The Divine.

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

The MASSIVE!

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

The Wife.

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

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

The Worth.

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

The SportsCenter.

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

The Touching.

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

The Schedule.

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

The Flowers.

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

• 1-800 Flowers
  
• FTD (by the way, does anyone know what FTD actually stands for? I don't)
  
• Pro Flowers
  

The Freaking-Out-Man!

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

The Braxton-Hicks.

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

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

The Cart.

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

The Costume.

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

That's just not right.

The Questions.

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

The Present.

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

The Duplicates.

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

The Car.

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

The Stuff.

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

The Words.

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

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

The Parasite.

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

The Epidural.

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

The Magic.

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

The Timing.

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

The Lies.

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

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

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

The Holiday.

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

The Hand.

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

The Grumpy.

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

The Hair.

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

The Quarter.

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

The Tool.

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

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The Diem (Day).

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