The Sickie.

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

The Realizations

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

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

The Rambo.

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

The Normal.

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

The Disbelief.

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

The Validity.

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

The Anagram.

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

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

The Waiting.

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

The Takeover.

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

The Thanksgiving.

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

The Lamaze.

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

The Crunch.

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

The Running.

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

The Magi.

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

The Halloween.

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

The Two.

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

The Toot.

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

The Cold.

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

The Dream.

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

The House.

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

The Diagnostic.

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

The Haggle.

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

The Scare.

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

The Steering.

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

The THX.

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

The Bargaining.

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

The Schedule.

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

The Ruining.

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

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

The Conscience.

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

The Dilatory.

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

The End.

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

The Nonoption.

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

The News.

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

The Capitulation.

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

The Best.

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

The Divine.

     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.