Sleep is a luxury I am no longer afforded. While Annaliese was up fairly often the first few weeks of her life, the last two days have been the pits! Let’s take last night as an example: Annaliese decided that instead of eating a large helping all at once, then sleeping for a few hours, she wanted to slowly eat a massive amount over a four hour period. It was crazy! She would take a few sips, then nod off to sleep. Fifteen seconds after we would lay her in her crib, she would spit out her binky and proceed with the screaming.
Throughout this charade, she downed approximately 3-5 ounces, or at least my extremely tired brain seems to calculate it that way. Robbed of most my sleep, I was awaken this morning by Andrew walking around our upstairs bedroom. Mollie had moved to the living room couch, as we were finally able to get Anna to sleep in her swing. Somehow (as if it were hard to believe) some of the gates had been left open last night and Andrew was able to get out of his room and up the stairs to waken me.
Now I have spent the last 2+ hours watching, playing with and feeding ‘The Boy,’ while Mollie and Annaliese continue their much deserved snooze in the living room. I tried to sleep in my orange chair while Andrew played a Toddler computer game, but to no avail. No sooner than I had settled down, I heard an ‘Uh-oh.’ Andrew had hit the Windows Menu key, exiting his program and ruining my anticipated nap.
While Andrew ate his “cereal Oohs,” I tried to round up all the loose receipts from around the house. I have previously shared how we have been successfully budgeting (Bills); apparently we never budgeted for birthday parties. Fortunately, and this seems quite odd, Mollie lost our checkbook some months back. Actually, we think she recycled it. Our temporary solution, we just began a new register with a zero balance, leaving untold ‘thousands’ unrecorded in our checking account. (We also canceled all the lost checks, in case you were worried.) It has been a very nice safety net when we fell a little short, when we really needed a little extra in the entertainment budget or when we had to drop a C-note on a little boy’s birthday party.
Well, now I’m off to spend a little more of our lost treasure. Annaliese is out of nursery water and almost out of formula. Plus, it comes to mind that I will have a better chance of taking a nap today if I drop Andrew off at daycare. But I need to hurry. In theory, I need to be back before Anna wakes up. “In theory, Communism works . . . in theory.”
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
So Big
About three or four days ago, and for the first time, I looked at Annaliese and was not struck with an awe-filled sense of how tiny she is. In fact, what came out of my mouth was quite the opposite. “You’re so big!”
Annaliese last weighed in at 5 pounds, 8 ounces. She is still tiny, but her weight has increased almost 40% (39.6825..% for the mathematically inclined). Holding her in my arms, I find it hard to remember how small she really was.
Five pounds, eight ounces is a truly interesting weight for our youngest child. She has been with us for over a month, but is just now reaching the weight Andrew was when he was born (5 and 9). As I think about the two of them, I see Andrew at this weight, a floppy newborn who has no idea there is a world outside of himself. I suspect that a newborn actually has no concept of the world inside themselves, either.
I look at Anna as she is now and compare her to an infant Andrew. While at this weight, he was clueless to the world; she is already well aware of it. She looks at Mollie and I. She has tracked my finger as I waved it in front of her and she strains her neck backwards while she sits in her swing to see the mobile rotating above her. I find myself surprised that the similarity of size means nothing when one child has had an extra month to take in their surroundings. At this weight, though admittedly he was only a few hours old, Andrew wasn’t even eating on his own; Annaliese took about 80 ml for an early morning snack last night.
Another interesting factoid has just crossed my mind. Having been born about one month before Andrew, she is reaching his birth weight on his birth-day. It will be interesting to see how she grows; will she follow the timetable set by her big brother, or will she go off on her own tangent.
One thing I know for sure, our giant of a child son has set the growth curve pretty high!
Annaliese last weighed in at 5 pounds, 8 ounces. She is still tiny, but her weight has increased almost 40% (39.6825..% for the mathematically inclined). Holding her in my arms, I find it hard to remember how small she really was.
Five pounds, eight ounces is a truly interesting weight for our youngest child. She has been with us for over a month, but is just now reaching the weight Andrew was when he was born (5 and 9). As I think about the two of them, I see Andrew at this weight, a floppy newborn who has no idea there is a world outside of himself. I suspect that a newborn actually has no concept of the world inside themselves, either.
I look at Anna as she is now and compare her to an infant Andrew. While at this weight, he was clueless to the world; she is already well aware of it. She looks at Mollie and I. She has tracked my finger as I waved it in front of her and she strains her neck backwards while she sits in her swing to see the mobile rotating above her. I find myself surprised that the similarity of size means nothing when one child has had an extra month to take in their surroundings. At this weight, though admittedly he was only a few hours old, Andrew wasn’t even eating on his own; Annaliese took about 80 ml for an early morning snack last night.
Another interesting factoid has just crossed my mind. Having been born about one month before Andrew, she is reaching his birth weight on his birth-day. It will be interesting to see how she grows; will she follow the timetable set by her big brother, or will she go off on her own tangent.
One thing I know for sure, our giant of a child son has set the growth curve pretty high!
Monday, September 28, 2009
Synonyms
I sit down today with very little on my mind. Mollie is out of the house at a semi-mandatory training class for work. Andrew is gracing the daycare girls with his presence and Annaliese is taking a nap, dreaming about when she will soon awake and once again eat. And I in my cap had just settled down for a long winter nap. When up on the roof, there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what’s the matter with me? I just went off quoting some an antiquated Christmas story. Well, like I said, I don’t have much rolling around in my brain this afternoon.
What is the average blogger to do when he finds himself wanting of an inspirational muse? Should he throw in the towel, await another day, or should he press on, seeking even the ghost of a muse? Fortunately, I have one such ghost buried somewhere on my desk. It is a small index card with ‘emergency topics’ written on it. Please give me a minute while I dig through the assorted papers that litter my desk . . . ooh, I was wrong, it wasn’t on my desk, it had inconveniently found its way to the floor.
Over the last 50+ days, I have come across fourteen ideas that were secondary to the days topic. Four of them have been struck through, having saved me from a blank tome in days of yore. But which of the remaining will serve me best today; I think I’ll start at the top: Global Warming – struck through, Robin Williams – struck through. Third on the list, Synonyms. I think back to what sparked that reminding note, yes, that was it, the ability of MS Word to provide synonyms for certain words. Occasionally (and I do mean occasionally), my mastery of the English language fails me and I find my words too dull and drab to torture you with. Fortunately, Word has stepped in to liven up my lame lexicon. I have not had to use that feature yet today, but I have often wondered what the result would be if one were to ‘abuse’ the synonym feature. I theorize that the resulting work would be an inane and grotesque rendering of the original text, almost as though it had been wrung through the translation between numerous languages, before being teased back into a tortured English.
Today, I will test my theory. In a few moments, I will copy and paste all of the above text below. I will then peruse the document, replacing at every availability, any word for which Word provides a synonym. I will proceed using three different processes, one for each paragraph. For the first paragraph, I will use the first synonym that Word offers. For paragraph two, I will use the third synonym listed, or the last, if only one or two are given. For paragraph three, I will allow myself a little bit of fun. I will be able to choose whichever synonym I fancy, regardless of the end result on the original meaning. And now, on with the show. (I just finished the first paragraph and return here to mandate a change: I will not be translating the third paragraph, just the first two. I will take my liberties in the second paragraph, choosing any synonym I like with the hope of retaining some semblance of thought.)
---
I be seated downward nowadays by means of extremely small on top of my brain. Mollie be absent of the home on a semi-mandatory preparation group of students intended for labor. Andrew be grace the daycare girls by means of his attendance plus Annaliese be captivating a doze, dream concerning at what time she determination almost immediately up plus on one occasion once more consume. plus I inside my limit have now established downward intended for a extended chill doze. at what time awake on top of the top, present arise such a rattle, I spring as of my divan in the direction of observe what’s the substance by means of me? I now go rotten quote a number of an out of date Christmas tale. healthy, similar to I supposed, I don’t contain a great deal undulating approximately inside my intelligence this day.
I beg your pardon? be the run of the mill blogger en route for carry out whilst he finds himself not up to scratch of an rousing chew over? ought to he lob here the rub down, anticipate one more daylight hours, or else must he compress on top of, in quest of constant the specter of a ponder? providentially, I boast lone such poltergeist hidden someplace resting on my writing table. It be a diminutive catalog tag in the company of ‘tragedy topics’ in black and white resting on it. entertain bestow me a infinitesimal even as I quarry from first to last the varied documents with the purpose of disorder my counter . . . ooh, I was immoral, it wasn’t resting on my small table, it had inopportunely establish its approach en route for the flooring.
---
Well, there you have it. If you have pressed through, you have just read a complete jumble of thought, bordering on insanity. I find my theorem mostly accurate, though the net effect was slightly more choppy than I expect mere translation between languages would provide. Oh, what the heck; if you’re still with me after that mess, you’ll put up with a little more. I am going to take the first paragraph and run it through the ringer at www.freetranslation.com. I will first transmute it to Russian, then to French, finally arriving back at English.
--
I sit today with few on my opinion. - Outside of the house in the class for the work. Decorate the girls according to the go out of the children with his and Annaliese takes the drowsiness, in when she herself and once more. And I in my cap am me all the hour for the long drowsiness of winter. When on the roof, there was such a crash, I appeared of my bed to see in what the matter with me? I left only, the aged history Of while indicating certain. It is good, as I said, I have not a big rotation around in my brain during this day.
--
My favorite part: “I appeared of my bed.”
Well, if for some strange reason you have made it to the end of today’s blog, I sincerely thank you for your patience and self-sacrifice. I hope tomorrow’s blog will again find some semblance of normality, though I fear the worst!
What is the average blogger to do when he finds himself wanting of an inspirational muse? Should he throw in the towel, await another day, or should he press on, seeking even the ghost of a muse? Fortunately, I have one such ghost buried somewhere on my desk. It is a small index card with ‘emergency topics’ written on it. Please give me a minute while I dig through the assorted papers that litter my desk . . . ooh, I was wrong, it wasn’t on my desk, it had inconveniently found its way to the floor.
Over the last 50+ days, I have come across fourteen ideas that were secondary to the days topic. Four of them have been struck through, having saved me from a blank tome in days of yore. But which of the remaining will serve me best today; I think I’ll start at the top: Global Warming – struck through, Robin Williams – struck through. Third on the list, Synonyms. I think back to what sparked that reminding note, yes, that was it, the ability of MS Word to provide synonyms for certain words. Occasionally (and I do mean occasionally), my mastery of the English language fails me and I find my words too dull and drab to torture you with. Fortunately, Word has stepped in to liven up my lame lexicon. I have not had to use that feature yet today, but I have often wondered what the result would be if one were to ‘abuse’ the synonym feature. I theorize that the resulting work would be an inane and grotesque rendering of the original text, almost as though it had been wrung through the translation between numerous languages, before being teased back into a tortured English.
Today, I will test my theory. In a few moments, I will copy and paste all of the above text below. I will then peruse the document, replacing at every availability, any word for which Word provides a synonym. I will proceed using three different processes, one for each paragraph. For the first paragraph, I will use the first synonym that Word offers. For paragraph two, I will use the third synonym listed, or the last, if only one or two are given. For paragraph three, I will allow myself a little bit of fun. I will be able to choose whichever synonym I fancy, regardless of the end result on the original meaning. And now, on with the show. (I just finished the first paragraph and return here to mandate a change: I will not be translating the third paragraph, just the first two. I will take my liberties in the second paragraph, choosing any synonym I like with the hope of retaining some semblance of thought.)
---
I be seated downward nowadays by means of extremely small on top of my brain. Mollie be absent of the home on a semi-mandatory preparation group of students intended for labor. Andrew be grace the daycare girls by means of his attendance plus Annaliese be captivating a doze, dream concerning at what time she determination almost immediately up plus on one occasion once more consume. plus I inside my limit have now established downward intended for a extended chill doze. at what time awake on top of the top, present arise such a rattle, I spring as of my divan in the direction of observe what’s the substance by means of me? I now go rotten quote a number of an out of date Christmas tale. healthy, similar to I supposed, I don’t contain a great deal undulating approximately inside my intelligence this day.
I beg your pardon? be the run of the mill blogger en route for carry out whilst he finds himself not up to scratch of an rousing chew over? ought to he lob here the rub down, anticipate one more daylight hours, or else must he compress on top of, in quest of constant the specter of a ponder? providentially, I boast lone such poltergeist hidden someplace resting on my writing table. It be a diminutive catalog tag in the company of ‘tragedy topics’ in black and white resting on it. entertain bestow me a infinitesimal even as I quarry from first to last the varied documents with the purpose of disorder my counter . . . ooh, I was immoral, it wasn’t resting on my small table, it had inopportunely establish its approach en route for the flooring.
---
Well, there you have it. If you have pressed through, you have just read a complete jumble of thought, bordering on insanity. I find my theorem mostly accurate, though the net effect was slightly more choppy than I expect mere translation between languages would provide. Oh, what the heck; if you’re still with me after that mess, you’ll put up with a little more. I am going to take the first paragraph and run it through the ringer at www.freetranslation.com. I will first transmute it to Russian, then to French, finally arriving back at English.
--
I sit today with few on my opinion. - Outside of the house in the class for the work. Decorate the girls according to the go out of the children with his and Annaliese takes the drowsiness, in when she herself and once more. And I in my cap am me all the hour for the long drowsiness of winter. When on the roof, there was such a crash, I appeared of my bed to see in what the matter with me? I left only, the aged history Of while indicating certain. It is good, as I said, I have not a big rotation around in my brain during this day.
--
My favorite part: “I appeared of my bed.”
Well, if for some strange reason you have made it to the end of today’s blog, I sincerely thank you for your patience and self-sacrifice. I hope tomorrow’s blog will again find some semblance of normality, though I fear the worst!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Words, Words, Words
Two days ago, we took Andrew to the doctor for his two year exam. While I’ve already recounted his amazing escape from the nurses without any puncture wounds (read yesterdays blog), there was one other thing about the visit that struck me as strange.
Each time we have an x-‘time of life’ check up, the doctor gives us a packet of information pertaining to that age. Each time, my favorite paper in the packet is the one listing achievements a child should have reached, or should soon reach by that age. It often provides me with a sense of pride (My child already does that.), or a course of action, (Ooh, so that’s what I should be teaching Andrew). As I read the list on Friday, it gave me pause, so much so that I had to ask the doctor if it was right.
The guide said that by age two, a child should know twenty words. In response to my questions, the doctor opened a cupboard door and scanned a list. He told us that by age three, a child should know about 250 words.
Back in the car, I had to start counting. On the back of the guide, I began writing down all the words Andrew used. Without much strain, I quickly passed the 100 mark. With Mollie’s help, we surpassed 150. As the list got longer, it became difficult to check if a word was already listed, so I (as is my wont in life) created an Excel document to record, sort, count and double check the words. Over the last two days, I have been paying more attention to what Andrew says and the words he uses. If either Mollie or I heard something we think we missed, we add it to the list. So far, the list tops out at 234 words!
Once again, I have to take a fatherly step back, to be careful not to get my head too full of grand ideas. I have to remember that Andrew more likely just developing faster and less likely some sort of super-genius that my anticipatory mind wants to make him. But still, this is another wonderful surprise he has provided us. I am amazed at the vast increase in words since we last kept track of his ‘first words.’ As of May eleventh of this year, we had recorded thirty-some words and animal sounds that he knew. In just over four months, he has added about 200 new words to his vocabulary!
Being a father is fun!
Being a nerdy father who makes lists like this is even more fun!
Each time we have an x-‘time of life’ check up, the doctor gives us a packet of information pertaining to that age. Each time, my favorite paper in the packet is the one listing achievements a child should have reached, or should soon reach by that age. It often provides me with a sense of pride (My child already does that.), or a course of action, (Ooh, so that’s what I should be teaching Andrew). As I read the list on Friday, it gave me pause, so much so that I had to ask the doctor if it was right.
The guide said that by age two, a child should know twenty words. In response to my questions, the doctor opened a cupboard door and scanned a list. He told us that by age three, a child should know about 250 words.
Back in the car, I had to start counting. On the back of the guide, I began writing down all the words Andrew used. Without much strain, I quickly passed the 100 mark. With Mollie’s help, we surpassed 150. As the list got longer, it became difficult to check if a word was already listed, so I (as is my wont in life) created an Excel document to record, sort, count and double check the words. Over the last two days, I have been paying more attention to what Andrew says and the words he uses. If either Mollie or I heard something we think we missed, we add it to the list. So far, the list tops out at 234 words!
Once again, I have to take a fatherly step back, to be careful not to get my head too full of grand ideas. I have to remember that Andrew more likely just developing faster and less likely some sort of super-genius that my anticipatory mind wants to make him. But still, this is another wonderful surprise he has provided us. I am amazed at the vast increase in words since we last kept track of his ‘first words.’ As of May eleventh of this year, we had recorded thirty-some words and animal sounds that he knew. In just over four months, he has added about 200 new words to his vocabulary!
Being a father is fun!
Being a nerdy father who makes lists like this is even more fun!
Saturday, September 26, 2009
"Unforgetful You"
Did you miss me? Ooh, you didn’t even notice I was gone. Well, I have a great excuse for missing yesterday’s blog . . . I forgot!
Actually, I did remember, but it was at about 11:30 PM, just twelve hours after I woke up. That’s right, with the in-laws taking care of Andrew for one last morning and Mollie being kind enough to feed Anna, I got to sleep in. Once I returned to bed after the 5:00 AM feeding, I didn’t awake until 11:30 AM.
Andrew had his two year check-up yesterday. Our lucky little boy didn’t have to get any shots. I can still remember the last time he got his shots, but not for the reason I suspect many parents can’t escape that memory. I’m sure Andrew cried, but not enough to firmly embed in my mind. The seed of my memory . . . well, let me begin at the beginning.
Andrew inherited has father’s allergies. To help combat them, he takes a liquid, generic form of Zyrtec. While that medicine has a slight purple taste, he is actually very good about taking all the myriad of medicines he has been on, regardless of taste. We just fill up a syringe, and stick it in his mouth. He hardly ever complains.
Which brings me back to his last set of shots. The nurse walked in the room, carrying several needles. Andrew was oblivious to the needles, but instantly recognized the syringes they were attached to. In a simultaneously hilarious, yet tragic scene, my one and a half year old son smiled, giggled and let out a gloriously ignorant, anticipatory laugh.
Ooh, my poor son! There is so much you have yet to learn!
Actually, I did remember, but it was at about 11:30 PM, just twelve hours after I woke up. That’s right, with the in-laws taking care of Andrew for one last morning and Mollie being kind enough to feed Anna, I got to sleep in. Once I returned to bed after the 5:00 AM feeding, I didn’t awake until 11:30 AM.
Andrew had his two year check-up yesterday. Our lucky little boy didn’t have to get any shots. I can still remember the last time he got his shots, but not for the reason I suspect many parents can’t escape that memory. I’m sure Andrew cried, but not enough to firmly embed in my mind. The seed of my memory . . . well, let me begin at the beginning.
Andrew inherited has father’s allergies. To help combat them, he takes a liquid, generic form of Zyrtec. While that medicine has a slight purple taste, he is actually very good about taking all the myriad of medicines he has been on, regardless of taste. We just fill up a syringe, and stick it in his mouth. He hardly ever complains.
Which brings me back to his last set of shots. The nurse walked in the room, carrying several needles. Andrew was oblivious to the needles, but instantly recognized the syringes they were attached to. In a simultaneously hilarious, yet tragic scene, my one and a half year old son smiled, giggled and let out a gloriously ignorant, anticipatory laugh.
Ooh, my poor son! There is so much you have yet to learn!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Happy Birthday Andrew
That’s right, I have two days in a row to celebrate the birth of a family member. And while Megan may bemoan the fact that Andrew was not born on her birthday (and the fact that Annaliese was not born on the 23rd, but together with Andrew brackets her birthday) I am glad that I get an entire day to just celebrate Andrew.
It is more difficult to write about Andrew’s major life loves and accomplishments. At the tender age of two, his greatest accomplishments are beginning to conjugate sentences and occasionally going tinkle in the potty. I can, however, share in some of my greatest joys I have witnessed in Andrew’s life.
Like this family activity; each family member practically yelling as we drive in the car:
(Andrew) “I love . . . Mommy!”
(Mommy) “I love Andrew!”
(Andrew) “I love . . . . . . Daddy!!!”
(Daddy) “I love Andrew!
(Andrew) “I love Enna!”
(Mommy for Anna) “Anna loves Andrew!”
(Andrew) “I love Mommy!”
(Mommy) “I love Anna!”
(Daddy for Anna) “I love Daddy!”
(Daddy for himself) “I love Mommy!”
Ad infinitum
While many major concepts are still well above his head, Andrew does have some idea that this thing we call a ‘birthday’ is somehow special. He got a taste of it at my parents over the weekend, opening presents and eating Hostess cupcake ‘cake.’ Yesterday, after saying something about his birthday, I asked him how old he was. He replied, “Two-morrow,” amply illustrating the fact that he gets it, but he really doesn’t get it.
Well, Andrew, this blog is for you. And while you may not quite understand it now, if Mommy happens to takes the time to read it to you, I have the comfort that things posted to the internet seem to stick around in cyberspace for all of eternity (try Googling "Pedro the Rubberband Ball"). That and the fact that I have a Word document back-up of my writings (and a back-up file of that) gives me hope that you will someday read and understand this. So I can leave this message to the future you: I love you very much. You are my favorite little boy! It has been two wonderful and amazing years watching you grow up. Take care of your little sister and enjoy watching her grow. I hope you have a wonderful birthday (both today – and in whatever year you happen to read this!)
- Daddy
It is more difficult to write about Andrew’s major life loves and accomplishments. At the tender age of two, his greatest accomplishments are beginning to conjugate sentences and occasionally going tinkle in the potty. I can, however, share in some of my greatest joys I have witnessed in Andrew’s life.
Like this family activity; each family member practically yelling as we drive in the car:
(Andrew) “I love . . . Mommy!”
(Mommy) “I love Andrew!”
(Andrew) “I love . . . . . . Daddy!!!”
(Daddy) “I love Andrew!
(Andrew) “I love Enna!”
(Mommy for Anna) “Anna loves Andrew!”
(Andrew) “I love Mommy!”
(Mommy) “I love Anna!”
(Daddy for Anna) “I love Daddy!”
(Daddy for himself) “I love Mommy!”
Ad infinitum
While many major concepts are still well above his head, Andrew does have some idea that this thing we call a ‘birthday’ is somehow special. He got a taste of it at my parents over the weekend, opening presents and eating Hostess cupcake ‘cake.’ Yesterday, after saying something about his birthday, I asked him how old he was. He replied, “Two-morrow,” amply illustrating the fact that he gets it, but he really doesn’t get it.
Well, Andrew, this blog is for you. And while you may not quite understand it now, if Mommy happens to takes the time to read it to you, I have the comfort that things posted to the internet seem to stick around in cyberspace for all of eternity (try Googling "Pedro the Rubberband Ball"). That and the fact that I have a Word document back-up of my writings (and a back-up file of that) gives me hope that you will someday read and understand this. So I can leave this message to the future you: I love you very much. You are my favorite little boy! It has been two wonderful and amazing years watching you grow up. Take care of your little sister and enjoy watching her grow. I hope you have a wonderful birthday (both today – and in whatever year you happen to read this!)
- Daddy
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Happy Birthday Megan!
You may be asking yourself, who is this Megan to whom I am wishing a happy birthday. As an older brother with a pulpit to the world, I feel an obligation to brag on my little sister on this, her (counting in my head and on my fingers . . . now out loud . . . now I’m calling my dad to check my math . . . yes, I was right! Go Mike!) twenty-fifth birthday.
Where to begin, work or play? Let’s start with play. Some ten years ago, while I was thoroughly addicted to Ultimate Frisbee (before Wham-O made the game drop the ‘Frisbee’ part for copyright reasons), I taught Megan how to throw a disc. Of course, my motivation was likely selfish: to have someone to throw with, but I had no idea what cage I was unlocking.
When Megan went off to the University of Illinois to study Aerospace Engineering (more on that later), she apparently minored in Ultimate. She played on both the co-ed team and the girl's team, one of which got within one win of making it to Nationals. She continued playing while earning her masters, always improving her throws; her hammer, a throw in which the disc is thrown up-side-down with an arm motion similar to throwing a football, is awesome! After using up her college eligibility, she found a club team or two to play on. She made the cut on one that had been to Nationals and was on the team when it again went to Nationals.
She also coached the Illinois girl's team as they made it to Nationals. While there, she was invited to play on an alumni team (not just Illinois alumni, Ultimate alumni) in an exhibition game against Team USA. While the alumni team lost 15-2, Megan proudly recounted to all who would hear how she had thrown one of their teams two scores. My dad, equally proud, still tells how another coach yelled to the girl Megan was guarding, asking why she wasn’t running as hard as usual. He then enlightened those around him by finishing his thought, “because every time she does, Megan shuts her down.”
Megan has now graduated from the University of Illinois with a Masters in Aerospace Engineering. She got a job in Texas working for Space X, the first private company to put a vehicle in orbit from the ground. Her job? As best I understand it, she tests rockets. . .
Now, I wouldn’t be a true big brother if I didn’t point this out. While we all think of rocket scientists (yep, that’s what she is) as the pinnacle of western society, I have seen Megan’s mental capacity stressed beyond its limits. What great problem or riddle am I speaking of, that could test the prowess of one so intelligent? A baby gate! That’s right, Megan couldn’t figure out how to open the baby gate at the top of our stairs. That fact is a fair consolation to all our other guests who find themselves struggling with the same gate. “Don’t worry; my Rocket Scientist sister couldn’t open it either.”
So I end this with birthday wishes from all the family. Mollie and I wish her the best, but she really won’t care. Samwise bays a doggie version of the day's song, but it will fall on deaf ears. But when she learns that Andrew and Annaliese also send their love and wish her a happy birthday, her heart will melt and she will, at least for a moment, have the best birthday ever.
Where to begin, work or play? Let’s start with play. Some ten years ago, while I was thoroughly addicted to Ultimate Frisbee (before Wham-O made the game drop the ‘Frisbee’ part for copyright reasons), I taught Megan how to throw a disc. Of course, my motivation was likely selfish: to have someone to throw with, but I had no idea what cage I was unlocking.
When Megan went off to the University of Illinois to study Aerospace Engineering (more on that later), she apparently minored in Ultimate. She played on both the co-ed team and the girl's team, one of which got within one win of making it to Nationals. She continued playing while earning her masters, always improving her throws; her hammer, a throw in which the disc is thrown up-side-down with an arm motion similar to throwing a football, is awesome! After using up her college eligibility, she found a club team or two to play on. She made the cut on one that had been to Nationals and was on the team when it again went to Nationals.
She also coached the Illinois girl's team as they made it to Nationals. While there, she was invited to play on an alumni team (not just Illinois alumni, Ultimate alumni) in an exhibition game against Team USA. While the alumni team lost 15-2, Megan proudly recounted to all who would hear how she had thrown one of their teams two scores. My dad, equally proud, still tells how another coach yelled to the girl Megan was guarding, asking why she wasn’t running as hard as usual. He then enlightened those around him by finishing his thought, “because every time she does, Megan shuts her down.”
Megan has now graduated from the University of Illinois with a Masters in Aerospace Engineering. She got a job in Texas working for Space X, the first private company to put a vehicle in orbit from the ground. Her job? As best I understand it, she tests rockets. . .
Now, I wouldn’t be a true big brother if I didn’t point this out. While we all think of rocket scientists (yep, that’s what she is) as the pinnacle of western society, I have seen Megan’s mental capacity stressed beyond its limits. What great problem or riddle am I speaking of, that could test the prowess of one so intelligent? A baby gate! That’s right, Megan couldn’t figure out how to open the baby gate at the top of our stairs. That fact is a fair consolation to all our other guests who find themselves struggling with the same gate. “Don’t worry; my Rocket Scientist sister couldn’t open it either.”
So I end this with birthday wishes from all the family. Mollie and I wish her the best, but she really won’t care. Samwise bays a doggie version of the day's song, but it will fall on deaf ears. But when she learns that Andrew and Annaliese also send their love and wish her a happy birthday, her heart will melt and she will, at least for a moment, have the best birthday ever.
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Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Day Fifty
I find it hard to believe that I have been at this, if my math is right
(which would also be hard to believe), for 50 days! While you and I both know that I have not managed to put up 50 quality posts, I would like to point out that I have still put up the posts.
What have I learned over the last fifty days? Blogging is hard. It is especially hard if you actually try to do a good job! Some days, like yesterday, I just sat down at the computer and typed whatever came into my mind, hardly stopping to go back and revise anything that may not have made sense. Other days, I have sat down with an idea, a plan for what I wanted to accomplish in my writings that day. Those days can be hard. Perhaps some pseudo-synonym for 'hard' would be more accurate, but I can say that many of what I would consider to be my best posts have taken up to an hour to write! (Wondering what I consider my better posts, see Michael, Maurya, Andrew and . . . (well written), No Entiendo (success of a plan), The Most Interesting Man in the World (a favorite) or Too Many Staples (accurately captures the essence of 'randominity'))
Okay, I can't let this one slide. Some dude on TV just said that to avoid being required to buy auto insurance, you have to 'devoid' yourself of a car. He went on to say it is "much harder" to devoid yourself of a body, which would be required to avoid having to buy health insurance (if it becomes mandatory). What exactly does he mean by "much harder?" Is he suggesting that, short of dying, it is possible to exist without a body? It seems so, though it is apparently at least more difficult than taking a bus, riding a bike or walking. Somebody get that man an award.
Back to what I was talking about; Twizzlers. No, my 50th day of blogging and what I've learned. I've learned that I am capable of creating enough text to fill a 30+ page Word document, I was reminded of my occasional dabbling in poetry and I have actually been able to express some of the thoughts, dare I say emotions, I have about my family.
I have surprised myself. I had to look way back on facebook to find this comment, but I managed. It is my response to Randy Yelverton pointing out what I have already discussed, that blogging is hard. I replied thusly:
I just plan on writing about stupid stuff that 'pops' into my mind, that and putting up pictures I take . . . Day 3, going strong! (prediction . . . day 28 . . . "I have a blog?")
August 7
Well, day 28 is well past and I continue to exist in this internet sur-reality. Does anyone interested in betting the over on me making 100 days?
(which would also be hard to believe), for 50 days! While you and I both know that I have not managed to put up 50 quality posts, I would like to point out that I have still put up the posts.
What have I learned over the last fifty days? Blogging is hard. It is especially hard if you actually try to do a good job! Some days, like yesterday, I just sat down at the computer and typed whatever came into my mind, hardly stopping to go back and revise anything that may not have made sense. Other days, I have sat down with an idea, a plan for what I wanted to accomplish in my writings that day. Those days can be hard. Perhaps some pseudo-synonym for 'hard' would be more accurate, but I can say that many of what I would consider to be my best posts have taken up to an hour to write! (Wondering what I consider my better posts, see Michael, Maurya, Andrew and . . . (well written), No Entiendo (success of a plan), The Most Interesting Man in the World (a favorite) or Too Many Staples (accurately captures the essence of 'randominity'))
Okay, I can't let this one slide. Some dude on TV just said that to avoid being required to buy auto insurance, you have to 'devoid' yourself of a car. He went on to say it is "much harder" to devoid yourself of a body, which would be required to avoid having to buy health insurance (if it becomes mandatory). What exactly does he mean by "much harder?" Is he suggesting that, short of dying, it is possible to exist without a body? It seems so, though it is apparently at least more difficult than taking a bus, riding a bike or walking. Somebody get that man an award.
Back to what I was talking about; Twizzlers. No, my 50th day of blogging and what I've learned. I've learned that I am capable of creating enough text to fill a 30+ page Word document, I was reminded of my occasional dabbling in poetry and I have actually been able to express some of the thoughts, dare I say emotions, I have about my family.
I have surprised myself. I had to look way back on facebook to find this comment, but I managed. It is my response to Randy Yelverton pointing out what I have already discussed, that blogging is hard. I replied thusly:
I just plan on writing about stupid stuff that 'pops' into my mind, that and putting up pictures I take . . . Day 3, going strong! (prediction . . . day 28 . . . "I have a blog?")
August 7
Well, day 28 is well past and I continue to exist in this internet sur-reality. Does anyone interested in betting the over on me making 100 days?
Monday, September 21, 2009
No Beer, No TV Make Mike Something Something
As much as I would like to consider myself up to date on the current technology, I find that my frugality has left me choking on the dust of bigger and better things. It's not that I'm complaining, it's just one aspect of my technological deficiency has become overly apparent in recent days.
I'm talking about my television. About five years ago, Mollie and I found ourselves with a decent amount of cash just lying around and decided to upgrade our TV. We walked around Circuit City, enviously eying the shiny flat screen models. While we had the cash on hand to purchase a reasonably large one, the width of the opening in our entertainment center dictated that any wide screen we purchased would have a height of about one foot! That, added to the fact that digital TVs will have vertical and horizontal black-out bars framing the picture when playing a program that was recorded in analogue, but is being broadcast in digital (or something like that - I saw it on my parent's TV this weekend), led us to buy the largest tube TV that would fit in our enclosure.
I'm not complaining about the size of our TV, either. It is plenty large to enjoy a movie from across our small living room. However, where I have been technologically left behind is the shape of my TV. It is 4:3, while most programs now seem to be broadcast in 15:4 (or some similar ratio). Basically, my TV is almost a square, while the picture it is trying to display is a long rectangle. The end result, the ends of the picture are cut off. This is mostly annoying when you have to guess at the first two or three letters of a word, or cannot see the score for one team. It has, however, resulted in one very funny scene. For some strange reason, we were watching an interview of the Williams sisters. In one shot, they showed the shoulders-up of both girls. Those whose televisions are not of antiquitous vintage would not have had a problem, but my TV showed half of each girl's face, cut off right down the center. I'm really tired, so I'll try to illustrate this for you.
_____
|o) (o|
|_____|
To my tires mind, those circles represent onee eye of Venus and one eye of Serena in a box that is my TV. Neato!
Perhaps I should get more sleep!
I'm talking about my television. About five years ago, Mollie and I found ourselves with a decent amount of cash just lying around and decided to upgrade our TV. We walked around Circuit City, enviously eying the shiny flat screen models. While we had the cash on hand to purchase a reasonably large one, the width of the opening in our entertainment center dictated that any wide screen we purchased would have a height of about one foot! That, added to the fact that digital TVs will have vertical and horizontal black-out bars framing the picture when playing a program that was recorded in analogue, but is being broadcast in digital (or something like that - I saw it on my parent's TV this weekend), led us to buy the largest tube TV that would fit in our enclosure.
I'm not complaining about the size of our TV, either. It is plenty large to enjoy a movie from across our small living room. However, where I have been technologically left behind is the shape of my TV. It is 4:3, while most programs now seem to be broadcast in 15:4 (or some similar ratio). Basically, my TV is almost a square, while the picture it is trying to display is a long rectangle. The end result, the ends of the picture are cut off. This is mostly annoying when you have to guess at the first two or three letters of a word, or cannot see the score for one team. It has, however, resulted in one very funny scene. For some strange reason, we were watching an interview of the Williams sisters. In one shot, they showed the shoulders-up of both girls. Those whose televisions are not of antiquitous vintage would not have had a problem, but my TV showed half of each girl's face, cut off right down the center. I'm really tired, so I'll try to illustrate this for you.
_____
|o) (o|
|_____|
To my tires mind, those circles represent onee eye of Venus and one eye of Serena in a box that is my TV. Neato!
Perhaps I should get more sleep!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
"I Know the Sun’s Still Shining When I Close My Eyes"
If you recognize the country song from which today’s title is taken you may have guessed where today’s blog is headed. Yesterday was a great day! It began with me remembering that it was Talk Like a Pirate Day. Any day that begins with in a hearty, gruff voice is destined to be great.
Post lunch, Mollie and I worked our way out of town via I-55. Three hours later, Andrew and I hijacked my mom’s car. Mollie and Annaliese accompanied my mother back to Oswego whilst me and ‘the boy’ continued on our way to the White Sox game.
Despite the historical fact that the White Sox tend to play bad baseball against terrible teams, or is it terrible baseball against bad teams, they managed provide a statistical outlier for our viewing pleasure. What did I just say? I think I just said they won. While the baseball was good for a change, it was not the high point of our stadium tour. Andrew had only a passing interest in the game, though enough to make the trip more worthwhile than just taking him to a park, so we spent much of our time wandering the park. We caught the game an inning or two at a time from numerous different perspectives. We sat in the lower bowl, halfway up behind the Sox dugout. We then meandered to the outfield to partake of some traditional baseball cuisine. The hotdogs finished, we visited the kid’s zone and ended our travels in a pair of decent seats in the upper deck. From that vantage point, we yelled encouragements to our team and had a spectacular view of the post game fireworks show.
My high point, though, came before the game even started. Having a young and exceptionally cute child makes obtaining a ball fairly easy. I caught the attention of a coach in the dugout and he kindly obliged. Soon after, as the players lined up outside the dugout for the national anthem, I tossed a quick ‘hello’ at my still favorite, though long retired, player now coach, Harold Baines. He gave a polite nod, stood for the Anthem, then I again caught his eye on the way back in. He accepted the ball Andrew had received and signed it.
To Andrew
All the Best
Harold Baines
#3
I must add here that Gordon Beckham was also kind enough to sign the ball on his way past Mr. Baines, and while he is the leading candidate to succeed Baines as my favorite player, it still pales beside my delight at the first autograph. The inscription by Baines is almost an exact duplicate of the ball I got from Harold when I was but a wee lad (wait, pirate day was yesterday, ahem, a young boy.) We now have a generational set of baseballs signed by my favorite player. Perhaps I should try to get one for my dad!
Arriving home (in Oswego) after the game, I was 'absolutely crushed' to find that my dad didn’t have a ride home from his poker game and I ‘had no choice’ but to go pick him up. This task would ‘obviously’ require me to stay while he played, so it was only ‘logical’ that I should also play. I found myself short $6 in the cash game before the second tournament started. The tournament went along fine; I was never in a desperate situation, though never quite comfortable. The hours wore on and the players dwindled to 4, to 3, to 2. I was heads up. I didn’t play spectacularly, I may have overcautiously given away a few smaller pots, but in the end, my pocked sixes found their way onto a boat and I had all the chips.
As a nightcap, I took a trip to Meijer’s to buy the milk for Andrew, a request my wife had made many hours earlier. I found the milk and graced the self-checkout terminal with my presence and money. I wondered at the day I was completing, at how many great things had transpired, I realized then that it had truly been a great day! A Meijer’s employee sent me on my way with what my tired brain found to be a fitting end to the day’s story: “Have a good morning.”
Post lunch, Mollie and I worked our way out of town via I-55. Three hours later, Andrew and I hijacked my mom’s car. Mollie and Annaliese accompanied my mother back to Oswego whilst me and ‘the boy’ continued on our way to the White Sox game.
Despite the historical fact that the White Sox tend to play bad baseball against terrible teams, or is it terrible baseball against bad teams, they managed provide a statistical outlier for our viewing pleasure. What did I just say? I think I just said they won. While the baseball was good for a change, it was not the high point of our stadium tour. Andrew had only a passing interest in the game, though enough to make the trip more worthwhile than just taking him to a park, so we spent much of our time wandering the park. We caught the game an inning or two at a time from numerous different perspectives. We sat in the lower bowl, halfway up behind the Sox dugout. We then meandered to the outfield to partake of some traditional baseball cuisine. The hotdogs finished, we visited the kid’s zone and ended our travels in a pair of decent seats in the upper deck. From that vantage point, we yelled encouragements to our team and had a spectacular view of the post game fireworks show.
My high point, though, came before the game even started. Having a young and exceptionally cute child makes obtaining a ball fairly easy. I caught the attention of a coach in the dugout and he kindly obliged. Soon after, as the players lined up outside the dugout for the national anthem, I tossed a quick ‘hello’ at my still favorite, though long retired, player now coach, Harold Baines. He gave a polite nod, stood for the Anthem, then I again caught his eye on the way back in. He accepted the ball Andrew had received and signed it.
To Andrew
All the Best
Harold Baines
#3
I must add here that Gordon Beckham was also kind enough to sign the ball on his way past Mr. Baines, and while he is the leading candidate to succeed Baines as my favorite player, it still pales beside my delight at the first autograph. The inscription by Baines is almost an exact duplicate of the ball I got from Harold when I was but a wee lad (wait, pirate day was yesterday, ahem, a young boy.) We now have a generational set of baseballs signed by my favorite player. Perhaps I should try to get one for my dad!
Arriving home (in Oswego) after the game, I was 'absolutely crushed' to find that my dad didn’t have a ride home from his poker game and I ‘had no choice’ but to go pick him up. This task would ‘obviously’ require me to stay while he played, so it was only ‘logical’ that I should also play. I found myself short $6 in the cash game before the second tournament started. The tournament went along fine; I was never in a desperate situation, though never quite comfortable. The hours wore on and the players dwindled to 4, to 3, to 2. I was heads up. I didn’t play spectacularly, I may have overcautiously given away a few smaller pots, but in the end, my pocked sixes found their way onto a boat and I had all the chips.
As a nightcap, I took a trip to Meijer’s to buy the milk for Andrew, a request my wife had made many hours earlier. I found the milk and graced the self-checkout terminal with my presence and money. I wondered at the day I was completing, at how many great things had transpired, I realized then that it had truly been a great day! A Meijer’s employee sent me on my way with what my tired brain found to be a fitting end to the day’s story: “Have a good morning.”
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Aarrr!
(I find today’s blog is truly best when read aloud in a gruff and piratey voice. If ye don’t get it right the first time, please, try again until ye catch the full effect!)
Ahoy! Batten down the hatches ye scurvy dogs, it be International Talk Like a Pirate Day!
That’s right, me matey, every Nineteenth of September the world comes together to rape, pillage and plunder the villages, or at least celebrate the spirit of raping, pillaging and plundering. Be ye a land lubber? Well get ye your sea boots with this curtly resource.
Whilst I sailed upon the seven seas, me came across this dainty site. Avast, tis a buried treasure of pirate booty, more filled with pirate-speak than Davy Jones’ Locker with poor lost souls.
Aye, useful ye ask? Aye aye! First, ye bilge rat, set your eyes on ‘The Basics’. Then drop anchor aside ‘Advanced Pirate Lingo.’ The ‘Pirate Pickup Lines’ be worthy of walking the plank, but be sure to skirt yer ship alongside that fine vessel whose cargo lies in the ship’s bilge (way at the bottom). The first two links are from the salty sea dogs who brought us this hallowed day. The third link is a hearty and humorous lesson in talking like a pirate. Lastly, before ye meet your maker, have a gander at the ‘English-to-Pirate Translator. It makes talking like a pirate easier than running a man through.
Aarrr, ye can find this internet beauty at www.talklikeapirate.com/howto.html. Now hop to it ye mutinous sea bass before I cut out yer gizzard and feed it to the dogs.
Ye should also feast yer eyes on this fine site, a pirate insult generator! Smartly now, ye yellow-bellied scalawag.
Ahoy! Batten down the hatches ye scurvy dogs, it be International Talk Like a Pirate Day!
That’s right, me matey, every Nineteenth of September the world comes together to rape, pillage and plunder the villages, or at least celebrate the spirit of raping, pillaging and plundering. Be ye a land lubber? Well get ye your sea boots with this curtly resource.
Whilst I sailed upon the seven seas, me came across this dainty site. Avast, tis a buried treasure of pirate booty, more filled with pirate-speak than Davy Jones’ Locker with poor lost souls.
Aye, useful ye ask? Aye aye! First, ye bilge rat, set your eyes on ‘The Basics’. Then drop anchor aside ‘Advanced Pirate Lingo.’ The ‘Pirate Pickup Lines’ be worthy of walking the plank, but be sure to skirt yer ship alongside that fine vessel whose cargo lies in the ship’s bilge (way at the bottom). The first two links are from the salty sea dogs who brought us this hallowed day. The third link is a hearty and humorous lesson in talking like a pirate. Lastly, before ye meet your maker, have a gander at the ‘English-to-Pirate Translator. It makes talking like a pirate easier than running a man through.
Aarrr, ye can find this internet beauty at www.talklikeapirate.com/howto.html. Now hop to it ye mutinous sea bass before I cut out yer gizzard and feed it to the dogs.
Ye should also feast yer eyes on this fine site, a pirate insult generator! Smartly now, ye yellow-bellied scalawag.
Me Perpetual Halloween Costume
See ye here me fine pirate costume.
It be a work in progress; I hope to improve it each year. Since the last, I have added a hook for me hand and a better eye patch. Arrr. Some day I shall find me a right fit hat and a fine sword.
Alongside be me buxom beauty and me Jim Lad.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Pete Rose Bowling
It’s amazing how certain memories stick with you. Now, of course, all of the major ones are there, tucked away in the folds of my brain; my kids being born, asking my wife to marry me and much of the time I spent with Pedro. But while those obvious ones remain fresh and full, the rest is a very surprising hodgepodge.
For example, let’s consider my high school graduation. It seems like a fairly monumental event, one worth remembering. I got nothing. I honestly can’t remember if it was inside or outside, nor where it took place. I remember my college graduation, but only in snippets. I mostly remember pulling out a fat stogie and walking across the stage to give the college president a big hug, that, and I think it was sunny.
To my credit, I do remember some of my wedding, but many of the details are lost to the simple fact that it was oppressively hot.
I find it most amazing how many trivial and insignificant events in life my seem to have permanently embedded themselves in my mind, perhaps even supplanting those more important memories. I can vividly remember the awe and freedom I felt when my aunt told me I was old enough to just go and grab a pop, instead of asking for permission every time. I revel in two memories in which objects were somehow projected out of a dorm room window. In the first, I can see my self walking up to Andy Guffey and aiming a Nerf gun at him. He turned in his chair and saved himself from an awful fate by warning me that the dart would fall out of the nearby, open window. I silently agreed and turned the gun on myself, swoosh, the air powered dart bounded off my temple and out the window. The second was premeditated. Andy and I giddily ran up to a ninth floor dorm room whose resident had volunteered the services of its window. We crowded around the opening and let our hero fall, Captain Adventure. The little plastic man, aided by a stiff updraft and the plastic parachute that was tied to his back, shot up above the top of the building before floating down and across the road. We quickly ran down the nine flights of stairs after him. We found him in the nearby parking garage, huddled under the back tire of a car. He had obviously crawled into that shelter to avoid the frigid snow and cold outside.
I remember that, but I have no recollection of the first time I dropped Andrew off at daycare. I would expect that would have been traumatic and significant to remember.
Some of life’s menial memories have been supported by visual aids. I have a picture of a giant Hostess cupcake cake through which I remember the first birthday ‘party’ Mollie threw for me. And then there is a video somebody took on their phone of me ‘Pete Rose’ bowling; aptly named because the style resembles Mr. Rose charging headlong into home plate. It is a technique that Andy often struggled with, but as the video shows, I have perfected. Have I piqued your interest? You can watch the very short (and grainy) video on youtube. (Watch it!) If you listen carefully, you can hear Mollie calling me safe – she’s the one in orange.
For example, let’s consider my high school graduation. It seems like a fairly monumental event, one worth remembering. I got nothing. I honestly can’t remember if it was inside or outside, nor where it took place. I remember my college graduation, but only in snippets. I mostly remember pulling out a fat stogie and walking across the stage to give the college president a big hug, that, and I think it was sunny.
To my credit, I do remember some of my wedding, but many of the details are lost to the simple fact that it was oppressively hot.
I find it most amazing how many trivial and insignificant events in life my seem to have permanently embedded themselves in my mind, perhaps even supplanting those more important memories. I can vividly remember the awe and freedom I felt when my aunt told me I was old enough to just go and grab a pop, instead of asking for permission every time. I revel in two memories in which objects were somehow projected out of a dorm room window. In the first, I can see my self walking up to Andy Guffey and aiming a Nerf gun at him. He turned in his chair and saved himself from an awful fate by warning me that the dart would fall out of the nearby, open window. I silently agreed and turned the gun on myself, swoosh, the air powered dart bounded off my temple and out the window. The second was premeditated. Andy and I giddily ran up to a ninth floor dorm room whose resident had volunteered the services of its window. We crowded around the opening and let our hero fall, Captain Adventure. The little plastic man, aided by a stiff updraft and the plastic parachute that was tied to his back, shot up above the top of the building before floating down and across the road. We quickly ran down the nine flights of stairs after him. We found him in the nearby parking garage, huddled under the back tire of a car. He had obviously crawled into that shelter to avoid the frigid snow and cold outside.
I remember that, but I have no recollection of the first time I dropped Andrew off at daycare. I would expect that would have been traumatic and significant to remember.
Some of life’s menial memories have been supported by visual aids. I have a picture of a giant Hostess cupcake cake through which I remember the first birthday ‘party’ Mollie threw for me. And then there is a video somebody took on their phone of me ‘Pete Rose’ bowling; aptly named because the style resembles Mr. Rose charging headlong into home plate. It is a technique that Andy often struggled with, but as the video shows, I have perfected. Have I piqued your interest? You can watch the very short (and grainy) video on youtube. (Watch it!) If you listen carefully, you can hear Mollie calling me safe – she’s the one in orange.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Small Feats
I, as I suspect all fathers do, often look at one of my children and see some simple thing that seems to completely capture how my child has grown, learned or developed. These small discoveries are often accompanied with a burst of pride, look how wonderfully unique my child is growing up to be. Perhaps it is a father’s internal desire for their child to be special that urges them to seek out these things. Or perhaps a father is in such a privileged position of love that they cannot help but notice the little things that do make their child special.
As I seem to remember sharing here, Andrew has often surprised me with the newest thing he has learned, something he remembers or a physical feat I had believed to be beyond him. I recently watched a home video of him picking up a gargantuan rubber ball that stretched his arms to their full width. He has recounted vivid details of a trip to the zoo which we took over a month ago (Elephant (went in the) water. Hippo-pamamus water. Ostrich poo poo potty.) He has even begun to recite the counting numbers, though the general concept escapes him. (Count the Elephants. One. Two. Three! How many Elephants are there? Two.)
With Annaliese, it is much more difficult to find things that already make her special. Of course she eats, as it was a prerequisite of her coming home from the hospital. She sleeps. No biggie there. And as a book once told me, she and everybody else poops (even the ostrich). As that is the sum of her existence, it can be difficult to find some trait or accomplishment that is uniquely hers (at least in a father’s eyes). But on Tuesday, I marked her first major milestone along the ‘she grows up too fast’ road. My baby girl has exceptional neck strength. She can lie on her belly, hold up her head and look around. A big, fatherly ‘wow!’
While I know this is not much on the grand scale, I am glad to be in a position where I can see and especially notice the little achievements my children make. There are few greater joys than realizing, in a completely objective, scientific and unbiased way, that your child is special. I look forward to a lifetime of surprises.
As I seem to remember sharing here, Andrew has often surprised me with the newest thing he has learned, something he remembers or a physical feat I had believed to be beyond him. I recently watched a home video of him picking up a gargantuan rubber ball that stretched his arms to their full width. He has recounted vivid details of a trip to the zoo which we took over a month ago (Elephant (went in the) water. Hippo-pamamus water. Ostrich poo poo potty.) He has even begun to recite the counting numbers, though the general concept escapes him. (Count the Elephants. One. Two. Three! How many Elephants are there? Two.)
With Annaliese, it is much more difficult to find things that already make her special. Of course she eats, as it was a prerequisite of her coming home from the hospital. She sleeps. No biggie there. And as a book once told me, she and everybody else poops (even the ostrich). As that is the sum of her existence, it can be difficult to find some trait or accomplishment that is uniquely hers (at least in a father’s eyes). But on Tuesday, I marked her first major milestone along the ‘she grows up too fast’ road. My baby girl has exceptional neck strength. She can lie on her belly, hold up her head and look around. A big, fatherly ‘wow!’
While I know this is not much on the grand scale, I am glad to be in a position where I can see and especially notice the little achievements my children make. There are few greater joys than realizing, in a completely objective, scientific and unbiased way, that your child is special. I look forward to a lifetime of surprises.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Magic of Walmart
A very sleepy hello to all of you out there in Readerland. Yes, once again, I find myself on the short end of the sleep stick (which, by the by, doubles as an ugly stick around here – I am definitely not a man who can afford to miss his beauty sleep.) But this time, I cannot lay all the blame on Annaliese; it was her who had me up at 5 am, though. I must own up to my own foibles. I stayed up late playing on the computer.
Way back in high school, I was introduced to a game called Magic: The Gathering. Not familiar with that particular animal? The game can aptly be described as a roll-playing card game (you know the type, draw a card, play a spell, send your newly summoned monster off to ravage your opponent.) I recently found that I can play online. What’s that Randy? Well, yes, I guess it is kind of similar to your favorite game, Pokemon.
In a semi-related story, I had to go to Walmart at 1 am to buy more baby food powder stuff. Annaliese is on a ‘special’ formula that has two extra calories per ml, which makes a small can an appalling $15! If you’ve ever been to a Walmart, you probably realize that it is sectioned off into tiny areas, each designed to lure and trap a very specific breed of customer. There’s the electronics section, which baits most of the male species. There’s a small book section to entice the avid reader and the jewelry/watch section which successfully draws the attention of those who like shiny objects. (Did I miss the section created just for you? Please add it in the comments!)
Then there is my section, just one small aisle hidden amidst endless rows of cashiers and candy bars. I often find myself being drawn into this tiny cove, staring at products I don’t need, but find myself wanting ooh so badly. It is the baseball card and gaming card section. My mind fleets back to my childhood, the excitement of finding my favorite player in a mint pack. I think back to the anticipation I often felt during my high school years while opening a pack of Magic cards; what rare and special card would I find?
Usually, those nostalgic thoughts are fought equally strong by a sense of temperament, of frugality, but not on this time. In the wee hours of the morning, long deprived of sleep, the intoxication of the aisle proved to be too much. I caved and bought a pack.
Out in the car, I greedily fumbled with the packaging, eventually winning the struggle. The first card I saw . . . a land card. Not sure what that means? Remember back to the last time you got a greeting card in which you knew there was going to be some money. The card itself is necessary, but mostly unwanted. That’s what land cards are. The second card was equally disappointing (a token creature card, if you care), and was followed by a card that is uncommon, yet not of interest to me.
But one look at the fourth card had erased all memory of the first three and all care for those that remained. It was a Birds of Paradise, (read fast, not stopping to take a breath) a one casting cost green creature with a 0/1 power and toughness, flying and the ability to produce one mana of any color! (Do I sound nerdy? You should hear the conversations at a card shop!)
Do I really have a point? No. But I do know that this will make my future struggles with the card aisle just that much harder. Perhaps the pack I have my eye on will contain an Elvish Archdruid. What if it does and I don’t buy it? Will my life ever be the same? Fortunately, I know life will go on and can ease my half open wallet back into my pocket. But just in case . . .
Way back in high school, I was introduced to a game called Magic: The Gathering. Not familiar with that particular animal? The game can aptly be described as a roll-playing card game (you know the type, draw a card, play a spell, send your newly summoned monster off to ravage your opponent.) I recently found that I can play online. What’s that Randy? Well, yes, I guess it is kind of similar to your favorite game, Pokemon.
In a semi-related story, I had to go to Walmart at 1 am to buy more baby food powder stuff. Annaliese is on a ‘special’ formula that has two extra calories per ml, which makes a small can an appalling $15! If you’ve ever been to a Walmart, you probably realize that it is sectioned off into tiny areas, each designed to lure and trap a very specific breed of customer. There’s the electronics section, which baits most of the male species. There’s a small book section to entice the avid reader and the jewelry/watch section which successfully draws the attention of those who like shiny objects. (Did I miss the section created just for you? Please add it in the comments!)
Then there is my section, just one small aisle hidden amidst endless rows of cashiers and candy bars. I often find myself being drawn into this tiny cove, staring at products I don’t need, but find myself wanting ooh so badly. It is the baseball card and gaming card section. My mind fleets back to my childhood, the excitement of finding my favorite player in a mint pack. I think back to the anticipation I often felt during my high school years while opening a pack of Magic cards; what rare and special card would I find?
Usually, those nostalgic thoughts are fought equally strong by a sense of temperament, of frugality, but not on this time. In the wee hours of the morning, long deprived of sleep, the intoxication of the aisle proved to be too much. I caved and bought a pack.
Out in the car, I greedily fumbled with the packaging, eventually winning the struggle. The first card I saw . . . a land card. Not sure what that means? Remember back to the last time you got a greeting card in which you knew there was going to be some money. The card itself is necessary, but mostly unwanted. That’s what land cards are. The second card was equally disappointing (a token creature card, if you care), and was followed by a card that is uncommon, yet not of interest to me.
But one look at the fourth card had erased all memory of the first three and all care for those that remained. It was a Birds of Paradise, (read fast, not stopping to take a breath) a one casting cost green creature with a 0/1 power and toughness, flying and the ability to produce one mana of any color! (Do I sound nerdy? You should hear the conversations at a card shop!)
Do I really have a point? No. But I do know that this will make my future struggles with the card aisle just that much harder. Perhaps the pack I have my eye on will contain an Elvish Archdruid. What if it does and I don’t buy it? Will my life ever be the same? Fortunately, I know life will go on and can ease my half open wallet back into my pocket. But just in case . . .
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Adrian Cronauer
“Good Morning Vietnam!”
How many times did that phrase echo through my dorm room, accompanied by all the other sights and sounds of the so named movie? I don’t have an exact count for you (except for my freshman year, when I kept track of all the movies I watched – somewhere around 220 – a rebellion against not being allowed to watch many movies in my youth), I do know Robin Williams graced us with his presence many a time.
I have often heard what a comedic genius Robin is and would love to read the original script of Good Morning Vietnam just to see what he might have added to the movie. It would not surprise me to find major improvements over the text. I think I can point out one part of the movie that catches the very instant Robin goes off script. He is having a conversation with his ‘friend’ from military intelligence and halfway through the ‘conversation’ Robin laughs his way through the question, “And how do you use to look for them (the enemy)?” I like to think that at that very moment, he realized that what he was supposed to say really wasn’t that funny and this new and spectacular revelation he just had would be much funnier. He continues, “Well, we ask people, ‘Are you the enemy?’ and whoever says ‘Yes,’ we shoot them.” Don’t remember that line? Have a listen Have a Listen. (Linked from www.moviewavs.com.)
In my search for this audio clip, I did make a very startling and disturbing discovery. It seems that one of my favorite and most used quotes from the movie is actually a misinterpretation of the movie’s mumble. There are very few conversations that Andy Guffey and I have ever had that did not somehow include the line “Sorry sir, I haven’t been listening.” It turns out, that may not be the line at all; instead he says something like “I haven’t been to sleep.”
Never fear, noble friend. I’ll just pretend we got it right. After all, like the line I suspect Robin Williams added to the movie, our line is a great improvement over the actual script.
How many times did that phrase echo through my dorm room, accompanied by all the other sights and sounds of the so named movie? I don’t have an exact count for you (except for my freshman year, when I kept track of all the movies I watched – somewhere around 220 – a rebellion against not being allowed to watch many movies in my youth), I do know Robin Williams graced us with his presence many a time.
I have often heard what a comedic genius Robin is and would love to read the original script of Good Morning Vietnam just to see what he might have added to the movie. It would not surprise me to find major improvements over the text. I think I can point out one part of the movie that catches the very instant Robin goes off script. He is having a conversation with his ‘friend’ from military intelligence and halfway through the ‘conversation’ Robin laughs his way through the question, “And how do you use to look for them (the enemy)?” I like to think that at that very moment, he realized that what he was supposed to say really wasn’t that funny and this new and spectacular revelation he just had would be much funnier. He continues, “Well, we ask people, ‘Are you the enemy?’ and whoever says ‘Yes,’ we shoot them.” Don’t remember that line? Have a listen Have a Listen. (Linked from www.moviewavs.com.)
In my search for this audio clip, I did make a very startling and disturbing discovery. It seems that one of my favorite and most used quotes from the movie is actually a misinterpretation of the movie’s mumble. There are very few conversations that Andy Guffey and I have ever had that did not somehow include the line “Sorry sir, I haven’t been listening.” It turns out, that may not be the line at all; instead he says something like “I haven’t been to sleep.”
Never fear, noble friend. I’ll just pretend we got it right. After all, like the line I suspect Robin Williams added to the movie, our line is a great improvement over the actual script.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Da Bums
Let me begin on a high note . . . the chili was awesome! It may still have some room left for improvements, minor adjustments in the spice quantities, but it is a giant leap forward beyond what was already an outstanding recipe.
That’s where the joy ends. The chili was the highlight of my night. As all my Chicago Bear bobble heads stand with their noses to the wall, thinking about what they’ve done, let me share some revelations with you. Actually, they are less revelations and more confirmations of things I already knew. For your reading pleasure, I give you the top 10 reasons the next 14 Sundays, 1 Monday and a Thursday will miserable.
10. Patrick Mannley – Our usually trustworthy long snapper seems to have suffered a massive brain injury over the summer. Why else would he have audibled to a trick play while deep in Green Bay’s territory and his team only up by a deuce? If I can’t even rely on ‘ole Pat, who can I trust?
9. The Offensive Line – How many yards from scrimmage did Matt Forte have last year? Ooh, that’s right, lots. But the O-line could only find room for him to scamper for 55 yards on 25 carries? Add that to the two times Cutler was sacked and the numerous hurries, our franchise quarterback and our potentially franchise running back may not survive the year.
8. Brian Urlacher’s Wrist – After hearing all the talk about how he’s finally healthy, why wouldn’t he get hurt again?
7. Lance Briggs – Did he even play? Really, I’m not sure . . . I don’t remember hearing his name once last night. I couldn’t resist and checked the stats. 3 tackles, and the rest are zeros. Not quite pro bowl numbers.
6. Thursday Night Football – Why do I have to watch a Bears game on the NFL Network? All I remember from last year’s torturous episode was the non-stop commercials and color commentator promos advertising the next awful game that useless channel would host. Plus, what then am I to do with my Sunday of that week? (Want a hint? Take a peek at Number 4.)
5. Nathan Vasher – How is it that the Bears begin another season with nobody who can cover a wide receiver? (I know you can argue ‘Peanut’ Tillman’s prowess, but why would the other team bother throwing his direction with the feast of ineptness the other way?) So we can all look forward to Mr. Vasher tripping over his own feet as the winning touchdown floats over his dizzy head.
4. Adrienne Peterson – Oddly, this downer in my Sundays may also be a lonely upper. I’m not speaking of the semi-capable Bears third string back, I’m talking about the Viking man playing against boys. He is an absolute stud! While I love to watch him stop on a dime, throw a defender aside with one arm, then continue on for a touchdown (if you haven’t seen that highlight, watch yourself some ESPN today), he is truly just another reminder of Chicago’s foibles and all the proof I need that our season is in vain.
3. Jay Cutler – I cannot lay all the blame on Jay. If I were, he would not be sitting down here at number three. However, 4 picks? Not a good start!
2. Stupid Bears Fans – While I often enjoy listening to Chicago sports radio, there are some true idiots out there. I will have all week to hear how they think the Cutler acquisition was a bad idea. They will point out how Kyle Orton managed to throw a game winning touchdown (oblivious of the fact it was a pinball completion) and cry that we never should have gotten rid of ‘Sexy Rexy.’ While I am not proud of what Mr. FourinterceptionsinhisdebutwiththeBears did, I know that our team is infinitely better with him as their gunslinger. Unfortunately, I am not strong-willed enough to turn off the radio and not listen.
1. Cut-Off Routes – While I could have picked the wide receivers in general, I chose to leave out their inexperience, their inability to get open and their history of dropping passes and just focus on this one aspect. While Jay goes on the stat sheet having thrown four interceptions, how many of those interceptions were because a receiver made a move one way, then decided to change his mind . . . after Jay had already made his up and thrown the ball? I guess this is why I still have faith in Mr. Cutler. As a real quarterback, he knows the receivers as open, even if they don’t think they are. Unfortunately, I don’t have faith in their ability to learn. I mean, when your number one receiver is only that in name and this season’s most open receiver (Earl Bennett) didn’t make a single catch last year, there isn’t much to have faith in.
Of course, I still can’t wait until next Sunday!
That’s where the joy ends. The chili was the highlight of my night. As all my Chicago Bear bobble heads stand with their noses to the wall, thinking about what they’ve done, let me share some revelations with you. Actually, they are less revelations and more confirmations of things I already knew. For your reading pleasure, I give you the top 10 reasons the next 14 Sundays, 1 Monday and a Thursday will miserable.
10. Patrick Mannley – Our usually trustworthy long snapper seems to have suffered a massive brain injury over the summer. Why else would he have audibled to a trick play while deep in Green Bay’s territory and his team only up by a deuce? If I can’t even rely on ‘ole Pat, who can I trust?
9. The Offensive Line – How many yards from scrimmage did Matt Forte have last year? Ooh, that’s right, lots. But the O-line could only find room for him to scamper for 55 yards on 25 carries? Add that to the two times Cutler was sacked and the numerous hurries, our franchise quarterback and our potentially franchise running back may not survive the year.
8. Brian Urlacher’s Wrist – After hearing all the talk about how he’s finally healthy, why wouldn’t he get hurt again?
7. Lance Briggs – Did he even play? Really, I’m not sure . . . I don’t remember hearing his name once last night. I couldn’t resist and checked the stats. 3 tackles, and the rest are zeros. Not quite pro bowl numbers.
6. Thursday Night Football – Why do I have to watch a Bears game on the NFL Network? All I remember from last year’s torturous episode was the non-stop commercials and color commentator promos advertising the next awful game that useless channel would host. Plus, what then am I to do with my Sunday of that week? (Want a hint? Take a peek at Number 4.)
5. Nathan Vasher – How is it that the Bears begin another season with nobody who can cover a wide receiver? (I know you can argue ‘Peanut’ Tillman’s prowess, but why would the other team bother throwing his direction with the feast of ineptness the other way?) So we can all look forward to Mr. Vasher tripping over his own feet as the winning touchdown floats over his dizzy head.
4. Adrienne Peterson – Oddly, this downer in my Sundays may also be a lonely upper. I’m not speaking of the semi-capable Bears third string back, I’m talking about the Viking man playing against boys. He is an absolute stud! While I love to watch him stop on a dime, throw a defender aside with one arm, then continue on for a touchdown (if you haven’t seen that highlight, watch yourself some ESPN today), he is truly just another reminder of Chicago’s foibles and all the proof I need that our season is in vain.
3. Jay Cutler – I cannot lay all the blame on Jay. If I were, he would not be sitting down here at number three. However, 4 picks? Not a good start!
2. Stupid Bears Fans – While I often enjoy listening to Chicago sports radio, there are some true idiots out there. I will have all week to hear how they think the Cutler acquisition was a bad idea. They will point out how Kyle Orton managed to throw a game winning touchdown (oblivious of the fact it was a pinball completion) and cry that we never should have gotten rid of ‘Sexy Rexy.’ While I am not proud of what Mr. FourinterceptionsinhisdebutwiththeBears did, I know that our team is infinitely better with him as their gunslinger. Unfortunately, I am not strong-willed enough to turn off the radio and not listen.
1. Cut-Off Routes – While I could have picked the wide receivers in general, I chose to leave out their inexperience, their inability to get open and their history of dropping passes and just focus on this one aspect. While Jay goes on the stat sheet having thrown four interceptions, how many of those interceptions were because a receiver made a move one way, then decided to change his mind . . . after Jay had already made his up and thrown the ball? I guess this is why I still have faith in Mr. Cutler. As a real quarterback, he knows the receivers as open, even if they don’t think they are. Unfortunately, I don’t have faith in their ability to learn. I mean, when your number one receiver is only that in name and this season’s most open receiver (Earl Bennett) didn’t make a single catch last year, there isn’t much to have faith in.
Of course, I still can’t wait until next Sunday!
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Sunday, September 13, 2009
Are You Ready for Some . . .
Football! Not that semi-pro style that everybody has had their panties in a bunch about all Saturday; this is big boy football!
I’ve never been a fan of the college game. For some reason, I never found myself emotionally attached to a school and thus never cared to watch. But when it comes to the major leagues, I get excited. Now, I don’t go ga-ga for NFL football in general, just da Bears. I’ve spent my morning and now part of the afternoon in a tizzy of anticipation. I have chili starting to bubble in the crock pot. Mollie, who is glad to be out of the house, is picking up some crackers for said chili. And I’ve been toying with reviving an old tradition; bringing out the bobble heads to watch the game!
Today’s chili is a bit of a trial run. In my previous 1-2 chili endeavors, I have been experimenting with different ingredients and spices, trying to add a distinguished ‘flavor’ to the family chili. Today, I have to tone down the spices a little so that Mollie doesn’t give Annaliese heartburn, but an internet search has provided me with a few extra flavors to try. Here’s what I went with:
2 Pounds of Ground Beef
2+ Cups of Chopped Onion
1 Can of Diced Tomatoes
1 Can of Diced Tomatoes with Green Chilis
3 Cans of Kidney Beans in a Chili Sauce (a recent Aldi find)
1 8 ounce Can of Tomato Sauce
3 Tablespoons of Chili Powder (2 Regular, 1 Hot Mexican)
1 Heaping Smidgen of Cayenne (Mollie has a neat little measuring spoon.)
3 Dried Arbol Chilies
1 Tablespoon of Crushed Garlic
1/2 Teaspoon Cocoa
1 Teaspoon of Cumin
1/4 Teaspoon of Pepper
1 Tablespoon of Sugar
1 Teaspoon of Salt
3/4 Cup Beer (Not surprisingly, I have some Dos Equis on hand. Read why: The Most Interesting Man in the World.)
(Recipe Note: If I had my way, there would probably be 1/2 Tablespoon more of Chili Powder, 1/4 Teaspoon of Cayenne and 5-7 Arbol Chilies.)
I am not sure if this will give me the spice and flavor I am searching for, but I think this is a good starting point. I plan on toying with the spices in the future, but tonight, I hope to find full enjoyment in my bowl of chili as I settle down to watch the first ‘real’ quarterback the modern Chicago Bears have ever had.
I’ve never been a fan of the college game. For some reason, I never found myself emotionally attached to a school and thus never cared to watch. But when it comes to the major leagues, I get excited. Now, I don’t go ga-ga for NFL football in general, just da Bears. I’ve spent my morning and now part of the afternoon in a tizzy of anticipation. I have chili starting to bubble in the crock pot. Mollie, who is glad to be out of the house, is picking up some crackers for said chili. And I’ve been toying with reviving an old tradition; bringing out the bobble heads to watch the game!
Today’s chili is a bit of a trial run. In my previous 1-2 chili endeavors, I have been experimenting with different ingredients and spices, trying to add a distinguished ‘flavor’ to the family chili. Today, I have to tone down the spices a little so that Mollie doesn’t give Annaliese heartburn, but an internet search has provided me with a few extra flavors to try. Here’s what I went with:
2 Pounds of Ground Beef
2+ Cups of Chopped Onion
1 Can of Diced Tomatoes
1 Can of Diced Tomatoes with Green Chilis
3 Cans of Kidney Beans in a Chili Sauce (a recent Aldi find)
1 8 ounce Can of Tomato Sauce
3 Tablespoons of Chili Powder (2 Regular, 1 Hot Mexican)
1 Heaping Smidgen of Cayenne (Mollie has a neat little measuring spoon.)
3 Dried Arbol Chilies
1 Tablespoon of Crushed Garlic
1/2 Teaspoon Cocoa
1 Teaspoon of Cumin
1/4 Teaspoon of Pepper
1 Tablespoon of Sugar
1 Teaspoon of Salt
3/4 Cup Beer (Not surprisingly, I have some Dos Equis on hand. Read why: The Most Interesting Man in the World.)
(Recipe Note: If I had my way, there would probably be 1/2 Tablespoon more of Chili Powder, 1/4 Teaspoon of Cayenne and 5-7 Arbol Chilies.)
I am not sure if this will give me the spice and flavor I am searching for, but I think this is a good starting point. I plan on toying with the spices in the future, but tonight, I hope to find full enjoyment in my bowl of chili as I settle down to watch the first ‘real’ quarterback the modern Chicago Bears have ever had.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Bills
I am in a very strange state right now. For some odd reason, I almost look forward to opening the mail slot and finding a bill!
Now, not every bill is a joy to me, but there is less hatred in my heart when I find them. The main culprit for my twisted state of mind - our budget. Way back in January, we took a ‘money’ class through our church, Financial Peace University by Dave Ramsey. It taught about budgeting, something I had tried before, but always from a perspective of looking back to see where the money went, not planning it out ahead of time. We tried it. The net effect: we went from pulling about $500 a month out of savings each month to having an extra $800 at the end of each month.
And that’s why I enjoy getting the bills. Once I have them, I can fill in another slot on my budget forms, do a little math, and find out how much extra we have. So far, all our extra is being put to good uses; we now own Mollie’s car ($9k paid in 6 months) and have a little set aside for the month when Mollie won’t be getting a paycheck. After that comes the long task of paying off the house early. Again, I’ve done a little math; that could save around $70,000 in interest payments! (For a little perspective, it would take me working 4-5 years to net that kind of cash!)
Now, we haven’t been near perfect in sticking to our budget. For example, this month we won’t be making a second deposit towards the emergency fund due to some minor splurging. But on a whole, our money-life has become much less stressful. It may be a little frustrating when we run out of entertainment money five days into a two week schedule because of ‘Free Pie Day’ at Bakers Square, but being able to see the improvements we have already made in our finances and looking to the promise of future freedoms makes it worth while.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go buy some unbudgeted Texas Toast so I can make a very late breakfast.
Now, not every bill is a joy to me, but there is less hatred in my heart when I find them. The main culprit for my twisted state of mind - our budget. Way back in January, we took a ‘money’ class through our church, Financial Peace University by Dave Ramsey. It taught about budgeting, something I had tried before, but always from a perspective of looking back to see where the money went, not planning it out ahead of time. We tried it. The net effect: we went from pulling about $500 a month out of savings each month to having an extra $800 at the end of each month.
And that’s why I enjoy getting the bills. Once I have them, I can fill in another slot on my budget forms, do a little math, and find out how much extra we have. So far, all our extra is being put to good uses; we now own Mollie’s car ($9k paid in 6 months) and have a little set aside for the month when Mollie won’t be getting a paycheck. After that comes the long task of paying off the house early. Again, I’ve done a little math; that could save around $70,000 in interest payments! (For a little perspective, it would take me working 4-5 years to net that kind of cash!)
Now, we haven’t been near perfect in sticking to our budget. For example, this month we won’t be making a second deposit towards the emergency fund due to some minor splurging. But on a whole, our money-life has become much less stressful. It may be a little frustrating when we run out of entertainment money five days into a two week schedule because of ‘Free Pie Day’ at Bakers Square, but being able to see the improvements we have already made in our finances and looking to the promise of future freedoms makes it worth while.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go buy some unbudgeted Texas Toast so I can make a very late breakfast.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Um . . . aah . . . aah . . .
Have you ever been at a point that you have so many things rattling around your brain, you are mostly unable to competently function in attempting to accomplish any of them? I am currently in that very predicament. As a (see, I can’t think of the word I want to use here) example thingey, no, warning thingey, today’s blog may suffer as a result of my current state. Of course, if you are a longsuffering reader, you may not even notice.
So what is it, or more accurately what are those things that have me flummoxed so? It is a collection of projects and ideas I would like to pursue. Some of them are actually important and need to take some priority, but the conflux of ideas has created a *insert some other big word* backup of the brain. While they are usually seen as a negative lapse of mental prowess, I believe I am desperately in need of a brain fart; perhaps it would get stuff moving again.
Here’s what has me in need of a mental drain snake:
1. I need to talk to the two companies about waterproofing our basement so that we can get final cost estimates, find compatible dates and arrange for the start of work, which, by the way, likely requires finding Mollie and Annaliese somewhere to go while the work is done (it doesn’t seem like a good idea to have paint scraping and tuck pointing in the basement with an preemie sleeping upstairs.)
2. I have two ideas in my mind that I would like to someday submit to industry. They may or may not be good ideas, but I have little more than a vague idea of where to begin. I took a brief look at the U.S. Patents office web site this morning and was unable to find an apparent and bolded ‘Start Here’ button.
3. I recently sent a few of my Faux Art to a company that (I think) makes folders and notebooks. I am anxiously awaiting their second reply. The first reply gave me a little hope, as it was not a flat out rejection, but rather a ‘. . . in a couple days.’
4. I have to blog. – hey, that one is actually in progress right now!
5. Andrew has to go to daycare, but is too late for lunch.
6. Annaliese has her first non-hospitalbound doctor visit today.
7. There is an outside chance that we may go to Chicago to see my family, but most especially my sister who is coming up from Texas to play Ultimate Frisbee. That requires figuring out what to do with the dog. His usual seat in the car has been taken by an infant car seat, so I have to call Volkswagen to see if they have some sort of ‘put your dog in the way back of a station wagon fence thingey.’ That, or I have to write directions for him to get to the kennel, then send him on his way.
8. I have to prepare and send photos to Walgreens for the baby announcements that Emily Shelton was kind enough to make for us! I also have to prepare pictures of Andrew and Aunt Megan so I can add them to the ‘model’ rocket Andrew (I) made for her.
9. I have to post a link on Facebook to the photography contest I entered, telling people about the readers choice award, but being careful not to tell which photos are mine. (You can find the contest at "My Best Friend" Crim-Dassler Photo Contest. The link to vote is in the third paragraph of the website, but Neil (co-host of said contest) said he may move it higher to make it more visible.)
10. I have to plan a replacement front stoop for after we destroy the current one in the waterproofing process.
11. I have to destroy the current front stoop – which will require a rumored day-long use of a jack hammer.
12. I can’t see the top of my desk. Well, I can see a few spots, but not many.
13. I haven’t had breakfast.
14. In an hour, I probably won’t have had lunch . . .
15. I have to call my Aunt Mary and wish her a happy birthday. (Happy Birthday, Mary.)
16. I have to pick up Andrew’s medicine.
17. I have photos on my camera and on my computer that have not been backed up, some of which need to be well worked for new 8x10s, some of which need to be ‘4x6’ed for photo album use.
18. I have to take Andrew to daycare.
19. Andrew wants to walk the dog . . .
I guess I found where to on start my list. It is quite the least impending, but may prove the best choice of all. Now, where did I leave the leash?
So what is it, or more accurately what are those things that have me flummoxed so? It is a collection of projects and ideas I would like to pursue. Some of them are actually important and need to take some priority, but the conflux of ideas has created a *insert some other big word* backup of the brain. While they are usually seen as a negative lapse of mental prowess, I believe I am desperately in need of a brain fart; perhaps it would get stuff moving again.
Here’s what has me in need of a mental drain snake:
1. I need to talk to the two companies about waterproofing our basement so that we can get final cost estimates, find compatible dates and arrange for the start of work, which, by the way, likely requires finding Mollie and Annaliese somewhere to go while the work is done (it doesn’t seem like a good idea to have paint scraping and tuck pointing in the basement with an preemie sleeping upstairs.)
2. I have two ideas in my mind that I would like to someday submit to industry. They may or may not be good ideas, but I have little more than a vague idea of where to begin. I took a brief look at the U.S. Patents office web site this morning and was unable to find an apparent and bolded ‘Start Here’ button.
3. I recently sent a few of my Faux Art to a company that (I think) makes folders and notebooks. I am anxiously awaiting their second reply. The first reply gave me a little hope, as it was not a flat out rejection, but rather a ‘. . . in a couple days.’
4. I have to blog. – hey, that one is actually in progress right now!
5. Andrew has to go to daycare, but is too late for lunch.
6. Annaliese has her first non-hospitalbound doctor visit today.
7. There is an outside chance that we may go to Chicago to see my family, but most especially my sister who is coming up from Texas to play Ultimate Frisbee. That requires figuring out what to do with the dog. His usual seat in the car has been taken by an infant car seat, so I have to call Volkswagen to see if they have some sort of ‘put your dog in the way back of a station wagon fence thingey.’ That, or I have to write directions for him to get to the kennel, then send him on his way.
8. I have to prepare and send photos to Walgreens for the baby announcements that Emily Shelton was kind enough to make for us! I also have to prepare pictures of Andrew and Aunt Megan so I can add them to the ‘model’ rocket Andrew (I) made for her.
9. I have to post a link on Facebook to the photography contest I entered, telling people about the readers choice award, but being careful not to tell which photos are mine. (You can find the contest at "My Best Friend" Crim-Dassler Photo Contest. The link to vote is in the third paragraph of the website, but Neil (co-host of said contest) said he may move it higher to make it more visible.)
10. I have to plan a replacement front stoop for after we destroy the current one in the waterproofing process.
11. I have to destroy the current front stoop – which will require a rumored day-long use of a jack hammer.
12. I can’t see the top of my desk. Well, I can see a few spots, but not many.
13. I haven’t had breakfast.
14. In an hour, I probably won’t have had lunch . . .
15. I have to call my Aunt Mary and wish her a happy birthday. (Happy Birthday, Mary.)
16. I have to pick up Andrew’s medicine.
17. I have photos on my camera and on my computer that have not been backed up, some of which need to be well worked for new 8x10s, some of which need to be ‘4x6’ed for photo album use.
18. I have to take Andrew to daycare.
19. Andrew wants to walk the dog . . .
I guess I found where to on start my list. It is quite the least impending, but may prove the best choice of all. Now, where did I leave the leash?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
No Towel, Need Sleepy
Today is my first day of work since Annaliese came home. Quite inconveniently, she chose to be on an every 1 1/2 to 2 hour feeding schedule last night. Instead of two or three big feedings, she decided to sample the appetizers, taking short naps between.
Here’s how my night went. To bed after 12, up at 1, up at 3, up at 5, alarm at 6:15. When I tried to get up, my body ached so much, I actually couldn’t. Fortunately, but to little avail, I had built a little snooze time into my alarm schedule.
But now I sit at my computer, head nodding, trying to get something posted before I have to go to work . . . too late. I was hoping to tell you all aboubg vh fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff . . . . wwaah? Where am I and why does my head feel like I’ve been sleeping on a keyboard?
The moral of the story? Baby = No Sleepy. Hi ho, Hi ho it's off to . . . . . . . . . . . .
Here’s how my night went. To bed after 12, up at 1, up at 3, up at 5, alarm at 6:15. When I tried to get up, my body ached so much, I actually couldn’t. Fortunately, but to little avail, I had built a little snooze time into my alarm schedule.
But now I sit at my computer, head nodding, trying to get something posted before I have to go to work . . . too late. I was hoping to tell you all aboubg vh fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff . . . . wwaah? Where am I and why does my head feel like I’ve been sleeping on a keyboard?
The moral of the story? Baby = No Sleepy. Hi ho, Hi ho it's off to . . . . . . . . . . . .
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
And Then There Were Four (or is it six)
Mike, Mollie, Andrew, Samwise, Pedro and Annaliese all spent last night in the shared shelter of our house. That’s right, after a brief show-and-tell at Mike’s school and Andrew’s daycare (away from any kids, of course), Annaliese came home to join our family. She laid claim to the very foundations of our house at around 4:30 yesterday afternoon.
There have been many firsts in the last twenty-four hours. For the first time, I held my baby girl without her being tethered to a machine. For the first time, Mollie laid her in the cradle I built for Andrew two long years ago. And for the first time, I held my little girl against my bare chest. While that may seem like a strange thing to share, it is a small payment against the jealousy this father feels over a mother’s greatest gift to their hungry, infant child.
So our life adapts once more to accommodate a new baby to our home. Some of these changes seem almost second nature, as if they are easy and natural to make a second time around. Others, like the loss of sleeping privileges, I may never quite grow accustomed to.
Andrew is at daycare today. Trying to teach him, shall we say, proper etiquette around a baby will be, at the least, interesting. We got him a baby doll to ‘practice’ with. Within two minutes, he had dropped it on its head. I guess that is why we didn’t just hand him the real thing. I would, however, love to give him the opportunity to hold Anna. I do not know what is best to help him acclimate himself to this attention-hoarding creature that has invaded his space, but I think I have to give him as many opportunities to see, touch and care for her as I responsibly can. I can tell that he has already found some internal connection to her. I can see the wonder in his eyes when he looks at her (at least until he is distracted by some other shiny object).
And now it hits me. My job as a father has not just doubled, it has tripled. I still have to responsibility of raising Andrew and now Annaliese to be responsible, loving and giving adults, but I also have the added responsibility of teaching Andrew to be a good big brother to his little sister. Together, he and I will have the huge responsibility of guiding and protecting her. I just hope he grows up to be big enough to put a little fear into all the gentleman suitors.
There have been many firsts in the last twenty-four hours. For the first time, I held my baby girl without her being tethered to a machine. For the first time, Mollie laid her in the cradle I built for Andrew two long years ago. And for the first time, I held my little girl against my bare chest. While that may seem like a strange thing to share, it is a small payment against the jealousy this father feels over a mother’s greatest gift to their hungry, infant child.
So our life adapts once more to accommodate a new baby to our home. Some of these changes seem almost second nature, as if they are easy and natural to make a second time around. Others, like the loss of sleeping privileges, I may never quite grow accustomed to.
Andrew is at daycare today. Trying to teach him, shall we say, proper etiquette around a baby will be, at the least, interesting. We got him a baby doll to ‘practice’ with. Within two minutes, he had dropped it on its head. I guess that is why we didn’t just hand him the real thing. I would, however, love to give him the opportunity to hold Anna. I do not know what is best to help him acclimate himself to this attention-hoarding creature that has invaded his space, but I think I have to give him as many opportunities to see, touch and care for her as I responsibly can. I can tell that he has already found some internal connection to her. I can see the wonder in his eyes when he looks at her (at least until he is distracted by some other shiny object).
And now it hits me. My job as a father has not just doubled, it has tripled. I still have to responsibility of raising Andrew and now Annaliese to be responsible, loving and giving adults, but I also have the added responsibility of teaching Andrew to be a good big brother to his little sister. Together, he and I will have the huge responsibility of guiding and protecting her. I just hope he grows up to be big enough to put a little fear into all the gentleman suitors.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Home
If all had gone as planned, today would be one of two days. While that sounds a little weird, it makes sense since (ooh, that sounds neat when read aloud) the plans were to be finalized around this weekend. There were two expected options. Number one, Mollie could have been induced and the baby girl born today. The second possible plan is much more ironic. It was thoroughly possible that Mollie would have been induces on the Friday past, making today four days since the baby would have been born and quite likely the day the baby was sent home. Ironic, you ask? That doesn’t sound ironic!
Not until you look at how things have actually happened. It has been 17 days since Annaliese was born. For more than two weeks, we have had to travel across town numerous times a day just to see her. But as if it could have been fit into the original plans, our baby girl may be coming home today!
We have not had official word yet (something about the doctors taking weekends and holidays off), but Anna seems to have met the requirements they set for her on Friday; eat on her own schedule and gain weight for three days.
So how does a father celebrate the bubbly feelings that he is trying to control inside his belly; bubbly feelings that keep welling up into his chest, forcing their way into his throat and trying to escape his mouth as laughter and his eyes as tears? He takes the day off. I was robbed of my Labor Day day off because, well, I didn’t have to work . . . that’s not really a complaint, it’s just that I don’t work on Mondays (No, no, stop feeling sorry for me.) That blessing stems from the plans that I will be watching Annaliese on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, while Mollie (once she goes back to work part-time) will watch her on Tuesdays and Fridays. Of course, until she goes back to work, we have the added benefit of both being home on M, W & F for a couple of weeks! It’s a good thing I like my wife!
Well, that’s it for new news (hey, that’s the third time this post that I used the same (or a very similar) word together). We are hopeful that we are not overly hopeful of our girl’s homecoming. I have tried hard to temper my excitement, but it was mostly that, trying. In older, staling news, I have not had any takers in my challenge from yesterday. If you happened to miss yesterday post, please keep reading.
p.s. To Annaliese Elizabeth Tinúviel: Please come home today!!!
Not until you look at how things have actually happened. It has been 17 days since Annaliese was born. For more than two weeks, we have had to travel across town numerous times a day just to see her. But as if it could have been fit into the original plans, our baby girl may be coming home today!
We have not had official word yet (something about the doctors taking weekends and holidays off), but Anna seems to have met the requirements they set for her on Friday; eat on her own schedule and gain weight for three days.
So how does a father celebrate the bubbly feelings that he is trying to control inside his belly; bubbly feelings that keep welling up into his chest, forcing their way into his throat and trying to escape his mouth as laughter and his eyes as tears? He takes the day off. I was robbed of my Labor Day day off because, well, I didn’t have to work . . . that’s not really a complaint, it’s just that I don’t work on Mondays (No, no, stop feeling sorry for me.) That blessing stems from the plans that I will be watching Annaliese on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, while Mollie (once she goes back to work part-time) will watch her on Tuesdays and Fridays. Of course, until she goes back to work, we have the added benefit of both being home on M, W & F for a couple of weeks! It’s a good thing I like my wife!
Well, that’s it for new news (hey, that’s the third time this post that I used the same (or a very similar) word together). We are hopeful that we are not overly hopeful of our girl’s homecoming. I have tried hard to temper my excitement, but it was mostly that, trying. In older, staling news, I have not had any takers in my challenge from yesterday. If you happened to miss yesterday post, please keep reading.
p.s. To Annaliese Elizabeth Tinúviel: Please come home today!!!
Monday, September 7, 2009
Five Simple Words
Yesterday, I had intended to begin with one paragraph about family business, then wander off topic once again. It didn’t quite work out that way; my writing never strayed far from the family. Today, I have my redirected topic more in hand, so I fully expect to successfully wander. But first, ‘the girl.’
I made it in to feed Annaliese once yesterday. With her eating on her own schedule and one of us again having to watch Andrew in the lobby, it is not uncommon for me to miss her feedings. The time I did make it, she was so upset! I could hear her tiny lungs screaming all the way down the hall . . . well, actually, half way down the hall, but it’s a long hall! I changed her, took her temperature and finally sat down to sate her voracious appetite. She is such a pig! She ate 30 ml in mere minutes! I expect many of her feedings have been like this, as she has again gained weight and is now 4 pounds, 7.8 ounces. The current rumors have her coming home on Tuesday evening!!!
And now for a successful separation of the first stage . . .
Back in college, a friend, Kate Hartman, was talking about an assignment she had been given. Her and her classmates had given each other five randomly conceived words. The assignment, to write a poem using those words. In my ever expanding quest for true adventure, I requested the list so that I might have a go at this ‘poetry thing.’ While looking for my ‘poem’ on commas (which I am sure was a big hit last week and you have all been reciting it to your friends ever since), I came across my collection of five word poems that ensued this conversation. To my surprise, they are among 20 typed pages of poetry in a document titled ‘Collected Poetry by MH. I guess I hoped the MH was obscure enough to not specifically link it to me!
Given the freedom I have found in this pulpit many call a blog, I feel compelled to share. If my memory serves me well, the first five words I was given by Kate were: Specious, White, Waves, Cultivate and Palimpsest. (Two are linked to their definitions on dictionary.com)
The results of my Shakespearian adventure here do followeth:
My mind,
Specious from afar.
Full of power, built on might.
Cultivating answers for all to hear.
But inside, thunderous confusion.
Palimpsest white waves crashing
On a stormy sea of thought,
Washing words of worth away.
Ever on, new waves form
And leave the old to die
Fading in a sea of wet.
Now that you have all been helped along your journey towards further enlightenment, I offer this opportunity. I am feeling rather randy today (It’s lowercase, Mr. Yelverton. It doesn’t mean you!) and would like to offer you the opportunity to challenge me with five words of your own. Interested? Please leave the words in the comments of this blog. As the comments can be finicky, please copy your words before submitting. Then if it doesn’t work, you can paste and re-submit them! (If for some reason it just won’t work, you can send them by email to peterr211@yahoo.com.) I will do my best to work any submissions into pieces of verbal art (though the art may well resemble a Jackson Pollock) and perhaps share them with the world on some future morning.
I made it in to feed Annaliese once yesterday. With her eating on her own schedule and one of us again having to watch Andrew in the lobby, it is not uncommon for me to miss her feedings. The time I did make it, she was so upset! I could hear her tiny lungs screaming all the way down the hall . . . well, actually, half way down the hall, but it’s a long hall! I changed her, took her temperature and finally sat down to sate her voracious appetite. She is such a pig! She ate 30 ml in mere minutes! I expect many of her feedings have been like this, as she has again gained weight and is now 4 pounds, 7.8 ounces. The current rumors have her coming home on Tuesday evening!!!
And now for a successful separation of the first stage . . .
Back in college, a friend, Kate Hartman, was talking about an assignment she had been given. Her and her classmates had given each other five randomly conceived words. The assignment, to write a poem using those words. In my ever expanding quest for true adventure, I requested the list so that I might have a go at this ‘poetry thing.’ While looking for my ‘poem’ on commas (which I am sure was a big hit last week and you have all been reciting it to your friends ever since), I came across my collection of five word poems that ensued this conversation. To my surprise, they are among 20 typed pages of poetry in a document titled ‘Collected Poetry by MH. I guess I hoped the MH was obscure enough to not specifically link it to me!
Given the freedom I have found in this pulpit many call a blog, I feel compelled to share. If my memory serves me well, the first five words I was given by Kate were: Specious, White, Waves, Cultivate and Palimpsest. (Two are linked to their definitions on dictionary.com)
The results of my Shakespearian adventure here do followeth:
My mind,
Specious from afar.
Full of power, built on might.
Cultivating answers for all to hear.
But inside, thunderous confusion.
Palimpsest white waves crashing
On a stormy sea of thought,
Washing words of worth away.
Ever on, new waves form
And leave the old to die
Fading in a sea of wet.
Now that you have all been helped along your journey towards further enlightenment, I offer this opportunity. I am feeling rather randy today (It’s lowercase, Mr. Yelverton. It doesn’t mean you!) and would like to offer you the opportunity to challenge me with five words of your own. Interested? Please leave the words in the comments of this blog. As the comments can be finicky, please copy your words before submitting. Then if it doesn’t work, you can paste and re-submit them! (If for some reason it just won’t work, you can send them by email to peterr211@yahoo.com.) I will do my best to work any submissions into pieces of verbal art (though the art may well resemble a Jackson Pollock) and perhaps share them with the world on some future morning.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Visions of Futures Past
Let me begin with a little family business. ‘The Girl’ is doing well. On her own schedule, she ate almost the exact amount of food that had been previously forced upon her. She did gain weight, if only a little, and was up 0.2 ounces to 4 pounds, 6.9 ounces. There are two more weigh-ins before the ‘big fight,’ and if she wins, she may be joining us at home.
As the three free individuals of my family sat on Mommy and Daddy’s bed this morning, sharing a delicious breakfast of eggs, sausage links, fresh cut hash browns, toast and pink lemonade, I was struck with the hope, or more accurately, a realization, a longing and a vision, that we would one day sit there as a family whole, sharing in a similar meal. (Well, not a whole family, the dog isn’t allowed on the bed. He jumped up there just once . . . . he never tried that again!!!)
As I sit at my desk imagining this future memory, a few thoughts fleet through my mind. The first thought is that we will be quickly running out of space! Four people will be able to comfortably sit in our bed, but the required plates, cups and wonderful wooden and wicker food trays (a great garage sale find, which only required a little glue to make extremely useful) required to feed the family unit will cause a bit of a scrunch. The second thought that flits through my mind is an image of my children as they are now, or may be only a few days from now. I can see Andrew, just as he was an hour ago, picking pieces of food off his plate with either his fork or his hand, pieces of egg and potato littering the sheets around him. (He didn’t drop a lick of sausage; that was eaten too fast for gravity to vie for it.) I can clearly imagine Mollie holding Annaliese close as she tries to balance both a tiny girl and a laden fork.
The third and final image that teases my imagination is much less clear. It is a hazy vision of years to come, all blurred into one. I first see my children two years from now, Anna has become a little girl and Andrew has fully crossed the line between baby boy and young boy. Even as I try to clear the picture in my mind, parts of it change. The four year old is replaced with an even less distinct 12 year old I have hardly ever dared to imagine. There are no details, just an image, an idea that Andrew will one day be a young man. Annaliese does not change beyond the two year old I have seen. I suspect this is because I have yet to see any glimpse of her future self in her face, as I have seen in Andrew’s. It is a rare event, but Andrew will turn one way, or make a certain face and I can see it; I can see the boy, the adolescent or even the young man he is going to be.
The vision is gone.
Andrew is again the babbling two year old in the next room, doing his best to test his mother’s patience by refusing to wear pants. Annaliese is back in her hospital crib, sleeping or perhaps just waking up hungry, her mouth trying to suck on her blanket if it reaches close to her mouth. And I am left to await the promise of their future.
As the three free individuals of my family sat on Mommy and Daddy’s bed this morning, sharing a delicious breakfast of eggs, sausage links, fresh cut hash browns, toast and pink lemonade, I was struck with the hope, or more accurately, a realization, a longing and a vision, that we would one day sit there as a family whole, sharing in a similar meal. (Well, not a whole family, the dog isn’t allowed on the bed. He jumped up there just once . . . . he never tried that again!!!)
As I sit at my desk imagining this future memory, a few thoughts fleet through my mind. The first thought is that we will be quickly running out of space! Four people will be able to comfortably sit in our bed, but the required plates, cups and wonderful wooden and wicker food trays (a great garage sale find, which only required a little glue to make extremely useful) required to feed the family unit will cause a bit of a scrunch. The second thought that flits through my mind is an image of my children as they are now, or may be only a few days from now. I can see Andrew, just as he was an hour ago, picking pieces of food off his plate with either his fork or his hand, pieces of egg and potato littering the sheets around him. (He didn’t drop a lick of sausage; that was eaten too fast for gravity to vie for it.) I can clearly imagine Mollie holding Annaliese close as she tries to balance both a tiny girl and a laden fork.
The third and final image that teases my imagination is much less clear. It is a hazy vision of years to come, all blurred into one. I first see my children two years from now, Anna has become a little girl and Andrew has fully crossed the line between baby boy and young boy. Even as I try to clear the picture in my mind, parts of it change. The four year old is replaced with an even less distinct 12 year old I have hardly ever dared to imagine. There are no details, just an image, an idea that Andrew will one day be a young man. Annaliese does not change beyond the two year old I have seen. I suspect this is because I have yet to see any glimpse of her future self in her face, as I have seen in Andrew’s. It is a rare event, but Andrew will turn one way, or make a certain face and I can see it; I can see the boy, the adolescent or even the young man he is going to be.
The vision is gone.
Andrew is again the babbling two year old in the next room, doing his best to test his mother’s patience by refusing to wear pants. Annaliese is back in her hospital crib, sleeping or perhaps just waking up hungry, her mouth trying to suck on her blanket if it reaches close to her mouth. And I am left to await the promise of their future.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Misdirected Art
I have never been one who enjoys being a student. I find it very hard to care about information people are sharing with me if it is not something that interests me. If it is something that interests me, I have usually spent my waking hours already learning about it on the internet, so I find the class an unnecessary waste of time.
On Thursday, all Springfield Diocese elementary and middle school teachers had to attend an afternoon ‘retreat.’ They called it a retreat, but it was more of a ‘sit and listen to some lady talk REALLY slowly.’ I very quickly found myself in a familiar position, bored out of my gourd.
The host school had been kind enough to provide us with some cookies (which were bad!) and candy to keep us sugared and awake. I ate a few Tootsie Rolls and twisted the wrappers into long, thin sticks. After a small pile had collected on the table, I realized the similarities between these sticks and Lincoln Logs! So I began to build. Two Mr. Goodbar wrappers later, the roof was on and my house was complete.
If this had been a half hour meeting, I would have ended there. But this was no short tryst; this was a full afternoon, three hour endeavor. I made a smoking chimney and fence out of wrappers, then turned to the actual Tootsie Rolls for my medium. Using them like clay, I created a well, an outhouse, and a pig (which was eating out of a wrapper trough). Wrapper hay bales were soon followed by a Hershey Crunch tractor.
As part of the retreat, they sent us ‘out’ for half an hour. On my walk, I found some small weeds that served well as rows of cut alfalfa, waiting patiently in the field for the tractor. I then added a wrapper windmill, which looked even better than it had in my mind on the walk. Thinking of destroying my creating with a giant exhalation, I realized I needed to some tiny people running for the shelter of a Tootsie Roll cellar. That created, I added the finishing touches . . . the eminent demise of the tiny farm looming in the distance!
As a keepsake from my wasted afternoon, I made a short video of the farm. The quality is poor (as is the reception on the phone that recorded it), but it gives an interesting fly-by view of my artistic marauding. Please enjoy! Link to Wrapper Farm on YouTube
On Thursday, all Springfield Diocese elementary and middle school teachers had to attend an afternoon ‘retreat.’ They called it a retreat, but it was more of a ‘sit and listen to some lady talk REALLY slowly.’ I very quickly found myself in a familiar position, bored out of my gourd.
The host school had been kind enough to provide us with some cookies (which were bad!) and candy to keep us sugared and awake. I ate a few Tootsie Rolls and twisted the wrappers into long, thin sticks. After a small pile had collected on the table, I realized the similarities between these sticks and Lincoln Logs! So I began to build. Two Mr. Goodbar wrappers later, the roof was on and my house was complete.
If this had been a half hour meeting, I would have ended there. But this was no short tryst; this was a full afternoon, three hour endeavor. I made a smoking chimney and fence out of wrappers, then turned to the actual Tootsie Rolls for my medium. Using them like clay, I created a well, an outhouse, and a pig (which was eating out of a wrapper trough). Wrapper hay bales were soon followed by a Hershey Crunch tractor.
As part of the retreat, they sent us ‘out’ for half an hour. On my walk, I found some small weeds that served well as rows of cut alfalfa, waiting patiently in the field for the tractor. I then added a wrapper windmill, which looked even better than it had in my mind on the walk. Thinking of destroying my creating with a giant exhalation, I realized I needed to some tiny people running for the shelter of a Tootsie Roll cellar. That created, I added the finishing touches . . . the eminent demise of the tiny farm looming in the distance!
As a keepsake from my wasted afternoon, I made a short video of the farm. The quality is poor (as is the reception on the phone that recorded it), but it gives an interesting fly-by view of my artistic marauding. Please enjoy! Link to Wrapper Farm on YouTube
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Friday, September 4, 2009
News You Can Use
I sat down at my desk today and read the last thing I had written in my 'journal'/'book in which to write quotes I like.' I was extremely surprised to find the last entry dated September 23, 2007. I went on to read, "I'm going to be a daddy tomorrow." I quickly realized how much had happened in my life since then. I will share with you a piece of what I wrote today. It includes the baby news you all earnestly want to hear.
9/4/09
Dear diary . . . . Yeah, right . . . you really think I write like that???? Not hardly . . .
Here it is for real.
9/4/09
I can't believe it has been almost too (yes, I spelled two wrong . . . I'm correcting it now) years since I put a pen to this book. How strange it is! One page back, I was just one day from becoming a daddy. Now I am (and have been for almost two weeks (got 'two' right that time!)) a daddy twice over!
Life has been thoroughly hectic. I've had the 'same' job for a full year. I was a fill in 'principal' for part of that year. Andrew has turned into an outstanding big boy and Annaliese Elizabeth Tinúviel has joined our family. We got word today that if she eats on her own schedule, with out a feeding tube, and still gains weight, then she can come home in three days! I want to burst for joy, but cannot, for I know she could easily fail in this endeavor, lose weight, and tear our hearts to pieces once more . . .
I end this recounting here, in lieu of boring you with a preview of her freshman high school schedule, her college major and definitive plans for her wedding day (I will point out that I mentioned having attempted to arrange a few marriages for her and am simply waiting for an acceptable offer of goats and cows.)
In non-Mikese, the journal entry translates to this:
Baby got feeding tube out. STOP
Baby can eat on her own schedule. STOP
If she gains weight, she can go home in three days. STOP
I do find myself overjoyed, despite my reservations and fears. Having to travel to see your child is more of a stress than I can likely describe and would rather have her here, keeping me up until the wee hours of the morning. (Ask me in a couple weeks if I've rethought this!) So, optimistically, yet guarding my heart, I continue to pray for my little girl. As with most my prayers, my words are short, usually only a partial thought. (I once took a quiz on prayer languages . . . . I had to make a new style up . . . ADD prayer.) Every time I ask it, the prayer is simply this. "God take care of my little girl."
(By the by, if you are checking my blog for the first time today, this is the second post of the day. Please keep reading . . . if you dare!)
9/4/09
Dear diary . . . . Yeah, right . . . you really think I write like that???? Not hardly . . .
Here it is for real.
9/4/09
I can't believe it has been almost too (yes, I spelled two wrong . . . I'm correcting it now) years since I put a pen to this book. How strange it is! One page back, I was just one day from becoming a daddy. Now I am (and have been for almost two weeks (got 'two' right that time!)) a daddy twice over!
Life has been thoroughly hectic. I've had the 'same' job for a full year. I was a fill in 'principal' for part of that year. Andrew has turned into an outstanding big boy and Annaliese Elizabeth Tinúviel has joined our family. We got word today that if she eats on her own schedule, with out a feeding tube, and still gains weight, then she can come home in three days! I want to burst for joy, but cannot, for I know she could easily fail in this endeavor, lose weight, and tear our hearts to pieces once more . . .
I end this recounting here, in lieu of boring you with a preview of her freshman high school schedule, her college major and definitive plans for her wedding day (I will point out that I mentioned having attempted to arrange a few marriages for her and am simply waiting for an acceptable offer of goats and cows.)
In non-Mikese, the journal entry translates to this:
Baby got feeding tube out. STOP
Baby can eat on her own schedule. STOP
If she gains weight, she can go home in three days. STOP
I do find myself overjoyed, despite my reservations and fears. Having to travel to see your child is more of a stress than I can likely describe and would rather have her here, keeping me up until the wee hours of the morning. (Ask me in a couple weeks if I've rethought this!) So, optimistically, yet guarding my heart, I continue to pray for my little girl. As with most my prayers, my words are short, usually only a partial thought. (I once took a quiz on prayer languages . . . . I had to make a new style up . . . ADD prayer.) Every time I ask it, the prayer is simply this. "God take care of my little girl."
(By the by, if you are checking my blog for the first time today, this is the second post of the day. Please keep reading . . . if you dare!)
Beggars Can't Be Choosers
Ears, don't fail me now.
That was the general sentiment in my study as I switched out monitors on my computer. I had heard a faint and unusual buzz as I turned the old monitor off and thus suspected the monitor had deserted me, not the computer. As I turned the new monitor, I was greeted by a familiar clicking sound, one my ears had also noticed as absent from the other. I hopefully pressed the power button on the CPU, held my breath, and stared at the orange light on the monitor . . . would it turn green? Was this simply a monitor issue? How would my new monitor display my pictures? How long will it take to adjust to this tiny, 14 inch monitor as compared to my monstrously large 18 inch? All these questions rushed through my mind in anticipation of that tiny light changing color . . .
Now I am sitting at my desk, basking in a faint green glow, thankful to be able to bore you this morning with yet another random thought. I checked the pictures and the colors seem okay. The size thing will be tough to adjust to, but when a household computer supply depends on the charity of others, one must be grateful to have any monitor at all.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled randominity . . .
Andrew was just given the choice to stay home or go to daycare. Mollie had to ask a few different ways, but he finally decided to stay with Mommy instead of going to see Lu Lu.
I am almost late for my morning visit to the hospital to feed the lioness, so I must quickly draw this to a conclusion . . . . but how?
I guess I will leave you with a quote from one of my favorite people in the entire world. This man was recently released from the hospital after a bit of a scare. I expect that his family learned just how many people they have affected for the best. (Yes, the best. There is very little this family has done that is ‘for the better,’ they are nothing but the best!) They were receiving so many phone calls, a reported hundreds a day, that a friend volunteered to take their cell phone and play secretary.
I know that both Mollie and I owe much of our love for humanity to this family and I often wish we could be back in St. Louis, working alongside them. I believe Gerry once summed up all that is good in him with this:
“Because we have hope, we can share hope.”
- Gerry Chappeau
That was the general sentiment in my study as I switched out monitors on my computer. I had heard a faint and unusual buzz as I turned the old monitor off and thus suspected the monitor had deserted me, not the computer. As I turned the new monitor, I was greeted by a familiar clicking sound, one my ears had also noticed as absent from the other. I hopefully pressed the power button on the CPU, held my breath, and stared at the orange light on the monitor . . . would it turn green? Was this simply a monitor issue? How would my new monitor display my pictures? How long will it take to adjust to this tiny, 14 inch monitor as compared to my monstrously large 18 inch? All these questions rushed through my mind in anticipation of that tiny light changing color . . .
Now I am sitting at my desk, basking in a faint green glow, thankful to be able to bore you this morning with yet another random thought. I checked the pictures and the colors seem okay. The size thing will be tough to adjust to, but when a household computer supply depends on the charity of others, one must be grateful to have any monitor at all.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled randominity . . .
Andrew was just given the choice to stay home or go to daycare. Mollie had to ask a few different ways, but he finally decided to stay with Mommy instead of going to see Lu Lu.
I am almost late for my morning visit to the hospital to feed the lioness, so I must quickly draw this to a conclusion . . . . but how?
I guess I will leave you with a quote from one of my favorite people in the entire world. This man was recently released from the hospital after a bit of a scare. I expect that his family learned just how many people they have affected for the best. (Yes, the best. There is very little this family has done that is ‘for the better,’ they are nothing but the best!) They were receiving so many phone calls, a reported hundreds a day, that a friend volunteered to take their cell phone and play secretary.
I know that both Mollie and I owe much of our love for humanity to this family and I often wish we could be back in St. Louis, working alongside them. I believe Gerry once summed up all that is good in him with this:
“Because we have hope, we can share hope.”
- Gerry Chappeau
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Stupid Computers!
Until last year, I had lived a fairly secluded and protected life, away from the troubles that haunt most computer owners. While I had fretted over computers that booted slow (one of my old ones took about 10 minutes) or occasionally flashed their gang affiliation (the blue screen of death), I had never witnessed a catastrophic failure.
One year later, I find myself well versed in computer misfortunes. It all began when I became the computer teacher at St. Patrick Catholic School. My troubles began on my first day with a computer that, no matter what I tried, would not produce sound. That was my only major problem until late in the school year. One day, a student's computer would not turn on. They pushed the button a few times, then I gave it a go . . . pbbbtt . . . .it popped, sparked and started smoking. Now, I often tell people that I really don't know enough about computers to troubleshoot all the problems our school has, but I do know one thing for sure; computers should not smoke!!! (It's bad for their lungs?) A few weeks later, I was typing on another computer when it suddenly popped and stopped. There was no fancy light show, no smoke and mirrors like the other, it just quit.
I have always done my best not to bring my work home and my computer troubles were, for the longest time, kind enough to oblige . . . until yesterday. I went into my study to Google a phone number and found my computer would not awake from sleep mode. I hit all the buttons that usually prod it back to life, then raked my hand across the keyboard, just incase some other button was volunteering to help. None were. I turned the computer and the monitor off and on in different combinations, but nothing helped . . . I was lost and computerless!
It is my hope that only the monitor has abandoned me, but I have not yet had time to experiment with another. I hope to find the time today, but with our frequent trips to the hospital, it may have to wait until Friday.
What does this mean to you, Mr. Averagereaderguy or Ms. Aboveaveragereadergal? It means you will have to survive without your daily fix of MikArt! That's right, all my photographs are on that computer. (Fear not, they are actually on an external hard drive and most of them are backed up to CD.) But I feel so awful not being able to provide you with the one reason you chose to wake up this morning! So I will do my best. Below is a substitute work I created just for you. I hope you enjoy it!
It is titled - Self Portrait: Lying on My Side
:-)-K
One year later, I find myself well versed in computer misfortunes. It all began when I became the computer teacher at St. Patrick Catholic School. My troubles began on my first day with a computer that, no matter what I tried, would not produce sound. That was my only major problem until late in the school year. One day, a student's computer would not turn on. They pushed the button a few times, then I gave it a go . . . pbbbtt . . . .it popped, sparked and started smoking. Now, I often tell people that I really don't know enough about computers to troubleshoot all the problems our school has, but I do know one thing for sure; computers should not smoke!!! (It's bad for their lungs?) A few weeks later, I was typing on another computer when it suddenly popped and stopped. There was no fancy light show, no smoke and mirrors like the other, it just quit.
I have always done my best not to bring my work home and my computer troubles were, for the longest time, kind enough to oblige . . . until yesterday. I went into my study to Google a phone number and found my computer would not awake from sleep mode. I hit all the buttons that usually prod it back to life, then raked my hand across the keyboard, just incase some other button was volunteering to help. None were. I turned the computer and the monitor off and on in different combinations, but nothing helped . . . I was lost and computerless!
It is my hope that only the monitor has abandoned me, but I have not yet had time to experiment with another. I hope to find the time today, but with our frequent trips to the hospital, it may have to wait until Friday.
What does this mean to you, Mr. Averagereaderguy or Ms. Aboveaveragereadergal? It means you will have to survive without your daily fix of MikArt! That's right, all my photographs are on that computer. (Fear not, they are actually on an external hard drive and most of them are backed up to CD.) But I feel so awful not being able to provide you with the one reason you chose to wake up this morning! So I will do my best. Below is a substitute work I created just for you. I hope you enjoy it!
It is titled - Self Portrait: Lying on My Side
:-)-K
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Our Little Boy is All Grown Up
Andrew is no longer a baby boy. He is entirely and undoubtedly a little boy. While the change has been subtle and slow, it has become truly apparent very quickly. (As if to reaffirm my thoughts, Mollie just walked in and said, “You’re turning into such a big boy, Andrew.”)
When Andrew began talking, we kept a list of all the words he said. By December 15th of 2008, he had mastered the use of uh-oh, bye-bye, mom, daddy and ball. We semi-religiously kept our historical tome for the next five months. Over that time, we recorded forty five new words, signs and animal noises. After that, there was such an explosion of new words, it was too difficult to keep up. But at that time, they were just words used in solitary expressions. In the last month-plus, he has become a dictionary of words with an encyclopedic zeal for using them together (words of an exaggerating daddy? I think so!). While still piecewise in their construction, I can have an entire conversation with Andrew on any number of different topics; colors, animals, Steve Martin and John Candy (wait, I meant to say planes, trains and automobiles).
Andrew had another first yesterday. He sang a song. Like his conversations, the song was choppy, lacking some of the cohesion one would expect in musical verse. However, the essentials were there; the melody and (some of) the words. It went something like this:
Twinkle star
How I wonr star
Up aov star
Like a diamond sky
Twinkle star
We quickly learned that the general concept of the song is not fully engrained in his mind, as he once sang:
Twinkle dog
How I wonr dog
Up aov dog
Like a diamond dog
All of this progression continues to remind me how lucky we are to be witnessing his growth and development. I had been told how much fun a child of this age is, but I was unable to see beyond how fun my infant boy was. But ‘they’ were right. This is fun!
The best part? It is only beginning. He still has so much to learn, so many different ways to grow. And as he continues on his journey, another child is just taking her first steps towards an amazing life; and I get to watch!
When Andrew began talking, we kept a list of all the words he said. By December 15th of 2008, he had mastered the use of uh-oh, bye-bye, mom, daddy and ball. We semi-religiously kept our historical tome for the next five months. Over that time, we recorded forty five new words, signs and animal noises. After that, there was such an explosion of new words, it was too difficult to keep up. But at that time, they were just words used in solitary expressions. In the last month-plus, he has become a dictionary of words with an encyclopedic zeal for using them together (words of an exaggerating daddy? I think so!). While still piecewise in their construction, I can have an entire conversation with Andrew on any number of different topics; colors, animals, Steve Martin and John Candy (wait, I meant to say planes, trains and automobiles).
Andrew had another first yesterday. He sang a song. Like his conversations, the song was choppy, lacking some of the cohesion one would expect in musical verse. However, the essentials were there; the melody and (some of) the words. It went something like this:
Twinkle star
How I wonr star
Up aov star
Like a diamond sky
Twinkle star
We quickly learned that the general concept of the song is not fully engrained in his mind, as he once sang:
Twinkle dog
How I wonr dog
Up aov dog
Like a diamond dog
All of this progression continues to remind me how lucky we are to be witnessing his growth and development. I had been told how much fun a child of this age is, but I was unable to see beyond how fun my infant boy was. But ‘they’ were right. This is fun!
The best part? It is only beginning. He still has so much to learn, so many different ways to grow. And as he continues on his journey, another child is just taking her first steps towards an amazing life; and I get to watch!
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