Snapshots

The old gang got back together this weekend for a cook out at the Gigi’s. There was a massive bonfire thanks to Vermont Steve and Lucy grilled halloweiners. With so much going on I forgot to bring my camera. I did however manage to take a few pictures. Hope you enjoy.

This one is black and white. I was standing in front of the card tables filled with buns, mustard, ketchup, three kinds of chips etc…Off to the right four of the moms are standing around laughing at a some odd joke about the latest moronic thing a random husband had done. It’s pitch black outside and the woods are as dark as a coalmine. To the left, not up close, but about twenty feet away there’s a guy wearing a corduroy jacket, jeans, and sneakers. You can tell from the way his hair has that messy yet stylish look and by that jagged beard covering his face that he’s a musician or an artist of some sort. He’s kneeled down in front of tree next to a little girl. She not just any little girl, she’s the kind of girl you see in commercials for fabric softener or in flashbacks where the grown up Gwyneth Paltrow type imagines herself as a child. She too has a coat on, but the sleeves are too long and her tiny fingers barely stick out of the edges. Her hair is pulled back and her face is lit up like the sun. At first you think the source of the light is coming from the tiki torch next to her, but then you look closer. There close to the ground, just barely sticking its’ head out from behind the man’s knee…is a tiny white kitten. Then you understand the light is coming from her smile and has nothing to do with anything as artificial as some oversized matchstick.

This one kinda caught me off guard. I was mingling about, being a good host and sorta bumped into it. I used black and white again; color seems to take something away from the imagination. The first thing that catches your eye is the fire. Shaped like a teepee straight out of the old west, you can almost feel the heat coming off it. The structure practically takes up the whole image. Logs, sticks, smoke billowing off the top. For some reason there is Christmas tree mixed in and for a second you wonder how that got there. In the background you see what you can barely make out to be a pond and more trees surrounded by darkness. Above are glowing embers from the blaze floating towards the heavens as if they are stars being born and beginning their journey into outer space. Then just off to the side you see what separates this from just another picture of a bonfire. A little boy standing behind what has to be his daddy. His hair is shaggy and at the moment his eyes are huge. One arm is extended out resting on the back of his father. The resemblance is to close; same eyes, same shaggy hair. The little boy is amazed. Dad is squatted down dangerously close to the fire in what appears to be some type of pose. One hand is gripping his jacket and he is using it to shield his eyes from what has to be the heat, the other hand extending towards the flames like Superman about to leave the earth behind. You wonder what he is doing thrusting his hand into the bonfire. That’s when you squint and see the stick…and at the end of the stick you glimpse the hot dog covered in flame and smoke. The son watching over the shoulder of his hero as he performs what has to be just the latest in a series of heroic deeds.

This one is my favorite. The bonfire is there at the top edge casting a wide glow on what you can barely make out to be people on the opposite side smiling and enjoying themselves. The image is a close up and not much else can be seen. It’s a boy laid sideways just inches from the camera lens. The eyes of the baby tell the whole story; half open, half closed, a passey in his mouth. A few seconds later you know he will be fast asleep. Wearing a jacket with a hood positioned just so, the fire is casting a soft glow and thick shadows all around him. His hand…four tiny fingers and a thump barely raised as he gently rubs his daddy’s face before dreaming of what lies among the stars above. This one took my breath away and I hung it on a wall close to my heart.

Baby Butt-Kicking

I read several (and I mean several) books geared towards teaching petrified young men to be confident, capable daddies. I learned about changing diapers, how to hold the baby, how to exercise the baby, how to make the baby cry so you can cut in line while your in the returns line at Wal-mart. All very important things. What they never mentioned was how as the baby grows and begins to learn to use his arms/legs more effectively he is going to start beating you senseless.

For example: I know I read at least a dozen times about how soft the baby’s head is and how you gotta be careful with the soft spot. All I heard was “Watch the soft spot” “Be careful with the soft spot” “The doctor is checking his soft spot”. Soft spot my butt!! Everyday. Everyday!!! Fred rams that little noggin right into my nose, mouth, eye and he never feels a thing. I’m searching for the tooth he just knocked out and he’s already reaching for Barney. Lucy got hit in the same place 3 times in a row the other night. He’s all “Oh mommy I love you soooo much. Thank you for picking me up and tickling my tummy. WHAM!!! WHAM!!! WHAM!! HAVE A SLICE OF FOREHEAD SISTER!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

And those finger nails. It’s like my wife gave birth to Wolverine or something. We had to throw out the playpen because he sliced his way through the side like it was butter. Do you know how embarrassing it is walking around with an eye patching looking like you decided to wear your Pirates of the Caribbean costume the whole week of Halloween because your baby cut you from cheek to hairline? We have to clip them in his sleep for fear that he’ll go all Tasmanian Devil if we tried it while he was awake and looking us in the eyes… or in my case eye.

We finally manage to dodge the head butts and Freddy Krueger fingers, just in time to get kicked in the crotch with both feet at the same time. The two of us lying on the couch together watching the ball game. Dad and son enjoying a moment of bonding. Suddenly the little guy flips back into a handstand, curls up, and stomps my winker out my butt-hole. Again, I’m trying to find my marbles that I swore shot out and rolled under the couch; Fred’s done grabbed the remote and turned it into a popsicle. Nobody wants to change the channels with a slimy, sticky, drool covered remote. The whole point of being on the couch is to avoid being up and doing things that will cause you to have to wash your hands.

What is up with hand washing?!? Lucy’s all “Wash your hands”, “Did you wash your hands?” “Can you take this out, put this up, and grab the baby? Oh and wash your hands”
I was coming out of the bathroom at church and this smarty artie seven-year-old screams “Ummmmmmm you didn’t wash your hannnnnnndddssssss.” I said I was about to and the brat said, “Use soap!” Normally I don’t like to be bossed around, but with the eye patching making it hard to see and my bruised manhood making it hard to stand, I figured he might go an tell my baby to finish the job.

Wishing In One Hand

Thanks to all our friends that sent their sympathies after reading the last post. I know it may not always show by the comments, but I have a lot of readers and I appreciate everyone of you. Life can be a very cruel thing sometimes. Take this past week for instance. We had just started seeing through The Fog, laughing again, and getting back to our old selves. We had like one day of “ok so I feel pretty good” and then WHAMO!!! The next thing we know our heads are in a toilet and we were thankful we got them there. Here is how life decided to torture us next.

I haven’t vomited in 9 years. Where exactly did my body decide to break this streak? At home maybe, where I am at my most comfortable? Nope, I had to chunk it at work where the roars of my displeasure rang out like a steel triangle across the open range at suppertime. I can imagine my coworkers popping their little heads up over the cube walls searching for the source of the nastiness. Like prairie dogs searching for the source of the unique sound.

Lucy was sitting in a business meeting surrounded by bosses and bosses bosses and bosses bosses bosses, when suddenly she bolted for the door and managed to find a garbage can down the hall somewhere. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had to stop three times on her way home to do it again…in the rain…on the side of the road.

So like I said we were happy to finally have our heads in our home toilets.

This lasted for 4 days. After the first day we quit getting sick every few minutes, but lets just say things then took a turn in a different direction.

It was during all of this that many prayers were said and wishes were wished for.

We wished Fred didn’t have to go live with GiGi for 2 days. She loved it and I think he had ice cream for dinner a couple of times. What a big help she was!
I wished my body would quit aching like I was on the rack during a “more authentic than usual Renaissance Fair exhibit”
Lucy wished she hadn’t had soup for lunch.
I wished we could actually enjoy the empty house so we could do what married people do best…me watch football in one room and her a Lifetime movie in the other.
I wished my stomach would quit begging for food just so is could have something to make me get sick again with. I only ate 1 chicken nugget all day Friday.

On the fourth day most of the drama was over, Fred was back at home, though we were sore and still not too keen on the idea of ever eating again; Lucy and I were feeling better.
Fred made that grunt and put on his serious face that means there’s trouble in his basement. Since Lucy was still nauseas, I took the task of changing his diaper.

One thing you should know is that as a man and a father, the word help is practically one of the seven words you can’t say on TV. You won’t hear it much and when you do you’re shocked and amazed. In this case though I think I had a valid reason to “break the glass” and scream for reinforcements.

It wasn’t the fact that it was such a vile, radioactive diaper; I can handle those any day. Just pull your shirt over your nose and jump in. What sent me screaming for my wife like a man on fire searching for a puddle was that as the diaper came off and Fred lay there in all his poop…he grabbed a big handful of it!!!! This alone is enough to sound the sirens, but it got worse…you know where things go once they get in the hands of a baby don’t ya? Straight to the mouth.

That’s when I started the help me sirens. HELLLLLPPPPP MEEEEEE!!!! Help Help
Help Help Help Help Help Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I guess it’s true, when you wish in one hand and poop in the other you should always know which one will be filled up faster.

The Fog

I haven’t and may not write about the great loss that Lucy and I had to endure last week. I will say that Fred is perfectly healthy and all is well with my friends and family. However, something tragic did occur. Last Tuesday. That will affect the three of us for sometime.

I think we just got caught off guard. Too used to things going our way and forgetting that in each life there are days when you wonder how you will ever make it to the next. Like a fog the pain begins to form around you slowly until all you see and feel is emptiness. You scream into the gray clouds for anyone…someone to make things better or take you back to a time when another choice could have been made…

As far as how we reacted, I can only speak for myself. I stopped talking. It seemed silly and embarrassing to be grieving so much over what others might consider simply another day in the life of. I took a day off work and just lay on the couch covered with my grief. Snuggling up to it and peering out around the edges whenever the phone rang. When I did speak to someone other than Lucy, the words were dull and seemed to trail off at the end. I would open my mouth and the fog would quickly choke me until I once again fell silent. For a week I have gotten up, gone to work, come home…I have continued on with all the day to day routines that make up my life…except I have done them in silence. Moments with Lucy and Fred being the only times when any reaction or sound could be heard from me.

We decided to stick with plans made months before and went out of town last Saturday. Nothing special just a short drive through the country to a crafts festival/ yard sale we have been going to every year as far back as I can remember. It was there that we began to see breaks of sunlight and feel the numbness slowly going away. Then just as the day was about to be over, a chance encounter…a one in a million coincidence blinded us to all that we had fought so hard to get past. The fog returned.

By chance I woke last night and just happened to peer out the window. Maybe I was being a bulldog, ensuring that my home and those in it were safe from the evil that surely lay in the shadows of the pine trees or lurked in the cars driving by. Whatever the reason; all I saw was fog. It was as if the pain and loss had become too much for Lucy and I to bear and that it simply burst through the very walls of the house covering the whole world in white. It was there when I woke up this morning…the fog. It lasted all day today. Through my drive to Fred’s daycare, on my way to work, coming back tonight as I write this.
Except for some reason, today for the first time I began to speak again. As if the fog had really come from inside me and by seeing it all around I was able to begin the process of filling the empty space inside with something other than pain and sadness. I still hurt, still fight the tears during some parts of the day…but not all day.

Costume Calamities

I know Halloween is a few weeks off, but I’m trying to figure out what I’m going as this year. My office usually dresses up and it’s a great excuse to break the monotony of cubicle life. The last couple of years my choice of attire has been a little too subtle though.

2004:
I was really big into Smallville so I thought it would be soooo cool to come as Clark Kent/Superman. I have the blue Superman T-shirt that came with my comic book geek membership, so my costume was basically me wearing a flannel shirt over that. I left a few buttons undone around the collar so people would be able to see the top of the red “S” that Superman has on his chest. I remember thinking “Easy Costume. Creative. This will be kinda neat.”
Maybe I didn’t leave enough buttons undone at the top of the shirt. Maybe I should have put more jell in my hair and perfected that signature curl in the middle of my forehead. I thought that ripping off my glasses and suddenly standing straighter with my chest puffed out would be a clear sign of who I was. Regardless of why, nobody caught the fact that I was wearing a costume. By midday I decided that I should stay true to my superhero roots and not revel my secret identity.

2005:
I know I don’t talk about it much, cause honestly my job is far from anything glamorous or even mildly interesting. I basically work in a cube farm with 50 other rats all trapped in the same maze looking for bits of cheese or in my case donuts.
After my secret costume from the year before, I was determined to be less creative and more obvious. I was reading Dilbert everyday and the similarities were just too much to pass up. I decided Dilbert would be a nice fit for Halloween ‘05’.
It was barely even a costume. Blue kakis, white button up, red/black striped tie, and my glasses. I used a safety pin to make it look like my tie was curled up and even changed my name on the ID badge I’m required wear to Dilbert. Again nothing. NOT ONE PERSON NOTICED MY TIE STICKING IN THE AIR ALL DAY!!!! Another year, another costume wasted on the zombies around my office.

What these last two Halloweens have taught me is that dressing as a nerd is just not enough of a stretch for me. We all know the jokes where people say, “Hey you forgot to take your costume off from last year” or “Halloween was two months ago. Why are you still wearing that mask?” Well apparently I this is literally true in my case.

I was thinking maybe this year I’ll be Peter Parker. I could wear jeans, a red T-shirt with a flannel shirt over it, opened up just a bit at the collar so you can barely see the red, and I could have a camera around my neck all day… naaaahhhh people would get that in a heartbeat. I don’t want to be too obvious.

I-O-WA, I-O-WA. It’s Off to Work I-Go-Wa

My brother is moving to Iowa for 3 months. After slaving away as a salesman for the yellow pages in Nashville, he accepted a job selling lights to ballparks through out Tennessee. In order to be properly trained, they are moving him to Iowa just until he gets a lay of the land.

I know jack-squat about Iowa. At first I thought it was where those giant potatoes from the grocery store came from, then I realized that’s Idaho. I think the most fascinating thing about Iowa is that there is nothing fascinating about it at all. It is the forgotten state. The one people always forget when they attempt to name all 50. When you think of New York, you think Times Square. Alaska = Icebergs. Hawaii = 5-0. Vermont = Syrup. Wisconsin = Cheese. Iowa =…. nothing.

He’s trying to make it seem like it’s no big deal, cause he’ll be back in 3 months. To this I say empires have crumbled, marriages have started and stopped, and WWE championships were won and lost in less time.

It took 5 minutes to find out I was going to be a dad.
4 Days to bring Fred home for the first time.
3 months to get the hang of being a good dad.
2 seconds to say I do.
And one night to know I had met the love of my life.

In the past 3 months my mom was married, Fred went to the beach, we changed churches, and my brother left for the nothing state. None of these things could have been predicted in August.

In 3 months he might meet a new love, marry an old one, win the lottery, move back in with my mom, buy a dog, join the army, or decide Iowa is that place he was meant to spend his life. Either way I hope he knows that until the day he comes back home for good…Iowa = My Brother.

Be careful out there Broccoli.

Grand Theft Blockhead

I was having a pretty good morning. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. The bees were buzzing. The garbage trucks were garbage truck’n.

Dropped off Fred at the daycare. I’m the dropper offer. Lucy is the picker up. Ironically I’m usually running late so I’m the quicker dropper offer instead of her being the quicker picker upper. Anyway, I pass him off to Mrs. Jackie. Gave a high five to some random kid doing his dancing thang as he led his mommy to class. Life was good. I was the man. The man with the plan so watch out Jack cause I’m a doing my thang!!

I’m be-bop’n along, jump in my car, about to cruise into work…and I remembered that Fred doesn’t own a front facing blue car seat.

Now you may ask why this is important. Well you see, in the backseat of the car was a front facing blue car seat. Not the back facing brown car seat that is normally there.

Did Fred get a new car seat and I just wasn’t told? No
Did I just imagine that there was a front facing blue car seat behind me? No
Maybe I woke up in a different persons body and they owned a front facing blue car seat? No

I be-bop’d into the wrong car, closed the door, and was just about to try and crank the darn thing. In my defense it was the same kind of car as mine…just a different year and color and a couple of spaces closer than mine…with a spoiler and sun roof and shiny new rims.

6 Month Update Part Deux

One thing I really love about the site is the ability to plaster pictures of my favorite person all over it. This is what he looked like 6 months ago.

This is what he looks like now. War Eagle Baby!!!!!

What feeding time used to look like...

What feeding time looks like now.

At first things got off to a rocky start...

But thanks to God and our wonderful friends...

Life has turned into one great big carnival ride!!!!

All this blogging has got us beat. So good night for now and don't let the bed sharks bite ya!!

6-Month Update

I am the worst about doing these updates. Fred actually turned 6 months on Sept 20th, but we have been absolutely swamped lately. I’ve barely had time to post anything. I can literally see my life passing in front of my eyes. It’s really a constant struggle balancing the fun things and the not so fun things that go on each day. Yes the yard needs mowed, but then I miss the baby playing in the floor with blocks. Sure he is cute taking a bath every night, but the kitchen is a wreck. I just wake up each morning like a kid at Christmas, searching for the next gift under the tree.

Playtime: This has just happened within the past few days. He is playing by himself on a pallet in the floor. At first we were sitting behind him letting him dive into a mountain of toys, but as of this weekend it’s clear he wants to be down there by himself. He spent 3 hours at Sandy the Squirrels place drooling over such delectables as blocks, baby cell phones, and plastic balls. During church he is starting to try and squirm his way into the floor. This does make life a little easier since he doesn’t require being held all day, but it sure is breaking his momma’s heart seeing little man grow up.

1st Foods: We started out slow with the basics applesauce, pears, and a little white grape juice. Then we moved on to prunes (his fav), carrots, bananas (hates them), now the doc has cleared him to eat mushy table food. He doesn’t have teeth yet, so we cream everything up. In the past week he has licked all the flavor off a Bugle, turned a vanilla wafer into a soggy piece of bread, devoured some mashed potatoes, got slipped a piece of fried catfish, and the GiGi gave him a spoonful of ice cream (bad GiGi) which he begged to have more of and was denied…after another bite.

Girl Crazy: He is still addicted to Barney. Not just any Barney, but Barney Rocks. 20 minutes into it there is this 4 year old that sings to her Teddy Bear and you should see the boy turn red while grinning from ear to ear. When she exits stage right she also takes his attention with her and we have to rewind. I have no idea what Barney does during the last 30 minutes of the tape.
He has also caught the eye of a few teachers at the daycare. There’s Mrs. Jackie, though it’s more of a grandma thing, he has her wrapped around his tiny fingers. She even calls in to check on him if she has to be out sick and calls us when he is out sick. In the afternoons Lucy has to pry his fingers away from Mrs. Mandy the college girl that takes pictures of him on her phone and shows everyone “The cutest baby in the world”. I never had his luck with women…I only caught Lucy cause I asked her out after she had just come from the optometrist and everything was still blurry.

Babble: He started, then he got sick and stopped, now he’s better and back with a vengeance. All day he tries his best to say something. So far he may have said: bottle, baby wipe, hey, and nope…we are not going to declare the first word until it is something cute or momma/daddy.

Bath time: He loves bath-time!! I think he smears the food all over himself just to ensure a trip to the tub and not a washcloth wipe down. We have to drain the water out just to convince him it’s time to move on to something else. You should see him in there with frog, turtle, crab, killer whale, and the yellow submarine. Though he loves all those toys, his favorite of course is the free mini hotel shampoo bottle.

Formal Playroom: There is a pretty large formal room in the front of the house with a big picture window that looks out across the neighborhood. It was filled with antique furniture, knick-knacks, an old timey sowing machine; you know formal living room stuff. We never went in there. Neeeeeevvvvvveeeeeeer. So we put all the fancy furniture in storage and turned it into a giant playroom. Complete with E.T./Cinderella/King-Kong movie posters, my prized Charlie Brown and Snoopy collection, and every toy in the house. Little man can watch Barney till Baby Bop grows up and we adults can relax on the couch. Who knows, I may even attempt to read a book again.

Zerberts: Since he was born Fred has been getting at least 6 zerberts a day. We just can’t resist those cubby cheeks and his little belly that pooches out. Well now he’s going everywhere slobbering on any and everybody attempting to issue a sloppy payback. Sometimes he’s successful and a slight THHHHHPPPPPPPP noise is made. Other times your just left feeling like you just got slimed.

So that’s about it for now. Everyday is another thing he learns and another Adventure for me Charlie Blockhead. Stay tuned. It’s just the beginning.

Thorn in My Paw

We recently put the cats outside cause they kept having territorial issues with the baby. I once swore that I would never do this to my pets, but they went on a three-week crime spree and we just couldn’t take it anymore. The final days were filled with hairballs on the kitchen counter, sofa, and vases being knocked off the mantel.

Anyway they love it outside. They still have all their claws and were always running outside every time the door opened anyway. Occasionally they will try running back inside, always at the most inopportune time. We used to be late to Church cause we spent fifteen minutes trying to get them back in, now it’s cause we’re trying to get them back out.

So there seems to be rash of coyote sightings recently a few miles from the house. It has almost made us want to bring them back in…almost but not quite. The house is cleaner, the baby can play in the floor without fear of being jumped on, no more walking funny due to a cat always being under your feet.

Buttons got a thorn in his paw last week and the vet suggested bringing him back in for a few days. I love Buttons and Sassy dearly, but I don’t see how we will ever have an inside pet again.

Lucy was coming back from lunch today and got the scare of her life. As she reached into the backseat to grab her purse, something big and gray moved in the cargo area of the station wagon. She screamed, shrank down in the front seat, and did her best not to wet herself. As she sat there silently wondering what to do with what she just knew had to be a wild coyote (maybe a baby one), she realized she had no choice but to see what was roaming the in far reaches of the wagon. She peered around the edge of the cushion, one hand on the door handle ready to lunge into the parking lot if need be, and there the vicious animal sat.

“Meow. Meow.”

Apparently Buttons had jumped through an open window and fallen asleep in the car. To add insult to injury, she had to call and explain to her boss that although she was sitting in the parking lot, she was going to be late so she could take her kitty back home.

Meals on Wheels

Lately we have been eating in the car a lot. It seems that at least once a week Fred falls asleep in the car seat on the way home from somewhere. I’m thinking about adding a fold out picnic table to the back of the station wagon.

Babies hate it when people eat at the same time. Mommy can eat and Daddy can eat, but Mommy and Daddy can’t eat together.
Whenever we plan a meal we always wind up in this fierce negotiation involving what everyone’s role will be.

“If I cook it, will you watch the baby?”
“If I watch the baby do I get to eat first?”
“Ok I’ll cook and you can eat first, but you have to clean up the kitchen.”
“I’ll see your eat first and clean the kitchen and raise you a feed the baby”
“Fine, I’ll cook, you eat first, you clean the kitchen, I’ll feed the baby, then you give him a bath?”
“Bet and then you put him to sleep”

Sometimes he fools us. He will sleep right up until one of us puts the fork in our mouths and then he’s up and ready to play. We are thinking about switching to all plastic eating utensils. It’s like we are eating with tuning forks or something.

If we both do the cooking, then we fall back to who wants to watch what on TV.
“I gotta see Studio 60 tonight, so anything before 8 is mine and after that it’s all you.”

If nothing comes on the tube, it’s all about who had the worst day.
“I should eat first cause I got yelled at by a customer today.”
“So did I. Mine used several words I cannot say if front of Fred”
“Mine too, but I hung up on him”
“Ha I win!!! Mine was in person!!!”

It’s so much easier to just sit in the car instead of waking him up and forfeiting the golden silence. Last weekend he conked out and we drove down to a park along the river. Nothing says romance like chicken nuggets, waffle fries, and the smell of dead fish coming off the riverbank. We almost shared a kiss, but forgot that the sound of a mommy hand holding a daddy hand also makes a noise that only sleeping babies can hear.

A Toast to the Future; A Glance Towards the Past

I don’t know what loneliness is. I mean I know what it is, but I don’t know what it feels like anymore. I am a parent, a husband, a friend, an employee, a coworker, and a member of a local church, part of a blogging community none of these roles leave much time for being by myself. I mention over there à in my “about me” section that I have played several different parts in this lifetime. Nobody stays in the same place forever. You grow up, leave home, get out of college, get married, move a couple of times, have a kid, change jobs…you shake off old clothes and try on new suits every so often.

You leave people behind.

It’s not intentional. You go to work everyday, make great friends, change jobs, and you don’t see the same people anymore. Situations change and people move in different directions.

I left home sometime during the year I turned 19. Nothing major brought this on. It was just time. I was in college, member of a fraternity, there was an open room, yada yada yada, I moved out. I left my mom, brother, and stepfather alone to fight the constant war. I’m not letting some major secret out the bag here. Life at home could be a major hell sometimes. I loved my stepfather, but that love came from distance and the end of being apart of the daily arguments over the insignificants.

“WHO KEEPS GETTING A NEW GLASS EVERYTIME THEY COME IN TO GET A DRINK!?!”

“WHEN YOU SEE ME CUTTING THE GRASSYOU JUMP UP AND GET OUT HERE WITH ME”

“WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS HERE UNDER MY NOSE?”

“THERE YOU GO WEARING THE WHEELS OFF THE CAR AGAIN. WHY CAN’T YOU EVER STAY HOME?”

I still loved my family, they just got misplaced somewhere between class, girls, and skipping class with girls. I never stopped to realize that just because I had left didn’t mean they weren’t still fighting battles. I remember an episode of Growing Pains where Mike is watching Gilligans Island and he suddenly flips off the TV, waits ten seconds, and flips it back on. He is shocked to find out that although the Gilligan is still there, the story progressed regardless of whether he was watching it or not.

The lives of my brother and mother continued long after I left that house. Eventually they moved on as well. My stepfather passed away, my brother moved on and eventually left town, and my mom…my mom was living by herself in a one-bedroom apartment for the first time ever.

I think single life was a shock to her system at first. Something she had always thought of but never experienced. It must have been like waking up in a foreign country where nobody speaks English. You’re not quite sure how you got there, nothing makes sense, and you don’t know if you should be scared or amazed by the new surroundings. My brother was close, so the apartment wasn’t always as empty as it could be. He got a dog. She kept the dog after he finally left town. I know it was hard, but I like to think that those years were also filled with moments of great relief. The kind of relief somebody else might feel after working a hard day and finding dinner already cooked.

After awhile though the lack of conversation and those empty rooms must have been as bad as the marriage that brought her to that place. This is all a guess, because like I said, I had moved on; married the girl of my dreams…I am never lonely. I imagine that the silence became just as loud and infuriating as that man that once stomped through the house bare-chested and full of hot air.

My mother is getting married on Monday. My opinion has kind of been up in the air since I found out. One day for/next day not so for. Then my brother said this “I’m 25, single, and living in a big city. I go to these clubs and let me tell you single life is not easy. I can’t imagine what it’s like at her age.” This is what set my opinion in stone. I had never really tried to imagine her life at all past the point at which I moved out/on. Once I got past the thoughts of “What I wouldn’t give for half an hour of me time”, I couldn’t help but compare how full my life is now with how empty that apartment must be.
So regardless of whether she wants to make a big deal of it or not, I’m praying that it is a major big deal. Life is meant to be led happily ever after.

Bless Thee Yee Purple Prince of Peace

When you first find out that you are about to have a baby, you automatically start evaluating your feelings on what makes up a healthy lifestyle. You begin to comb over your own childhood in hopes of learning what went right and what was a disaster.

Did my parents let me eat too much candy?
Did they push vegetables on me?
Did I spend too much time playing and not enough time learning?

It’s not really an evaluation of you’re mom and dad. Honestly, you know in the end no matter what happened they did the best they could. It’s not as if a handbook pops out between the baby and the placenta. The fact is the new baby is going to need rules and positive habits. And what is the past good for if not for learning from the mistakes/successes of those that came before you.

I watched a ton of TV when I was younger. I mean 10 hours a day up until I got my first car. Even then I would regularly choose to stay home and watch the new episode of the Simpsons, rather go out to some party where I only knew the 4 people I came with. I was a major homebody. I did the partying thing in college like everyone else, but to this day I find it hard to cut the tube off. Just last week I made sure to get the Fall Preview issue of TV guide so I could map out my new TV line up. I literally sat down with the little pull out showing what and when everything is going to be on and planned my evenings. Shows with a W are going to be seen at that time and R’s mean I will be recording those shows in the bedroom. How crazy is that? Not crazy enough? Ok how about this…I will even record the shows with a W just in case something comes up and I miss 5 minutes in the middle of what I’m watching.

So when we found out Fred was on his way, I said “He will not be like me. He will not be a slave to the tube!!!”

Now as we are quickly approaching his 6mth birthday, I find myself struggling with this more and more. I mean for crying out loud the little guy loves Barney. I mean he LOVES BARNEY. Mouth open, no blinking, passey falling out of the mouth, forgets to breath loves Barney. So we borrowed a couple of videos from a friend…and now anytime we need 15-30 minutes of baby free time so dishes can be washed or dinner can be ate… we just hit play on the VCR and the Church of the Blessed Purple Dinosaur magically silences the entire house.

We are starting to feel guilty about this, but it’s like finding a way to add 2 more hours to the middle of the day. In those 30 minutes while the baby hears about “banonos and upples” we get enough done to free up entire weekends. How can something that feels so good be so wrong?

We Got the Beat. We-Got-The-Beat!!! YEAH!!!

So it was about a 6-hour drive back from the beach and Fred was amazing.
He slept, he played, he ate, he drank, he laughed…but he did not cry.
That’s right!!! 450 miles, 2 stops, and no tears. Un-freak’n-believable.
We got 15 miles from home and just knew we had it made. Nothing could stop us now!!!

But maybe someone could.

A full days worth of tears combined with the pain of being strapped into a car seat all day forged a tantrum we are seldom witness to. Chief Redface had returned.

So what do you do? You’ve been away from home for four days. You’re tired, irritable, the legs need stretching, you gotta go to the bathroom…but that sign says Muscle Shoals 15 miles. Normally that’s an easy answer. You man-up and push forward, ignore the pain, pee in a bottle, and get home!!

Babies don’t know how to man-up. They just throw tantrums.

Redface almost got us this time. We were in the car and far away from our tried and true happy baby tools. We were at our weakest moment, all was thought lost. Lucy was begging me to pull over even though we were only 10 minutes from home…when a flash of brilliance crossed my mind. In an instant I saw Baby Fred bouncing at home in his exersaucer, he’s been there too long and is starting to cry just a little. There is a Barney video playing in the background and out of desperation, I began to clap to the beat. Baby Fred calmed down.

Over the noise of the road/crying/Rascal Flats, I scream “CLAPPPPPPP!!! CLAP WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT!!!”

Lucy, who at this point would have probably made armpit farts if it would have worked, starts banging her hands together with all her might. It worked at first, but it just wasn’t enough. In a show of expert driving ability, at 65mph I adjusted myself so my left knee could steer and began clapping/singing “WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU! ROCK YOU!!!” “WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU! ROCK YOU!!!”

And the crying ceased. We stopped clapping and the crying started again. We were now forced to play Redface’s wicked game.

As we drove the final few miles home, we felt the stares from the people in the other cars as they drove by the maniacs clapping as if their lives depended on it. I can almost hear them say “Hey that guy is driving with his knee!!!! Drive past!!! Drive past!!!”

We were bruised, battered, and our hands hurt for the next three days, but we made it home and that’s all that counts.
Until we meet again Mr. Redface...until we meet again.

The Day the World Cried

Labor Daze(Part 3)

Fred is doing better today. We all had a good nights sleep last night, so that has helped a bunch. The breathing treatments are working but the baby hates taking them.
I need to apologize to the Granny. Apparently it is ok to talk about her wearing a wig on the internet, but not ok to let her find out that her great-grandbaby is sick by reading it in a blog.
Just another reason I'm a blockhead I guess.

Ok then, one more round of pictures and I promise to start writing new stuff. Oh and check out my new site www.blockheadnation.blogspot.com.

On with the show:

Fred caught a shark

I caught some rays.

And we all got crabs from Bubba's

We skipped walking and went straight to teaching him how to dance.

The perfect end to a perfect vacation.

Labor Daze(Part 2)

So the baby is still sick, but the good news is that they decided not to admit him to the hospital. Apparently he was borderline RSV. The Dr. ok'd him to come home as long as he took breathing treatments every 3-4 hours for the next few days.

So this is the 2nd group of pictures from our trip to Granny's and then on to the beach.
Hope you enjoy.
Charlie,

Fred thought this guy's name was "Stay in or Stay out" because every time a door was opened it's what he heard. Latter on I told him this was his great-grandpa and he better be nice because he keeps his will next to the recliner and is just itching to scratch somebody's name off the list.

"I'm gonna see this on the internet someday, aren't I dad?"

Skylar is trying to convince Fred that the beach is no fun and they should switch families for the weekend. I think she almost had him convinced.

My favorite people in the world at my favorite place in the world.

Labor Daze(Part 1)

We went back to my grandmother’s house for the holiday and cruised down to the beach afterward. All the travel made the baby's cough worse. Since I'm short on time, I thought now would be the perfect time to share some pictures from this trip.
Enjoy,
Charlie

This is Fred calling in a pizza the night before the big trip.

He's asking me if we want mushrooms or extra cheese.

Fred just realized that you actually do have to go over the river and through the woods to get to grandma's house.

This map will self-destruct in 10 seconds!

Fred remembered his hat, but Granny forgot her wig.

The Old Apartment

We used to live in an old house that was split into 3 apartments. It was only a 10minute jog from class (5 minutes if you’re naked). Our part was in the back and then up/over the living rooms of both places in the front. This meant that the bedroom was half over apartment A and half over apartment B. Guy A had a pit bull the size of Cujo and insisted on throwing a party every night. Guy B was practically homeless and most of his furniture came from the side of the road (he took our couch and grill when we left). The living room was nice enough, but the stairs to the loft shot straight up like a ladder. The hot water was always out; the water heater was under the house in a basement. To get to it you had to go outside, crawl through this door about as wide as a computer screen, drop down 6 feet, find the bulb hanging in the center of the room (that’s right you don’t get light until you crawl through the trap door and plunge blindly into hell), then ignite the pilot light. I almost did this once, but I kept seeing that girl stuck in bottom of the well from Silence of the Lambs.

The air conditioning was never enough and the heat upstairs would turn candles into puddles within hours. I first moved in and lived there about three months before Lucy joined me. My previous residence was a closet in the fraternity house, so I didn’t really go upstairs until she insisted that the bed didn’t belong in the living room. It wasn’t even a bed really. Just an old mattress my parents had. It was so thin it may have well been a couple of blankets lying on top of each other.

I’ll never forget that first night we spent up there in that tiny room with the A-framed ceiling and 100 degree heat. I know what you’re thinking, yes we were young and in love, and with that came all the rewards…but that’s not what made this night so special. As we lay there in our new home, we talked about our new life together and made the plans that new couples make. I reached over and turned the lights off…and the image is still there even today…apparently the previous tenant was a little more creative then myself and took the time to place tiny little stickers all over the ceiling. As I turned the black dial on that old lamp next to the bed, the universe opened up before my eyes. It was if the lamp held a switch that opened a dome over the apartment. No longer were we being abused by the heat and lack of space…we were outside staring up into the cosmos watching comets and shooting stars zip by. I know it’s not possible, but now when I think about it I see the two of us covered by the glow from a million stars. I know those stickers are cheap and can be bought anywhere, to us though they were more than paper and glue…they were maps to a brighter future together.

That map we saw back then has been good to us, and now with Fred along for the ride I don’t see how it can get much better…but every now and then after I put the baby down for the night and kiss Lucy, I reach over to the lamp by the bed and still see the same stars shining over us.

I wonder if those stickers are still there.

Broke into the old apartment
This is where we used to live
Broken glass, broke and hungry,
Broken hearts and broken bones
This is where we used to live
Why did you paint the walls?
Why did you clean the floor?
Why did you plaster over
The hole I punched in the door?
This is where we used to live
Why did you keep the mousetrap?
Why did you keep the dish rack?
These things used to be mine
I guess they still are, I want em back
Broke into the old apartment
Forty-two stairs from the street
Crooked landing, crooked landlord
Narrow laneway filled with crooks
This is where we used to live
Why did they pave the lawn?
Why did they change the lock?
Why did I have to break in?
I only came here to talk
But this is where we used to live
How is the neighbor downstairs?
How is her temper this year?
I turned up your TV
And stomped on the floor just for fun
I know we don’t live here anymore
We bought an old house on the Danforth
She loves me and her body keeps me warm
I am happy here
This is where we used to live
Broke into the old apartment
Tore the phone out of the wall
Only memories, fading memories
Blending into dull tableaux
I want them back
I want them back
But this is where we used to live
I want them back
This is where we used to live
I want them back
But this is where we used to live
I want them back
By the Barenaked Ladies

I Might Be Indecisive

I just can’t seem to make up my mind about anything anymore.

Do I want pizza or tacos?
Pizza!!…Tacos!!!…Spaghetti?

With every decision I find myself more and more unsure of what I want.

Should I wear the green shirt with the grey shoes or the brown shirt with the brown shoes?
Should I wear socks?
If I’m not going to wear socks then I need the brown shoes cause they feel better.
The green shirt fits better though.

Would my sneakers go with this?

Socks?

I’ve had to make some pretty hard choices lately. Some I have blogged about. Others ***cough****cough***put the cats outside***cough I haven’t.

Maybe I’m experiencing some type of responsibility withdrawal.

Everywhere I look there is something that needs to be figured out.

Are we going to drive the four hours to the grandparents this weekend?

Yes, they need to see their grandbaby.

No, It’s the first weekend of football season.

Yes, the guilt will ruin any game I plan on watching anyway.

Do we leave at 2 AM? 6 AM? Should we leave on Friday night?

I wish somebody would do all of this thinking for me. At least I think that’s what I want.