A Stressful Start to September

I am worn out today. Some good things happened, but there was also a lot of stress. Here’s how my day unfolded.

In the morning, I had to convince Creegan he was going to preschool. He’s never been as defiant about it as he was today. In fact, in my opinion, he’s never quite qualified for the label “defiant” before, even when he has seemed less than enthusiastic about going to preschool. The problem is, he stayed home yesterday with an incessant cough. This particular preschool takes illness very seriously due to the medical conditions of some of its students, so we kept Beegy far away. Today, he tried to tell me he was still coughing, but it was always in the form of demonstrating it to me, not something I overheard him doing naturally. Anyway, Creegan’s dragging feet made this morning move slowly, and I thought we’d be late to his school. But we got there much more quickly than I expected and were basically arriving in perfect timing. But that was some mild stress to start the day.

While Creegan was in school, I went and parked in a nearby shopping center and read various things I had brought with me—books on theology, the owners’ manual for my new (but used) Honda Accord, etc. I redid the car radio presets to my satisfaction and let the music play while I read. I was pleased that the time passed as easily as it did. I had my car window down, and I was enjoying the day. After a while, it started to feel rather hot with the sun blaring on me. I didn’t want to waste gas, so I didn’t want to run the car, but I thought it’d be nice to find some shade. So I went to start the car and move it somewhere a bit cooler. I turned the key and … nothing. “Are you kidding me?!?!” I yelled. I couldn’t believe it. Less than a week of having the car and I was already having a problem! But I immediately knew what the problem was, and I knew it was my fault. I had (unintentionally) been listening to the radio (for nearly 90 minutes) with the key turned further in the ignition than is necessary. I had turned it past the first stop (auxiliary mode?) that makes listening to the radio possible and was in what I believe is called the “on” position without having turned over the engine. So, I was sucking battery juice like a 2nd grader sucking down Capri Sun. I couldn’t believe my stupidity. I turned off the car and waited several minutes, trying to keep my calm. I then tried the car again. Nothing. At this stage, I become almost panicky, realizing that Creegan needs to be picked up in the relatively near future and I have no way to contact his school. I start calling my parents, who live close by. I make multiple calls to both my dad’s and my mom’s cell phones. No answer. Which is normal for them. They rarely answer. But being used to them not answering is not helpful. If anything, it makes it all the more irksome. I call my sister Khrystine, because I know my dad was going to pick her up sometime this morning. She answers, fortunately. I tell her my situation. She hasn’t yet been picked up by my dad, who is on his way to get her—and hence quickly going in the opposite direction of me. But there’s nothing more I can do.

Thankfully, my mom then calls me back. As well as I can in my flustered frustration, I tell her the scenario and ask if she can take me to get Creegan. Thankfully, she can. Thankfully, she lives only a couple of blocks away from where I’m stranded. Thankfully, Creegan is also incredibly close by. Thankfully, she picks me up and we get to Creegan’s school in what is once again perfect timing. At this point, I calm down quite a bit. Getting Creegan was my #1 concern, and the task is now complete. Breathe. Mom takes us back to the shopping center. I run into a store to pee (because I really needed to at this point), and by the time I come out, my dad and Khrystine are already waiting at my dead car. Seconds later, my brother, who had been contacted by my dad, pulls up to jumpstart the car. Because I’m aware of what happened, I am 99% sure a jumpstart should remedy the situation, and it does. The engine turns over. All is well. But shee-it. Stress, stress, stress!

With almost enough of us on scene to consider it a family reunion, my dad treats us all to lunch. We head out west to a diner called Virg’s that, I now know, is notorious for serving monstrous portions of food. I get the small version of a breakfast burrito stuffed with hash browns, eggs, ham, and smothered in melted cheese and chile verde. I supplement it with a single pancake on the side. It’s a bona fide feast. Tantalized by a photo in the menu, Creegan orders a comically long corn dog (and a side of tater tots). The restaurant has Diet Mountain Dew on tap, which brings joy to my heart, except it ends up tasting terrible and has something wrong with it and can’t be fixed. So, I have to settle for Diet Pepsi. The next hour or so is relatively peaceful.

The couple of hours I spend at home in the afternoon are pleasant but brief. I then head to Back to School Night for Eddie and Peter. Per Melanie’s request, I show up early to help her out in her classroom before the official festivities begin. She takes Eddie and Peter out to dinner first and shows up 20 minutes later than when we were supposed to meet. It’s chaos for the first little while, with kids demanding something from a vending machine that supposedly exists but we cannot find without Melanie’s help. The initial stuff for Back to School Night is starting and we’re still having to placate the kids by pumping what seems like hundreds of nickels into a vending machine in order to get enough to buy a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Then we rush to the auditorium, where of course there are no seats left. The people up front speak into a microphone that does absolutely no good for someone like me in the back, what with the unbelievable noise going on all around me. From what I can tell, 50% of the audience isn’t even trying to be quiet while the speech is going on. I understand literally almost nothing of what is said. Meanwhile, Peter and Creegan keep circling around me, taunting each other and making my body feel like some sort of toy in the process. I want to scream. I eventually give up on whatever is being said in the auditorium and head to Eddie’s classroom. The nice thing about leaving the auditorium early is that nobody is at the classroom other than the teacher. It’s easy-breezy. Even when get to Peter’s classroom next, no other parents are roaming around just yet. We wrap up pretty quickly. The day is done, and I couldn’t be happier.

That is my September so far.

Firsts

First day of 2nd grade and 4th grade, for Peter and Eddie, respectively. They are attending school where Melanie teaches, which means it’s a brand new school for each of them. Neither one is too enthusiastic about being in school, but they are doing well with it, considering.

First day of preschool for Creegan. Being the third child, transitions are easy-breezy for this guy. No big whoop. Creegan was excited for preschool and never once gave the tiniest hint of a faint glimmer of a crap that I was leaving him behind in a building he’d never before seen with people he’d never before met. He’s also been doing an online preschool, and I’m proud of how positive he is about it and how well he’s doing. It’s been fun for me to be the one taking him and picking him up from school every day, and also working with him as he does online preschool. There are times I really relish my current stay-at-home dad status.

First trip to R&R BBQ. Ever since word of mouth and a few local media resources led me to believe R&R BBQ is the premier BBQ restaurant along the Wasatch Front, it has ranked quite high on my list of must-try eateries. After tonight, I can happily move R&R BBQ to a spot high on my list of verified good SLC eats. It was very, very good, in fact. I wish I had tried more of the standard BBQ fare, but I opted instead for the Caveman burger. I had two reasons for doing this: (1) the burger has been highly recommended by friends, and (2) it happened to be the special of the day. Those two reasons acted as the spermatozoon and ovum that coalesced in my mental womb and left me pregnant with a decision, a decision to which I would shortly give birth when asked, “Can I take your order?” I also got some fries.

Melanie ordered the beef brisket with a side of hush puppies and mashed potatoes. I had a small bite of each and found them all quite tasty. I can hardly wait to go back and get some brisket myself. Which is not to say I was disappointed with the Caveman burger. Not at all. It was a yummy and indulgent burger featuring not only a ground beef patty, but butterflied links of smoked Andouille sausage and a helping of pulled pork, all topped with fried jalapenos, melted Monterey Jack cheese, and sweet BBQ sauce. The logistics of getting such a monstrous sandwich into your mouth is something that must be worked out with care and precision, but it’s well worth it. And the side of fries, which usually leave something to be desired at BBQ places, was thoroughly enjoyable as well. I’m sold.

Our first Honda. After spending an exorbitant amount of time researching used vehicles, two things became more and more important and non-negotiable for me. One, I wanted the car to be certified. A certified used car is backed by the original manufacturer, albeit not to the extent that a brand new car is. Still, most certified cars have enough warranties in place to dispel any paranoia one might have about unknowingly buying a lemon—something I’ve regrettably experienced in the past. In addition to peace of mind, buying a certified used car made me feel that taking the vehicle to a mechanic before committing to a purchase was unnecessary. That would save oodles of time and hassle, and that’s what I wanted. Two, I wanted a car I felt confident could go 150,000 to 200,000 miles while remaining a decent car. I wanted reliability and dependability, and that meant I wanted either a Toyota or a Honda. I had eyed several other vehicles, but I just didn’t feel as safe or reassured about them. Once I knew I wanted a Toyota or a Honda, I knew it would be either a Camry or an Accord. Both are extremely well-reviewed by the likes of U.S. News & World Report, J.D. Power, Consumer Reports, Kelley Blue Book Expert Reviews, and a host of others, not to mention their outstanding word-of-mouth reputations. With three growing sons, Melanie and I also felt it time to upgrade to a midsize, which meant Toyota Corollas and Honda Civics just weren’t going to cut it. All along, I had been determined to get a car with decent gas mileage, a low odometer reading, and a squeaky clean Carfax report. I found some Camrys that came close to fitting the bill—ones that we probably could’ve financed for $35–$50 less per month—but they either had twice the mileage of the Honda or they just plain looked shoddier. Usually both. Maybe it sounds picky, but I didn’t want a ketchup red car with beige, slightly stained seats. The best Camry I found had approximately 3,000 fewer miles on it and would’ve been about $18 less per month (I assume) to finance than the Honda. But despite having a black exterior, it also had the beige, stained interior and was a year older than the Honda. With these things in mind, the Honda beckoned. And beckoned. And so, around 7 PM on Wednesday night, I took to the Honda dealer and test drove the Honda. It felt silky smooth, whether on the freeway or in stop-and-go traffic. Looks-wise, it couldn’t have been a better fit for me: silver on the outside, black on the inside. (I’ve long dreamed of owning a silver car.) A bevy of fun little features added to the appeal, although they certainly weren’t important enough to make or break the deal. Such features include radio controls on the steering wheel, a rearview camera, a screen that displays not only what radio station you’re listening to but (depending on the station) the artist and song, precise temperature control with the A/C, and cup holders. Okay, I’m kidding about the cup holders: they weren’t negotiable. The cup holders in our Corolla folded out but had become inoperable and thus hadn’t been usable in years. As lame as it may sound, the cup holders in our new Accord are among my very favorite features. I absolutely love ‘em!

So, yes, Melanie and I decided to push forward with financing the Accord. I’ll spare you the details and say simply that I left the car dealership at 11 PM feeling quite good about the deal I had gotten. Make no mistake, I was feeling very anxious, too. There’s no way I could buy a car without feeling anxious, regardless of the price and regardless of the suspected reliability of the car. It’s just too major a purchase to be calm about it. But I was pleasantly surprised with our APR—turns out we have a pretty decent credit score!—and walked away with some nice incentives, such as free safety and emissions testing for life, free oil changes for the next several years, etc. Knowing it’s a Honda also makes me feel way better than I otherwise would. I trust that we have made a sound investment, which is not how I’d feel if we had purchased almost anything else.

Strep by Strep

A couple of weeks ago, Melanie came down with strep throat. She’s well past the contagious stage, but the symptoms linger. Her voice still isn’t back to normal, and she still coughs more than usual. She’s a lot peppier, though. That’s nice.

Last Friday, Eddie stayed home from school because he wasn’t feeling well. By Saturday, all of the kids had fevers and were coughing, though Creegan was faring much better than Eddie and Peter. We stayed home from church on Sunday and canceled our social plans. On Monday, Eddie seemed a little better, but Peter was worse. We kept them both home from school. Beegy was still doing pretty well in comparison.

Being about a day behind Eddie, Peter stayed home again on Tuesday, but Eddie went to school. He (Eddie) was still coughing a decent amount, but the fevers had subsided and he seemed in relatively good spirits. But by Tuesday night, his eyes were looking cloudy, a fever had returned, and it was clear he wasn’t doing well. He went to sleep on the couch, earlier than normal, which was very unusual for him. Peter was even more extreme. He went to sleep barely after 3 PM and woke up only a few times, for very brief periods of time, until the next morning. Even Creegan was coughing a lot more than he had been before.

I took all three kids to the doctor on Wednesday. It was a hellish experience. Beegy doesn’t handle doctor visits well at all. He freaks out and screams and resists everything. Even having his ears checked, which isn’t a big deal. I knew having his throat swabbed was not going to be pretty. And it wasn’t. We had to try multiple times, with me holding him on my lap, trying somehow to hold his head in place and his arms still. He kicked the nurse pretty hard. I don’t think she was too happy about it. I’m not sure she even got a good swab, but it was good enough for her. Eddie and Peter had already had their throats swabbed by the time I went through this charade with Beegy. Because Beegy took so much concentrated effort, I didn’t even notice that Peter had vomited all over the floor, a delayed gag reflex brought on by the probing swabs. “I know my youngest child just kicked you super hard in the stomach, nurse, but would you mind wiping up my other child’s barf now?” That’s basically the situation I was dealing with. All three kids were bawling at this point—Creegan because of everything, Peter because he had puked, and Eddie because everybody else was freaking out. Good thing nobody was taking my blood pressure. I would’ve been hospitalized.

When the doctor came in, she happily informed me that all three boys tested negative for strep. She said it was incredibly unlikely that all three would come back as a false negative, so she was quite confident in her diagnosis.  All we could do is try to keep the boys comfortable while they let whatever viral infection had attacked them pass. We got some ice cream from the drive-thru window at Arctic Circle on the way home. The world seemed a much better place than it had 30 minutes earlier.

At the doctor’s recommendation, we kept Eddie and Peter home from school yet again today. The doctor had said only that we should definitely keep them home if they continued to have a fever, and that we should probably keep them home if their coughing continued to be extreme. Both Eddie and Peter had had fevers on Wednesday night, and the coughing was still intense. So, one more day at home. I took comfort in the assumption that they’d be back to school tomorrow. Surely, they’d be feeling better by then.

Melanie got a call from the doctor this afternoon. It turns out Eddie and Peter do have strep throat. Beegy’s still shows as negative, but apparently it can take up to two days for strep to show on their test. So, it’s quite possible he does have it, especially when you consider that his throat swab may have been less than adequate. The good news is, Eddie and Peter now have prescription antibiotics that will hopefully nip this thing in the bud. Beegy’s fate remains up in the air—he’s still coughing a decent amount—but it’s quite possible we can resume normal life within the next couple of days. The antibiotics will make Eddie and Peter innocuous to others, so we can actually leave the house and do something (besides visit a doctor’s office and puke on the floor).

Wait … what if I get sick? Oh dear. Let’s not go there. So far, I’m doing pretty well. I’ve felt a little congested, and my throat hasn’t felt 100% normal, but I’ve been that way for several days without deterioration. Melanie doesn’t remember it, but I swear she once had strep and I never caught it, even though we were cuddling and kissing like lovesick fools. (A quick search of my blog history reveals that Melanie had strep throat in November 2004 and February 2005, with me remaining healthy both times.) I even hypothesized that I had somehow made myself immune by making out with her. We probably don’t make out like we used to, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I’ll also hold out hope that the antioxidants I’m ingesting from my ongoing tea binge will help. You never know.

The Post What Precedes Surgery

In approximately 12 hours, I’ll undergo carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand. I thought I should type up a quick blog post before my right hand becomes temporarily unusable. I have some mild anxiety, though it’s not about the procedure itself. It’s the uncertainty of what to expect afterward. I’ve heard it can take at least a few weeks to begin using your hand again, but when I scheduled my surgery they told me I could be fine within a couple of days. That’s a big difference. Part of me feels this urgency to do everything I might possibly need or want to do online before I’m effectively one-handed. I had all these blog posts I thought about writing, but I simply haven’t had time. I’m now racking my brain, trying to determine what else needs to be done before it’s either impossible or too difficult to do it. So, yes, I’m experiencing apprehension, but it’s for lame reasons. It’s like when you go on a trip and you worry you’ll forget something important and not remember it until the very moment it’s too late. It’s a kind of looming unease. That’s what I’m feeling.

In almost entirely unrelated news, my gig as a stay-at-home dad (which is largely what I am at this moment in my life) has resulted in my spending a lot more time with Creegan. Initially, I had a hard time, but I think we’ve both gotten into the rhythm of it all. There have been numerous times when I’ve thought I quite enjoy what I’m doing and maybe it’s what I should’ve been doing all along. It’s not a very realistic thought, for about a thousand reasons—the fact that I’m really only alone with Beegy for 4.5 hours per day, the fact that I’m primarily taking care of only one child during that time rather than three, the fact that I’m not dealing with babies who are in constant need of attention, etc., etc., etc.—but the point is that things are going well enough for me to have such irrational thoughts from time to time. That’s good.

I’ve gotten into the habit of driving Melanie to work two or three times per week so I can have the car. This has enabled me to do things with Creegan that keep us both entertained and sane. But I’ve actually been surprised how much he resists it. He never wants to go places, even though we have fun once I can get him to go along. We’ve gone to the nearby mall, which has a carousel. We’ve gone to the library a few times. We’ve gone to parks and nearly been eaten alive by greedy geese who can’t get enough Wonder bread. We’ve gone grocery shopping (which isn’t fun, exactly, but it helps the time pass). Creegan has adjusted very well to his brothers being gone a good chunk of the time. I’m very grateful for that. It’s a bummer that after I have surgery, I probably won’t be able to drive for a little while. Our little outings will have to be put on hold. Beegy will probably be fine with that, but I worry about myself.

I thought I would briefly take a moment to share one of Beegy’s linguistic quirks. He’s had it for a long time, but I don’t think we’ve written it down anywhere, so this is my rectifying that. Creegan pretty much always uses the word “what” in place of “that,” at least in certain sentence structures. Although Beegy will correctly say “give me that car,” he will mistakenly say “give me the car what’s red.” Instead of saying “is that the game that Peter was playing?”, Beegy will say “is that the game what Peter was playing?” Rather than saying “Dad is reading a book that’s scary,” he’ll say “Dad is reading a book what’s scary.” You get the idea. I don’t know how this got started, but it’s been that way as long as I can remember. Eddie and Peter also had a linguistic quirk, but it’s greatly improved by now. It started with Eddie, and Peter simply followed suit. They would reverse “ask” and “tell.” Or, rather, I’m not sure that they even would use the word “ask” all that often. So, instead of saying “go ask Mom what we’re having for dinner,” they would say, “go tell Mom what we’re having for dinner.” Or if Melanie asked Eddie what the best part of his day was, Peter might chime in, “Tell me what the best part of my day was!”, when he really wanted Melanie to ask him the same question she had asked Eddie. You can see how this particular quirk can cause a lot of problems. Thankfully, I think it’s pretty much gone, although just a few days ago I heard Peter use the word “tell” when he clearly meant “ask.” So, who knows. I’ll have to tell Melanie if there are any other slip-ups what she’s aware of.

People Making People

My 3-year-old asked today, “How do people make people?”

I’m all about being open and honest, but only in ways that can be understood or appreciated given the age of the person asking questions. My response was, “Well, mommies have stuff inside their bodies, and daddies have stuff inside their bodies, and it’s all super, super tiny, and when it’s inside a mommy’s body, it can start to grow and turn into a baby!”

How’d I do? For what it’s worth, he just kind of laughed at everything I said like it was all silly.

Potpourri No. 39

Individually wrapped, single-serving portions o’ life…

Transition Complete
We’ve now been living in Utah for about two months. It has taken these two months to feel completely moved over. We got our Utah bank accounts, our kids have started school (see below), Melanie has a local job (also see below), our address is updated with everybody who matters, we have Utah voter cards, driver licenses, library cards, primary care physicians, etc. This week we put the finishing touches on our move by affixing a new set of Utah license plates to our vehicle. I think that was the last thing that needed to be done, and we’re now as Utahan as you can get. It’s almost as though we never left. It may seem silly, but seeing our car with Utah license plates really did feel like the icing on the cake (or the nail in the coffin, depending on how you look at it). It’s a bit surreal, and it really does make things feel more official. However, the thing I’m most excited about is probably the library cards. As I’ve said a few times before, Utah has a couple of great library systems (both city and county), and I feel so empowered to have a library card here. I kind of feel like I just inherited thousands of books. It’s awesome.

That’s What Friends Are For
In the last couple of weeks, I’ve had the opportunity to see some good friends that I haven’t seen in years. Last week, Chad (a great friend for about 16 years now) and his wife Crystal (also a wonderful person), along with their three sons (fine blokes, all of them), met up with Melanie (my beautiful bride) and me (that’s myself) and our three sons (delightful little tikes) at Liberty Park (Salt Lake City’s approximation of Central Park). They—that is, Chad and Crystal—even brought us Chinese food. Super nice and super yummy—that is, Chad and Crystal, and the Chinese food, respectively. These guys have been absolutely angelic with us in the past. They are kind and generous and sincere, and it’s humbling to have such wonderful people in my life. We had great and meaningful conversation, not just idle chit chat and whatever. What a treasure. I very much enjoyed my time and am glad I now live where I can see these people with relative ease. Then, this week, I saw one of my best buddies from high school, Jonathan (that’s the name of the friend, not the high school). It’s probably been seven years since I’ve seen Jonathan, but he’s a good guy. He also fed me good food. (How lucky am I?) He took me to Red Rock, a microbrewery that I’ve heretofore patronized only in his company. It was delicious. We caught up on each other’s life and then brainstormed all of our mutual acquaintances from high school to see who knew what about whom. More than one has died, one is in prison. It’s crazy. I was amazed how naturally profanity became a part of my vocabulary in Jonathan’s presence. It wasn’t purposeful, and it wasn’t his “bad influence” because I’ve been around other people who swear more than I do and it hasn’t affected me. It must just be conditioning from when I hung out with him in the past, when indeed I was a much more profane fellow. I’m just surprised that even though three-quarters of a decade have passed since I’ve talked with him, I would so effortlessly and non-consciously revert to old my old ways. But, you know, it was kind of nice, because it just didn’t matter. Friendships like that are hard to come by in these parts.

The Schooling Continues
The school year has started. Most days, I walk Eddie and Peter to school. Usually, Beegy comes with me. I think Eddie and Peter are adjusting fairly well, considering they are both rather shy and anxiety-prone. It’s hard to get much out of them about what happens at school, but I remain optimistic. Melanie, meanwhile, has started her job as a Kindergarten Teaching Assistant. Today was only the second day of normal school for her kindergarteners, but I think Melanie is quite happy. It feels good to her to be back in that environment, and the kids already adore her. She’s been told as much by at least a kid or two. It’s really great to see Melanie so happy with how things are going. Meanwhile, my schooling remains a somewhat nebulous notion. What the hell do I mean by that, you ask? I don’t know. It just seems not quite real, and it is not well-defined at this point how exactly I even relate to my PhD program. Not that my plans have changed. I’m still going to work on my dissertation, but I’m not officially enrolled as a student anymore. I guess it’s just such a change that it feels kind of bizarre. My reasons for not officially enrolling as a student are numerous, but the one that seals the deal is that I don’t have the money to pay for it. So, quite honestly, there isn’t much of an option. All that really matters, though, is that I’ll continue to work on my dissertation and then reapply to school before I need to defend. That should suffice. In the meantime, I’m spending my mornings with Beegy. I feel bad for the boy because he has lost his two brothers (and his mom for part of the day) to school and it’s a monumental change for him. On the first day of school, after we dropped Eddie and Peter off, Beegy began sobbing. It was a different kind of cry than I’ve usually seen from him, and it was clear that it was purely because it had hit him that his brothers were gone. It was heartbreaking. He’s adjusted pretty well since, but I’m no match for his brothers. And it’s hard to remain patient, sadly. I feel like I spend four hours of my day just staring at whatever Beegy is telling me to look at. I can’t divert my eyes for even a second without him snapping at me to keep watching this or looking at that. I feel like a robot, like I can’t even think my own thoughts for those four hours. Sigh. I need to figure something out.

My Hands, AKA The Living Dead
Two months in Utah means it’s also been two months of carpal tunnel. I had an EMG earlier this week, a procedure in which they hook your fingertips up to some machine that monitors the electro-activity in your nerves and then proceed to shock you with a cattle prod at various places on your arm. It actually wasn’t that bad, and the testing was done within a literally literal 10 minutes. The worst part was the hair-thin needles they had to poke into my arm (and neck) to “listen” to my muscle activity. (I used scare quotes, but it was a rather literal listening to, as it was a tiny microphone inserted into my skin that captured noise whenever I’d use my muscles.) The EMG doctor told me I had “moderate” carpal tunnel, just on the cusp of getting to the bad stage. He said that despite feeling much more numb in my right hand, my two hands are basically on par with each other. He made surgery sound like something I should be doing soon, but apparently for him that means “within the next year.” So, I went to my normal carpal tunnel doctor today to discuss the results of my EMG test. We didn’t really do that. Instead, he gave me a steroid shot directly into my wrist (I could barely feel it, thankfully) and I got scheduled for surgery three-and-a-half weeks from now. This doctor told me I had “severe” carpal tunnel and didn’t make me feel quite as optimistic as the EMG guy, but who knows. I was also told my hand might be fine within a couple of days of having the surgery, unlike the three-to-four weeks I’d heard from others. I wish I felt more confident about what exactly is going on, but you know how doctors are. You feel like they are rushing whenever they come in, and it feels like you’re interrupting them if you ask questions. I was confused about the purpose of my steroid shot today. The doctor said it was for my relief, but he also said it would tell us about how well I was likely to respond to surgery. But then I wasn’t scheduled for a follow-up appointment before the surgery, and I was told I’d need the surgery no matter how I responded to the shot. So I just don’t know. I guess you just trust people and let them cut you open if they say it’s going to be good for you. That’s basically my plan for now.

Night Terrors

For approximately eight years straight, I’ve suffered from persistent night terrors. Their names are Edison, Peter, and Creegan.

To be fair, only Creegan is a serious problem nowadays. But he’s well past his third birthday, and he has gone maybe one or two nights without pestering us. I probably shouldn’t complain—after all, gone are the days when he would repeatedly drop kick me in the face while I slept—but lately, he’s coming in earlier, and earlier, and earlier. On a good night, he’ll spend maybe three hours in his own bed before coming to ours. Half the time—probably more—he comes in before we’re even asleep! We have little stamina for putting up with his hissy fits if we try to get him to go back to his own bed, and heaven knows we’re not interested in accompanying him back to bed as a kind of compromise. (If we offer to take him back, he’s much, much more likely to go.) Even if we do take him back to his bed, he’s likely to return to our room within an hour or so, and sometimes within 10 or 15 minutes. The problem is, I am so damn sleep deprived at this point. I accept some of the blame for that. Maybe I should be going to bed earlier than I do. But no matter when I go to sleep, even if I’m lucky enough to be asleep before Creegan comes calling, he’ll likely wake me up multiple times in the night. Either he’ll keep returning to our room, or if he stays in bed with us, he’ll interrupt our sleep multiple times anyway. For example, he’ll often start grunting in protest at some time during the night when he’s sleeping next to us. He doesn’t seem to be having bad dreams. He just acts like he’s pissed off. So he’ll grunt and jerk his body, like he’s not comfortable and he’s incredibly upset about it. He’ll just keep going and going. If you tell him to quiet down, he gets mad. There’s no real solution, it seems. And I’m just not a good sleeper anymore, so these interruptions can sometimes be extremely detrimental. Even if I get him back to sleep fairly quickly, sometimes the mere waking up leaves me too wide awake (and annoyed) to quickly return to sleep myself. I’ve sometimes laid there for 30–40 minutes after getting Creegan back to sleep, just waiting for my own sleep to return. I’m lucky to get six cumulative hours of sleep a night, and never more than one or two (if I’m very lucky) in a row. Is it any wonder I nowadays have almost constant headaches?

Okay. That’s all I have to say. Just needed to gripe.

Father’s Day: Sneak Preview

A few days ago, Eddie made me an early Father’s Day card. It brought me great joy. It’s two-sided. I’ve scanned it and included the scanned images below.

Note: The words circling the sun read “Love to Dad” (written in reverse).  Eddie says the words are meant to look like the rays of the sun.

Like any good dad, I think I’ve got the greatest kids in the world. When I put them to bed at night, I almost always recite to each of them individually: “I love you so much. You make me smile. I’m so glad I’m your dad. You make me soooooooo happy.” It’s a standardized phrase at this point, but it is my hopes that the standardization will help my boys to grow up remembering exactly what I always told them. More importantly, it is my hopes that they will believe and know that what I told them is true. (All of the glaring shortcomings of their father notwithstanding.)

In related news, Melanie has already agreed (at her suggestion) to make a pot roast, “funeral potatoes,” and apple cobbler for Father’s Day dinner. I can hardly wait.

Panned Parenthood

Here’s what’s going on with my children lately.

Creegan
With Edison and even more so with Peter, I learned that the “terrible twos” are nothing compared to the “take-my-life-please threes.” Perhaps I jumped the gun when I recently thought to myself, “Wow, Creegan has been a surprisingly pleasant two-year-old!” Now halfway between his second and third birthdays, Creegan is finally showing signs of becoming a terror. Not that he throws many fits or does much structural damage. Instead, he’s a cornucopia of insults. Unfortunately, his older brothers are to blame for the rich pejorative vocabulary that Creegan now possesses. And I realize that Creegan scarcely understands the things coming out of his mouth. But somehow it’s still hurtful when your youngest child is much more likely to say “Shut up, you stupid idiot!” than “I love you, Daddy!” Other favorites include “jerk” and “incompetent blowhard.” Okay, not that last one, but he spouts the others with such regularity that I might appreciate some diversification. Melanie and I are now trying extra hard to curtail the insults that Eddie and Peter throw at each other, hoping the improvements will naturally carry over to Creegan. I think it’s already working a bit, thankfully. Then again, what do I know? I’m a stupid idiot.

Peter
Remember that thing I said about three-year-olds being even harder than two-year-olds? Well, lately, Peter seems determined to relive his glory days and, a few weeks shy of his fifth birthday, is now throwing tantrums that challenge my very sanity. I don’t know where in the world this sudden reversion in behavior has come from. But it is awful. Usually, the challenging behavior is reserved for bedtime, but in a way, that’s worse. We’re all worn out by then, and Peter’s antics have the propensity to throw off the entire bedtime routine. He gets Creegan worked up, he infuriates Edison by taunting him or kicking at the underside of Eddie’s mattress from the lower bunk. And he absolutely ignores any parental intervention. I know there are better ways to handle things, but it often seems as though I cannot get so much as a nod of recognition out of Peter unless I turn into a grade-A a-hole. I hate it.

Eddie
I’m tempted to declare Edison a saint in comparison to Peter and Creegan right now, but that’s not entirely fair. I think the more challenging aspects of Edison’s behavior are reserved primarily for Melanie. They arise when Melanie is trying to help him with school or whatever. He acts so put out by things. He really can be a negative guy. (Where in the world could he get that from, I wonder?) Sometimes it seems like all he does is complain about whatever’s happening. It can be quite relentless. He’s also quite the drama queen. If he gets so much as a scratch, he acts like he cannot function for the rest of the day. Yesterday, he had a school field trip. Shouldn’t that be exciting? Shouldn’t he be thrilled to get away from his typical school routine? But instead, he cried and screamed all morning because he had a small scratch on his foot and he didn’t want to have to put on shoes. He doesn’t get over these things very quickly, and it’s as tedious as it is absurd.

To end on a more positive note, I’m going to share something Eddie created. I recently introduced my boys to Garbage Pail Kids. Edison promptly designed his own Garbage Pail Kid and brought it to me. Here it is:

The above Garbage Pail Kid is named Helicopter Patty. (The “he” near his head is short for “helicopter,” Eddie informs me.) As you can see, Helicopter Patty’s head is a helicopter pad. A helicopter (no, that’s not a Vespa, a roller skate, or some sort of Christian relic) is landing on his head, guided by the remote control that Helicopter Patty holds in his left hand. Cute, isn’t it?

Jambalaya

I’m now twice as far into the semester as I was the last time I wrote. Things are still going well. I actually had a student come by during my office hours just to tell me how much she enjoys the class. She stuck around for a few minutes just to chit-chat. It is her first semester in college, and she told me that she’s really happy because all of her professors have been awesome, including me. (For the record, I’m not actually a professor.) Admittedly, it was nice to get such positive feedback. Without even knowing it, she reassured me that many of my desires for the class are being met, at least in one student’s eyes. She said she likes how much class discussion we have, and she says the class feels like a very safe place to share your views, etc. I was thrilled to have the feedback, as bizarre as it felt to receive it. I’ve never had a student show up just to tell me that he/she likes my class. It’s a strange thing.

So, teaching is going well, but I’m sick—again. It’s beginning to feel like I should blog about my health only when I’m not sick. As always, it seems to be a matter of the illness circling around within the family and never really leaving. I was just getting over a cold when the semester began. Then everyone else in my family got it. In fact, many of them are still coughing regularly. They’ve all been to the doctor and hooked up with prescription meds. Eddie, Peter, and Creegan all had ear infections. They thought Melanie might have bronchitis. I haven’t been as bad off as everybody else, but it hardly matters. When you’re a parent, it sucks to have sick kids. You feel depressed on their behalf, and your rest is only as good as their rest. As for my own physical condition, I’m tired of feeling a massive amount of pressure in my head and of constantly needing to blow my nose. Thankfully, I think we’re all finally heading out of this one. Let’s hope for a good two or three weeks before anything else strikes, shall we?

Quick complaint: the weather. It’s late September. You go outside at night, when it’s dark, after 9pm, and you walk from your doorstep to your car. Guess what? You’re sweating like a pig. I’d like to tell Florida to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, but the blasted sun is always shining here!

I’m no further along on my dissertation than I was two weeks ago. Pity. I don’t often feel inspired to work on it, although I occasionally get into conversations with others about it and get kind of excited. I get excited as I talk about it mostly because I feel more and more convinced that I’m right and that I have something to say. But, man, it’s a lot easier to have something to say than to actually say it. It’s the latter that overwhelms me. Philosophy is a picky, picky thing. You have to be so careful and precise. It makes it exhausting. Yes, yes, that’s what makes it so brilliant and beautiful when it succeeds, I know, but trust me, you can be a lot sloppier writing for almost any other field. Sometimes I fantasize about being a psychologist instead. Or even a high school teacher. Shhh, don’t tell!

On a positive note, this is looking like a great night for TV. I’m excited to see the premiers of The Amazing Race and Sister Wives. And yes, I’m going to watch Pan Am. Melanie and I have been watching a bit more TV this season, and it’s been fun. I’m already ready to bail on a few of the new shows we’ve tried, but it’s been nice to do something different.

And that’s my life.

School, Kids, the Yoozh

I just got done with my second week of teaching. I’ve been wanting to write about it, of course, but it seems there is always something else to be done. As I reported before, I only have one TA to help me out, and the class has actually grown slightly since I griped about that. Fortunately, I quite like the TA I have; he actually entered the program at the same time that I did, so I’ve known him for a while. So far, he’s acted like he’s not too worried about handling the workload. He keeps a positive attitude, and I’m grateful.

Teaching ethics is quite different from teaching logic. It is better in some ways, not better in other ways. Clearly, having literally ten times the number of students makes the class feel less personal. And yet, ethics is something we can actually get into classroom discussions about. I’m not just teaching the students rules, I’m (hopefully) getting them to think critically about interesting things. That’s fun. But it’s also more work. It’s more up to me what I say and how I say it. I have to stimulate their interest, and because I’m not just teaching them rules, it’s not as laid out for me what I should be saying. The last couple of times that I’ve taught, I’ve worried that I’ll cover all the material in 30 minutes and have nothing to say for the remaining 45 minutes. That hasn’t happened, fortunately.

In other news, I can’t believe how “midlife” things feel now. That might not be the best description, but I don’t know what to say. “Established”? Eh, maybe. It’s hard to say that, though, when I’m still in school. But as a family, we’re very established, and it’s kind of mind-blowing. Eddie’s in Kindergarten. Can you believe it?!? And he and Peter had dentist appointments today, and going to something like that just feels so … I don’t know … parental, I guess! What’s more, Eddie is going to start gymnastics on Monday, and he and Peter both started taking an arts & crafts class at a community center on Wednesdays. Somehow, all this “extracurricular” stuff going on with my children just makes me feel all the more tipped over into adulthood. It’s crazy. And probably one reason I feel so desirous to be done with school and actually into a settled job (like I whined about last time). Not to leave Creegan out, he’s getting several teeth all at once. He’s growing up!

Well, there you have it. Another blasé peek into my life. I promise I often have more interesting thoughts and feelings than I ever get around to sharing on here. In the words of Brian May, “someday, one day.”

Father's Day 2011

It’s been a good Father’s Day. I slept in a bit later than I probably should have. I ate a responsible bowl of Wheat Chex, but topped it off with a Svenhard’s cinnamon roll. We went to church and I remained surprisingly positive through it all, even when kids were getting a bit out of control. I came home and let my wife pour me a tall glass of Diet Mountain Dew. We baked a margherita pizza (yum!) from Costco for lunch, and we ate it while streaming Teen Wolf Too on Netflix. (A horrible movie, but more or less family friendly. I hadn’t ever seen it before and wrongfully thought at least one or two of us would enjoy it.) I started a new book that I’m reading just for fun and not for any academic purpose, which can be rare nowadays. And now we’ve just gone on a drive where Melanie and I actually got to talk for more than a few minutes without interruption. Quite a lovely day, I’d say.

To celebrate Father’s Day, I’d like to take a brief moment to appreciate publicly each of my children.

Edison

Edison is such a big kid nowadays. I’m loving it, especially his creativity, which has changed a lot over the last little while. He still doesn’t quite get jokes. About a month ago, I read him some jokes out of a kids’ magazine. He picked up on the general overall tone of them, but puns are still beyond his ability fully to appreciate. As such, I found myself in hysterics when Edison recently performed a bit of stand-up comedy for Melanie and me. He really did, too. On our way out of church a few weeks ago, we stopped by the primary room, which everyone had left, and Edison stood at the podium and talked into the microphone, telling us jokes. Here’s a bit of his routine:

What do doors like to eat for breakfast? (Pause.) Pianos.
What do chairs like to eat for breakfast? (Pause.) Doors.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

Edison also fancies himself a photographer. A couple of months ago, he took this disturbing photo of a firefighter who bravely gave his life in the line of duty:



And finally, I was really impressed by this drawing that Edison made for me today. The red people are he and I. The thick red blur going out of my (the person on the left’s) head is to show that I’m thinking about Eddie and me going on a rocket into outer space. You can see the sun (obvious enough) and Mars and Neptune (on the left side of the page, in brown and pink, respectively). The blue above the red line is of the rocket blasting into space. I was sincerely impressed that he would draw me as thinking about these things and capture that in a visual way. Pretty cool.



Peter

Peter is barely into being three years old, which I learned with Edison is a much more difficult age than two. Fortunately, there have been a lot of sweet times between Peter and me lately. It wasn’t long ago that I was feeling bad about my relationship with Peter, feeling like he just wasn’t very playful with me. But recently, this has improved a ton and we seem to play around together a lot. It’s been really wonderful for me. We even have our own special little game, where we talk gibberish nonsense to each other, sometimes rather extensively. And I love that Peter is always quick with a drawn-out “I love you, toooo” whenever I say “I love you” to him.

Creegan

Creegan and I have gotten a lot closer lately, even though we’ve always felt close. I love tickling his belly with my face or head, which he always laughs a lot at. Recently, I’ve done a lot more putting him to sleep at night, too. He can be fussy, but miraculously he’s been content to let me pat his back and bounce around with him while he falls asleep on my shoulder. Most of the time, he just wants his mom, so it’s nice that I’ve been able to do this with him. And the other day, we spent a little bit of time playing with toys together—or at least he quite contentedly watched me play with toys in front of him. It was some nice one-on-one time, and it happened right after we danced around together to some really great music. It’s fun having him around.

To finish this post off, I’ll share this video, which Melanie made of Edison and Peter just a few hours ago. Peter gets a little behind, but he catches up at the end.

Fatherhood, Take 3

When a new child arrives, there is so much to say about it and yet so little time to say it. Life has been pretty crazy since Creegan was born. With Melanie and Creegan staying the mandatory 48 hours in the hospital after Creegan’s departure from the womb, I became a single parent of two. I am not accustomed to being the primary caretaker, and sadly this makes me pretty bad at it sometimes. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, we’re all exhausted, but when you’re the parent, you’re supposed to handle whatever happens with restraint. I’ve failed numerous times in the past week, being quite short-tempered with my two eldest. Poor guys. They seem to be doing really well, but I know they’re affected by all of this, too. When they’re not completely obedient or otherwise test me, I know there are better ways to respond than lashing out at them, but that’s what I’m doing all too often. For crap’s sake.

Creegan came home on Saturday. On Tuesday, he was back in the hospital because his jaundice was quite extreme. It seems like every baby I’ve ever heard of has had jaundice, so I wasn’t scared by it, but it was still sad to have him going back to the hospital. Melanie stayed with him, which meant she too was gone. Once again, I was a single parent. We hoped the jaundice would improve overnight, but it didn’t improve enough. Creegan (and Melanie) were stuck until at least Thursday morning. That meant I was stuck as a single parent until at least Wednesday evening, when Melanie’s parents would arrive in town. Making it to Wednesday evening wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the fact that I had a paper due on Wednesday afternoon. It was a paper for which I had already received an extension because Creegan was born. Even though another extension might have been warranted once Creegan was going back to the hospital, I really didn’t want to have to ask for even more time. Miraculously, I got the essay completed, with a little bit of help from the television, which acted as a babysitter for much of the day. I felt bad about that, but I didn’t want to take the time to drive Eddie and Peter to a human babysitter. I didn’t feel like I had time even for that. (Everyone we know whom we would feel comfortable asking to babysit lives about 20-30 minutes away, so taking the kids to a human babysitter would have eaten up a decent chunk of time.)

Melanie’s parents coming into town has been a sigh of relief. They’re very helpful, and it makes me feel much less guilty about doing schoolwork and other necessary things when they entertain Eddie and Peter. Melanie and Creegan finally came home yesterday afternoon. Creegan had yet another follow-up visit with his doctor this morning, and things are looking great. He’s home for good, which is awesome. Mind you, the awesomeness brings challenges. The only perk to having Melanie and Creegan at the hospital is that I got a full night’s sleep. Those are no more, I suppose. (During the first two years of a child’s life, the parents lose an average of half a year of sleep!) Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they’re here. It’s just that I’m already feeling quite exhausted—even more so than before.

I’ll end this post on a happy note, with a few pictures. I’m only posting a few because many of the pictures we’ve taken haven’t yet been uploaded to our computer. Also, I don’t want to spend copious amounts of time looking over the pictures and trying to choose the best ones. Hopefully these will satisfy those family members and friends who have been eagerly watching and waiting for additional photos to appear.

Party of Five

Father's Day 2010

I had a very special Father’s Day this year. In the morning, Eddie and Peter (with a little help from Melanie) made me French toast, scrambled eggs, and sausage links. Melanie had even purchased orange juice, which is a rarity around here. It was quite a lavish breakfast. I felt quite pampered.

In the afternoon, I was blindfolded (at Eddie’s request) and given two wrapped gifts, one from Eddie and one from Peter. The gifts looked identical. When I opened them, I discovered two canisters of nuts—one can of almonds, and one can of cashews. The boys were very excited about giving them to me, which was super sweet. Of course, the idea came from Melanie. She said that, as far as she’s concerned, nuts are a must on Father’s Day. I agree. They do seem standard. I’m happy to be a dad who can look forward to cashews every year!

Thanks, Eddie, Peter, and Melanie! I love you!

Royal Flush

Or, Royal Pain in the You Know What

I’m probably not even calmed down enough to be writing this. But I’m going to. I’ve been wanting to write another blog post, as I promised a couple of days ago, and there’s certainly something on my mind at the moment. So I guess I’ll write about it.

About an hour ago, give or take, I went to help Edison finish his business in the bathroom. Things were going fine and dandy until I flushed the toilet, at which point the bowl started to fill with water and make a gurgling, bubbling sound rather than sucking everything down and belching in satisfaction as one would normally expect. It was obvious to me that nothing I had just flushed could be causing the problem, but that wouldn’t have been my first suspicion, anyway. Not lately. Because, after about a two-year hiatus from putting things in the toilet, Edison has started “accidentally” dropping things in there again. And flushing. Two years ago, I found Eddie’s habit rather frustrating. Being that he is almost four-years-old, I now find myself absolutely livid with each new occurrence. Over the last two or three months, we’ve permanently lost a couple of small toys down the toilet. That’s better than, oh I don’t know, a pair of eyeglasses, such as he flushed down the toilet in Atlanta. But as irksome as it has been this time around, tonight was the worst. Not because we lost anything of value, thankfully. No, tonight I am beyond upset because I don’t think I’m going to be able to fix the toilet on my own. I’ve always been able to plunge the toilet enough to get things running smoothly, and sometimes even retrieve whatever was flushed. But tonight, Eddie has flushed a small ball that is basically the perfect size for getting wedged quite tightly, right where you can’t really get to it without just pushing it even further out of reach.

To make matters worse, the toilet water started overflowing, spreading all over the bathroom floor. That’s also something we’ve been fortunate enough to avoid until now. I know this is the kind of thing you eventually laugh at, but right now, the only thing I can imagine bringing a smile to my face is sticking Eddie’s head into the toilet and flushing him a few times. Sigh. Maybe next time.

At Least I Know I Never Want Twins

Edison’s latest kick has been to pretend he is Peter. He announces that he is Peter, or Peter Baby, or Eddie-Peter, and he then proceeds to crawl around, to gesture at things while making inarticulate noises, and/or simply to hold things up for our inspection so we can tell him what it is. He finds this very entertaining. Melanie and I – not so much.

Today, I found Eddie’s latest form of entertainment particularly tiresome. Melanie teaches a Primary class at church, so Peter and Edison are left in my care for almost two hours. I find this challenging enough on its own right, but all the more so when every interaction I have with Peter must then be repeated with “Eddie-Peter.” If Peter points out something and I tell him what it is, then Eddie wants to point out the very same thing and have me tell him what it is. If Peter tries to put garbage in my mouth and I say “Yuck!” then Edison wants to pretend he is trying to put garbage in my mouth and have me say “Yuck!” If I hold Peter’s hands and help him walk around the room a little bit, then Eddie wants me to hold his hands while he pretends he can barely walk. Laborious!

I can just hear the psychologists out there insisting that Edison is pretending to be Peter because he is jealous of the attention Peter is getting at this stage of life. Perhaps that is part of it, but I’m not too worried about it. Eddie hasn’t started making big messes or acting completely incompetent, and he never seems sad or unhappy either when or right before he indulges in this type of play. What’s more, Edison has long been a fan of role-reversals, asking Melanie to be “Daddy,” insisting that he is “Mommy,” and telling me that I am “Eddie,” etc. So he mixes it up in every possible way you can imagine, and he wants us all to do it. But lately he’s been all too keen on being Peter, and I’m quite content with just one of those.

Anybody want a spare?

Father of Lies

The other day, Melanie got out our Christmas decorations. One of them is a tin, such as you might fill with candy. On the lid of the tin is an image of St. Nick himself. While Eddie was looking at the tin, I thought I would give my first attempt at explaining who the jolly fellow in red is. Thus far, Edison has no concept of Santa Claus (or scarcely of Christmas, for that matter). I didn’t think he’d get much out of my explanation of Santa Claus, but I thought it would at least familiarize him to the idea.

As I began to tell Eddie about Santa Claus, I felt this pang of sadness in realizing that I was lying to my son. I was incredibly surprised by this. I have always intended to raise my children with the myth of Santa Claus. No part of me has ever seriously questioned that I would do so. I never worried about it. And it is not as though, once I started explaining Santa Claus to my son, I thought about the fact that I was lying, and then felt sort of bad about it. I felt sad the second I started saying it. The sadness was immediate. Here is my boy, looking up at me, believing whatever I have to say, and for the first time I am blatantly saying things to him that are not true. I, on whom he has relied for his understanding of the world, am now deceiving him. For the first time, I am purposely causing him to believe something that is false. It honestly felt really sad.

I am betting that most of you who read this will think I am insane. Or you will think my reaction is some weird consequence of being a philosopher. Something like that. I disagree entirely. The reaction was so immediate and natural that I really believe it was rooted in nothing more than the fact that I was deceiving my sweet, loving, trusting child. The fact that this particular lie is customary and generally regarded to promote a sense of magic and fun does not change that. I admit that I still plan to carry on the Santa Claus tradition, but the fact is, because of Santa Claus, something that has never happened before has now happened—I have lied to my child. That is kind of sad, and those of you who want to sugar coat it fail to see that the innocence of my relationship with Edison has been lost. Yes, that’s a part of growing up, but until now, nothing was a lie. Does nobody sympathize?

(Note: this post from March 2005 may prove an interesting backdrop to today’s post.)

My Eddie Boy

I feel like I’ve really been delighting in being Edison’s dad lately. I have always felt this way, but as he grows and develops, there’s always some aspect of (or dynamic to) our relationship that feels special and new. Recently, he seems to have grown even more fond of me than he already was, and, perhaps not too coincidentally, I feel like I’ve been a much better father. It seems like we’re always playing around and joking with each other, if I’m available. Sure, I’m very often not available, but when I am, it seems our interactions are about as perfect as I can imagine. It’s a wonderful thing. As such, I feel like celebrating my little boy, and so I present a few cute Eddie stories (and two adorable pictures) from fairly recent.

Story #1
Throughout Edison’s life, I’ve called him Eddie Boy. Lately, he’s started referring to me as Daddy Boy. If we’re playing our rudimentary version of hide-and-seek (in which there is no counting and only I hide), Eddie will say, “Where’s my Daddy Boy?” or “I lost my Daddy Boy” as he searches for me. So far he hasn’t adapted to calling Melanie “Mommy Boy,” but I can’t help thinking it’s likely to happen sometime soon—especially after I referred to Melanie as “Mommy Boy” while talking to Edison this afternoon. Ha ha!

I get a kick out of this photo of Eddie in a sweater vest, enjoying a pair of oatmeal cookies that I baked (all by myself!). Though Cliff Huxtable comes to mind, I actually see a bit of my dad in this photo. I think it has something to do with the sweater, but it might just be the cookies.

Story #2
Edison is becoming such a smarty. Just in the last week or so, he’s started to be very interested in letters. He’ll frequently ask either Melanie or me to tell him what the letters are on different things. And now he’s starting to memorize them. So, at less than two-and-a-half years old, Eddie can identify half a dozen letters or so. He’s especially good with the letters O and T. In fact, it was the letter T that he first amazed us by identifying. Several years ago, Melanie and I bought a souvenir blanket while in Seattle. The blanket is folded nicely over the white chair in our living room, and the word “Seattle” is written in capital letters across the bottom of it. One night, Eddie was sitting on the chair looking at the blanket, when he informed us that the blanket has two T’s on it, and he pointed out the correct letters. Smarty farty, indeed!

Story #3
Yesterday, Melanie, Eddie, and Peter came to campus to meet me for lunch. It’s something we’ve wanted to do for a while, especially because it’s so much easier to do here than it was in Atlanta. Eddie was excited to come to campus because, on the handful of occasions when Melanie’s given me a ride to school, he’s enjoyed seeing the water fountain in front of the Westcott Building (which is near the building housing the philosophy department). We ate at Panchero’s, a Moe’s-type eatery located inside the Circle K right across from the Westcott Building. The food was so-so, but it was a fun experience. After eating, we headed across to the water fountain so Eddie could get his first up-close view. He wasn’t as excited as I’d expected him to be, but he did enjoy throwing in a few leaves. Melanie, Eddie, and Peter then walked me back to the philosophy department. They are doing construction right outside of my building, so Eddie had an opportunity to spend a few minutes watching bulldozers and the like digging up and moving around dirt. He watched intently, but didn’t react much to it until later. According to Melanie, he talked about the trucks quite a bit on their way home. That was the first time he’s really seen those kind of trucks in action. It was a nice perk in my day to be able to spend some time with my family. Check out this picture perfect photo of Eddie in front of the Westcott Building fountain. He’s looking studly in the jacket given to him by his Uncle Steve and Aunt Heather:

Family of Four

Peter joined the family on Friday, May 2nd at 2:44 p.m. Melanie was originally scheduled for an induction today, Monday, May 5th (we’ve always dreamed of a Cinco de Mayo baby*), but her ripe little (or should I say, not so little!) cervix just couldn’t wait. Just like with Eddie, Melanie’s birth canal was rearing to go and it was questionable whether we’d even make it to the scheduled induction. Unlike with Eddie, we didn’t make it after all.

So, now I’m officially the father in a family of four. What the pfargtl?!? Even though I don’t feel too much in shock (yet) with Peter here, saying things like “family of four” and “I have two kids” and “my children / sons / boys” makes my brain stumble a bit. I can’t believe those phrases have application in my life. It’s bizarre!

The chances of me writing very frequently now that Peter’s on the scene are next to nil (at least for a while), but perhaps I’ll be able to drop brief lines or post a picture here and there. Speaking of which, here is a picture of my family …


Could I be any more blessed? I’m one happy man!

*Yes, I was being sarcastic about Cinco de Mayo