proceeded to smack the kid four or five times. While that is wrong (it is wrong!), I have one little question: What kind of parent sticks around after some old mean looking guy just threatened your two year old? Yes, the slapping happened in a different isle than the original threat, but if you saw that guy coming again and your kid was still crying, you gonna just hang out and wait for the smack to get laid down? I don't think so! Why didn't she report him, tell someone, or straight up leave? I'm serious, the people of walmart can be a little disturbing. Be careful out there people, there's all types of citizens waiting to shut your kid up for you...

The Hair.

2009-09-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in the car, and every time I breath out something in my nose is tickling me. I figure, booger. I grab a tissue, get to work, and nothing. So I pull down the vanity mirror and attempt to get a look at where the offending invader is hanging out. So I tilt my noggin back, look up the ol' two-car garage, and I see this albino looking hair lodged sideways. As I am not an albino, I assume it's a hair from my dog. He's brindle colored and has this really bad habit of sitting on my pillow, so I figure I breathed it in in the night and it's just now bothering me. While trying to grab it, it turns into quicksilver: the harder I grab it, the more it slips through my fingers. I have to wait until I get home and then I get tweezers and go all "Operation: The Game" on it. When I finally get it and pull something totally unexpected happens: I start crying! It was attached!
Listen, there's nothing wrong with growing old. As a matter of fact, I'm looking forward to it. But no one told me anything about white nose hairs. I don't remember that in any contract. But it's not really the white nose hair that bothers me. It's the timing of the white nose hair. I'm not even thirty (yet) and I'm having a kid. While 30 is supposed to be the new 20, it sure feels like thirty. I've never been this heavy, tired, or white-nose-haired in my life. And I'm supposed to keep up with a teenager when I'm 45? Why don't I just get in the "Check in here to have a stroke" line now? Am I too old to be doing this? It's not like I have much of a choice, but I don't want to be the weird old dude that everyone's trying to figure out if I'm the parent or the grandparent during open house.

The Quarter.

2009-09-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

Really? One in four women misread a pregnancy test? Really? I might believe that one in four women accidentally pee on their hand, or take the test too soon, or that a quarter of women took their pregnancy test too soon so when it came up negative they went out drinking to celebrate and when they took another pregnancy test a few days later and it turned out positive they freaked out. That last one's a true story, happened to a friend of ours. Don't worry, the doctor said it wasn't a big deal and he gets that question all the time. So maybe that last one happens way more than 25% of the time. But still, misreading the thing? Just look at the box and compare pictures; this is grade school stuff!
That being said, I should be honest and let you know that Catie and I actually bought the digital one that tells you in words "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant". Not that I doubted my ability to read one line or two, it's just that it would look better in the pictures. It's the truth. In the days when pregnancy albums are obligatory content in Facebook, MySpace, unread blogs, and digital emailing, it's not cool to send a picture of two lines. Pregnancy tests may use a plus or a minus, and if you get a minus it may look like one line, not two, when actually it's a not pregnant, instead of an is pregnant. I think I said that right. Wait, am I getting confused about pregnancy tests? Am I one of the twenty-five percent? Come on!

The Tool.

2009-09-02T00:00:00.000-07:00

I'm not much for reality shows. They pretty much lack reality and there's too much drama. Regardless, there's one show I do kind of want to see: Tool Academy. It's this show that puts a bunch of guys with daddy issues in the same room and films them while they're trying to prove their manliness. The real issue is the way these guys try to change and the motivation behind it. Their girlfriends are there and they go to this group therapy thing that's a little cheesed up for TV, but overall there are many men who could benefit from this type of change. The clip below is douche baggery at its height. Check it out... By the way, two words for you to meditate on while viewing these clips: "Roid Rage!!!"

VH1 TV Shows | Music Videos | Celebrity Photos | News & Gossip

The Diem (Day).

2009-09-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

     The day after my wife gives birth is going to be the best! Not only am I going to officially be a new dad, but I'll be able to write about all the stuff that's going on now that's too weird, gross, strange, or embarrassing to write about at the moment. Sure, I should probably be more excited about the birth of my daughter, and I think I am, but this whole pregnancy thing is holding me back!
     We were talking the other day about whether or not to go to birthing class. We're trying to move down to Chula which would add about thirty minutes drive time to the hospital associated with our prenatal care specialist. Never really thought about that. When the day comes, the water breaks, and all my best laid plans fall to tiny and unorganized pieces, I hope I'm not around. I mean, I will be there for the birth of my child with camera in hand, but I'm not sure if I want to be there when "it" starts. It sounds totally selfish, but the leather in my car is really nice and...well...I just don't want the really nice leather in my car to not be really nice anymore. For me, best case scenario is if it happens while she's at work. Because she's a teacher our health insurance is fantastic so the ambulance ride would be free. You know what else we don't have to pay for? Someone to clean out the ambulance after my wife gets their leather all dirty. Insurance won't cover detailing, I've checked.
     As long as it happens at work, we're good to go! She gets a free ride with free cleanup, I get to gather all the stuff she needs, and drive it cleanly to the hospital where the miracles happen. No problem. Well, Catie's going to have to do some work, but according to our schedule, that's going to work out the best. You hear that, Baby Girl? Wait until she's at work, preferably on break, then just go crazy and head toward the light. You know, this parenting thing's gonna be a breeze!

The Home.

2009-08-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

Catie officially started her third trimester yesterday. It was uneventful. The only thing being two-thirds of the way through the pregnancy has done is make me nervous about getting into a house before the baby comes. We're looking, and finding, but it's just so expensive! Have you seen these things? We want to buy before the end of the year because we'll get eight grand from the government and we'll hopefully have enough time to prepare for the baby coming. If all goes well we'll finish unpacking our last box and Catie's water will break. Unreasonable? Sure. But it's important to have goals. I'm just glad this has been a celebratory time instead of devolving into fights over money, where we'll live, or why it's not happening as soon as we want.

The Poker.

2009-08-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

Therapists who are just starting out are often amazed at how many of their clients happen to be dealing with the exact same issue as they are. It's really just a form of projection and the longer you do it the less it's supposed to happen. I think what causes it is that whatever is on your mind seems to be the most easy to notice. Well, a similar thing has been happening to me lately. I've been playing a lot of (free) online poker just for fun. Because of this, I'm starting to notice lessons learned while playing poker are applying to almost everywhere in my life.
I'm told the key to playing good poker is not in the cards, but in the betting. Knowing when to fold, what to risk, and who your opponents are. This really can apply to my life; especially when it comes to picking my battles. This may be the answer I was looking for with a post from a couple of days ago ( The Acceptance.). The "discussions" (fights) I'm sure to have with my daughter at some point are important. It's also important that I set clear and reasonable boundaries, reward her when she does well, and try to be as understanding as possible when it's appropriate. But there are also times I should just let stuff go. In other words, I should fold. If the pot isn't that big, and my hand's not all that great, I need to be able to evaluate when it's an issue worth betting on, or if I should just toss in my cards and let her have the tiny victory. I know it's not supposed to be a contest, but you parents out there have to admit: there are times when it feels like you have to "win". That sounds like a contest to me. I guess a big difference between poker and parenting is that if I play my cards right in parenting, everyone gets more chips, not just me. If it wasn't that way, any victory would feel pretty hollow.

The Pokemon.

2009-08-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

I'll watch Saturday morning cartoons with the best of them. No problem. I can even sit through the occasional Scooby Doo episode if only to see if it's actually going to be a ghost this time instead of an angry old man who would have succeeded if it hadn't been for those darn kids. But there has been a significant decline in the quality of...something. That's the thing, and I can't put my finger on it. The animation quality has gotten better, the story's are more in depth and full, the character development is, well, there actually is character development! On every level cartoons seem to be getting more adult, complex, and better quality but they just suck. Pokemon is (hopefully) starting to slip out of style, but I'm sure it's going to be replaced by some equally shoddy toon all about a boy and his magical hair brush...or something just as stupid. There's no doubt about it.
The thing is, I'm probably going to be forced to watch the Wiggles, or some other similarly mundane, inane, and insane show that just has a bunch of guys on it that couldn't hack it in the real world. I'm tempted to agree with Mitch Hedberg when he said that any book is a children's book if the kid can read it. So why do the cartoons feel so dumbed down? Now you may want to say that because I've gotten older, smarter, and more mature it would make sense for animated shows to no longer hold the same sway over my adult mind. Well, you'd be wrong. I still like cartoons from my youth, but I also like some of the newer ones. Of course the staples like South Park, Family Guy, and the Simpsons are cornerstones of late night viewing, but I also enjoy the occasional Robot Chicken and Harvey Birdman, attorney at law. Love them! But they're probably not suitable for a newborn to enjoy. It seems inevitable I will be left sitting in a small room watching morons bumble around, but I'll enjoy it because it entertains my daughter. I'll do everything I can to keep my TV from becoming a babysitter, but I make no promises. There are times when parents need breaks, otherwise they go crazy. I've seen it, and it's not pretty.

The Acceptance.

2009-08-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

My parents and I got into the logistics between accepting a person and approving of their behavior. The example used was when a kids hand gets smacked because they reach for a hot pan. We still accept the child, but their behavior is not okay, so they get punished with a smack on the hand. Just about everyone would agree with this type of swift punishment. The greater good is their health, so a swat on the hand to keep them from third degree burns is acceptable. The problem arises when they get older and start participating in risk taking behaviors where the pay-off may not be worth the risk. Promiscuity is one of those things. I want my kid to be healthy and safe and hopefully not knocked up, but I also don't want to throw them a spring-break sized supply of condoms and tell them to go wild. If I had my way, my daughter wouldn't know she had a vagina until after she was married. It probably won't work that way, but a father can hope.
So what's a dad to do? I want her to be safe, I hope she'll be able to talk to Catie or I about that kind of stuff without feeling judged or unaccepted. She needs to know what's right and wrong, and I'm going to tell her. At the same time, if I come down on her too hard, I'm going to push her away and I won't be able to help because she won't listen. If she's going to marry someone I don't approve of, someone that beats her, to "put my foot down" with an emphatic no may do more to solidify her decision than to change her mind. Supporting her while not supporting bad choices is difficult for me. It seems like this is the artisitc part of parenting. Teaching her right from wrong while still letting her know I love her regardless of what she does seems to be at odds with punishing her.

The Wine.

2009-08-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

This just in, having a glass of wine while pregnant may not be a big deal. Now, getting absolutely hammered during the entirety of your pregnancy is still a bad thing, one glass or so may be better than not drinking at all! Catie and I aren't really going to chance it, but this article is compelling, and worth a read. Catie had a good point though, where are we possibly going to get a drink of wine and not be judged on the spot? Can you imagine a pregnant woman in America even ordering a glass of wine without a young priest and an old priest being called? Just a thought.

The Behavior.

2009-08-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

"The real question is not whether machines think but whether men do. The mystery which surrounds a thinking machine already surrounds a thinking man." ~B.F. Skinner.

I'm not sure what's worse, that I'll inevitably begin rewarding and speaking to my daughter the same way I do with our dog, or that it will probably work. Positive reinforcement works really well with animals...and kids. Kids are (probably) smarter than animals and they should see right through those rewards. Shoot, I should be able to see through rewards, but when it comes down to it, the reason I do things is because I think good things will happen in return. That's why the idea of karma is so comforting. It's nice to believe the people that wronged will eventually get theirs, but what's more promising is that all the good stuff I do will bring me more good stuff. Or at the very least cancel out all the horrible things I did in high school. You know, theoretically. Instead of throwing my kid treats and teaching her to sit, stay, or speak I'll be smiling at her, talking in a really high voice, and teaching her to sit, read, and speak. Okay, so there are some disturbing similarities, but kids can take it so much further! Still, if people are so much smarter than animals, why does it take so long to potty train them?

The Dumb.

2009-08-25T00:00:00.001-07:00

While driving to work today I had the suspicion that someone called ahead and let all the bad drivers know I was leaving, then told them to get in front of me. The "F" word kept coming to mind. Of course, by "F" word I mean FAIL. Huge semi's switching lanes at random, a moron on a crotch rocket decides to do wheelies at 80 miles per hour, an ancient woman oblivious to the rules of the road insisting she be let over into the far left lane in order to do 4. It was a pure and unadulterated mad house. Mad I tell you! So I'm pulling a Mohammad Ali, ducking and dodging, bobbing and weaving in and out of traffic, switching between offensive and defensive driving just trying to stay alive. Then somewhere between attempting to anticipate what that bus is going to do (still trying to figure out what a city commuter bus is doing on the highway in the first place) and making sure I'm up to date on all my confessions, I realize I'm bringing a child into this world.
This world is insane! People are dumb, selfish, they don't care about anything, and the majority of them will screw you over the first chance they get; if not intentionally, then through sheer stupidity. Her heart is going to get broken by at least one daft hormone driven tool, she's going to have to survive in a vile world that wants nothing more than to consume her very soul, and the only thing protecting her from that world is her parents. I think I'll be a great parent, and I'm sure Catie will be, but how can I compete with the constant barrage of media, peers, hormones, and drugs? It's like stopping gravity while my kid's learning to walk. Sure, it'll keep her from banging her head, but it's also impossible to really learn how to walk in a vacuum. When you think about it, walking is just a series of controlled falls. Maybe there's something to that. Maybe learning how to live is just a series of controlled failures. The best I can hope for is to be a good example, in spite of the world around me.

The Meaning.

2009-08-24T06:18:00.000-07:00

Alright, this is like my third post about naming our child and we're no closer to actually coming up with a name. The thing that keeps stumping me is that I want out child's name to have meaning. My name means "gift of God", my wife's name means "Pure". One of our names is ironic, and it's not hers. Regardless, naming our child something that has no meaning doesn't sit well with me. I want it to be a reflection of how we feel about her, how blessed we are, how grateful we are. Yet, we can't find anything that works. We have a book of names, and I feel like we've been through it about seven times, but nothing pops out. Nothing screams: That's it, that's her name! So, we're still calling her baby. The good news is she doesn't seem to mind.

The Break.

2009-08-23T13:06:00.001-07:00

You know what? I've written about 100 posts in a row and it's a Sunday. I'm taking a break. Come on back tomorrow. I'll have something (slightly) more interesting. Thanks!

The Deafening.

2009-08-22T07:06:00.000-07:00

If I wasn't such a stickler for format, I would have named this post "The Night my Internet Enabled Phone Saved my Baby's Hearing". Just like the previous post said, last night Catie and I went to Kings of Leon. The concert was amazing and we really enjoyed it...but we have no idea how it looked. See, we're sitting there, waiting for the first band (The Whigs) to warm up the crowd and when they come on, there's this loud low rumble that makes baby freak out. She starts kicking and swinging in general protest. I had my hand on Catie's stomach and the vibrations from the bass were being amplified by this bag full of amniotic fluid. There's a good reason too. Turns out amniotic fluid amplifies lower notes, but as the pitch goes up the the noise level is actually filtered out. One exception to this is mom's voice, it actually gets amplified by about five decibels while all other voices are muted. You can read the article here.
After a few more deep rumbles, Catie looks over at me and says, "You know, we never really thought about what this might do to developing ears, did we". In my defense, this is new to me. So I whip out my handy dandy internet enabled phone, and start reading about how loud noises and vibrations can retard mental development or even miscarriage. We decide not to chance it, and walk outside to listen to the rest of the show. It was a great show and Caleb Followill can scream like no one else. The baby's first show was a blast, but for the first time in my life, I'm starting to feel my age. I know this because I ended up looking forward to my bed more than anything else when the show was closing

The Kings.

2009-08-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

The Kings of Leon are playing at Cox Arena and Catie and I are on the guest list. I'm excited. Then Catie reminds me this is probably going to be one of the last shows we go to for a long time. I think I've written about anticipating my loss of freedom, but it's starting to get more and more concrete. That's it. I'm mourning the loss of my freedom! How much am do you really want me to talk about it? Sheesh, ya jerk.

The Infomercial.

2009-08-20T00:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen one of those infomercials where they make extremely simple tasks appear nearly impossible? Tasks like pulling clothes from a closet, stacking Tupperware, making cereal, or breathing are brutally bumbled by hapless idiots who are obviously in desperate need of whatever product they'll be selling for the next hour. This, of course, is designed to make the product look more useful and its ability to simplify our lives is supposed to come into stark relief amongst a background of chaos.
I can't help but think there are some parents out there doing the same thing. Well, at least I hope that's what's happening. There seems to be some things that should be on the same level of taking clothes out of the closet, but it just get's all messed up. The other night I saw the box for a car seat in the parking lot of Target. Our Target happens to be across the street from a hospital. I would like to think that at some point before we get to the hospital in the throws of delivery pains, I would realize that though only two are going, three will be coming back. Hopefully I won't be putting it together, fresh out of the box, while my wife is giving birth.

The Sweeping.

2009-08-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

There's an asteroid called Asclepius that came close to hitting Earth back in 1989. Then, in 1996, the Near-Earth Asteroid Tracking (NEAT) project was started by the JPL in order to monitor big hunks of stuff floating through space that cross the same path of Earth's orbit in case we turn out to be on a collision course. Everyone with me on this? There are people, who go to work five days a week, and get paid moderate sums of money, in order to figure out if a giant chunk of space dookie is going to not allow us to merge on the solar system's version of a highway. Good. Just one question: say we figure out we're going to be side swiped by a drunk driving celestial body with malicious intent, then what? While it wasn't necessarily a high point in my life, I can admit I've seen Armageddon, but the fiction part of that movie is more accurate than the science part. We're not going to a comet to blow it up. It's not going to happen. And a nuke? Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if you urinated on a forest fire? I think you get the picture. Why are we monitoring something we can do nothing about? I'd rather be surprised.
What does this have to do with Fatherade? Well, the last down of the up's and down's of fatherhood is Sweeping Down. I think this is the one that comes naturally to most fathers. Catie is probably going to be more nurturing, more comforting, and better at anticipating the acts of our children than me, but this one is just built for men. This is the reason comic books sell, it's why guys work out (or at least say they do), it's why we polish shotguns when our daughter's first date comes over: We want to be hero's. Hero's save people, often miraculously or with super powers. Jerry Seinfeld once said, "All men think of themselves as some kind of low level superheros in their own world. When men are growing up and they're reading about Batman, Spiderman, Superman,.. these aren't fantasies, these are OPTIONS! This the deep inner secret of the male mind." It's true. What he neglected to talk about is the motivation behind this desire. I like saving people, I really do. I'm looking forward to saving my kids from something...anything really. That's what dad's do! We "sweep" in, and save the day! Mom's get all the credit on game day ("HI MOM!!!"), but who gets the call when a car breaks down in the middle of the night in central downtown and they don't know what to do? We're the ones! We get the call! And we love it, even when we act like we don't. It makes us feel (finally) useful. That's what father's do.

The Simmering.

2009-08-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

Not sure if it's coincidental, correlational, or causational, but the more I love someone, the more they can make me mad. And not just mad, but boiling, riotous, über mad. The kind of anger that doesn't dissipate quickly, easily, or with just a couple of deep breaths. Now, before I tell you this next story, there are several background things you need to know:

When I was a toddler, I was a handful. More like two handfuls really. I was a mess. I just came that way
My father was working, going to school, and already had a daughter (who hadn't really prepared him for me((which is part of the reason I'm so glad we're having a daughter)))
It was the middle of the night
and we were living in crappy, poorly made apartments.

Please keep these things in mind as I tell you this story.
     So, it's the middle of another one of my father's sleep-deprived and short nights, when he hears me crying about something in my crib. My mom must have elbowed him with at least some gusto, because he came in and asked me what I wanted. In, what must have been the definitive whiny voice, I demanded water before going back to sleep. Since he was already up, and a good sport, he strolls into the kitchen, gets me a glass of water, and pops back into my room. It was this point when things started going south.
     He offers me the water, I reach my hand out, push it away, and probably with the same whiny voice I originally asked for the water say, "NO!" That was pretty much the breaking point for my pops. Not sure what the final destination was for that cup of the water; if it ended up in my face, on the floor, or in the sink. What I do know is that my father was so hacked off, and rightfully so, that as he left the room, he slammed the door hard enough that it went past the door jam. I always thought this was an incredible feat of strength, but my father reminded me the apartment was pretty shoddy and it's not like the door jam was built to withhold much pressure at all. He had to put his shoulder into it to get the door back on the right side. In the fear of casting my father in a bad light, please understand that he has never abused me, and in spite of me being a righteous punk, he did not shake the baby!
     Here's the point. No matter how much I love my daughter, she's gonna make me mad. It's gonna happen, there's nothing I can do about it. It's what I do while I'm mad that's going to decide if I'm a good father. There will be some simmering, it's just gonna happen, and it'll probably hit its peak around the same time she starts dating, but "if I don't master my rage...my rage will become my master", right (Mystery Men)? If you need some help, I suggest you get it before the rage begins, maybe at Don't shake a baby.com.

The Settling.

2009-08-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

     The picture on the left is how I remember Hugh Hefner. Suave, debonair, powerful, rich, and surrounded by beautiful women. All of it effortlessly done while wearing pajamas. How fantastic is that? But if you put your cursor on the image, you'll see what he's become: old. He turned became the same thing everyone turns into if they live long enough. He was married, has children, but left them to delve into his lifestyle. When I was young(er), I wanted to be Hugh. Everyone guy I knew wanted to be Hugh. Why wouldn't we want to be Hugh! He runs Playboy! PLAYBOY! Everything men are supposed to want, right there, all the time! I'm sorry about all the exclamation points, but it's HUGH! and PLAYBOY! for crying out loud.
     At least, that's what I thought I wanted. One of my philosophy profs once said you can't want what you already have. I struggled with trying to understand that for a long time. Eventually I start to get it, that in order to want something, it has to be outside of your possession. If you have it, you can no longer want it, it's impossible. Kinda. I think the exception to this rule are relationships. People are always in flux and the relationships I have with them change as a result. Settling down is kind of a misnomer because there's no settling involved. Not even a little bit. The world Hugh lives in seems great because he's Tarzan, swinging from vine to branch, never having to put real work into any relationship because there are no real relationships. He lives in a fantasy world. For more on what I'm talking about, go out and rent High Fidelity with John Cusack. It perfectly says what I'm trying to talk about here.
     Regardless, I don't want Hugh's life anymore. Not even a little bit. It's too much work for not nearly enough pay off. I hate to put it in those kinds of terms, but it's true. I get so much more out of my family than I ever have out of shallow, temporary, flighty relationships. And you know what? I get WAY more out of my family than I put in. It's not fair, but it works great. I'm not settling for less, I'm settling for more.

The Sitting.

2009-08-16T00:00:00.000-07:00

     For some reason, the image of a father sitting in an overstuffed chair, reading a story to the child sitting on his knee really sums up what it means to be a father. I still remember my dad reading The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe to me and my sister when we were little. Every night after he got back from grad. school, he would read us a chapter. Kasey and I would beg to hear just one more, but he'd refuse, say the story was to be continued, and read again the next night. Now I know there's a pretty good chance he was just so tired from working and going to school that to read one more chapter would've taken an act of heroic proportions, but it also gave us something to look forward to. Now "they" say reading to children is a good way to jump start their education and encourage their love of reading. I don't know if that's true, but the time my father took each night to sit down and read to us not only opened the world of literature to me, but it also showed me how much he cared.
     Sitting down is part of slowing down. It's pretty much the culmination of all the up's and down's previously listed. But it means more to me. I think about the times I'm going to rock my baby girl to sleep while sitting down, how I'm going to probably put her over my knee while sitting down, how I'll be clenching my butt cheeks together so hard that I'll make coal into a diamond in the passenger seat of her first driving lesson, and how (if I'm lucky enough to grow old) I'll probably be seeing her for the last time while sitting down. She won't remember me rocking her to sleep, and I may not remember the last time I see her, but everything else in between will be shared. Yet, that doesn't detract from the times I rock her to sleep and the times she says good bye without me knowing it. By sitting down, I hope to show her she's worth my time, that I love her, and that I want to be with her; instead of having to be with her.
     This sitting down I'm not looking forward to? Most of her recitals. Have you been to those things? Especially in the early years...just awful. But I'll be there, supporting her, with headphones on.