Lingo
This time of year I love to watch football. Playoff and Bowl games keep me occupied to one degree or another. I prefer to make picks or predictions on what team will win. It makes every game just that much more interesting.
Last night was the Fort Worth Somethingorrather Bowl; the Texas Christian University Horned Frogs versus the Boise State University Broncos. I asked Emma what team she was cheering for, "Do you want the Frogs or the Broncos?"
"What's a brontos?" she asked.
"It's a wild horse." I responded.
"Ummm, da brontos." she answered.
"That's who I want too," I said.
Abbie thought about it awhile then decided on the Horned Frogs since that is from where Kristi had graduated. Emma quickly changed her mind to side with Abbie.
Time went on and the game got really good. At one point the Broncos were ahead by one touchdown and I decided to put on the obnoxious professional wrestler's persona to make the friendly bet a bit more fun, "Oh boy, you two girlies are gonna lose big-time! The Broncos are ahead. You are going DOWNN!!!!"
Emma's eyes about popped out of her head and she immediately reciprocated the tone back to me, "Oh yeah? We you are going UUUUUPP!"
12.24.2003
12.19.2003
Sore Eyes
We were sitting in the recovery room at the Phoenix Children's Hospital after Ellie's second laser surgery on her hemangioma arm. We heard her crying as we were led into the room. This time it was more painful for her, and we could definitely tell. As Abbie comforted the tiny sore body, I sat next to them and allowed my eyes to wander to the other corners of the room.
The recovery room was one big square, quartered, with one bed in each corner. With each bed were the solemn faces of the anxious parents whispering to each other and staring at their babies. Their babies on this occasion ranged in age anywhere from Ellie at 2 months to about 12 years old.
Unaware of the reasons that brought all of us into the same room, I could only assume we were the least tragic scenario. Cosmetic laser surgery versus congenital heart disease doesn't seem as critical as it did when we first walked into the building early that morning. Sure, our baby is only 2 months old, which makes it more of a sob story to some, but when you hear parents telling the recovery staff that they have had numerous surgeries and that they are completely aware how all of the anesthesia works, that is when reality quickly sets.
Keeping a cool composure is good for your spouse and I feel for all of the other pressured adults in the room. So I read a book in the silence, occasionally looking up from the pages to respond to a nurse or to view any new activity across the area.
I then noticed the little boy across from us. He was about 9 or 10 years old. It was his parents that told the nurses they knew the regiment and for them to cut to the chase. They sat patiently at bedside. Then they noticed the boy beginning to move. They leaped forward. Dad had a stuffed Gonzo muppet doll. Mom reached out to rub her son's arm. The pitch in their voices raised, even though they were soft-spoken. Words of encouragement and praise were given tenderly.
Suddenly, my parents appeared before me; superimposed over the two standing bodies in front of the bed. Dad hung the muppet off of his ear to try to make the young patient smile. The boy drifted back into unconsciousness. Zach's eyes were swallowed by the heavy eyelids as the boy metamorphasized into my brother. The walls surrounding us all transformed into my sibling's living room.
Although they were hundreds of miles away, although they were different in age and in stature, although we were in a hospital and my family in a home, they were the exact same people. These three individuals before me were the same balls of loving, frightened energy secretly screaming uncontrollably inside.
I immediately dropped my head and wept.
We were sitting in the recovery room at the Phoenix Children's Hospital after Ellie's second laser surgery on her hemangioma arm. We heard her crying as we were led into the room. This time it was more painful for her, and we could definitely tell. As Abbie comforted the tiny sore body, I sat next to them and allowed my eyes to wander to the other corners of the room.
The recovery room was one big square, quartered, with one bed in each corner. With each bed were the solemn faces of the anxious parents whispering to each other and staring at their babies. Their babies on this occasion ranged in age anywhere from Ellie at 2 months to about 12 years old.
Unaware of the reasons that brought all of us into the same room, I could only assume we were the least tragic scenario. Cosmetic laser surgery versus congenital heart disease doesn't seem as critical as it did when we first walked into the building early that morning. Sure, our baby is only 2 months old, which makes it more of a sob story to some, but when you hear parents telling the recovery staff that they have had numerous surgeries and that they are completely aware how all of the anesthesia works, that is when reality quickly sets.
Keeping a cool composure is good for your spouse and I feel for all of the other pressured adults in the room. So I read a book in the silence, occasionally looking up from the pages to respond to a nurse or to view any new activity across the area.
I then noticed the little boy across from us. He was about 9 or 10 years old. It was his parents that told the nurses they knew the regiment and for them to cut to the chase. They sat patiently at bedside. Then they noticed the boy beginning to move. They leaped forward. Dad had a stuffed Gonzo muppet doll. Mom reached out to rub her son's arm. The pitch in their voices raised, even though they were soft-spoken. Words of encouragement and praise were given tenderly.
Suddenly, my parents appeared before me; superimposed over the two standing bodies in front of the bed. Dad hung the muppet off of his ear to try to make the young patient smile. The boy drifted back into unconsciousness. Zach's eyes were swallowed by the heavy eyelids as the boy metamorphasized into my brother. The walls surrounding us all transformed into my sibling's living room.
Although they were hundreds of miles away, although they were different in age and in stature, although we were in a hospital and my family in a home, they were the exact same people. These three individuals before me were the same balls of loving, frightened energy secretly screaming uncontrollably inside.
I immediately dropped my head and wept.
12.17.2003
Naughty or Nice
We are at the theme park in Colorado called "North Pole." Guess what the motif is. It includes the world's highest ferris wheel and about a dozen fair/carnival rides for the kids. Of course, the main course is meeting and getting your photograph with old St. Nick, himself.
Abbie, Auntie Kristi (still pregnant), Emma and I dared the sub-zero temperatures one day during our past trip. We were warned at the entrance that we needed to go see Santa before the crowd swelled, so we did.
We pointed out to the mother-to-be the key differences between boys and girls just with the surrounding specimens. The girls were huddled together singing Christmas Carols. The boys? They were throwing sticks, jumping in the snow and climbing everything that could be climbed. They were entertained, and so were we.
After about a half an hour of standing in the biting wind, we reached the front door of St. Nicholas' "house." Inside were an elaborate array of toys, a photographer complete with all of the studio lighting, and a big armchair with the jolly fellow reclined comfortably. Right before being able to enter into the living room to recite your wish list, one could write in the guest book perched on a small shelf about three and a half feet off of the ground attached to the wall.
We were about three groups away from Mr. Claus when "it" happened. It was the funniest thing I had seen since Emma accidentally and profusely peed on herself during our Christmas tree cutting adventure.
A little girl about 9 or 10 had just gotten her photo taken with the big man and was suppose to exit his house like all of the other visitors, through the exit door. This gal, let's call her "Lucy" was not desiring the lemming approach to exiting, instead she wished to reek havoc on all of the cold cramped folks who still had not yet gotten to sit on the red suited one's lap. Lucy approached the gate where we were waiting.
The next woman in line told her that she was suppose to go out the other way.
"I don't want to." Lucy roughly stated.
"But everyone is coming in this way, you need to go that way." the kind-voice woman repeated while extending a finger to the exit door.
In an octave or two higher as well with much more force, Lucy exclaimed loudly, "I DON'T WANT TO GO THAT WAY!"
The stranger woman decided in an instant to not challenge the head-strong girl and opened the gate for her to go out the in door.
Instantly, Lucy cracked her noggin on that guest book signing shelf, right square on her temple. She dropped like Saddam in a rat-hole, right to her knees. There was a silent gasp of breathe by all that witnessed the painful contact between hard flesh and even harder wood.
Then I think the entire enclosed group of Santa helpers, parents, and even the bearded one, himself filled their faces, from ear to ear with smiles of self-satisfaction. As if each were thinking the same exact thing, "Instant Karma".
We are at the theme park in Colorado called "North Pole." Guess what the motif is. It includes the world's highest ferris wheel and about a dozen fair/carnival rides for the kids. Of course, the main course is meeting and getting your photograph with old St. Nick, himself.
Abbie, Auntie Kristi (still pregnant), Emma and I dared the sub-zero temperatures one day during our past trip. We were warned at the entrance that we needed to go see Santa before the crowd swelled, so we did.
We pointed out to the mother-to-be the key differences between boys and girls just with the surrounding specimens. The girls were huddled together singing Christmas Carols. The boys? They were throwing sticks, jumping in the snow and climbing everything that could be climbed. They were entertained, and so were we.
After about a half an hour of standing in the biting wind, we reached the front door of St. Nicholas' "house." Inside were an elaborate array of toys, a photographer complete with all of the studio lighting, and a big armchair with the jolly fellow reclined comfortably. Right before being able to enter into the living room to recite your wish list, one could write in the guest book perched on a small shelf about three and a half feet off of the ground attached to the wall.
We were about three groups away from Mr. Claus when "it" happened. It was the funniest thing I had seen since Emma accidentally and profusely peed on herself during our Christmas tree cutting adventure.
A little girl about 9 or 10 had just gotten her photo taken with the big man and was suppose to exit his house like all of the other visitors, through the exit door. This gal, let's call her "Lucy" was not desiring the lemming approach to exiting, instead she wished to reek havoc on all of the cold cramped folks who still had not yet gotten to sit on the red suited one's lap. Lucy approached the gate where we were waiting.
The next woman in line told her that she was suppose to go out the other way.
"I don't want to." Lucy roughly stated.
"But everyone is coming in this way, you need to go that way." the kind-voice woman repeated while extending a finger to the exit door.
In an octave or two higher as well with much more force, Lucy exclaimed loudly, "I DON'T WANT TO GO THAT WAY!"
The stranger woman decided in an instant to not challenge the head-strong girl and opened the gate for her to go out the in door.
Instantly, Lucy cracked her noggin on that guest book signing shelf, right square on her temple. She dropped like Saddam in a rat-hole, right to her knees. There was a silent gasp of breathe by all that witnessed the painful contact between hard flesh and even harder wood.
Then I think the entire enclosed group of Santa helpers, parents, and even the bearded one, himself filled their faces, from ear to ear with smiles of self-satisfaction. As if each were thinking the same exact thing, "Instant Karma".
One Wish
You know, in some perverted way I wish we were always reminded on a
daily occurrence the true importance of being good to each other. The
bittersweetness of a welcoming a new life into the world and one
preparing to leave is an amazing swirling mix of emotion and thoughts.
It is constant rejuvenation of the soul, as well as a biting kick in
the groin.
Pleasure and Pain or Yin and Yang as my friend says. The true balance of life.
You know, in some perverted way I wish we were always reminded on a
daily occurrence the true importance of being good to each other. The
bittersweetness of a welcoming a new life into the world and one
preparing to leave is an amazing swirling mix of emotion and thoughts.
It is constant rejuvenation of the soul, as well as a biting kick in
the groin.
Pleasure and Pain or Yin and Yang as my friend says. The true balance of life.
12.14.2003
Incoming
Early this morning (December 14, 2003 - 2:42 a.m.) my sister-in-law, Kristi Weien gave birth to my brother's baby boy, Caleb Cormack Weien at Evans Hospital at Fort Carson, Colorado Springs, Colorado.
He is 6 lbs, 1 oz, 18 inches long, slightly blonde and handsome.
Both Mom and baby are doing great.
Will have photos soon enough, but just wanted to share the excitement. We have been here, in Colorado Springs since Decemer 6th (my birthday) to celebrate my 31st birthday and Zach's 25th (on December 10th). On Friday we had an early Christmas which was fantastic. This, of course tops the trip off.
Kristi was not due until January 3rd, so despite my persistent prodding of her, I did not expect this to really happen.
We are very excited - also to hear now that Saddam has been captured too!!!! Oddly enough, the unit that captured him was the Fourth Infantry Division, which was Zachary's old unit.
We did not will the Powerball, but today is still rich with historical happenings!
Early this morning (December 14, 2003 - 2:42 a.m.) my sister-in-law, Kristi Weien gave birth to my brother's baby boy, Caleb Cormack Weien at Evans Hospital at Fort Carson, Colorado Springs, Colorado.
He is 6 lbs, 1 oz, 18 inches long, slightly blonde and handsome.
Both Mom and baby are doing great.
Will have photos soon enough, but just wanted to share the excitement. We have been here, in Colorado Springs since Decemer 6th (my birthday) to celebrate my 31st birthday and Zach's 25th (on December 10th). On Friday we had an early Christmas which was fantastic. This, of course tops the trip off.
Kristi was not due until January 3rd, so despite my persistent prodding of her, I did not expect this to really happen.
We are very excited - also to hear now that Saddam has been captured too!!!! Oddly enough, the unit that captured him was the Fourth Infantry Division, which was Zachary's old unit.
We did not will the Powerball, but today is still rich with historical happenings!
12.05.2003
Part One - Relief and Recovery
Well, what can you say when everything comes together flawlessly and with little to no effort? It makes you appreciate it so much more, especially if you are like me and attempt to plan out every specific detail.
What I am talking about (this time) is that we have just returned from the Phoenix Children's Hospital. We got a phone call on Monday from them reminding us that we had a scheduled laser surgery for Ellie's hemangioma on her right arm for Thursday at 7 am. We were surprised because we had not heard anything up to that point. We hadn't even heard if my insurance would cover any of the procedure. We were not ready to make a decision until after the holidays because we had originally gotten the impression that we didn't have to hurry.
Wrong again wisenheimer.
We had to have some answers from the doctor, and he did not get back to us until midday Wednesday. We were both ready to just not go at all.
Of course, we are also trying to get all our stuff together here and at work so that we can celebrate Christmas at my brothers... another long story, so don't worry about that part.
Long story, very short, Gene and Sally picked up Emma last night and we got up at 3 am. Fed the baby. Loaded her into the car and drove to the hospital by 6:30 am. She was admitted, even though she was seriously P.O.'d that she hadn't eaten for over 3 hours. Abbie put her on the surgery table, they ushered us out and forty-five minutes later Abbie was rocking our Gracie in her arms in the recovery room.
We just got home.
"Whirlwind," you say?
"And how," I respond.
"What does something like that look like?" - check out Ellie's quick progression.
Part Two - Realization
Now, I am not a religious person, but I believe that I am a very spiritual one. This entire situation has grabbed both Abbie and myself by the neck and forced us to come to the conclusion that we have been too hasty to criticize the decision-making and choices of others in similar situations. Like everyone, we have our opinions and up until now, have treated them as convictions. We have learned a valuable lesson by our over-zealous outspoken actions.
At the same time, this little thing has allowed me to rediscover the elation of fatherhood again. It is the feeling that I am sure many have experienced. Up until now, I almost feel that I was so busy with keeping my head and body busy that I had not been capable of feeling it. I had tried, but it is like forcing fun on someone, all it does is turn ugly and someone ends up crying and running home.
The simplest metaphor I can immediately conjure up is this:
You love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Every day you can't wait to taste one or two or more. Then, eventually, your taste buds no longer appreciate the sweet and stickiness the sandwich has to offer. So you gradually stop eating them, or even cut cold turkey. As time goes by, you begin to feel empty inside and can't seem to find the reason why. You try quesadillas, fruit and other lunch-time substitutes until someone offers you a PB and J, and you remember the wonderful relationship. At first bite, you can't believe you ever stopped devouring these things because they are the most fantastic pleasures you could ever fathom.
"You don't know what you got until it's gone" said someone, somewhere, sometime ago.
Right now, to me, that is the biggest fault of human beings. However, I don't know if it is something and we can truly understand or even control. I believe this is the reason why self-help, self-esteem boosting, spiritually uplifting forwarded e-mails are such an ongoing cycle. It may not pertain to your attitude today or the next, but eventually it will and you will want to share it with others. The volleying of positive words keeps the cycle rolling. But like the wheels in a watch, some roll around slower than others, but all come full circle at their own pace.
Today, my counter has reset.
Well, what can you say when everything comes together flawlessly and with little to no effort? It makes you appreciate it so much more, especially if you are like me and attempt to plan out every specific detail.
What I am talking about (this time) is that we have just returned from the Phoenix Children's Hospital. We got a phone call on Monday from them reminding us that we had a scheduled laser surgery for Ellie's hemangioma on her right arm for Thursday at 7 am. We were surprised because we had not heard anything up to that point. We hadn't even heard if my insurance would cover any of the procedure. We were not ready to make a decision until after the holidays because we had originally gotten the impression that we didn't have to hurry.
Wrong again wisenheimer.
We had to have some answers from the doctor, and he did not get back to us until midday Wednesday. We were both ready to just not go at all.
Of course, we are also trying to get all our stuff together here and at work so that we can celebrate Christmas at my brothers... another long story, so don't worry about that part.
Long story, very short, Gene and Sally picked up Emma last night and we got up at 3 am. Fed the baby. Loaded her into the car and drove to the hospital by 6:30 am. She was admitted, even though she was seriously P.O.'d that she hadn't eaten for over 3 hours. Abbie put her on the surgery table, they ushered us out and forty-five minutes later Abbie was rocking our Gracie in her arms in the recovery room.
We just got home.
"Whirlwind," you say?
"And how," I respond.
"What does something like that look like?" - check out Ellie's quick progression.
Part Two - Realization
Now, I am not a religious person, but I believe that I am a very spiritual one. This entire situation has grabbed both Abbie and myself by the neck and forced us to come to the conclusion that we have been too hasty to criticize the decision-making and choices of others in similar situations. Like everyone, we have our opinions and up until now, have treated them as convictions. We have learned a valuable lesson by our over-zealous outspoken actions.
At the same time, this little thing has allowed me to rediscover the elation of fatherhood again. It is the feeling that I am sure many have experienced. Up until now, I almost feel that I was so busy with keeping my head and body busy that I had not been capable of feeling it. I had tried, but it is like forcing fun on someone, all it does is turn ugly and someone ends up crying and running home.
The simplest metaphor I can immediately conjure up is this:
You love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Every day you can't wait to taste one or two or more. Then, eventually, your taste buds no longer appreciate the sweet and stickiness the sandwich has to offer. So you gradually stop eating them, or even cut cold turkey. As time goes by, you begin to feel empty inside and can't seem to find the reason why. You try quesadillas, fruit and other lunch-time substitutes until someone offers you a PB and J, and you remember the wonderful relationship. At first bite, you can't believe you ever stopped devouring these things because they are the most fantastic pleasures you could ever fathom.
"You don't know what you got until it's gone" said someone, somewhere, sometime ago.
Right now, to me, that is the biggest fault of human beings. However, I don't know if it is something and we can truly understand or even control. I believe this is the reason why self-help, self-esteem boosting, spiritually uplifting forwarded e-mails are such an ongoing cycle. It may not pertain to your attitude today or the next, but eventually it will and you will want to share it with others. The volleying of positive words keeps the cycle rolling. But like the wheels in a watch, some roll around slower than others, but all come full circle at their own pace.
Today, my counter has reset.
11.29.2003
Rams Fans Are Drunks
For kicks I decided to go to the Arizona Cardinal's game last weekend. They played the St. Louis Rams and actually gave them a run for their money. In classic form, it appeared that there were more Lambs fans there than the home team. I sat next to Kid Rock, who, as you can tell is a Ram's fan. He came prepared for a typical autumn outdoor football game. I reminded him that we were in Phoenix. By the way, he really does drink a lot, just about as much as all of the other trailer park St. Louis Sweethearts.
For kicks I decided to go to the Arizona Cardinal's game last weekend. They played the St. Louis Rams and actually gave them a run for their money. In classic form, it appeared that there were more Lambs fans there than the home team. I sat next to Kid Rock, who, as you can tell is a Ram's fan. He came prepared for a typical autumn outdoor football game. I reminded him that we were in Phoenix. By the way, he really does drink a lot, just about as much as all of the other trailer park St. Louis Sweethearts.
11.28.2003
HE - MAN - GEE - O - MA
Hemangioma according to drgreene.com are:
"tufts of extra blood vessels that commonly occur in children.... A capillary hemangioma is a bright red birthmark that can sometimes be the most noticeable feature of a little baby. Hemangiomas often don't appear until a baby is a month old, and can continue to grow throughout infancy. Some are cute; some are large and unsightly. Thankfully, most will disappear on their own within about 2 years.... Whether hemangiomas are treated or not, babies deserve to have parents and others look at them with wonder and delight."
Here is what hemangiomas are to me:
A slight discoloring at birth on Ellie's left arm, that after the first few weeks had reddened and become more predominant. At birth, no one seemed bothered by the skin, so I didn't let it bother me. At about one month old, it had been worrying Abbie to the point to specifically bring it up to the pediatrician. She referred us to a local dermatologist that is also a pediatrician. I still did not think much of it, until Abbie called me in tears after meeting with the specialist. At this point hemangioma still had not been mentioned specifically. Instead the dermatologist gave us three possibilities; port wine stain, Klippel-Trenauncy Syndrome, or Parkes Weber Syndrome. Two of the three options were scary to the point of panicking. The least detrimental was the port wine stain, which is simply a permanent birthmark. It is the blood red birthmark that Boris Yeltsin has on his forehead. The local specialist told Abbie to "wait and keep an eye on it" which was not what any of us wanted to hear.
Last Monday we went to Phoenix Children's Hospital and met with an expert doctor who gave us this deadly sounding word, hemangioma. Basically, he said that it is nothing at all like the previous horrific possible diagnosis'. Instead, it is a tuft of extra blood vessels, that will go away in time. We have the option of laser surgery, but are not pressed to have to make an immediate decision, and will not until after the holidays.
Ellie is fine otherwise. And now, so are we.
Now, the word reminds me of a "Little Rascals" episode where Spanky and the gang decide to make a new, all boys club called, "The He-Man, Woman Hater's Club".
Hemangioma according to drgreene.com are:
"tufts of extra blood vessels that commonly occur in children.... A capillary hemangioma is a bright red birthmark that can sometimes be the most noticeable feature of a little baby. Hemangiomas often don't appear until a baby is a month old, and can continue to grow throughout infancy. Some are cute; some are large and unsightly. Thankfully, most will disappear on their own within about 2 years.... Whether hemangiomas are treated or not, babies deserve to have parents and others look at them with wonder and delight."
Here is what hemangiomas are to me:
A slight discoloring at birth on Ellie's left arm, that after the first few weeks had reddened and become more predominant. At birth, no one seemed bothered by the skin, so I didn't let it bother me. At about one month old, it had been worrying Abbie to the point to specifically bring it up to the pediatrician. She referred us to a local dermatologist that is also a pediatrician. I still did not think much of it, until Abbie called me in tears after meeting with the specialist. At this point hemangioma still had not been mentioned specifically. Instead the dermatologist gave us three possibilities; port wine stain, Klippel-Trenauncy Syndrome, or Parkes Weber Syndrome. Two of the three options were scary to the point of panicking. The least detrimental was the port wine stain, which is simply a permanent birthmark. It is the blood red birthmark that Boris Yeltsin has on his forehead. The local specialist told Abbie to "wait and keep an eye on it" which was not what any of us wanted to hear.
Last Monday we went to Phoenix Children's Hospital and met with an expert doctor who gave us this deadly sounding word, hemangioma. Basically, he said that it is nothing at all like the previous horrific possible diagnosis'. Instead, it is a tuft of extra blood vessels, that will go away in time. We have the option of laser surgery, but are not pressed to have to make an immediate decision, and will not until after the holidays.
Ellie is fine otherwise. And now, so are we.
Now, the word reminds me of a "Little Rascals" episode where Spanky and the gang decide to make a new, all boys club called, "The He-Man, Woman Hater's Club".
11.18.2003
Family Life
We sit calmly in our living room. The whole family except Ellie is at complete peace. She is just a bit fidgety, maybe it is a burp-bubble. She cries lightly telling me that I need to hold her another way or move more.
Ellie's eyes widen and curiosity showers her pudgy face as Emma begins to sing her newest rendition of "What I Think Should be Sung Loudest". It is a little ditty she has been perfecting for sometime now. It consists of stories, most often misunderstood to the untrained ear. It usually concerns her little sister and her love for her family and friends. It would be a sweet award-winning video if it wasn't always presented at the most inopportune time.
Her need to harmonize seems to be inspired most when Ellie begins to fuss. Of course, this happens a lot more than when Emma was a baby, however Emma refuses to start her program unless Ellie kick's off the first few notes. Then, like a locomotive pulling from the depot, Emma slowly grinds her tune into gear, persistently chugging to a louder and stronger pace until she is running at full tempo. The scenery whizzes by her as she tears through the house while the words dance through her lips.
Ellie's brow frowns. The noise that is intended to be sweet and melodic begins to reflect the sound of scraping metal on asphalt. It is just loud enough to overpower the music on the radio, or the football game on the television. It is just powerful enough to disrupt any verbal communication that might of been occurring. It is becoming "noticed."
Ellie's mouth gapes and she blinks annoyance into her cherub cheeks as this Zappa-esque jam promptly increases in volume. She squeaks her little "warning" squeak. Abbie and I have quickly recognized this as fast approaching trouble. We hear the squeaks. They are ignored by the roaring big sister, who by this time is belting the words at full force, fists clenched, eyes closed, chin raised.
Ellie's eyes tighten shut, her jaw drops open, and I hasten the patting on her back attempting to distract the irritant but with no success.
WWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!
Mariah Carey would be proud of the octaves my one-month-old can deliver.
Then the phone rings, there is a knock on the door and the dog begins to bark at shadows in the kitchen. Yes, hell has officially broken loose, and it is only 8:43 A.M.
At least we got the first one of the day out of the way.
We sit calmly in our living room. The whole family except Ellie is at complete peace. She is just a bit fidgety, maybe it is a burp-bubble. She cries lightly telling me that I need to hold her another way or move more.
Ellie's eyes widen and curiosity showers her pudgy face as Emma begins to sing her newest rendition of "What I Think Should be Sung Loudest". It is a little ditty she has been perfecting for sometime now. It consists of stories, most often misunderstood to the untrained ear. It usually concerns her little sister and her love for her family and friends. It would be a sweet award-winning video if it wasn't always presented at the most inopportune time.
Her need to harmonize seems to be inspired most when Ellie begins to fuss. Of course, this happens a lot more than when Emma was a baby, however Emma refuses to start her program unless Ellie kick's off the first few notes. Then, like a locomotive pulling from the depot, Emma slowly grinds her tune into gear, persistently chugging to a louder and stronger pace until she is running at full tempo. The scenery whizzes by her as she tears through the house while the words dance through her lips.
Ellie's brow frowns. The noise that is intended to be sweet and melodic begins to reflect the sound of scraping metal on asphalt. It is just loud enough to overpower the music on the radio, or the football game on the television. It is just powerful enough to disrupt any verbal communication that might of been occurring. It is becoming "noticed."
Ellie's mouth gapes and she blinks annoyance into her cherub cheeks as this Zappa-esque jam promptly increases in volume. She squeaks her little "warning" squeak. Abbie and I have quickly recognized this as fast approaching trouble. We hear the squeaks. They are ignored by the roaring big sister, who by this time is belting the words at full force, fists clenched, eyes closed, chin raised.
Ellie's eyes tighten shut, her jaw drops open, and I hasten the patting on her back attempting to distract the irritant but with no success.
WWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!
Mariah Carey would be proud of the octaves my one-month-old can deliver.
Then the phone rings, there is a knock on the door and the dog begins to bark at shadows in the kitchen. Yes, hell has officially broken loose, and it is only 8:43 A.M.
At least we got the first one of the day out of the way.
11.10.2003
News from Colorado to Share
Written the morning of November 8, 2003:
Ellie Rae Grace Weien is one month old today!(November 8th) WOW! Really doesn't seem like that precious little girl can be that OLD! Ellie is doing well. Emma is adjusting to her new role as Big Sister and will probably enjoy Ellie much more when she can do more things...like dress up like a Princess!!
Jake and Abbie are busy being very caring parents. Fortunately, Abbie doesn't have to return to teaching until the Christmas break is over, so she will be home for a couple more months. I'm sure the next two will fly bye as quickly as this first one has.
The cycle of life is so interesting as I reflect on Ellie's one month birthday and the fact that tomorrow, November 9th, marks the one year anniversary of My Dear Mother, Mildred's death. That doesn't seem possible either, although, this has been one very busy year. Truly a year of many transitions physically, mentally, and emotionally. Approaching the Thanksgiving Day Holiday, which is the gateway to the Christmas Season, reflection seems to be very appropriate for me. Along with the sad times and frustrating times, the times of thanksfulness certainly out number all of the others. This year has given us many blessing as does each day give us many blessings. We have all been touched by all of you with your out pour of love and prayers especially for Zach but for all of us!
My wish for all of you is to start each day with just 5 or 10 things that you are thankful for....great way to start the day...all of us can list many more but sometimes we don't feel like we have that much time in the beginning of our day. Tell each of those family members that you see first thing in the morning how much you love them, hug them, enjoy their presence....for some morning they will not be physically there to hug...and then you can remember all of the wonderful hugs you did share.
The Colorado Weien Crew is getting ready for our move back to the Big City...Colorado Springs to Zach and Kristi's home. Kristi has the nursery painted. Kristi has also been painting Caleb's crib and only has one more piece to complete. Since the days are colder now, the crib painting project has moved from the garage to the livingroom and Zach is really enjoying watching Kristi work her artistic magic. It will really be cute. It is all white with the spool rings painted in primary colors...very bright and cheerful. The nursery is done in primary colors with the walls of yellow and green and a border of jungle frogs. Kristi's Mom, Debbie, went home to Texas with her sewing project of jungle frog fabric for the crib skirt, bumper pads, etc.
We have all been working on projects at the house so things will be in order when we move Zach in and when Caleb arrives. Last week we accomplished all of the upstairs carpets being cleaned, as well as all of the carpeting from the basement being torn out. We will be getting everything back in place now that the carpet is dry. We are also making a few changes in the kitchen, moving the refrigerator and a few shelves, nothing major.
Our targeted move date is Monday, November 17th. We had hoped to stay with the same Hospice group but they are having some challenges with being short of staff and will have to refer us to Pikes Peak Hospice in the Springs. We will really miss all of the wonderful people who have helped us so very much since August 12th. But I am sure that there will be another group of fabulous individuals who will give us tremenduous assistance in caring for Zach through this new agency. We will be getting the final information early next week and will know for sure if our targeted date will work for the transition as well as all of Zach's hospital equipment to be delivered, etc.
Just a reminder for those of you who might have misplaced Zach and Kristi's address and phone number:
6872 Sullivan Avenue
Colorado Springs, CO 80911
home phone 719-392-1181
Ron's cell phone 719-648-9049
Maggie's cell phone 719-649-8848
Our email will should remain the same although there might be a few days that we are not all set back up...so be patient...we will return to this wonderful electronic messaging system.
Hoping this update finds all of you healthy and happy. For those of you who might be wondering, of course, Maggie is the author of this message...but sending Hugs from Ron, Kristi, and Zach, also.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING 2003!
Written the morning of November 8, 2003:
Ellie Rae Grace Weien is one month old today!(November 8th) WOW! Really doesn't seem like that precious little girl can be that OLD! Ellie is doing well. Emma is adjusting to her new role as Big Sister and will probably enjoy Ellie much more when she can do more things...like dress up like a Princess!!
Jake and Abbie are busy being very caring parents. Fortunately, Abbie doesn't have to return to teaching until the Christmas break is over, so she will be home for a couple more months. I'm sure the next two will fly bye as quickly as this first one has.
The cycle of life is so interesting as I reflect on Ellie's one month birthday and the fact that tomorrow, November 9th, marks the one year anniversary of My Dear Mother, Mildred's death. That doesn't seem possible either, although, this has been one very busy year. Truly a year of many transitions physically, mentally, and emotionally. Approaching the Thanksgiving Day Holiday, which is the gateway to the Christmas Season, reflection seems to be very appropriate for me. Along with the sad times and frustrating times, the times of thanksfulness certainly out number all of the others. This year has given us many blessing as does each day give us many blessings. We have all been touched by all of you with your out pour of love and prayers especially for Zach but for all of us!
My wish for all of you is to start each day with just 5 or 10 things that you are thankful for....great way to start the day...all of us can list many more but sometimes we don't feel like we have that much time in the beginning of our day. Tell each of those family members that you see first thing in the morning how much you love them, hug them, enjoy their presence....for some morning they will not be physically there to hug...and then you can remember all of the wonderful hugs you did share.
The Colorado Weien Crew is getting ready for our move back to the Big City...Colorado Springs to Zach and Kristi's home. Kristi has the nursery painted. Kristi has also been painting Caleb's crib and only has one more piece to complete. Since the days are colder now, the crib painting project has moved from the garage to the livingroom and Zach is really enjoying watching Kristi work her artistic magic. It will really be cute. It is all white with the spool rings painted in primary colors...very bright and cheerful. The nursery is done in primary colors with the walls of yellow and green and a border of jungle frogs. Kristi's Mom, Debbie, went home to Texas with her sewing project of jungle frog fabric for the crib skirt, bumper pads, etc.
We have all been working on projects at the house so things will be in order when we move Zach in and when Caleb arrives. Last week we accomplished all of the upstairs carpets being cleaned, as well as all of the carpeting from the basement being torn out. We will be getting everything back in place now that the carpet is dry. We are also making a few changes in the kitchen, moving the refrigerator and a few shelves, nothing major.
Our targeted move date is Monday, November 17th. We had hoped to stay with the same Hospice group but they are having some challenges with being short of staff and will have to refer us to Pikes Peak Hospice in the Springs. We will really miss all of the wonderful people who have helped us so very much since August 12th. But I am sure that there will be another group of fabulous individuals who will give us tremenduous assistance in caring for Zach through this new agency. We will be getting the final information early next week and will know for sure if our targeted date will work for the transition as well as all of Zach's hospital equipment to be delivered, etc.
Just a reminder for those of you who might have misplaced Zach and Kristi's address and phone number:
6872 Sullivan Avenue
Colorado Springs, CO 80911
home phone 719-392-1181
Ron's cell phone 719-648-9049
Maggie's cell phone 719-649-8848
Our email will should remain the same although there might be a few days that we are not all set back up...so be patient...we will return to this wonderful electronic messaging system.
Hoping this update finds all of you healthy and happy. For those of you who might be wondering, of course, Maggie is the author of this message...but sending Hugs from Ron, Kristi, and Zach, also.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING 2003!
11.05.2003
Just wanted to share with everyone that Emma is planning on marrying my cousin, Greg when she gets older. I know this because she told me. Of course, it took me a few minutes to figure out what the heck she was talking about, because, "untle daid" is a tough name to decipher.
We were talking about names. She has learned Ellie Rae Grace Weien and wanted me to go through everyone in the family that she could remember. After my direct family and Abbie's including Tariina, she moved on to Greg, who use to visit us a lot last year since he lived in Phoenix. I was impressed since she hadn't seen him in awhile, but it appears that he must have left an impression on her.
I asked her if she thought Patrick and Tariina should get married, and she laughed. Then she told me that she was going to marry me when she gets older. I said that she should marry someone like me, or someone that I really like. Then she said that she was going to marry the Beast, like in Beauty in the Beast. I asked if she really wanted to marry the Beast. She said immediately, "NO!" She thought about it and then said, "Maybe I will may-wee untle daid."
And to top it all off, she just named the stuffed dog that is guarding her bed at night, "untle daid" as well.
He has now reached a level of respect that grown men would die for.
We were talking about names. She has learned Ellie Rae Grace Weien and wanted me to go through everyone in the family that she could remember. After my direct family and Abbie's including Tariina, she moved on to Greg, who use to visit us a lot last year since he lived in Phoenix. I was impressed since she hadn't seen him in awhile, but it appears that he must have left an impression on her.
I asked her if she thought Patrick and Tariina should get married, and she laughed. Then she told me that she was going to marry me when she gets older. I said that she should marry someone like me, or someone that I really like. Then she said that she was going to marry the Beast, like in Beauty in the Beast. I asked if she really wanted to marry the Beast. She said immediately, "NO!" She thought about it and then said, "Maybe I will may-wee untle daid."
And to top it all off, she just named the stuffed dog that is guarding her bed at night, "untle daid" as well.
He has now reached a level of respect that grown men would die for.
10.31.2003
It is just under 4:00 a.m. on Halloween. What the hell are you doing up, Jake? Good question. I'll tell you. It may seem humorous next year or maybe even next week, but I tell you this in disgruntled, sleep-deprived pissy-ness.
Went to bed at 9:00 p.m. yesterday. After consoling Emma from "something" scary in her room, thanks to the holiday decorations somewhere, and soothing the lingering hunger pains from Ellie, I slithered into my warm bed with fresh flannel sheets. Abbie had her weekly addiction of ER which put her to bed about 10:00 p.m.
At 10:38 p.m. I awoke to the sudden screeching of Ellie explaining that she was hungry again. I did our routine and was sitting in the living room nursing her, when suddenly one of the five fire alarms beeps. It beeps a single piercing beep. Ellie keeps sucking unhampered. I look at the only alarm I can see from my seat. It is the highest of them all and I quickly pray that it is not the one making the fuss.
"Beep."
"That wasn't it, Thank you, Jesus!" I can hear Abbie rustling in the bedroom, obvious moved by the new noise. Ellie is just about done eating and falling back into her food-induced coma-like slumber.
I deduce that the beeping is coming from the hallway alarm going into our room. A little red light is occasionally
flashing. As I replace the cheap brand nine volt battery I realize that it is the original battery from when the house was completed about eight months ago, as I accidentally hit the button to test the alarm. The house is reminded that these are the sound-sensitive smoke alarms that get set off by smoke or the sound of another alarm from a specific distance away. All of the alarms sound off just the way we would like them IF there was a fire. Good test, Jake. Way to go.
I go back to bed. It is a little past 11:00 p.m.
At 1:00 a.m. Abbie does Ellie duty.
At 2:00 a.m. I wake up from Emma's Jedi-Dog Mind Trick and her nasal whispering, "Daddy, Daddy, me need covers up. Daddy, Daddy." I roll out of bed. "Will you carry me?" she asks like she does most every night. It is really the nicest part of the night, besides the whole dreaming part. She comes in with her doll of choice for the night, sometimes also with her nightly book selection, and other times with her blanket. Most of the time she comes in with all three. A few hours ago it was just the doll and blanket.
I carry her slowly back to her room not because of her weight or my drowsiness, but because of the aching and sharp pain shooting from my left ankle. It is the ankle I broke about this time, ten years ago while partying with a bunch of friends in the forest. With the sudden change in temperature, I write it off as arthritis and quickly think of the pains that Abbie's cousin, Craig must has from his few hundred various bone breaks and fractures. Sickly, this makes my ankle feel a little better and I cover my big girl back into her bed. I limp back to those warm flannel sheets.
About fifteen minutes later, the alarm above our doorway in our room begins to beep. "Abbie, look to see if the red light is blinking," I muttered to my wife since I am blind as a bat without my spectacles. "Yes, it is blin-"
"Beep."
This one is about 12-14 feet off of the ground, and we both know it. Luckily, Ellie is not concerned with the nuisance and sleeps on unscathed. We both get up and Abbie holds the garage door open in her pajamas as I carry in my ladder from the garage.
"Beep."
Weaving through the house, gingerly placing weight on my barometer ankle, I finally, three beeps later, get the ladder up and pull the battery out. On my way down the ladder there is another defiant, "Beep" from the same alarm I just pulled the electronic life source from. I climb the ladder barefoot, again and yank the entire device from the holder on the wall. I am reminded that there is a hardwire into each of these damn little contraptions!
Is it just my late-night/early-morning reasoning, or is it extremely ridiculous that my smoke alarms' batteries are all dying when they all have a direct electrical feed to them? Shouldn't the batteries be there in case there is no electricity coming from the house? Kind of like the battery back-up on a radio alarm clock? What the hell? And because the batteries were all placed in at the same time, they are all going to be dying at the same time, and the nine volt death parade begins pulling through my house at the earliest hours of a wicked little holiday. great. At this point I am just hoping that the rest of them will just hang in there until daylight.
Wide awake from the girls, the ankle, the beeping, the cold garage and the realization of what could still come, I half jokingly tell Abbie that we might as well make a pot of coffee and enjoy each other's company until the day officially begins. But, unlike my body, Abbie's body believes that when it is dark outside, she should be asleep. Easily convinced his time, we both head back and snuggle into bed.
I did fall back into a pseudo-dream-like-state until 3:30 a.m. when Ellie began her quick descending out of peaceful bliss and into horrific hollering for more liquid food to be crammed down her gullet. About that same time another familiar sound entered my ears:
"Beep."
{One sec... the baby is crying right now. It is 4:36 a.m. ...
Trying to type with drinking baby in arms, will speed this up.}
Yep, this time the alarm is in the living room... the really high one begins and it is setting off the first one in the hallway that I replaced the battery earlier, uh, yesterday. I sit and feed the baby in the living room, being jarred every minute or so from the incessant beeping. Abbie, somehow attempts to sleep through this. I can not and will not ever understand that path of reasoning; it just frustrates me to try and sleep through things and there is no way to actually do it. Either way I still had to come and roust her to help me move the ladder out of our room and into the center of the living room for the next surgery. Hell, I traveled throughout the entire house and disconnected every single smoke alarm and their batteries. All five are sitting on our bar in the kitchen and I begin to fold the ladder up. Abbie had taken the baby and was finishing the feeding and like a bad sitcom joke we hear for one last defiant time:
"Beep."
So, I am here now with a child in my arms and a fresh pot of coffee finishing brewing and beginning my Halloween.
Trick or Treat!
Went to bed at 9:00 p.m. yesterday. After consoling Emma from "something" scary in her room, thanks to the holiday decorations somewhere, and soothing the lingering hunger pains from Ellie, I slithered into my warm bed with fresh flannel sheets. Abbie had her weekly addiction of ER which put her to bed about 10:00 p.m.
At 10:38 p.m. I awoke to the sudden screeching of Ellie explaining that she was hungry again. I did our routine and was sitting in the living room nursing her, when suddenly one of the five fire alarms beeps. It beeps a single piercing beep. Ellie keeps sucking unhampered. I look at the only alarm I can see from my seat. It is the highest of them all and I quickly pray that it is not the one making the fuss.
"Beep."
"That wasn't it, Thank you, Jesus!" I can hear Abbie rustling in the bedroom, obvious moved by the new noise. Ellie is just about done eating and falling back into her food-induced coma-like slumber.
I deduce that the beeping is coming from the hallway alarm going into our room. A little red light is occasionally
flashing. As I replace the cheap brand nine volt battery I realize that it is the original battery from when the house was completed about eight months ago, as I accidentally hit the button to test the alarm. The house is reminded that these are the sound-sensitive smoke alarms that get set off by smoke or the sound of another alarm from a specific distance away. All of the alarms sound off just the way we would like them IF there was a fire. Good test, Jake. Way to go.
I go back to bed. It is a little past 11:00 p.m.
At 1:00 a.m. Abbie does Ellie duty.
At 2:00 a.m. I wake up from Emma's Jedi-Dog Mind Trick and her nasal whispering, "Daddy, Daddy, me need covers up. Daddy, Daddy." I roll out of bed. "Will you carry me?" she asks like she does most every night. It is really the nicest part of the night, besides the whole dreaming part. She comes in with her doll of choice for the night, sometimes also with her nightly book selection, and other times with her blanket. Most of the time she comes in with all three. A few hours ago it was just the doll and blanket.
I carry her slowly back to her room not because of her weight or my drowsiness, but because of the aching and sharp pain shooting from my left ankle. It is the ankle I broke about this time, ten years ago while partying with a bunch of friends in the forest. With the sudden change in temperature, I write it off as arthritis and quickly think of the pains that Abbie's cousin, Craig must has from his few hundred various bone breaks and fractures. Sickly, this makes my ankle feel a little better and I cover my big girl back into her bed. I limp back to those warm flannel sheets.
About fifteen minutes later, the alarm above our doorway in our room begins to beep. "Abbie, look to see if the red light is blinking," I muttered to my wife since I am blind as a bat without my spectacles. "Yes, it is blin-"
"Beep."
This one is about 12-14 feet off of the ground, and we both know it. Luckily, Ellie is not concerned with the nuisance and sleeps on unscathed. We both get up and Abbie holds the garage door open in her pajamas as I carry in my ladder from the garage.
"Beep."
Weaving through the house, gingerly placing weight on my barometer ankle, I finally, three beeps later, get the ladder up and pull the battery out. On my way down the ladder there is another defiant, "Beep" from the same alarm I just pulled the electronic life source from. I climb the ladder barefoot, again and yank the entire device from the holder on the wall. I am reminded that there is a hardwire into each of these damn little contraptions!
Is it just my late-night/early-morning reasoning, or is it extremely ridiculous that my smoke alarms' batteries are all dying when they all have a direct electrical feed to them? Shouldn't the batteries be there in case there is no electricity coming from the house? Kind of like the battery back-up on a radio alarm clock? What the hell? And because the batteries were all placed in at the same time, they are all going to be dying at the same time, and the nine volt death parade begins pulling through my house at the earliest hours of a wicked little holiday. great. At this point I am just hoping that the rest of them will just hang in there until daylight.
Wide awake from the girls, the ankle, the beeping, the cold garage and the realization of what could still come, I half jokingly tell Abbie that we might as well make a pot of coffee and enjoy each other's company until the day officially begins. But, unlike my body, Abbie's body believes that when it is dark outside, she should be asleep. Easily convinced his time, we both head back and snuggle into bed.
I did fall back into a pseudo-dream-like-state until 3:30 a.m. when Ellie began her quick descending out of peaceful bliss and into horrific hollering for more liquid food to be crammed down her gullet. About that same time another familiar sound entered my ears:
"Beep."
{One sec... the baby is crying right now. It is 4:36 a.m. ...
Trying to type with drinking baby in arms, will speed this up.}
Yep, this time the alarm is in the living room... the really high one begins and it is setting off the first one in the hallway that I replaced the battery earlier, uh, yesterday. I sit and feed the baby in the living room, being jarred every minute or so from the incessant beeping. Abbie, somehow attempts to sleep through this. I can not and will not ever understand that path of reasoning; it just frustrates me to try and sleep through things and there is no way to actually do it. Either way I still had to come and roust her to help me move the ladder out of our room and into the center of the living room for the next surgery. Hell, I traveled throughout the entire house and disconnected every single smoke alarm and their batteries. All five are sitting on our bar in the kitchen and I begin to fold the ladder up. Abbie had taken the baby and was finishing the feeding and like a bad sitcom joke we hear for one last defiant time:
"Beep."
So, I am here now with a child in my arms and a fresh pot of coffee finishing brewing and beginning my Halloween.
Trick or Treat!
10.23.2003
The sensation of fatherly elation at the early hours of the morning has shriveled, discolored, and fallen by the wayside like the leaves outside, or like the umbilical cord on my newborn daughter's belly.
Survey says it is the number one phrase of advice handed down to new parents, "Enjoy your sleep while you can." But how can the unsuspecting new parent even comprehend this? We certainly couldn't fathom our life constantly interrupted for the need of 2-3 ounces of liquid every couple of hours. (one exception is for the fraters during rush week).
Even as veteran parents, the constant recommendations give to us by young and old was to enjoy our sleep. With a two year old, we have not slept a solid eight hours for quite some time. One or both of us have always had to get up at least once a night to re-tuck our potty-trained girl back into her cozy bed. So I thought, "Sleep? Scoff! I can handle a new little critter just like I can handle this current situation."
Maybe it is the three years of age I have gained since Emma first blessed us. Maybe I have grown to appreciate solid sleep finally. Maybe this baby has a much higher pitched howl than Emma ever did. Whichever you may choose, I have to admit that Ellie is kicking my butt on the sleep deprivation circuit.
And to make matters worse, she has her mother's uncanny ability to know the fluid level on my bladder. Ever since I have fallen in love with Abbie, she has consistently called me whenever I am using the water waste receptacles. I could be sitting at my desk at work all day long waiting for her voice to travel across the phone line. As soon as I get up to relieve myself, she calls and is forced to leave me a message.
Ellie, on the other hand, calls me in another, ear-piercing way, and at ungodly hours of the day so that all in the house can be shaken from their dreamy slumbers and made aware that I am not on duty, but instead, doing my duty.
It seems that the worse I have to go, the louder and more impatient she gets. And it is nearly impossible to sit calmly at 3:42 a.m. soothing your two week old back into unconsciousness while pinching it off.
It does come in handy, however, for bouncing her tiny body just enough to get all the burps up.
Survey says it is the number one phrase of advice handed down to new parents, "Enjoy your sleep while you can." But how can the unsuspecting new parent even comprehend this? We certainly couldn't fathom our life constantly interrupted for the need of 2-3 ounces of liquid every couple of hours. (one exception is for the fraters during rush week).
Even as veteran parents, the constant recommendations give to us by young and old was to enjoy our sleep. With a two year old, we have not slept a solid eight hours for quite some time. One or both of us have always had to get up at least once a night to re-tuck our potty-trained girl back into her cozy bed. So I thought, "Sleep? Scoff! I can handle a new little critter just like I can handle this current situation."
Maybe it is the three years of age I have gained since Emma first blessed us. Maybe I have grown to appreciate solid sleep finally. Maybe this baby has a much higher pitched howl than Emma ever did. Whichever you may choose, I have to admit that Ellie is kicking my butt on the sleep deprivation circuit.
And to make matters worse, she has her mother's uncanny ability to know the fluid level on my bladder. Ever since I have fallen in love with Abbie, she has consistently called me whenever I am using the water waste receptacles. I could be sitting at my desk at work all day long waiting for her voice to travel across the phone line. As soon as I get up to relieve myself, she calls and is forced to leave me a message.
Ellie, on the other hand, calls me in another, ear-piercing way, and at ungodly hours of the day so that all in the house can be shaken from their dreamy slumbers and made aware that I am not on duty, but instead, doing my duty.
It seems that the worse I have to go, the louder and more impatient she gets. And it is nearly impossible to sit calmly at 3:42 a.m. soothing your two week old back into unconsciousness while pinching it off.
It does come in handy, however, for bouncing her tiny body just enough to get all the burps up.
10.19.2003
Thank You's
We are not real good at thank-you cards, but we honestly try all the time. Abbie has really been on top of the thank-you list so far for Ellie and for Emma's birthday. Emma was "signing" her cards today and asking Abbie who each one was for. Then she got all excited and demanding one more card. Abbie asked her why, and she said, "because I need one for my Mommy and Daddy because they gave me a bike!"
And she is only three. Look out Mother Theresa!
proud poppa
We are not real good at thank-you cards, but we honestly try all the time. Abbie has really been on top of the thank-you list so far for Ellie and for Emma's birthday. Emma was "signing" her cards today and asking Abbie who each one was for. Then she got all excited and demanding one more card. Abbie asked her why, and she said, "because I need one for my Mommy and Daddy because they gave me a bike!"
And she is only three. Look out Mother Theresa!
proud poppa
"This is the b-e-s-t biscuit I have e-v-e-r had!" I exclaimed at our dinner table tonight. Trying to entice Emma into placing her roasted meat inside the biscuit so that she at least had a little meat for dinner.
"I l-o-v-e this meat inside this biscuit! I could eat this a-l-l the time!" I reinforced the deliciousness.
Two blank blue eyes with a stale frown replied.
I ate. Abbie ate, and Emma sort of ate with our constant nudging and encouragement.
About five minutes later we hear from the little one's side of the table:
"Dis is the d-o-o-d discuit! I nub dis discuit wit all da budda and no meat! It is da b-e-s-t discuit ebber!"
"I l-o-v-e this meat inside this biscuit! I could eat this a-l-l the time!" I reinforced the deliciousness.
Two blank blue eyes with a stale frown replied.
I ate. Abbie ate, and Emma sort of ate with our constant nudging and encouragement.
About five minutes later we hear from the little one's side of the table:
"Dis is the d-o-o-d discuit! I nub dis discuit wit all da budda and no meat! It is da b-e-s-t discuit ebber!"
10.09.2003
At 8:09 A.M. yesterday, October 8, 2003, at Flagstaff Medical Center in Flagstaff, Arizona, Abbie delivered a healthy,
19 inch long
7 pound, 7.6 ounce
Baby Girl!
Her name is Ellie Rae Grace Weien and you can see her in all her glory at:
http://users.commspeed.net/weien/Ellie/
Ellie is a form of Helen, which is both Abbie and my grandmother's name.
Rae was my Dad's mother's name.
Grace is a name we have liked for quite awhile, and especially for it's meaning during the past nine months for our family.
Not to be outdone by her big sister, Ellie Rae came exactly 12 days before her due date. Emma came exactly 12 days before her due date almost three years ago. We had a scheduled c-section for tomorrow 10/10/03, which Ellie, just like her big sis, decided was too far away.
Both Mom, and Baby are resting well and are expected to come home Friday, October 10th.
19 inch long
7 pound, 7.6 ounce
Baby Girl!
Her name is Ellie Rae Grace Weien and you can see her in all her glory at:
http://users.commspeed.net/weien/Ellie/
Ellie is a form of Helen, which is both Abbie and my grandmother's name.
Rae was my Dad's mother's name.
Grace is a name we have liked for quite awhile, and especially for it's meaning during the past nine months for our family.
Not to be outdone by her big sister, Ellie Rae came exactly 12 days before her due date. Emma came exactly 12 days before her due date almost three years ago. We had a scheduled c-section for tomorrow 10/10/03, which Ellie, just like her big sis, decided was too far away.
Both Mom, and Baby are resting well and are expected to come home Friday, October 10th.
10.03.2003
Within the hour of my last posting my sniff-hound daughter pulled another one out. She was sitting at the breakfast table. I was in the living room, and Abbie was getting dressed in the bedroom.
"sniff, sniff, snort - daddy, what's that smell?"
Laughing to myself I answered, "I don't know, did you fart?"
"NO! YOU DID!"
"I did not."
"Yes you did, you smell."
Thanks baby.
On another note, she told both Abbie and myself last night about the story behind a hideous brown blotch painting she had made at preschool. They are studying about Autumn and the colors of Fall. They were restricted with paints of the season. Her painting style is to layer color on color over the entire page, so with these hues, she ended up with something that will look like a diaper in a week or so.
Her story was a very precise depiction of a monster in her closet that I killed with a pink gun. Of course there is a lot more to it, but that was the whole of it. When she told me, I was shocked to think that she had picked up this gun notion, but not really surprised considering the five o'clock news and the Newsweek magazine covers that come in our mail. Then she later told Abbie the nearly exact same story. I could feel the air thicken as Abbie responded,
"A WHAT?!"
"A monster." she replied, equally amazed.
"No, what did you shoot?"
"The monster!"
Abbie was defeated and did not want to say THE word to entice the fragile eggshell mind.
So Emma started over from the beginning, and just as sure as I was the first time, she said the word again.
"Who told you about guns?" Abbie questioned.
"Paige has a pink gun." innocence stated. Paige is the four-year old girl next door that has two older brothers.
"Paige and her brothers play with water guns." Abbie clarified.
"Hmm. hmm." Emma mumbled.
Wow! We have been faced with something we weren't planning on so early in age. It disturbs us both, but I am trying to be as level headed about this as possible. I tried to make sure that I did not overreact to the news in hopes that I don't scare the shorts off the little girl so that she doesn't begin to fear being completely open and honest with us regardless of the situation or topic.
whew- and just in time for a second one!!!
"sniff, sniff, snort - daddy, what's that smell?"
Laughing to myself I answered, "I don't know, did you fart?"
"NO! YOU DID!"
"I did not."
"Yes you did, you smell."
Thanks baby.
On another note, she told both Abbie and myself last night about the story behind a hideous brown blotch painting she had made at preschool. They are studying about Autumn and the colors of Fall. They were restricted with paints of the season. Her painting style is to layer color on color over the entire page, so with these hues, she ended up with something that will look like a diaper in a week or so.
Her story was a very precise depiction of a monster in her closet that I killed with a pink gun. Of course there is a lot more to it, but that was the whole of it. When she told me, I was shocked to think that she had picked up this gun notion, but not really surprised considering the five o'clock news and the Newsweek magazine covers that come in our mail. Then she later told Abbie the nearly exact same story. I could feel the air thicken as Abbie responded,
"A WHAT?!"
"A monster." she replied, equally amazed.
"No, what did you shoot?"
"The monster!"
Abbie was defeated and did not want to say THE word to entice the fragile eggshell mind.
So Emma started over from the beginning, and just as sure as I was the first time, she said the word again.
"Who told you about guns?" Abbie questioned.
"Paige has a pink gun." innocence stated. Paige is the four-year old girl next door that has two older brothers.
"Paige and her brothers play with water guns." Abbie clarified.
"Hmm. hmm." Emma mumbled.
Wow! We have been faced with something we weren't planning on so early in age. It disturbs us both, but I am trying to be as level headed about this as possible. I tried to make sure that I did not overreact to the news in hopes that I don't scare the shorts off the little girl so that she doesn't begin to fear being completely open and honest with us regardless of the situation or topic.
whew- and just in time for a second one!!!
10.02.2003
My daughter has a very bloodhound-like sense of smell. She does not, however, obtain the adulterated ability to refrain from vocalizing to the world when she discovers a malodorous function. Case and Point:
My wife is in the kitchen preparing dinner. I was outside. My daughter is preparing a "tea party" on the living room table. All is quiet. Emma is talking to herself as she runs to her room to get more plastic food servings for her party, then she returns. She is only wearing her panties and her most treasured plastic princess glass slippers, her attire for our home during most of the summer this past year.
When she smells or sniffs, she practically snots out of her nose instead of inhaling. It is amazing she catches any scent at all, maybe it absorbs into other locations in her body? Like a reptile or shark. Anyways, she definitely was tracking something down at this moment.
With a curled up nose she turns to Abbie in the kitchen and says, "What dat smell?".
"I don't know, what does it smell like?" my wife answers.
"I tink it is my butt!" Emma ejects.
"Did you fart?"
"Yeah."
And she continues with her lady-like function in the living room. End of Story.
SINGLE LINE POINT: We call the tummy baby Scoobie. Emma calls it "Doobie". No, we are not reefers, but it sure is funny.
My wife is in the kitchen preparing dinner. I was outside. My daughter is preparing a "tea party" on the living room table. All is quiet. Emma is talking to herself as she runs to her room to get more plastic food servings for her party, then she returns. She is only wearing her panties and her most treasured plastic princess glass slippers, her attire for our home during most of the summer this past year.
When she smells or sniffs, she practically snots out of her nose instead of inhaling. It is amazing she catches any scent at all, maybe it absorbs into other locations in her body? Like a reptile or shark. Anyways, she definitely was tracking something down at this moment.
With a curled up nose she turns to Abbie in the kitchen and says, "What dat smell?".
"I don't know, what does it smell like?" my wife answers.
"I tink it is my butt!" Emma ejects.
"Did you fart?"
"Yeah."
And she continues with her lady-like function in the living room. End of Story.
SINGLE LINE POINT: We call the tummy baby Scoobie. Emma calls it "Doobie". No, we are not reefers, but it sure is funny.
10.01.2003
There is something about food and my daughter's bottom. For whenever she is feeding it activates tiny little spring in her buttocks that do not allow her to sit still and eat quietly. You would think that we have laced each piece of food with sugar or speed. Take a whiney girl, give her dinner and whala! you have a happy, glowing, floating speed freak child. At times it is a amusing. At most times after a long day, it is annoying as hell. It is even worse when the pregnant momma bear is exponentially loosing her patience just as fast as the cub is gaining her speed. It is a recipe for disaster.
One night, as the junkie was beginning her meal dance. You know the one, that starts with the head bobbing as she is chewing, which spreads to the shoulders swaying and shrugging. The dance that seems to expand her little frame like Popeye when he swallowed a whole can of spinach. Emma had two bites and Wham! Bamm! Alacazam! Head bobbing, shoulders shrugging, and bottom bouncing her right off of the seat; literally. Before I had time to drop my fork, she was head over heals off of the chair. By the time the fork did drop, she had caught herself with her hands while her butt and kicking legs were stuck straight up in the air, supported by the kitchen chair. She was screaming, food falling out of her mouth. Abbie and I were vengefully laughing at the sight. Then we got to share the warm glow of telling her, just like the generations of parents before us had done to their food induced speed freak children, "See, I told you so."
On another instance at the dinner table, I knew the dance was going to start again, because Emma was already on and off the kitchen chair and the food had not even been placed in front of her. She was making fart noises with her mouth and laughing hysterically. Then she had this mischievous look in her eyes.
"What are you doing?" I asked sharply.
"I'm going to fart." she informed me as she appeared to be lifting her leg off of the seat.
Then her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, creative humor was replaced with sheer terror on her face. She jumped from the chair holding her bottom and screaming as she ran out of the kitchen to the bathroom.
"Poop-oo is coming! Poop-oo iiiiiissss cooooommmmmiinnnnng!!!!!!"
Again, my wife and I sat and chuckled uncontrollably until guilt fell upon us, and we checked on her.
One night, as the junkie was beginning her meal dance. You know the one, that starts with the head bobbing as she is chewing, which spreads to the shoulders swaying and shrugging. The dance that seems to expand her little frame like Popeye when he swallowed a whole can of spinach. Emma had two bites and Wham! Bamm! Alacazam! Head bobbing, shoulders shrugging, and bottom bouncing her right off of the seat; literally. Before I had time to drop my fork, she was head over heals off of the chair. By the time the fork did drop, she had caught herself with her hands while her butt and kicking legs were stuck straight up in the air, supported by the kitchen chair. She was screaming, food falling out of her mouth. Abbie and I were vengefully laughing at the sight. Then we got to share the warm glow of telling her, just like the generations of parents before us had done to their food induced speed freak children, "See, I told you so."
On another instance at the dinner table, I knew the dance was going to start again, because Emma was already on and off the kitchen chair and the food had not even been placed in front of her. She was making fart noises with her mouth and laughing hysterically. Then she had this mischievous look in her eyes.
"What are you doing?" I asked sharply.
"I'm going to fart." she informed me as she appeared to be lifting her leg off of the seat.
Then her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, creative humor was replaced with sheer terror on her face. She jumped from the chair holding her bottom and screaming as she ran out of the kitchen to the bathroom.
"Poop-oo is coming! Poop-oo iiiiiissss cooooommmmmiinnnnng!!!!!!"
Again, my wife and I sat and chuckled uncontrollably until guilt fell upon us, and we checked on her.
9.11.2003
"I wanna rock!"
I woke kind of giddy and was sharing it with my family the other morning.
"I want to ROCK!"
I chanted the words to one of my favorite big-hair bands of the eighties. Thinking back, Twisted Sister is about as heavy metal now as Bill Haley and the Comets, but back in 1984 I was easily intimidated.
"Tell me not to play,
But all I gotta tell ya when you tell me not to play is NO,
No, No, No, No, NO"
I grimaced at Emma as she sat drinking her morning juice on our bed as we got ready for work.
Emma pulled the juice away just long enough to ask me "Who are you saying?"
"I am singing Twisted Sister, Baby. Do you like it?"
"No."
"oh."
"Daddy, you're just a Daddy." she innocently jabbed at me.
I guess my harmony was unflattering. And I supppose that is her way of letting me know I won't ever have a day job sporting hard rock covers (lucky for you Bon Jovi). Then again, it could of just been her way of telling me that she doesn't like the music, but enjoys my attempts to entertain.
Either way, it stuck with me long enough to write it down.
I woke kind of giddy and was sharing it with my family the other morning.
"I want to ROCK!"
I chanted the words to one of my favorite big-hair bands of the eighties. Thinking back, Twisted Sister is about as heavy metal now as Bill Haley and the Comets, but back in 1984 I was easily intimidated.
"Tell me not to play,
But all I gotta tell ya when you tell me not to play is NO,
No, No, No, No, NO"
I grimaced at Emma as she sat drinking her morning juice on our bed as we got ready for work.
Emma pulled the juice away just long enough to ask me "Who are you saying?"
"I am singing Twisted Sister, Baby. Do you like it?"
"No."
"oh."
"Daddy, you're just a Daddy." she innocently jabbed at me.
I guess my harmony was unflattering. And I supppose that is her way of letting me know I won't ever have a day job sporting hard rock covers (lucky for you Bon Jovi). Then again, it could of just been her way of telling me that she doesn't like the music, but enjoys my attempts to entertain.
Either way, it stuck with me long enough to write it down.
8.17.2003
Well, we are back at home. Got in Sunday afternoon about 3:30 PM.
We left Colorado Springs on Friday morning. We were in no hurry to rush home, so we meandered through the Rockies and Western Colorado first. We checked out Aspen for lunch, went up to Glenwood Springs which we could see ourselves going back to, and then spent Friday night in Grand Junction. Saturday we hung out in GJ and took Emma to a children’s museum, called the DooZoo, where she was able to play around for a few hours. This was needed for her and for us. I skipped a block over and tried out some brews at the Rockslide Brewery and the girls joined me for lunch.
Next stop was Telluride. We had never been there since it isn’t really on the way from anywhere. We all loved it. The prices are ridiculous, but the mountains, slopes and overall aura was awesome. We will be going back again someday.
This morning after breakfast, we bee-lined home through the Painted Desert. There is no “nice” way to get home from Durango or the Four Corners area, so we just shipped donkey to Flagstaff.
I know I sort of dropped off of the internet face of the earth early last week. We had a computer in the waiting room at the VA hospital in Denver, as well as a lot of down time, so I was able to keep everyone in the loop. Here is a quick guide as to what had happened:
Zach had been sent to the E.R. (8/4/03) with a very rare blood and tissue infection that no one is real certain of how he contracted. The bacteria was eating away at his skin and spreading throughout his body. It was progressing at such an alarming rate, we were called by my parents to rush to Denver on (8/6/03). We left at 11 am and got there at midnight that night. At that time he was barely conscious. He was on some heavy doses of morphine and an antibiotic to kill the bacteria. Because of his weakened state from the chemotherapy the doctor’s did not have much confidence he would last long, neither did any of us.
Thursday morning (8/7/03) we walked into a kid that was sitting up and talking to us. The doctor’s moved him out of E.R. because there really wasn’t anything else they could do to help him. We were expecting this new room to be the place where he was to die. It was room 100 on the fifth floor. We were impressed with his recoil but not reassured that it was going to be permanent. He began hallucinating, which the doctor’s had originally warned was a side effect of the bacteria. Other’s thought it was the morphine. I thought it was the mind preparing the body to go, like I have read it to do in books. The one big plus was that Zach was laughing and joking just like the old Zach. It was the personality that I had not seen since February, when he visited us while we were moving.
Friday (8/8/03) the doctor’s began to talk about him going home, where he will be most comfortable. We weren’t sure if it was the hospital’s way to get him out of their bed, or if he was really capable to doing it, or if it was the hospital’s true concern for him to be in a more comfortable location. We grilled the head doctor who is an oncologist and an hematologist, ironically enough. After over an hour, we all decided that this was going to be the best thing for Zach, that we have absolutely no idea how much time this would buy him, but at least he would be in a familiar and pleasing location.
We held out through the weekend and then Monday of last week, the doctor’s said that Zach was good enough to come home so Abbie, Emma, and my two cousins that were visiting (Anne and Kate) all jetted down to the Mountain Home to prepare it for his medical needs.
Zach was transported by ambulance to the Mountain Home mid-day on Tuesday. With him came the rest of the crew that had been camped out in Denver (Kristi, Mom, Dad, and Kristi’s mom, Debbie). The Woodland Park hospice was involved and came up later on Tuesday. They have been a fantastic help for my family for getting all of his medications and needs squared away.
Abbie and I just did whatever we could to help out, but by Friday, we figured we were just getting in the way and needed to head home. Nothing should be changing real immediately, but what is immediately considering the current situation??
What is the current situation? Well, let me see.
Zach will not be able to continue with the chemotherapy unless his white blood cell count miraculously increases. This most likely will not happen because the steroids he has been taking since April greatly reduce the white blood cells. The steroids are the only real reason he is still functioning fairly well. The steroids prevent the brain from swelling and taking away what coordination, senses and muscle control he does have. He will be on them forever. Because of the steroids, he has acquired chemically induced diabetes and requires daily insulin shots. He is on oxygen 24/7 but at this point is taking in enough fluids to avoid having an I.V.
The bacteria are still in his system, but at bay with the antibiotics, which he also will be taking forever. There was talk of having the dead tissue in his leg surgically removed, but with no positive prospect that he would survive such an operation, we decided to leave it be unless his health improves to a point that it makes sense. The morphine he is taking is helping him handle the painful wound on his leg. This is where the “comfort” issue is the greatest priority. It must be redressed everyday, which Mom, Dad and Kristi are becoming experts at doing. The wound makes mobility a tough issue, but they have gotten a lift that is helping them get him to his wheelchair at the house.
Zach is where he wants to be. He is alert and doing as well, if not better than anyone ever expected.
With the tumor being untreated, there is no telling how much time he has left. We all just hope it is as painless and as peaceful as possible. My parents and Kristi are doing everything in their power to assist him and make sure he is comfortable. Right now, that is all that we can ask for.
We left Colorado Springs on Friday morning. We were in no hurry to rush home, so we meandered through the Rockies and Western Colorado first. We checked out Aspen for lunch, went up to Glenwood Springs which we could see ourselves going back to, and then spent Friday night in Grand Junction. Saturday we hung out in GJ and took Emma to a children’s museum, called the DooZoo, where she was able to play around for a few hours. This was needed for her and for us. I skipped a block over and tried out some brews at the Rockslide Brewery and the girls joined me for lunch.
Next stop was Telluride. We had never been there since it isn’t really on the way from anywhere. We all loved it. The prices are ridiculous, but the mountains, slopes and overall aura was awesome. We will be going back again someday.
This morning after breakfast, we bee-lined home through the Painted Desert. There is no “nice” way to get home from Durango or the Four Corners area, so we just shipped donkey to Flagstaff.
I know I sort of dropped off of the internet face of the earth early last week. We had a computer in the waiting room at the VA hospital in Denver, as well as a lot of down time, so I was able to keep everyone in the loop. Here is a quick guide as to what had happened:
Zach had been sent to the E.R. (8/4/03) with a very rare blood and tissue infection that no one is real certain of how he contracted. The bacteria was eating away at his skin and spreading throughout his body. It was progressing at such an alarming rate, we were called by my parents to rush to Denver on (8/6/03). We left at 11 am and got there at midnight that night. At that time he was barely conscious. He was on some heavy doses of morphine and an antibiotic to kill the bacteria. Because of his weakened state from the chemotherapy the doctor’s did not have much confidence he would last long, neither did any of us.
Thursday morning (8/7/03) we walked into a kid that was sitting up and talking to us. The doctor’s moved him out of E.R. because there really wasn’t anything else they could do to help him. We were expecting this new room to be the place where he was to die. It was room 100 on the fifth floor. We were impressed with his recoil but not reassured that it was going to be permanent. He began hallucinating, which the doctor’s had originally warned was a side effect of the bacteria. Other’s thought it was the morphine. I thought it was the mind preparing the body to go, like I have read it to do in books. The one big plus was that Zach was laughing and joking just like the old Zach. It was the personality that I had not seen since February, when he visited us while we were moving.
Friday (8/8/03) the doctor’s began to talk about him going home, where he will be most comfortable. We weren’t sure if it was the hospital’s way to get him out of their bed, or if he was really capable to doing it, or if it was the hospital’s true concern for him to be in a more comfortable location. We grilled the head doctor who is an oncologist and an hematologist, ironically enough. After over an hour, we all decided that this was going to be the best thing for Zach, that we have absolutely no idea how much time this would buy him, but at least he would be in a familiar and pleasing location.
We held out through the weekend and then Monday of last week, the doctor’s said that Zach was good enough to come home so Abbie, Emma, and my two cousins that were visiting (Anne and Kate) all jetted down to the Mountain Home to prepare it for his medical needs.
Zach was transported by ambulance to the Mountain Home mid-day on Tuesday. With him came the rest of the crew that had been camped out in Denver (Kristi, Mom, Dad, and Kristi’s mom, Debbie). The Woodland Park hospice was involved and came up later on Tuesday. They have been a fantastic help for my family for getting all of his medications and needs squared away.
Abbie and I just did whatever we could to help out, but by Friday, we figured we were just getting in the way and needed to head home. Nothing should be changing real immediately, but what is immediately considering the current situation??
What is the current situation? Well, let me see.
Zach will not be able to continue with the chemotherapy unless his white blood cell count miraculously increases. This most likely will not happen because the steroids he has been taking since April greatly reduce the white blood cells. The steroids are the only real reason he is still functioning fairly well. The steroids prevent the brain from swelling and taking away what coordination, senses and muscle control he does have. He will be on them forever. Because of the steroids, he has acquired chemically induced diabetes and requires daily insulin shots. He is on oxygen 24/7 but at this point is taking in enough fluids to avoid having an I.V.
The bacteria are still in his system, but at bay with the antibiotics, which he also will be taking forever. There was talk of having the dead tissue in his leg surgically removed, but with no positive prospect that he would survive such an operation, we decided to leave it be unless his health improves to a point that it makes sense. The morphine he is taking is helping him handle the painful wound on his leg. This is where the “comfort” issue is the greatest priority. It must be redressed everyday, which Mom, Dad and Kristi are becoming experts at doing. The wound makes mobility a tough issue, but they have gotten a lift that is helping them get him to his wheelchair at the house.
Zach is where he wants to be. He is alert and doing as well, if not better than anyone ever expected.
With the tumor being untreated, there is no telling how much time he has left. We all just hope it is as painless and as peaceful as possible. My parents and Kristi are doing everything in their power to assist him and make sure he is comfortable. Right now, that is all that we can ask for.
8.05.2003
We persuaded her to take a “good, long nap” in order to allow her to get “a really big surprise.” It worked. She slept for two and a half hours last Friday.
Our vagueness of the surprise was for good reason; one small monsoon could of ruined all of our plans. Then we would have to quickly think up something else fun to do. But the weather was on our side. The rainstorm came early and at 6:00 pm it was cool, yet sunny and nearly cloudless.
Every Friday in the summer, the city business owners of downtown Flagstaff put on live music and an outdoor movie (weather permitting of course).
We arrived and set-up our chairs and Emma’s Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag. We then listened to an angry man singing “children’s songs” which showcased tainted near-sighted perspectives of recent U.S. history and historical figures. The kids danced and played to his strumming guitar, while I sat and wretched at the lyrics. Next was a pizza and the sunset.
On Emma’s and my return from the restroom, we approached the area where the movie screen had been lowered and was presenting the opening song and title to “Beauty and the Beast.”
“Booty anda Beet, Daddy! Booty anda Beet!” the girl on my shoulder’s screamed like a teenage girl in a flashback of the Ed Sullivan Show.
We got some drinks and popcorn and settled back into our squatted area.
The “surprise” came off without a hitch and our little girl was ecstatic. With her greasy popcorn bag gripped firmly, she glowed like a prom queen. She bubbled with bottom tapping sit-dancing and would occasionally and graciously turn to us and beam her smile. And at least a couple of times I felt her warm, soft hand gently caress my leg in loving appreciation.
My thoughts wandered from the film, to my love for my child, to my upcoming baby and then to my brother. My brother, who most likely will never experience this exciting joy and pleasure. As the crowd sniffled and cried over Belle and the Beast’s spoken love, I wept comfortably in the dark for my brother.
Leaving the community event, I was filled with overpowering emotions. They were the same flooding emotions I felt the minutes after I discovered that we had a healthy baby girl; filled to the rim with love and affection for life. Only this time, on this night there was a distinct aftertaste of bitterness.
Our vagueness of the surprise was for good reason; one small monsoon could of ruined all of our plans. Then we would have to quickly think up something else fun to do. But the weather was on our side. The rainstorm came early and at 6:00 pm it was cool, yet sunny and nearly cloudless.
Every Friday in the summer, the city business owners of downtown Flagstaff put on live music and an outdoor movie (weather permitting of course).
We arrived and set-up our chairs and Emma’s Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag. We then listened to an angry man singing “children’s songs” which showcased tainted near-sighted perspectives of recent U.S. history and historical figures. The kids danced and played to his strumming guitar, while I sat and wretched at the lyrics. Next was a pizza and the sunset.
On Emma’s and my return from the restroom, we approached the area where the movie screen had been lowered and was presenting the opening song and title to “Beauty and the Beast.”
“Booty anda Beet, Daddy! Booty anda Beet!” the girl on my shoulder’s screamed like a teenage girl in a flashback of the Ed Sullivan Show.
We got some drinks and popcorn and settled back into our squatted area.
The “surprise” came off without a hitch and our little girl was ecstatic. With her greasy popcorn bag gripped firmly, she glowed like a prom queen. She bubbled with bottom tapping sit-dancing and would occasionally and graciously turn to us and beam her smile. And at least a couple of times I felt her warm, soft hand gently caress my leg in loving appreciation.
My thoughts wandered from the film, to my love for my child, to my upcoming baby and then to my brother. My brother, who most likely will never experience this exciting joy and pleasure. As the crowd sniffled and cried over Belle and the Beast’s spoken love, I wept comfortably in the dark for my brother.
Leaving the community event, I was filled with overpowering emotions. They were the same flooding emotions I felt the minutes after I discovered that we had a healthy baby girl; filled to the rim with love and affection for life. Only this time, on this night there was a distinct aftertaste of bitterness.
7.31.2003
I was driving. Abbie was in the passenger seat. Emma was in her captain's chair in the back.
"Lilly and Olivia are going away on vacation, Emma. We can't go over and play with them today" Abbie rehashed a conversation from earlier in the day with her daughter. "Then, just like I am right now," she sobbed, "I couldn't help but cry, just thinking about when I have to tell her that she isn't going to stay at Gina's anymore."
Our fantastic babysitter got a job at the school across the street from her home, and after this summer, Emma will not be going there anymore. Lilly and Olivia are Gina's two little girls, and Emma's two best friends. They are practically sisters because of their love-hate relationships. Emma has missed them both immensely this summer.
"It just makes me so sad to have to tell her," Abbie squeaks with tears thundering down her pregnant cheeks.
"Mommy," Emma chimes in from the back, "Stop crying like a baby!"
"Lilly and Olivia are going away on vacation, Emma. We can't go over and play with them today" Abbie rehashed a conversation from earlier in the day with her daughter. "Then, just like I am right now," she sobbed, "I couldn't help but cry, just thinking about when I have to tell her that she isn't going to stay at Gina's anymore."
Our fantastic babysitter got a job at the school across the street from her home, and after this summer, Emma will not be going there anymore. Lilly and Olivia are Gina's two little girls, and Emma's two best friends. They are practically sisters because of their love-hate relationships. Emma has missed them both immensely this summer.
"It just makes me so sad to have to tell her," Abbie squeaks with tears thundering down her pregnant cheeks.
"Mommy," Emma chimes in from the back, "Stop crying like a baby!"
7.25.2003
I like to cook. Really, I do, but not solely for myself. Case and Point:
My family has been out of town since last Saturday night. (It is Friday morning now), and I have eaten a wide variety of processed meats and frozen foods. This includes at work too. Hot Pockets, chicken pot pies, and hot dogs, but mostly my diet has consisted of sandwiches. My buddy Rodney P. use to always say that the best things in life was sex and sandwiches. Just like George on Seinfeld. I got half of that equation covered Mr. P. I now you would be proud of me.
It may be a male instinct to be lazy around the house. I think of my bachelor days and I immediately slip right into those comfortable shoes from the past when my family is not around. For instance, I have used the same glass the entire week. I have had mostly water so this is not a big deal, but beer washes out of it just fine too. Of course my coffee cup had some cream floaters this morning, but a simple spooning out of the coagulation did the trick. I think it may enhance the flavor too, but haven't scientifically proved that one. Besides, the heat from the java should kill anything, right? -- RIGHT??
Another example of my single male lazy instincts is that I already have all of my laundry separated and ready for wash. Of course it is all just laying on the floor of the closet in two piles. They are beautifully prepared bundles of cloth just waiting for the opportune time for me to decide to wash.... which will be the day before the girls get back. Unless I run out of some type of clothing, like underwear or something. But the plan, as of now is to wait until the eleventh hour, which will also be the time that the dishwasher will be run and the mail separated and gone through.
I am very appreciative of my wife and my family, more beyond the love. They certainly force my inhibitions from ruling my lifestyle. Lucky for me.
My family has been out of town since last Saturday night. (It is Friday morning now), and I have eaten a wide variety of processed meats and frozen foods. This includes at work too. Hot Pockets, chicken pot pies, and hot dogs, but mostly my diet has consisted of sandwiches. My buddy Rodney P. use to always say that the best things in life was sex and sandwiches. Just like George on Seinfeld. I got half of that equation covered Mr. P. I now you would be proud of me.
It may be a male instinct to be lazy around the house. I think of my bachelor days and I immediately slip right into those comfortable shoes from the past when my family is not around. For instance, I have used the same glass the entire week. I have had mostly water so this is not a big deal, but beer washes out of it just fine too. Of course my coffee cup had some cream floaters this morning, but a simple spooning out of the coagulation did the trick. I think it may enhance the flavor too, but haven't scientifically proved that one. Besides, the heat from the java should kill anything, right? -- RIGHT??
Another example of my single male lazy instincts is that I already have all of my laundry separated and ready for wash. Of course it is all just laying on the floor of the closet in two piles. They are beautifully prepared bundles of cloth just waiting for the opportune time for me to decide to wash.... which will be the day before the girls get back. Unless I run out of some type of clothing, like underwear or something. But the plan, as of now is to wait until the eleventh hour, which will also be the time that the dishwasher will be run and the mail separated and gone through.
I am very appreciative of my wife and my family, more beyond the love. They certainly force my inhibitions from ruling my lifestyle. Lucky for me.
7.24.2003
Feeling kind of sentimental today. Turned on my music on my computer at work, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band came on. It isn't the name of the title track by the Beatles that brings a guy down when his ladies have been out of town for quite awhile. It is the instant memory of a conversation Emma and I had about the song.
About two weeks ago I was driving with just her in the car. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some music, and her usual response of "no" was given. I was really in a music mood, so then I asked her if I could sing to her, and she was more than willing to allow that.
I sang "I Saw Her Standing There", "Hotel California" and then "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band" mostly because they are some songs that I actually know 90% of all of the words. After each tune, Emma would remain quite for a couple of seconds almost as if she were making sure I was done, then she would scream for more.
This helps a man's ego out to say the least. So I continued until we reached home.
The best part of this song story is that about a week later it was just her and me again. We followed the same line of questioning about the music, but she told me that she wanted to hear me go at it again. I was pleased to oblige her.
"It's Sgt. Pepper's Lone....."
"YOU SANG THAT ONE LAST TIME, DADDY!" she blurted from the back.
"That's right, kiddo, good memory. Do you want me to sing something else?"
"NO SING THAT ONE!" she exclaimed.
And then she listened as we drove on.
About two weeks ago I was driving with just her in the car. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some music, and her usual response of "no" was given. I was really in a music mood, so then I asked her if I could sing to her, and she was more than willing to allow that.
I sang "I Saw Her Standing There", "Hotel California" and then "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band" mostly because they are some songs that I actually know 90% of all of the words. After each tune, Emma would remain quite for a couple of seconds almost as if she were making sure I was done, then she would scream for more.
This helps a man's ego out to say the least. So I continued until we reached home.
The best part of this song story is that about a week later it was just her and me again. We followed the same line of questioning about the music, but she told me that she wanted to hear me go at it again. I was pleased to oblige her.
"It's Sgt. Pepper's Lone....."
"YOU SANG THAT ONE LAST TIME, DADDY!" she blurted from the back.
"That's right, kiddo, good memory. Do you want me to sing something else?"
"NO SING THAT ONE!" she exclaimed.
And then she listened as we drove on.
7.09.2003
My 6 month pregnant wife decided to move to the other bed for the night at 2 am. She was afraid that she was going to bruise her legs too badly from when she kept slapping them against me. Not really, but she has been getting pretty miserable here in our "heat wave" in Flagstaff. (Topped off at 94 degrees today according to the neighbor.)
I was starting to thoroughly enjoy the empty bed, since my poor wife has been beginning the restless night ordeal. Those men that have survived it know what I am talkin about. The rest of you will find out sooner or later.
At about 5 am, I hear the soft crunch of the carpet from Emma. "Yes, the sun is up, but no hunny, you need to go to sleep some more."
So my rotund spouse was replaced with a sticky foot 2 year old. SWEET! (BTW when I asked Abbie how to spell rotund, without even telling her why, she responded with, "A-S-S-H-O-L-E" which is all wrong. Men without children, make a note of that. Pregnant women always think you are talking about their weight or their temporary shape. Well, this time she was right, but most of the time she is waaaay wrong.)
Now by saying sweet, I AM being sarcastic. Emma may only weigh 30 pounds, but she takes up about three times as much three dimensional space than a creature typically that weight. Like a knocked over box of matches, she is everywhere. The one key element besides lack of room on the otherwise spacious bed is that at least one part of her body MUST be touching you the entire time. I skootch over to the edge of the bed, and her tiny foot is right there in the middle of my back. If I lift her over to the other half of the bed, the small palm of her hand is right there on my shoulder. ANYwho, somehow I get to sleep for about an hour more, give or take a few twenty minutes.
I really think the true reason for my daughter's "outreach" program when sleeping in our bed is soley for keeping track of when I am physically up and getting out of it. (Ironic use of political organization verbose, don't ya think??). For no sooner am I sneaking off to the toilet, she is right there with me, chatting away already.
I wonder if she lays there in bed thinking of things to chat about, or if the entire process of chatting really is spontaneous. Either way she is a natural.
"Daddy really pees alot."
"Yes, hunny."
"Daddy really pees AAAAHHH-LOT!"
"Thanks for noticing babe."
We perform our morning ritual and get juice and coffee brewing. I sit down with her and we have our "time".
"For me birfday I get to be a big sister." she informs me, which is true since the baby is due exactly one week before Emma's 3rd Birthday.
That one sentence has gotten me thinking all day. She "gets to be a big sister". Said just like she "gets" her hand stamped after a good job at gymnastics, or at 7 she "gets" to watch Dora the Explorer. Pretty funny. I will keep the optimistic viewpoint that the new one and her will be the best of friends 98% of the time, and not create a tainted mindset that she will change this excitement once Scoobie arrives.
This same very day, after working all day, I come home and we decide that we are going to take a walk. Emma gets her shoes for the journey and brings them to me along with some socks. I place her on my lap and proceed to put the clothing items on her.
"Daddy lets me sit on his lap."
"Yes hunny."
"Mommy has a baby in her tummy"
"That's right"
"So she no help me put my shoes on"
"Wha?"
"Mommy have no lap now."
I have a million of these, if anyone cares to listen.
But for tonight, that is all.
I was starting to thoroughly enjoy the empty bed, since my poor wife has been beginning the restless night ordeal. Those men that have survived it know what I am talkin about. The rest of you will find out sooner or later.
At about 5 am, I hear the soft crunch of the carpet from Emma. "Yes, the sun is up, but no hunny, you need to go to sleep some more."
So my rotund spouse was replaced with a sticky foot 2 year old. SWEET! (BTW when I asked Abbie how to spell rotund, without even telling her why, she responded with, "A-S-S-H-O-L-E" which is all wrong. Men without children, make a note of that. Pregnant women always think you are talking about their weight or their temporary shape. Well, this time she was right, but most of the time she is waaaay wrong.)
Now by saying sweet, I AM being sarcastic. Emma may only weigh 30 pounds, but she takes up about three times as much three dimensional space than a creature typically that weight. Like a knocked over box of matches, she is everywhere. The one key element besides lack of room on the otherwise spacious bed is that at least one part of her body MUST be touching you the entire time. I skootch over to the edge of the bed, and her tiny foot is right there in the middle of my back. If I lift her over to the other half of the bed, the small palm of her hand is right there on my shoulder. ANYwho, somehow I get to sleep for about an hour more, give or take a few twenty minutes.
I really think the true reason for my daughter's "outreach" program when sleeping in our bed is soley for keeping track of when I am physically up and getting out of it. (Ironic use of political organization verbose, don't ya think??). For no sooner am I sneaking off to the toilet, she is right there with me, chatting away already.
I wonder if she lays there in bed thinking of things to chat about, or if the entire process of chatting really is spontaneous. Either way she is a natural.
"Daddy really pees alot."
"Yes, hunny."
"Daddy really pees AAAAHHH-LOT!"
"Thanks for noticing babe."
We perform our morning ritual and get juice and coffee brewing. I sit down with her and we have our "time".
"For me birfday I get to be a big sister." she informs me, which is true since the baby is due exactly one week before Emma's 3rd Birthday.
That one sentence has gotten me thinking all day. She "gets to be a big sister". Said just like she "gets" her hand stamped after a good job at gymnastics, or at 7 she "gets" to watch Dora the Explorer. Pretty funny. I will keep the optimistic viewpoint that the new one and her will be the best of friends 98% of the time, and not create a tainted mindset that she will change this excitement once Scoobie arrives.
This same very day, after working all day, I come home and we decide that we are going to take a walk. Emma gets her shoes for the journey and brings them to me along with some socks. I place her on my lap and proceed to put the clothing items on her.
"Daddy lets me sit on his lap."
"Yes hunny."
"Mommy has a baby in her tummy"
"That's right"
"So she no help me put my shoes on"
"Wha?"
"Mommy have no lap now."
I have a million of these, if anyone cares to listen.
But for tonight, that is all.
1.03.2003
so I was interrupted countless times last night by a screaming hysterical 2 year old. she was afraid of something; a noise, an idea or a glimpse of a monster in her closet. this actually started about two nights ago. it carried through her nap sessions as well. abbie and i think we might have to sever her vocal cords. i think it might be her new years' resolution to make our hours together more stressful, something similar to what we have been seeing what our friends have been having to deal with. hoping it changes real soon. i even gave her my magic blanket to hold when she gets scared. that worked for a couple of hours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)