Bald Guy in Plaid Pants

Pictures of My Kids Sleeping

2011-05-04T22:01:00.001-05:00

After blowing up this blog, I didn't have a place to put the scattered pieces of nothingness that happen in between the events of my family's life documented on Heather's blog. A little of that nothingness happens while the kids are asleep - and, over the last several months, I've been taking pictures of the kids when we check on them before we go to bed.

Although I have legitimate doubts that pictures of my kids sleeping with no additional content will appeal to normal literate humans who are not related to our children, I think there's something intrinsically beautiful in a sleeping child. Even if some of that beauty is lost in translation when it's captured by the hurried shot of an iPhone in the dark, I made a depository for these moments of their beautiful life:

Pictures of My Kids Sleeping

KABOOM!

2011-01-31T21:38:00.004-06:00

Three.

Two.

One.

I did it. I couldn't stand doing a poor job of blogging. That was the solution.

Thanks for reading. Cheers.

She's a Good Picture Taker

2010-12-02T21:34:00.000-06:00

Heather does a great job of capturing the kids' personalities with her photography. I'm pretty proud of all that she's learned in the last year and a half. Of course, I'm proud of our kids in the pictures, but she turns the cute up to 11 with her picture taking skills.

Last year I was nominated for funniest blog on the Multiples and More Blog Network. Since then I've taken to wearing tweed sport coats with patches on the arms, smoking a pipe, and giving lectures on Russian literature at coffee houses. Accordingly, I am ineligible for the nomination this year.

Fear not though, Heather has picked up the slack in blog award nominations. Her blog has been nominated for best photography this year.

I don't want to be a shameless begging whore. I am. I just don't want to be. Please go vote for her blog HERE. Scroll down to "Best Photography" and hit "Three Lees in a Pod." There's no registration - just click the box and hit vote.

If you've already decided to click the link and vote, just do that. If you choose to get all self-righteous and be an informed voter, please look here, here, and especially here, to make your decision - unless that decision is to vote against her, then don't do that.

You can, and should, vote every day until December 5th. If she wins, I will be giving away an iPad to everyone who votes and posts a comment stating that they voted for her. That was a lie. I will not do that at all. I'm a dirty dirty whore. You will however receive my undying gratitude, which is more valuable than an iPad and less likely to be stolen.

Sea Monster!

2010-10-25T20:51:00.001-05:00

If it wasn't for their big meaty fists, the sailors and their craft may have fallen victim to the beast.

A Post

2010-10-21T21:33:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid I spent a lot of time on the beach. I liked to build sandcastles. More often, I think I just made sand animals. But it's the same idea. I made things out of sand. Sometimes the tide would come in and wash away my dolphin or my octopus. If it was time to leave the beach and my sandcastle was still there, I would stomp all over it before I left. I didn't want to have to think about my sandcastle after I left the beach. What if someone put a ninth arm on my octopus? Or build another dolphin next to my dolphin and made them do dirty things to each other? I can't have that. That's part of the beauty of sandcastles, anyway. They're temporary. No one intends for them to last forever.

If this blog was a sandcastle, the tide would have already come in and washed it away. It's been sitting here without update for two months. There's no tide for blogs though. I imagine the blogosphere is full of abandoned sandcastles. I may stomp on it. I haven’t ruled that out. I’m not one to prematurely stomp on a sandcastle, mind you. I'm still on the beach. I'm just doing other things.

Penelope - Days 1, 2 and 3

2010-08-17T19:41:00.000-05:00

Day 1:

Last Tuesday we welcomed baby Penelope into our family.

The whole event was sort of surreal in that it was so "normal."

Heather just had a baby. I helped the nurse wash her. Then Heather fed her in recovery.

And then they took Heather and Penelope to the mother-baby room, and left us alone.

Although it beats the alternative, it was a bit unsettling to have a baby, just hours old, not hooked up to a monitor. It was hard to tell if she was breathing. And if she stopped breathing, there would be no alarm to let us know. I laid on the couch that night telling myself that if babies dropped dead in mother-baby units on a routine basis, I would have heard about it at least once. I haven't, so I figured we were safe. But I poked Penelope at least 100 times just to make sure.

Day 2:

I have no pictures of Day 2 and I have almost no recollection of it other than I lost track of day and night and forgot to drink my usual four cups of coffee or energy drinks until my head exploded from withdrawal at about 5:00 p.m. I drank a big Starbucks coffee, then threw up three times and passed out, which I'm sure Heather appreciated. I presume everything turned out well during my loss of consciousness as Heather hasn't really mentioned it.

Day 3:

After two days away from the "big" kids, Heather and I were dying to see them. We received a visit on the morning of Day 3.

Heather's friends Cathy and Amanda gave Piper, Henry, Rosemary and Penelope big/little - brother/sister shirts that they wore for their big meet and greet:

On the evening of Day 3 Heather and I had our "Celebration Dinner" courtesy of UAB Hospital. The Celebration Dinner is a special three course meal for mom and a guest prepared by only the most discerning of cooks in the UAB patient kitchen. It's served on a black tray as opposed to the standard white.

When we had the kids, Heather delivered, and the kids stayed at the old UAB facility. Everyone who delivered there was given a baby gift - either a Medala Pump-in-Style or a stroller. Since then, UAB has moved moms and babies into an incredible Women and Infants Center. Three hundred dollar breast pumps don't grow on trees, you know. And if you spend a bazillion dollars on a new facility, something has to give. Hence, as I understand it, the replacement of the $300 Pump in Style with the "Celebration Dinner."

I can say, without a doubt, that our Celebration Dinner was the best nearly warm meal I've consumed from a hospital patient kitchen. The wine pairing was an excellent choice as well: Welch's Sparkling Grape Juice - chilled in a chicken bucket. Vintage June.

Our bottle displayed notes of grape with subtle grape as well as hints of grape.

OK. I'm just being picky. It was a nice touch. And, if that's the trade-off for a great new facility, I'll happily drink my chicken bucket wine in our big new room.

A Blueberry Trick Gone Awry

2010-07-26T21:27:00.000-05:00

Henry and the girls love blueberries. The other day I gave them all a handful with their snack. Then a second handful. And then a third.

I'm all for the kids getting plenty of food - and blueberries are as good as anything. But there's a point where I fear that their bodies just can't tolerate the quantity. So I started doling out blueberries one by one.

Instead just handing them out, I decided to do the old "coin trick" where I palm a blueberry and then find it behind the kids' ear. The girls tolerated my tomfoolery for the purpose of getting more blueberries. Henry, on the other hand, was thrilled to learn that his head was full of blueberries and that they can be plucked endlessly from his ear.

Thrilled, that is, until they stopped coming.

He tried to get them.

And tried.

And tried.

It's sad. More funny than sad, of course. But I still feel sorry for him. Tonight I saw him pulling at his ear after we put him to bed. In a way, I feel like I violated his trust. But he is two. It's probably time he learns that his head isn't full of blueberries.

Cleanup on Aisle Five!

2010-06-09T22:38:00.001-05:00

When I got the kids out of bed this morning and was changing diapers, I was alarmed to find that Henry's boy parts were red and puffy. Heather called the doctor and got Henry the first available appointment.

Henry and I went to the doctor and it turns out it was just a yeast infection. I was afraid it was a flesh eating bacteria, which in this case would be a penis eating bacteria. Which would be a bit of a downer.

We got a prescription for some yeast cream and headed for the Walgreen's. I wanted to get Henry's cream as soon as possible, so we waited for the pharmacist to put the label on the box of cream. These things take time.

First we walked all of the aisles. Then we watched a redneck yell at his wife. And then we started getting bored.

Henry spotted a box of clearance mop handles, sans sponge heads, and took to mopping the store.

He mopped.

And mopped.

And mopped.

Watched the angry redneck some more.

. . . continued mopping.

And then they called us back to get the ointment, with the label meticulously affixed to the box.

If anyone in that store thought I would not let my son fake-mop all the floors in the Walgreen's while I followed him around taking pictures with my Blackberry, they were mistaken.

Rodents, Pea Pods, New Room, Etc.

2010-05-21T06:53:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since my last post, so I have a lot to cover.

1. No new wild animals have been spotted in the yard in addition to the raccoon and the possum. We've had a total of two dead critters (hunted and killed by cats I presume) on our doorsteps: one bird on the front door mat and one mouse on the back door mat. Other than nearly stepping on the rotting corpse of a mouse, I couldn't be happier about the death of the rodent. Francesca and Thurston are pulling their weight. Cat(s) 1, Mice 1. They did let that one mouse in the house, of course.

2. During the remodel, we were down a few days on the upstairs AC. The kids got to spend some quality time in their pea pod tents - napping in our bedroom during the day and sleeping in the living room at night. Shockingly, the AC man was unable to replace an entire AC system and install new duct work to the new room, and make it functional, in one day. I sort of saw that one coming.

Henry "banged" his little head against the wall of the tent one night and scooted himself clear out of the living room. This is how we found him in the morning:

3. The room is done. If my camera had the ability to reproduce colors with any degree of accuracy, you would see that the room is pale green and the bathroom is slightly less pale green.

The picture of the closet is a semi-accurate representation of the room color:

The bathroom:

From the entrance to the room:

Well, it's mostly done. We have one detail left to fix. There was a little confusion about what I meant when I said that I didn't want shiny chrome bathroom fixtures. My statement was interpreted to mean that I yearned to have someone search the four corners of the earth to find the largest and shiniest bathroom fixtures available and have those installed in the room.

The plumber replaced the bumper-chrome sink faucets that were initially installed with these snazzy little brushed stainless numbers.

We are waiting for the brushed stainless versions of the the shower fixtures to come in.

(there's a bigger difference in person - I swear)

I'm moving the kids into the new room this weekend. My plan is to begin disassembling cribs first thing on Saturday morning and having them put back together in the new room by nap time after lunch. The rest of the new room should take shape by the end of the weekend.

4. Heather is still gestating little Penelope and is 28 weeks today. Her pregnancy hasn't been the walk in the park I had hoped for. She's had to take a few visits to the hospital and stayed overnight on Monday, but she is not having pre-term labor - which is good. During her pregnancy with the kids, we had cake with candles in her hospital room where she had already been for five weeks when she made it to 28 weeks. So, even though this pregnancy isn't completely uneventful, I can only be thankful to be where we are.

Room Stuff and a Possum

2010-04-28T21:52:00.003-05:00

The kids' new room is mostly painted and we have tile in the bathroom.

We are waiting on the bathroom vanity and vanity top. Heather and I picked it out a couple weeks ago and the bathroom vanity elves have been working feverishly ever since. I picked out the vanity top at the vanity top place, which, strangely enough, is not the same place as the vanity base place. I picked out a medium beige vanity top and picked dark beige distressed vanity base out of the vanity base book to go with it. Bill the builder suggested that we stay in the neutral color range for the permanent installations, so we could switch paint color at the whim of the girls. That left us with beige, beige, beige and beige of varying shades and finishes.

I sent Heather to the vanity base place with the option to pick a shade lighter beige vanity base, but not the really light beige, because that looked all wrong with the medium beige top. Heather went wild and picked the light beige vanity base anyway, causing us to scramble and switch shades of beige for the vanity top to match the light beige base with dark beige accents.

She was playing with fire, but I think we avoided disaster. That would be a fawn beige vanity top and a biscotti with cocoa glaze vanity base, for your records. I know my beige. In hindsight, I could have just let her do it in the first place and skipped the lesson in shades of beige.

I cleaned out the attic and we are set to have the upstairs air conditioning unit replaced with a bigger one. This will involve at least one nap downstairs for the kids, and my guess is that something completely unforeseeable will happen with the HVAC contractor causing us to have the kids downstairs for a couple days. We are ready with the pea pod tents in the bedroom and on standby for the AC man to come dismantle our upstairs air conditioner.

He seems like he knows what he's doing, but when he says he can switch out an inside air handler, outside unit and replace most of the duct work in one day, I have my doubts. It just seems like a lot to do in one day. Good thing we have the pea pods.

We also have a possum. In addition to the raccoon, we have a possum now. I took the cat food off the back porch and put it next to the garage. I've been putting the food inside the garage before I go to bed to cut down on the critter herd. When I walked to the front door to put the food inside the other night, I found a possum eating the cat food.

Nice tail. Yuk.

I know it's spelled opossum, but I'm not down with the silent "o." I say possum; I'll spell it possum. Possum. Possum. Looks right.

Possum.

Kangaroo Climber Update

2010-04-18T21:03:00.000-05:00

The Step 2 Kangaroo Climber is not The Most Dangerous Toy Ever. I was wrong. The toy is just a little deceptive in that it looks like it's made for small kids - - because it's really small. Our crew just didn't have the coordination to handle it the first time.

I set it back up a couple months ago. I didn't break out the video camera, or a camera at all for that matter. The first time you capture video of all three of your kids taking headers off a Kangaroo Climber, it's called funny. The second time you do it, it's called Exhibits A, B and C in your administrative hearing before Child Protective Services.

I've declared it safe for use - and accordingly safe to photograph.

Step 2 says it's good for an 18 month old. For our kids, ages 19 or 20 months was about right for the climber. They have it mastered at 22 months.

We misjudged that one, but I still laugh at the videos.

Cat Watch - Day 121

2010-04-14T22:16:00.001-05:00

The last few nights I've woken up to Francesca and Thurston's feeder being tumped over. I pick it up, refill it, then it happens again. The last time I did it, I left the cat food bag outside so I wouldn't have to carry it from the garage to the back porch every morning.

I figured one of the cats turned crazy and decided to tump it over. Cats are unstable. No surprise.

Last night, while Heather and I were watching Lost, I heard a ruckus on the back porch. I got up to discover that we were being victimized by an intruder.

One of those is the police sketch of the intruder, not the actual raccoon.

Under the theory of you feed it - you name it, I get to name him or her now. So far, I've just yelled "git!" at it. I don't think I really want to have a pet raccoon anyway. Having another cat to feed was fine, but this guy has an incredible metabolism. He eats a ton. One raccoon equals at least five cats. I would imagine the cats aren't thrilled with the company of a wild animal either. I could call in a professional, but if the Critter Getters charge $285 to remove a mouse, I doubt I can afford to hire a raccoon wrangler.

Four months ago, Francesca was living the good life of an inside cat; now she competes for food with this scrappy beast.

It's a long way down for our little house kitty.

Meet the Judgers

2010-04-13T22:23:00.000-05:00

Hi. We're the Judgers.

Mr. and Mrs. Judger to be precise.

We met while backpacking through Europe. We've been married for almost two years. No kids yet. Maybe we will; maybe we won't. We don't want to tie ourselves down yet, you know. We enjoy sipping coffee during the day and sipping white wine at night. And walks. We like walks. Just the two of us, hand in hand. Listening to the birds chirping and the breeze blowing through the leaves.

Our favourite place to walk is Aldridge Gardens. We spell favourite like that because we've been to England. We spell colour like this, in case you were wondering. Where were we? Oh yes, the gardens. Aldridge Gardens is so peaceful and serene. We spend hours there almost every weekend. It reminds us of some of the parks around London. We've been to London. Have you? You should go.

The only problem we have with Aldridge Gardens is this obnoxious couple and their three kids. They pollute the gardens with their presence more often than not. When we walk towards them on the trail, they only move their four foot wide stroller off to one side about half way, leaving us cramped into using only three feet of trail. The dad tries to smile at us, but we don't make eye contact with him. It only encourages those types of people.

The worst part about these people is their screaming child. The one that makes all the noise is a girl, we think. Actually, we don't know or care. But it yells. We've seen it yell twice. Once it was mad and yelling and the other time it was happy and yelling. It yells either way and they do nothing to stop it. I know they can; but they won't. And the woman is pregnant with another one. Isn't three noisemaking things enough for two people? Walking around with three kids and pregnant with another like they own the place.

We glare in their direction to make them be quiet and take up less space, but they refuse. The next time we see that child yell, we intend to lodge formal complaint with the park service.

The Judgers.

Walls!

2010-04-08T20:40:00.001-05:00

We have walls in the kids' room.

It's starting to feel real now - like we have a new part of our house that wasn't there before.

I know from a square footage standpoint, our house is staying the same size. The man room was like a formal living room, though. It was there so we could use it, and we used it when we had people over. But as we started doing more kid related stuff, we had less need for a billiard room and bar.

I guess I should mourn the loss of the man room, but I don't. I'm too excited about making our house more usable for our growing family.

The house already feels bigger and it's just a dusty unpainted room with the door closed. If Piper, Henry and Rosemary knew to be excited, I think they would be.

Heavy Comforter

2010-04-07T22:22:00.000-05:00

Monday night, Heather and I got in bed and I was asking her if the comforter felt heavy. She said no. Then I asked if she was hot. Again, no. I thought maybe we had high humidity and the comforter was holding moisture. I turned down the A/C, but was still hot all night.

Last night when we got in bed, I felt lumps on top of me. It turns out I had washed a load of clothes, piled them on the bed, and then covered the comforter, together with the pile of clothes, with a sheet because the drywall people were coming to sand Monday morning. Then I forgot about having put the clothes on the bed and slept under a pile of laundry all night.

Our room is so messy that I accidentally sleep under a pile of laundry. We have nowhere to put our stuff. It's everywhere. There's no "away."

On a positive note, Heather's closet is plumbed and sheet rocked, so I think we are close to having an "away" again.

Maybe we can move Heather back into her closet this weekend.

Kids' Room Progress

2010-04-05T21:33:00.001-05:00

I got a call at work from Heather this past week. She called to tell me that the builder had the plumbers at the house and they needed everything out of her closet because they were going to start jackhammering in there.

Heather's closet is right under the kids' new bathroom and next to our master bath toilet. The plan was to run a sewer line down from the kids' new bathroom, through Heather's closet, and down into the slab and connect to the existing sewer line.

Heather couldn't leave work right then, nor should she have. Clearing out seven years of stuff under the observation of a three dudes waiting with a jackhammer is just a little too much to put on Heather and little Penelope right now, in my opinion. I told Heather I would go home and do it.

I had no idea the amount of stuff that was in that closet. The hanging clothes were not that big of a deal. My closet racks were full, but because I keep precisely 3/4 of an inch between each item, I was able to squish all of my stuff into 1/4 of its existing space. That made room for most of Heather's hanging clothes.

Maternity items went in front, of course. Heather even found a new skirt.

The floor was the hard part. There was just a lot of stuff - shoes on top of shoe boxes on top of shoe racks. Bill the builder and I loaded stuff by the armful into lawn bags and put the bags in the tub.

Shoes that looked familiar went into my closet. Other items that looked important went into the TV armoire or on the bench at the foot of our bed.

When we got to the bottom of the sediment of shoes up against the wall, the plumber yelled "look - there's a clean-out," which meant that there was a sewer stub already in the slab. Here it is after they cut the sheet rock out to take a look.

Bill the builder looked at the clean-out and said, in a deeper version of what Owen Wilson sounds like: "Wow - that was a really good idea I had putting that there." We stood and looked and nodded our heads. "It's almost like I knew we would be standing here one day adding onto the house when I built it." It was nice to see Bill admire the work he did, only to forget about it in order to pleasantly surprise himself later. That's actually a really good feeling if you haven't experienced it.

Bill's pride in his housing design aside, I was wondering if finding that sewer pipe was going to save me any money. I'm new to hiring a contractor to remodel a house. I know that upgrading a cabinet or adding a second one like we did in the bathroom will cost a few hundred dollars extra. I didn't ask whether we get a credit for not having to jackhammer through the slab when we find out that it's already been stubbed for sewer. Having people stand around with a jackhammer doesn't look significantly cheaper than having people actually use a jackhammer though. Something tells me that we won't see a change order entitled "found sewer line: -$350.00" when we get the one for the cabinet. Just a hunch.

As for the progress upstairs, everything is wired and we have water to and from the bathroom.

So far, I've managed to find everything Heather has asked me for that I pulled out of her closet. I'm pretty impressed with myself. There was a lot to keep track of. If I can keep this streak alive into the weekend when we put everything back, I will have pulled off the most successful mid-afternoon closet heists ever.

Snakes!!

2010-04-04T22:58:00.001-05:00

At Aldridge Gardens last weekend, Henry and I were playing around a little waterfall and bridge. Some people waked by and noticed three snakes on the rocks. We had been right next to them the whole time and didn't notice.

There were these two on the left side.

And this long one sunning itself on the right.

When Heather and Ann came back over, I tried to show them the snakes, but they couldn't see them. I got down on the rock next to the two snakes and pointed at them. As soon as I got too close for the snakes' comfort, they both ran for cover. I happened to be standing on their cover, so they appeared to be coming at me.

When the snakes came at me, I yelled a little. Heather and Ann both made fun of me - not so much for yelling, but for the pitch of my yell. They said it was a high. Like a girl.

I don't like snakes. All the logic in the world isn't going to change my mind. My first thought about the involuntary girl yelp while being attacked by multiple snakes is that it sets a bad example for Henry, who was looking on. Then again, as a matter of policy, yelling like a girl and running every time a snake comes after him could serve him well in life. Sure, there's the shame associated with it, but shame only hurts on the inside. Being mauled by serpents hurts all over.

P.S. You can spare me the "those are just corn/rat/barn/whatever snakes" part. I don't have a snake field guide and I have no intention of counting stripes or looking at their eyes before I decide to run from them screaming.

A Pregnant Woman Taking Pictures

2010-04-02T21:23:00.002-05:00

Heather has been taking great pictures of our little babies ever since she got her Nikon D60 from them for Mother's Day last year. Sometimes I'm in the pictures because I'm in the general vicinity of the subjects. Heather, however, never gets in the pictures because she's on the other side of the camera. I would really like for some of the pictures of the kids to have Heather in them. I have a few, but they aren't as good as Heather's. I've decided to take start taking pictures of Heather taking pictures of the kids anyway. Here she is taking pictures at Aldridge Gardens.

When I showed these pictures to Heather, she was surprised at how pregnant she looked. I guess that sort of thing kind of sneaks up on you.

Man Room Update

2010-03-31T07:15:00.000-05:00

The man room is dead. I sold the bar, the bar fridge and the pub table on craigslist. I attempted to sell the pool table on craigslist, but apparently 100 people will email me with detailed questions about a cheap pub table, but not a single one has an appreciation for a quality pool table. The pool table is in storage waiting for the day that I get another man room.

I got the room cleaned out last weekend, with the exception of a couch that I can't get back down the stairs.

I found the builder's drawing tacked up to the wall on the first day of construction.

If I didn't know our builder, and live in the evidence that he can build a whole house, I might be concerned about the quality of the architect's rendering.

The framing happened quickly once Bill and his superintendent Brad started.

The bathroom main vanity area:

The tub and toilet area:

Closets:

Bathroom, closets and hall.

And the kids watching the sheet rock people unload the truck into our garage:

I wonder if they know they are getting a new room. This is a big deal. Even if they don't know and aren't excited, I'm excited for them.

The Little Silver Van

2010-03-29T21:12:00.003-05:00

I used to talk bad about mini-vans. I feel bad about it. Not that there's anything wrong with mini-vans; some of my best friends are mini-vans. I just never thought I would own one.

After looking into the big white van and coming up with a big white no-go, I re-thought my choices and motives. The reason I liked the big white van was its pure utility. That made me question whether the Ford Flex was an option at all because it's a lot smaller than our Expedition EL and doesn't hold very much.

I did some more research and concluded that all the people who drive mini-vans can't be wrong, despite the things I've said about them. Mini-vans have walk-through access to the third row, which we need because we will have two carseats in the second row. They also have lots of cargo room to carry strollers and baby gear - not as much as the big white van, but still a pretty good bit. Other than it being a mini-van, there's not much to complain about with the functionality of a mini-van. On the inside, they are just like you and me.

I am a Honda/Acura fan. My last three cars have been Hondas and Acuras and, other than a battery cable or three on one of the Hondas, they were perfect. And Honda's van, the Odyssey, is made right here in Alabama. Naturally, I picked the Odyssey.

It's only 69 inches tall, so it fits in the garage. No measuring required, unlike the big white van.

My only problem with this purchase was negotiating with Heather on the optional features. Because this is "our" car as opposed to "my" car, I think I ran into more resistance and second guessing than I'm used to. Heather accepted my determination that: 1) a mini-van was the correct vehicle; and, 2) the Honda Odyssey was the best mini-van for us, but that was pretty much where her acceptance ended.

I researched the trim lines and optional features on the van and gave Heather my report on what we needed. She shot down every single one of the options. Not some. All. For each feature, Heather asked how much it costs. I told her how much and re-explained the benefits of said feature. She said no. Over and over. She told me I was to purchase this van with no optional features for the cheapest price possible.

Heather said it. Heather is pregnant. I don't argue with pregnant women. We will have a van with no features.

Although it went against every fiber of my leather seat loving, big stereo listening self, I bought a Honda Odyssey with no optional features. There is no Honda Odyssey one can purchase that has less stuff on it than ours. I bet even the one you rent from Budget Rent-A-Car has more stuff on it. I guess this makes sense because the Expedition, with all the kid friendly features and fancy things, is the primary kid hauler. Really, I don't need to know the reason. A pregnant woman told me to do it and I did it. Those are the rules as I understand them.

Even though both Heather and I still drive SUVs, we now own a mini-van. I don't know if that makes us mini-van people. I do know that Heather looked down at me from the Expedition when I got behind the wheel of the van at the dealership and laughed. Maybe she was laughing that we, as SUV people, bought a mini-van. Maybe she was just laughing at me. I know neither of us claim it yet. I've driven it a few times when I could have driven my SUV. I like it. I may have to take back most of the things I've said about mini-vans. I just had to take the time to get to know one.

Snacks on the Go

2010-03-28T21:33:00.000-05:00

Today, we went to church and put the kids down for a nap a little later than normal. They ended up sleeping until about 4:00, which I though was going to put a crimp in my afternoon walk plans.

Our normal afternoon routine is: wake up from nap; play/walk; snack; then, bath followed by dinner. The kids usually want a snack by 5:00, so I didn't think I had time to walk and come back in time for snacks. Then it occurred to me that I could take a snack on the road - sort of like what normal parents do.

I packed up bananas, cheese and milk and hit the neighborhood nature trail.

I stopped on a wide spot, so the kids could look out over the pond.

I know most parents would have left the bibs behind, but I didn't feel like scrubbing cheese and bananas out of the stroller harnesses. I'm taking this whole flexibility thing slowly.

In any event, my afternoon walk time got a little longer today.

The Search for a Nannymobile

2010-03-14T20:46:00.005-05:00

In addition to looking for a new nanny, we've been shopping for a third family car so our future nanny will have a big safe car at the house to carry four kids. The SUV I bought last year that fits three carseats in the back seat will be useless as a family car as soon as #4 arrives, so I want something to drive the kids around in too.

The car needs to have access to the third row without folding down the second row because the second row will have car seats in it. I narrowed down my search to three choices: 1) a Ford Flex; 2) a full size Chevy Express Van and 3) a Ford Expedition EL. Heather already has an Expedition EL and doesn't want another one, so I struck that off the list. I like the Flex, but it doesn't give us any utility that we don't already have with the Expedition. It's just a smaller version of what we have.

This left me with the full size van. I did my safety research and found that Chevy offers full side curtain airbags, containment glass in the back that will keep someone from being ejected in a roll-over, and stability control that helps to keep the van from rolling over in the first place. The one-ton version of the van (the 3500) is also one of the heaviest vehicles I've found without a turret and cannon on top. I am a member of the bigger-is-better camp when it comes to car safety, so that's a huge selling point for me.

I found a 12 passenger Express 3500 in town and test drove it at lunch on Friday. It drove great and I really liked it. I even took it through some sharp corners at unsafe speeds to see if I could tip it over. I was unable to tip it over, but more than able to scare the hell out of Bernie the White Knuckle Salesman.

Friday night I reported my findings to Heather and she approved of the purchase. On Saturday morning, I drove out to the dealership and asked Bernie Whiteknuckles if I could take it for the weekend. I wanted to take it home, see how the carseats fit, see how it fits in the garage, show it to Heather, and just generally see how it works into our weekend routine. Bernie was happy to let me perform the remainder of my road testing without him, and eagerly got his boss's approval for me to borrow the van for the weekend.

Here's the van in our driveway:

It has loads of room in back and the door slides easily.

The second and third row will each hold three people or two carseats, and each has two LATCH systems and tethers to secure the carseats.

The fourth row is split, so you can take out half of the fourth row, seating two people in the way-back with a lot of cargo room, or take out the whole way-back bench and haul just about anything.

As much as anyone can be in love with a big white 12 passenger van, I'm in love. It's perfect for us now, and I think it would serve our family well over the next ten years or so.

Because we have limited garage / parking area, we're going to have to keep the third car in the garage. Heather and I will park side by side (tightly) in the driveway because it just isn't practical to move the nannymobile/van and one of our cars every morning when we leave for work. Moving just one car is a huge pain now. The car-moving results in at least five minutes of debate each morning. I can't imagine the unpleasantries that would fly while Heather and I were getting dressed if we had to move two cars every morning. Our neighborhood covenants prevent us from parking cars on the street, so that's not an option either. Our parking situation just isn't good.

I used to park on the right hand side of the garage until we added the arsenal of strollers, which now consists of a triple jogger, a double, a single and two double wagons. We'll probably add a single jogger and maybe a couple double joggers with the new baby. My car isn't going back in the garage for the foreseeable future.

Anyway, the van worked perfectly on my weekend test. If it passed the garage test, we had found our new nannymobile / daddymobile / vacation car.

Heather's Expedition is about 77 inches tall. A 77 inch truck gives us 6 inches of extra room, as shown here:

. . . unless Ford measured the 77 inches by including the optional roof rails, then we have 3 inches, as shown here:

Because the roof rails are options on Heather's Expedition, I figured we had 6 inches, and the van is only 4 inches taller than Heather's car.

I also measured, of course.

The opening to the garage is this big:

And the van is only this big:

See? No problem.

Just for kicks, Heather wanted to test the calibration of my fingers and have me actually pull the van into the garage. Admittedly it was a little closer than I thought.

Heather and the kids watched from the front door as I pulled the van into the garage. As I nosed in, Heather started waving her arms in a woo-hoo motion. I was like woo-hoo too because it was working and just grazing the rubber portion of the garage door opening. When I didn't stop, Heather ran out the door and then I realized her woo-hoo arm motion was actually a stop-stop motion. They look alike.

Heather: It's not going to fit.
Me: It's going to fit. The first two inches of the opening are rubber.
Heather: It's a lot bigger than the garage.
Me: Trust me.
Heather: I'm not watching.
Me: You have to; I need someone to tell me when to stop if it doesn't fit.
Heather: Now. Stop now. It doesn't fit.
Me: Spot me.
Heather: I'm not watching.

I got the van about half way in and it was taking up all of the rubber seal on the garage door, but not yet hitting the wood.

As the err-err-err of van sliding against rubber turned into the snap and pop of van crunching wood, Heather came back out and gave me the "I told you so" look. Really, it was just a tight fit until the back wheels went up a half inch from the driveway onto the house slab. Then it was wedged in the hole.

The van didn't fit, but I was able to un-stick it with no apparent damage to the house. A cursory inspection of the van showed no damage to it either. Although my van dreams are crushed, my height miscalculation didn't cause any property damage that I can see.

Even though I had use of the van through tomorrow, I went ahead and took it back today. It was a long sad drive. Just me and the big white van that will never be mine. I heart you big white van.

Hopefully Bernie Whiteknuckles won't call me tomorrow asking about the roof of the van.

Death of a Man Room

2010-03-03T22:25:00.002-06:00

When Heather and I were shopping for a house in 2003, there were two things I wanted: a wine cellar and a man room. I didn't care if the wine cellar was off of, or part of, the man room. I just wanted a place to store a couple hundred bottles of wine and a place to drink said wine while playing pool.

After we looked at a few houses and our realtor gave a passable effort not to laugh at me for being critical of the lack of suitable wine storage in the houses, Heather had a little talk with me. She informed me that "people like us," buying three bedroom houses, didn't want or need wine cellars. We agreed to disagree on that one.

Having scrapped the wine cellar requirement, my last stand on the list of "wants" was a man room. When we walked in the house we ultimately bought, Heather and our realtor looked around, oohing and ahhing at the kitchen and master bath's pretty things. I went upstairs to find a giant unfinished room with a plywood floor, exposed studs, and no wiring, just waiting to become my perfect man room. I cared very little about the rest of the house after Heather told me that I could "have" that room as mine. Sold.

Even though I may have been a little naive in thinking that fellow poor people had or wanted wine cellars, I possessed incredible foresight in staking out 400 square feet of the house as mine. I didn't know, as I do now, that "our" house is just "ours" because I have a key and I live here. I live in Heather's house. "Our" house would not have fourteen decorative pillows on our bed or towels that I'm not allowed to touch. Somehow, even then, I knew that my man room would be my haven in our home. My only space.

I can put dead animals on the wall.

(That was self defense, by the way)

It's the only place in the house suitable for fish pictures.

I even have dogs playing pool.

Those silly dogs. See - He got hit in the nose. They slay me.

When we found out number four on the way, Heather and I started talking about housing options. We could move to a bigger house (Option "A"). We could turn part of the man room into a guest room (which is a must have for Heather's mom) by putting in a pullout couch and getting rid of the bar (Option "B"). Or we could add a bathroom and closets to the man room, turning it into a big bedroom for the girls (Option "C"). We weighed our options, including the prospect of marketing a house with a romper room for a dining room, and decided to use my man room to make our 3/2.5 into a 4/3.5.

It was my idea, granted as an Option "C," but it didn't take long for Heather to decide "C" was the way to go. I had actually thrown out Options "A" and "B" first without "C," but I accidentally started the conversation by saying we had three options. Heather put me on cross and pulled "C" out of me when no third option was forthcoming. I was planning on keeping "C" in my back pocket, but that's what I get for marrying a lawyer. Bye-bye man room.

We're going to put the three kids in the new bedroom when it's done and make their old room a nursery for the baby. Then we'll split up rooms by sex when the baby is older and on the same schedule as the kids, with the girls getting the new room and the boy(s) getting the room the kids are in now. The guest room / Heather's mom's room stays intact.

The first twelve feet of this corner will be two closets:

This corner will be the bathroom, with be the shower/tub against the far wall and the length of the bathroom coming out as far as the closets opposite the newly formed hallway:

Man Room: 2003-2010. Rest in peace my friend. I'll pour out a little of my 40 for you. Not in the house, of course. Maybe outside. I'll have to ask Heather.

Shoes Please - I Just Need Shoes

2010-02-27T21:55:00.003-06:00

Rosemary has two unique characteristics among the kids: 1) she's a hoarder; and, 2) she's a shoe addict.

If she goes into the playroom to bring out toys, she brings an arm full - all that she can carry. When it's time to get in the bath and I have bath toys lined up on the bathroom floor, Piper and Henry grab a duck or other toy to take in the bath, and Rosemary gets an arm full of ducks and tries not to drop any on the way into the bath. She acts like those are the only ducks on earth and she'll never have the chance to grab ducks again.

As for the shoes, she wants her own shoes on almost all of the time, and she's generally obsessed with shoes. She likes to scratch my dress shoes with her fingernail, especially when they are freshly shined. This disturbs me to no end because I have a bit of a shoe thing myself. Not a freaky break-into-someone's-house-to-steal-shoes thing, but I like shoes more than most men.

The other day, Rosemary was upset about something. Henry probably took something from her; I don't remember. I was sitting at the bar and I picked Rosemary up to comfort her. I hadn't noticed, but there were three pairs of kids' shoes sitting on the bar next to my laptop. Rosemary was pouting. And she started picking up shoes. Each time she picked up a shoe, I could feel little waves of happiness roll over her.

She was able to get five of the six shoes on the bar and then couldn't reach for any more without dropping a shoe, so she just sat content with five of the six shoes that were on the bar. Just sitting in my lap holding shoes. That's all she needs.

I don't know much about kids, but I'm sure this isn't totally normal. If Heather and I didn't both have OCD tendencies, I might be concerned with Rosemary's quirks. But really, how can I even be phased by her behavior when I have a couple of these in my closet.

I won't uncover the real crazy by showing the dress shirt rack above the dress shoe rack with its shirts lined up by color.

Given that I would pull a Rain Man if someone snuck a blue shirt into the white shirt zone or misplaced one of my shoe trees, I'd say that Rosemary's little shoe thing is pretty much in line with the household norm. Who am I to get all judgmental and not indulge Rosemary's odd habits. So I will. And she'll get lots of shoes. And hoard them. And line them up in rows. And then, when she goes off to college and one of her roommates messes with her shoes, she'll pull a Rain Man and freak everybody out. Then she'll be pissed at me for not curbing her crazy when I had the chance. But I don't care. My little Rosemary gets shoes. She needs them.

Nice Weather - Finally!

2010-02-20T22:55:00.001-06:00

The weather in Birmingham was beautiful today. It's been cold and/or rainy every weekend that I can recall. Today was sunny and in the mid-60s.

The nice weather came just in time. Heather took a spa trip this weekend, so I was flying solo with the kids. A nice weekend outside with the kids on my own can be a little tricky, bit it's a treat. Not that a weekend cooped up inside with bored angry kids isn't a treat, mind you; it's just better out there.

We took the opportunity to go to the (drum roll please) . . . zoo! We've been to the zoo so many times, I'm certain the kids have seen more giraffes and lions in their life than they have dogs and cats. It's just hard to beat the zoo for a place that accommodates a side-by-side triple stroller and has things for kids and adults to see outside.

We did the usual tour of the world's animals and took a cruise through the "kids zoo," which is a hands-on barn / petting zoo. I think this is a barn llama.

Whatever it is, it needs a toothbrush and some Crest White Strips. That grill is brutal. I saw it try to bite a little girl after her parents picked her up to pet it. The little girl freaked out. I didn't need that ugly Austin Powers looking bastard to lunge at us to know it wasn't our friend. Some people just have to test it.

We got up close with a peacock who was wandering around the sidewalks.

I didn't know this before, but peacocks have large talons. I noticed them right after I took the picture. I think a peacock could so some damage if it wanted to - - say, if you snuck up behind it with a four foot wide, bright red stroller carrying three handsy kids. After we made our way by, it went after a another kid. He looked OK physically. Mentally, not so much.

We had two up-close and personal "When Animals Attack" moments today. I've never really thought about the assumption of the risk you take by being at a zoo around animals. I get the part about assuming the risk of being hit by a foul ball when I go to a baseball game, but I sort of expect the more dangerous animals at a zoo to be somewhere where they won't maul me or the kids. Then again, maybe peacock and llama attacks aren't as dangerous as they look.

Surprisingly, the zoo wasn't as crowded as it usually is on a sweltering summer day. The big bonus of the zoo not being hot or crowded is that the kids got to play in the fountain / play area without any 140 pound 8 year olds giving them a flying forearm shiver while charging through the water.

I had always thought the floor of the fountain area was concrete, but it's actually little bits of rubber.

If I was MC Hammer, I would put one of these in our back yard.

Now that I know it's rubber, I might let the kids play in the fountain when it's 100 degrees - depending on the size and speed of the kids competing for the water, of course.

Henry was the only one who found the play area behind the non-functional fountain. I was thinking it looked more interesting than a thing that might be a fountain if it was turned on, but I still know very little about the decision making process of a toddler.

It was a good day. Hopefully we'll get some more nice weather next weekend and we can do it all over again with Heather - sans llama and peacock attacks.

King Cake!

2010-02-14T13:24:00.002-06:00

It's Mardi Gras. In Birmingham, you have to look pretty hard to find any indication that Lent is around the corner and it's time to cram in all your food and beverage related debauchery. Fortunately, I have a coworker from New Orleans whose mom Fed-Exed her a king cake this week. I had one piece at the office and got dizzy from the sugar rush. It was sooooo good though.

She sent a giant hunk of apple filled goodness home with me under strict orders that it was for the kids. I've fallen a long way from the days when I was all about limiting the kids to baked items that were no sugar added, whole wheat and organic. It started with their first birthday smash cakes and went down hill from there. The kids are good eaters and they always eat their fruits and veggies. I guess if they don't replace good food with deserts, they need the extra calories anyway. Can you tell I'm trying to convince myself too?

I figured if we we going to do it, we should do it right. I cut each of them an obese adult sized portion.

Piper took to the cake in her typically reserved manner that makes us wonder how she is the chunkiest kid. She clearly liked it, but exercised some restraint.

Henry went at it like an angry land shark.

And Rosemary worked her way through it methodically.

The girls ate until they were full and called it quits. Rosemary ate about twice as much as Piper, which is usually the case. Henry put all of his cake away at least as fast as I could and looked like he could do it all over again.

When we put the kids to bed, Henry howled like a wolf (not crying, but actually howling - like a baby wolf) for an hour. Then he tipped over and slept all night. Dreaming of king cake, I would imagine.

Heather’s Pregnant

2010-01-31T21:01:00.001-06:00

I think the appropriate term would be knocked up. Heather doesn’t want me to call it “unplanned” or “accidental” so we’re saying it’s a “surprise.” She thinks the other terms make the baby seem unwanted, which is certainly not the case. In her defense, it’s hard to call something like this an accident if you have a working knowledge of biology, yet take no precautions to prevent the typical results of your actions. I still think “surprise” understates the situation a little. We have three kids. I love my kids in a way that I never thought I could love anyone. But still - that’s a lot of kids. It’s precisely two more kids than I agreed to when Heather talked me into the idea after getting me liquored up on margaritas at a Mexican restaurant.

We then spent almost three years and the cost of a Porsche 911 on fertility treatments trying to have said kid, which turned out to be three kids. In a perfect world, I guess a surprise like this would have happened shortly after my consenting to impregnate Heather - before all the doctors, all the drugs, and all the treatments. But trying to get pregnant for three years made us both stronger. That ordeal helped prepare us for Heather’s difficult high-order-multiple pregnancy, which in turn was preparation for having three infants in the NICU. In the end, having three babies at home was, and still is, no big deal given what we went through to conceive them and to get them home safely. And if everything didn’t happen the way it did, we wouldn’t have Piper, Henry and Rosemary. Moreover, I might perform my parenting with the enthusiasm of a guy who agreed to have a kid because it was a slightly better option than getting a poodle.

I guess all of that is to say that everything happens for a reason. So there’s a reason for this. I just hope that we didn’t use our lifetime’s supply of good luck on the kids we have now, and that this fall I will have the pleasure of sitting in our living room with our new little baby, being thankful for life’s surprises with a bag of frozen vegetables on my boy parts - recovering from my vasectomy.

Tricks

2010-01-21T07:55:00.001-06:00

The kids like to make Heather and I do tricks. Rosemary still requests that we paddy cake by clapping her little hands. Henry demands that we chase him by running and then looking disappointed if he turns back to find no one there. And Piper just makes us laugh. Not just by doing something generally funny, but by using a fake laugh to induce our real laughter. We feel compelled to do tricks for the others because we want to make them happy, but Piper's requirement for trickery is different in that her trick is involuntary on our part. The first time I saw it, Heather was sitting in the living room with Piper laughing until she couldn't breath. The more we laugh, the more Piper imitates us with her fake laugh. It's a vicious cycle.

I can't tell if she enjoys it because everyone is happy or if she likes human puppetry. I had a pretty bad stomach cramp during that video. Piper just watches. Then when we come up for air and she hits us again. It's rather maniacal.

Cat Watch - Day 27

2010-01-09T21:46:00.002-06:00

How much could there possibly be about a cat, right. But add another cat and a mouse and you have yourself a blog post.

The other cat:

I thought the bristley cat belonged to one of our neighbors because it had a collar. It actually didn't have a collar though; it just had a line under its mane that made it look like it did. This, according to my rules, means that if we feed it and it spends all its time at our house, we get to name it.

I present to you Thurston Bristlesworth, III:

Going on the premise that Thurston was previously homeless, I figured he needed a fancy name. Homelessness can lead to low self esteem, you know. If he's not homeless, we don't get to name him anyway so it doesn't matter.

The mouse:

When we made Francesca an indoor-outdoor cat by propping open the door to the screen porch, creating a direct path from the back yard into our kitchen nook via the car door, I was concerned that we would be invaded by chipmunks. There's nothing keeping any animal out of our house if it can figure out how to walk through a cat door. My money was on a raccoon, chipmunk or possibly a possum. Turns out it was a mouse.

Monday, Ann (one of the babies' NICU nurses and now friend of the family) was helping Nana for a day fill in for nanny while Brooke is out after having a baby. We we were making breakfast and Ann yelled "I just saw a mouse." I went into cross examination mode and tried to pin her down on exactly what she saw. I couldn't believe it was a mouse. I think I had Ann on the ropes and could have got her to admit that she wasn't sure she saw a mouse, but that wouldn't have been very productive. She settled on being 85% sure she saw a small mouse that was moving very quickly. Ann was a little freaked out and asked if we normally had mice - I think just to make sure that she wasn't about to spend 11 hours fending off mice. I assured her this was a one time deal.

I didn't know what to do. Ann told me where she saw it run, but I didn't know if I was supposed to shoot it or go at the cabinet and the mouse with a hammer. Heather had already left for work and I was pretty sure if I discharged a firearm or destroyed part of the house, Heather would have a hard time getting past those details to be satisfied that I neutralized the mouse threat.

I decided to pull out the yellow pages and put the responsibility and risk of failure and damage on someone else. The first place I called was one I had seen in the neighborhood setting up some sort of maze on our neighbor's yard to catch an armadillo. I said, "I think I have a mouse in my house." I suspect they heard a cash register sound on the other end of the line. They said the service call would be $245.00 to inspect and set up traps. Then they would come back and check the traps, charging $40.00 per mouse they removed. Now, I'm all for hiring the best people for the job, but I wasn't entirely confident that we didn't have "mice" as opposed to a "mouse." I didn't know we had one mouse, so how could I be sure we didn't have $400.00 family of ten in the garage, for a total of $645.00.

The second place I called was $350.00 for all the mice they can catch - coming back to check traps every other day for two weeks. Much better, but still pretty steep for a mouse. There are counties in Alabama where you can make a person disappear for about that. I ended up calling the people who do our termite control and got them to inspect and set traps and bait boxes for $70.00. I am in charge of mouse removal.

Our mouse expert couldn't find the mouse, but inspected the evidence. He said it was one small mouse that had been in the house for no more than a day or so. Apparently the cold weather will make them come inside, especially if you have a big hole in your back door to accommodate a cat. I suggested shutting off the cat door, but our mouse guy said we should leave it open so the mouse could get back out after he eats the mouse bait. Apparently the mouse bait makes the mouse thirsty and he has to get a drink afterward, which activates the poison, thus killing the mouse. Pretty nifty. I didn't think to ask about the door being a two way street for more animals to get in while we are waiting for this one to leave, but I suppose he knows what he's doing.

The mouse man also set about five sticky traps and said if we didn't get the mouse in a sticky trap in a few days, we could be assured he was deceased. It's been five days and I haven't caught a mouse in any of the sticky traps. I can only hope that the mouse ate some of the bait and then went outside to take a dirt nap.

Today, I sealed off the cat door, so if the mouse isn't out by now his final resting place will be in the house. I will then earn my $40.00 for mouse removal.

Back to the Cat(s):

The mouse raises the question of just what in the heck these cats are doing. Francesca and Thurston Bristlesworth are all over this place. Cats eat mice. At least they do in cartoons. I think that's why humans have cats around in the first place. Yet, we now have two cats (I think) and I have my first mouse. These cats are clearly not pulling their weight around here.

I have to admit, though, I slept a little better this past week with Francesca at the foot of our bed. Even though she has proven to be an ineffective mouse hunter, I'm sure she would make some effort to chase it (or run from it) and cause a racket to alert me to the imminent threat of attack. That's better than nothing, I suppose.

Red Wagons Ho!

2009-12-30T06:55:00.000-06:00

Our family had a great Christmas. We spent Christmas Eve at Heather's parents' house, Christmas day at our house with just our crew, and the day after Christmas with my parents at our house.

My Mom had asked my what I wanted for Christmas. I told her I wanted a wagon. I told her Heather wanted a wagon too. My Mom said that wasn't really for us; it was for the kids. I stuck to my guns. I wanted a wagon. She spared me the part where I sit around in a nice new sweater woven by Scottish virgins from the wool of grass-fed sheep while wishing I had two kick ass wagons for the kids.

Yee damn haw. Wagons! We loaded up the wagons and went to Aldridge Gardens Sunday morning.

It was just over 40 degrees, so we gave the kids lots of layers and put fur boots on the girls. They had a hard time standing up.

My dad spent most of his time picking up fallen turtle kids.

He spends a good bit of his waking hours devising ways to limit his physical exertion with things like electric fishing reels, so he's probably at home right now working on the preliminary drawings for life size Weeble Wobble outfits.

I guess I could have helped, but I was having fun watching.

Cat Watch - Day 16

2009-12-29T20:07:00.001-06:00

Francesca is still here. No news is good news. She spends her days outside, and on nights that are either cold or rainy she comes inside after the kids go to bed. Almost every night of the last two weeks has been cold and/or rainy. She is sort of an indoor/outdoor cat for now. When it gets warmer, I think she can handle being outside almost every night. Maybe the lure of being able to come inside during harsh weather will keep her close to home.

That looks like a mugshot, but it's not. She just happened to sitting against the wall tonight. She would not turn to the right. Cat's are stubborn animals.

Francesca has a friend now. Heather calls it an alley cat. Brooke calls it a bristley cat. I don't know what it is other than a really furry tan cat whose tail looks like a bottle brush. It's always around our house now and has slipped into our garage a few times. It has a collar, so I assume it has a home or once did. The hobo cat now enjoys the cat buffet on our screen porch. I'm glad Francesca is making friends with the other neighborhood kitties though.

I'll try to get a mugshot of the hobo cat for future updates of Cat Watch 2010.

Cat Watch - Day 2

2009-12-15T21:58:00.004-06:00

The cat came home. She was gone for 40 hours; it seemed like longer than that. She left Sunday afternoon. This morning Heather saw her on the back porch and started yelling. Gary! Oh my God! Gary! Gary!

I came running into the kitchen not knowing what in the hale was going on. I half way expected to find three kids sleeping at the bottom of the stairs. I was relieved to find that the screaming was a good scream and that our kitty came home.

Francesca spent all day today hanging around the house. When I drove up in the driveway tonight, she was sitting in front of the house in perfect yard cat form.

Tonight, the low is 35 degrees though, which may not be super cold for all cats, but I think it's too cold for a cat with no winter fur who is used to a steady 68 degrees. Tonight, after the kids went to bed, I unlocked the cat door that goes from the the kitchen nook to the screen porch and let Francesca in. That cat is beside herself to have house privileges.

She will be an indoor-outdoor cat tonight with access through the cat door to the porch and access to the great wide open through the open screen porch door. I just hope a herd of chipmunks don't storm the house through the series of open doors we left for the cat.

I'm happy to know that I didn't send the cat off to her death. I still wonder where she was. Maybe she was lost. Maybe she really was giving me the cold shoulder like commenters to "Day 1" said. I think it's a Christmas miracle.

God bless us, every one.

Cat Watch - Day 1

2009-12-14T22:18:00.002-06:00

We have a cat. I don't mention the cat much because we have three kids who occupy most of our time. And she's a cat. Cat's don't do much. Actually, it isn't even my cat. It's Heather's cat. It came into our marriage with her. It's almost a cat-in-law to me.

I'm allergic to cats, by the way. The cat was so important to Heather that she had me take weekly allergy shots for two and a half years so I could live in the same apartment as that cat. Then I made friends with the cat and sort of took over the cat care responsibilities. By cat care, I mean cleaning up cat puke and changing litter boxes. It may as well be my cat now - or at least our cat.

We have a problem with the cat, though. She is violent. This wasn't a big deal until we had kids. It was pretty humorous actually. It's funny to have a new person in the house and warn them that the cat is violent, only to see the person be mauled while yelling "animals love me," "cats love me," "help me," etc. etc. This one does not like you. She doesn't like anyone.

You wouldn't know she was a brutal beast from the Christmas card pictures above. We have dressed the cat as a child for our Christmas card pictures every year. It's the kind of joke that's funnier when people don't know you're kidding.

We were skeptical that Francesca would be able to handle the kids and continue to be a house cat. We were pleasantly surprised to see that she would let the kids pull on her fur and ears and not try to kill them. She even made the first family Christmas card picture, sans Mom and Dad, last year.

The whole family: Piper, Henry, Rosemary and Francesca.

I guess there was a point in the kids' development where they got big and fast enough to really do some damage to the cat. Least week the cat stuck back, putting a couple scratches on Piper's arm. It was in self defense, for sure, but that still doesn't fly. Kids are going to pull on an animal. The animal can either take it or it can't be around the kids. That's pretty simple.

We thought the cat fighting back might be a fluke, so we gave her a second chance. Then, this past Saturday, Francesca got so mad at the kids I was sure injury was imminent. Francesca was hissing and swatting and her hair was falling out. It was bad for everyone involved.

I decided, with Heather's consent, that it was time for Francesca to experience the great outdoors. The few times she's made a break for the yard, she's really liked it. I figured it would be a slow transition, where she would spend most of her time on our screen porch and then venture off little by little though the open screen door into the yard.

I went to the pet store yesterday and bought Francesca a nice outdoor bed for the porch and a red break-away collar in case she got stuck on something. I put on her collar, with our name and phone number on the tag and set her free.

She was on the back porch for about an hour and then she disappeared.

Ten freaking years that cat was with us and she just took off. I hope she took off anyway. Heather and I were talking last night about how we hoped she was OK. Heather was glad she had a new collar and it had our contact information on it. I just kept on asking, where the hell is that cat. Seriously, where is the cat? We live in a neighborhood. It's just houses in every direction and they're all the same. It isn't like she found a better house. This one has food, water, and a cat bed on the porch. She's lived here for almost seven years. I don't get it.

This morning I went looking for her around the house and found her collar hanging on a hydrangea. Sooooo . . . she is collarless and missing.

I can't very well make a sign to get the cat back just so I can put her in the yard again. She can't come back in the house and attach herself to one of the kids' faces. Maybe she'll come back. I hope she's OK.

On top of feeling like jerk for causing my little buddy to suffer from his procedure, I may be a cat executioner. I really want her to come back and be a yard cat. Maybe she didn't understand my intentions.

Here kitty. Come home. Sorry about that thing where I put you in the yard after ten years of being a house cat.

If you see a gray cat in a J.Crew sweater, drop me a line.

My Little Buddy's Little Buddy

2009-12-11T22:53:00.000-06:00

I don't know which one of us is more traumatized, Henry who was circumcised today at the ripe old age of 17 months, or me, who is responsible for my little man's trauma.

The NICU where Henry spent the first month or so of his life doesn't circumcise babies, so we were left to fend for ourselves in the boy parts department. After Henry was discharged our pediatrician referred us to a pediatric urologist for a consult. I talked to the doctor and did my own research, as Heather has put all things related to boy parts under my responsibility. I determined that an uncircumcised penis is about as common in Alabama as a blizzard. We have snow, but people freak out when they see it. I didn't want my son's penis to receive the same reaction.

We went to the urologist the first time when Henry was really little, probably right around his due date. His little fella wasn't ready to be worked on yet because the skin was not fully attached. That problem resolved itself, but by the time he was ready, he had to have general anesthesia. To do general anesthesia on an outpatient basis we had to wait until Henry was a year old. So we waited.

When the surgery was scheduled the first time, Henry got his first and only diaper rash, which turned into a strep infection. Our next available appointment was today.

Here is our little guy getting ready for the procedure.

He is pleasantly oblivious despite being: up at 5:00 a.m.; alone without his sisters; and dressed in a hospital gown at a hospital.

The procedure went as planned and I feel comfortable that we had a skilled craftsman at the helm. Our doctor fixes a lot of botched circumcisions. That, at least, would indicate that he knows how it could go wrong. He also did Rosemary's hernia repair, which went well - with no scars.

Henry after the procedure.

Happy, given the circumstances, and high. Very high, actually. We now know that Henry purses his lips when intoxicated. That may come in handy in 16 years if he still does it.

We've kept Henry on lortab since he got home, so he's been comfortable for the most part. My trauma came when we changed his diaper for the first time. The sight was horrifying. I haven't eaten since then, about 11 hours ago. I really don't know if I will. Like ever. I'm just sick to my stomach. As soon as we saw it, I called the nurse and described what we saw. The nurse said that was normal and agreed that it usually looks pretty bad afterward. If I had known what it would look like, I don't know if I could have gone through with it even though I had convinced myself we were doing what was best for him. I really feel horrible and now I'm second guessing myself.

My guilt is going to translate into a whole lot of baby spoiling this weekend. Hopefully my little buddy will feel better and look better soon.

Rosemary Busts a Move

2009-12-08T21:55:00.002-06:00

People don’t say “bust a move” anymore do they? That sounds like something a parent-chaperone at a middle school dance would say. In any case, I like to bust a move on occasion. Mostly when I’m alone with the kids. The kids partake in the move busting as well.

Heather recently had a few evenings away from home with work stuff and getting her hair cut (when the kids ate fireplace rocks), so I’ve had plenty of dancing opportunities. When I don't have my iPod or CDs handy, I play the XM stations that come with our satellite TV service. The best XM choices for a dance session are: Hip Hop Nation (which is too dirty), Kids Place (featuring painful songs in which kids are excited about nothing), Radio Disney (good for kids, but not great for dancing), Soul Town (good for dancing) and Backspin / Old School Rap (really good for dancing and not overtly dirty like newer hip hop).

The girls have always liked rap, especially Rosemary. Even when Rosemary was a little baby, she liked to listen to Ludacris in my car. I know Ludacris is not ideal baby music, but when faced with the option of a Fisher Price CD and a crying baby or a Ludacris CD and a happy baby, I went with the happy baby and Luda. It’s no surprise that Rosemary now stops whatever she’s doing and dances as soon as she hears anything remotely hip hop on TV or the radio.

Here are the girls, Rosemary in particular, digging on the Old School Rap station during our pre-dinner ho-down. Piper is in Pink and Rosemary is in light blue.

Getty up, girl. That move will make a real impression at the office Christmas party one day.

Henry Has Mad Skills

2009-11-29T22:45:00.001-06:00

When the kids were first sitting up, I noticed that we didn't have any balls in the house of an acceptable size for a baby. Babies need balls. That's Baby Raising 101.

I went to the sporting goods store and bought three tike size soccer balls: red for Henry and pink ones for Piper and Rosemary. We rolled the balls, when the kids got bigger we carried the balls, and we always take them outside with us. Mostly, I dribble the balls around while watching the kids, but the kids play with them some. Piper has kicked them a little. Rosemary not so much. Henry mainly carries the balls and tries to eat them.

Yesterday, the weather was pretty decent and we wanted to get outside. We were still gun-shy from the Thanksgiving trip, so we didn't want to drive a long way in the car. We decided to just go over to our neighborhood soccer fields and let the kids run loose. Of course, we took the balls.

I kicked the balls around with the kids, and then we put the kids out in the middle with some balls. First, Henry picked up the ball and walked around with it like he always does.

Then he just started dribbling it.

Heather tried to get me to grab the video camera, but I was just watching. While I was looking on, Heather got a good sequence of shots. For some reason, it didn't seem like that big of a deal that my 17 month old kid was controlling a soccer ball 2 months after he started walking. After I had a chance to process what I saw, it did seem pretty cool.

Maybe it was random kid behavior. He did it again after those shots, but for just a few kicks at a time. It could be that he is dribbling well just because he can't kick it out of his control yet. We'll see. I can still hope that the appearance of aptitude at 17 months will translate into skills in the 2012 Under 4 Tikes League - not that I'm counting.

Thanksgiving Trip

2009-11-27T21:54:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, we took a trip to my folks' house in Pensacola for Thanksgiving dinner. Before that, the furthest we had been from home is two hours to Heather's parents' house. We've made that trip a few times, and it's been fine.

My parents live about four hours from us. I figured it would be a little harder, but the kids are pretty laid back, so I didn't think it would be that bad. I was mistaken. We left home after an early lunch, and at the two hour mark the kids woke up and flipped out. They didn't stop for the rest of the ride. If they would have started yelling before the half-way mark, I think we may have been eating take-out turkey from the Cracker Barrel at home.

We braved the storm of rage and made it to Pensacola to have some quality time with my parents and my sister's family. Then dinner and off to our hotel. My parents had a house full with my sisters' family, and I like my own space.

The space I chose on this trip was the Residence Inn. I picked it because it had a kitchen if we needed it and it was a suite. The other option close to my parents was the Crowne Plaza, which I think is nicer, but it's just one room. What I didn't know when I made our reservation is that Heather would want to put the kids in the bedroom with us, and because the Residence Inn has to cram in a kitchen and a living room, the bedroom was really small. That information would have come in handy when we passed up the other hotel for a suite.

Once you put three of these little tents around a bed in a smallish hotel room, it doesn't leave a lot of space.

The pea-pod tents are new adds to the baby gear portfolio. The good part about them is that they pack up to the size of a small pillow - including the little self-inflating mattress. The bad part is that when you put a toddler in there for the first time, they don't know they are in a cute little tent called a "pea-pod," and think they're in a cage. It took a little time to warm up to the tents, but once they settled in, the kids slept fine.

I slept horribly. Those kids are loud. I don't know how they sleep with each other. At home, they have a volume knob through the baby monitor. I should have argued the "put the kids in the other room" point a little bit. I was just worn down; I would have agreed to just about anything last night.

After we woke up this morning, we headed to the beach so the kids could see it for the first time. (Heather took some pictures). The weather was perfect for it. After the beach, we hit my parents' house again and then ate at McGuire's Irish Pub on the way out of town.

McGuire's has always been one of my favorite places to eat back home. It's pretty touristy, but I think I've been gone from Pensacola long enough to fall into that category anyway.

The poor light in the restaurant makes for poor quality pictures, but it's good for hiding the mess we can leave behind.

The drive back today was pretty much the same as the drive down. The first two hours were fine; then they let us have it. At least the group freak-outs are rare enough that we aren't used to them. We are very fortunate in that. We have easy kids - just as long as they aren't in a car seat for over 120 minutes.

Big Girl Seat and a New Do

2009-11-17T07:50:00.002-06:00

After seeing Rosemary in her infant seat last week while Piper and Henry were enjoying big kid seats, I broke out the instruction manual on the big seat to see how to install it rear-facing for Rosemary. It was really easy. Now I feel like a crappy dad for not thinking of that in the first place.

Rosemary was loving her big kid seat on the way up to Heather's parents' house for Cousin Laramy's baptism.

This weekend, I also tried to fix Henry's hair to make him look less like Monster Tweety Bird. It's been a while since I used anything on my hair/head, but I found a jar of pomade in the back of my bathroom drawer. I figure if it's going to stick up, it should stick up right.

I gave him a fauxhawk for our Sunday afternoon walk. I would have taken a better pre-walk photo, but Piper was encouraging me to get the stroller moving.

I got a half-way decent mid-walk picture before it started getting dark.

. . . and some upside down pictures of the other ones:

I like Henry's look, but I think I need some product that isn't goopy wax. My hair was short when I used the pomade and Henry's is longer and very fine. It was really hard to wash out and it looks a little too wet. I need to find out what product all the cool toddlers are using and get some for my little man.

The Weekend in Pictures

2009-11-12T21:12:00.000-06:00

I haven’t updated the blog in over a week. Maybe it’s because I got used to updating it only when someone was injured. Maybe it’s because I’ve been especially busy with work at night during my “TV / play on the computer time.” Equally as likely, it’s because the kids have been running us ragged.

This time last year we keep the kids on lockdown so they didn’t get RSV or some other respiratory illness. Last year it was easy to keep the babies cooped up when they didn’t know what was out there in the real world. Up until this past spring, they had only been at the hospital, the doctor’s office, and church, once, to get baptized. Now they know there’s a real world out there and they don’t care too much for not seeing it on a regular basis. We’ve decided to be as safe as we can, but still get out of the house. We've been busy keeping the kids busy.

Last weekend, I took a bunch of pictures of our outings, but didn't get a chance to upload them or put them in any sort of context. Now I have a ton of pictures. So this is the nearly context-free (belated) weekend in pictures:

Our pediatrician got in 100 doses of preservative free H1N1 last Thursday, so we reserved our three doses and hit the doctor first thing Friday morning.

Here are Piper and Henry in their new big kid cow print seats on the way to the doctor.

And Sweet Little Rosemary still in her infant seat.

Poor little Rosemary. I'm going to put a rear-facing big girl seat in for her, so at least she'll have a nice comfy seat until she weighs enough to go forward facing when she's 14.

. . . and the kids tearing apart the waiting room while waiting for the shot:

Fortunately, we didn't pick up swine flu waiting to get the shots to prevent swine flu.

On the way home from the doctor, we remembered that we needed milk for the day. Neither Heather nor I wanted to go home, then go to the store, bring back the milk, and then go to work. So we just took the kids the new Super Target for some milk. That place is so Super, they even have a cart built for three little kids.

In addition to being out of milk, we were dangerously low on glow worms.

Here's Henry riding in the cart:

Henry looks like a little kid, as opposed to a big baby, riding in the cart. He gives these little boy expressions too. My little buddy's growing up.

His large head and irregular hair growth look a bit odd. It makes him look a little like Tweety Bird in the episode where Tweety drank the Mr. Hyde juice that turned him into a monster.

But way way cuter than monster Tweety, in my opinion. I think Henry needs a little trim and some Rogaine. That would put him back to regular Tweety.

We hit Aldridge Gardens for some fresh air and sun on Saturday morning, followed by my favorite burger place, Baha Burger.

The kids loved the burgers and sweet potato fries. Rosemary even grabbed a to-go sweet potato fry for the road.

After Baha, we napped, watched football, and then had some friends over Saturday night.

Sunday we did a Costco run in the morning.

The most well behaved kid got to ride inside the cart, which turned out to be none of them. We just rotated kids who couldn't stay sitting.

We capped off the weekend with a pictureless walk around the neighborhood in the afternoon - followed by an evening of work on Sunday. Woo-hoo.

Time to do it all over again.

The Most Dangerous Toy Ever

2009-11-01T18:26:00.003-06:00

The Step 2 Kangaroo Climber.

Wow. Those two kids on the box sure are having a good time. Our kids are certain to enjoy hours of injury free play on this bad boy.

What could go wrong? They certainly wouldn't fall off the deceptively narrow ledge. Nor would they take a header down the slide. The fine folks at Step 2, who make toys for little kids, would know better than to build something like that.

We set it up yesterday. I was so excited about the impending glee that I broke out the video camera to capture the moment.

First, Piper gave it a shot.

Henry made it up next - this time with a spotter nearby.

Lastly, the ever-conservative Rosemary conquered the Kangaroo Climber.

Maybe I was exaggerating about it being the most dangerous toy ever. In their effort to position the little blue door perfectly to catch the head or neck of a child falling from the platform, the designers at Step 2 neglected to line the bottom of the Kangaroo Climber in broken glass. That would be the only way to make it more dangerous.

The kids climbed up and fell off a couple more times and it became more than apparent that they weren't going somehow "get it" and stop tumbling off.

We decided to remove the slide and the platform before someone got hurt. The Kangaroo Climber is now just a box with a door.

Not quite what I had in mind. Maybe we'll give the kids a go with the slide and platform re-attached in a couple months, but I have a feeling that, by the time the kids are sure-footed enough not to fall off, they're going to be too big for the toy.

**The preceding videos feature stunts performed by professional stunt children; accordingly, no one should attempt to re-create or re-enact any activity performed herein. No children were harmed in the making of these videos - at least not badly.

Punched Myself in the Face, Etc.

2009-10-25T21:15:00.002-05:00

As I was laying on the couch yesterday holding an icepack to my face from my injury incurred while putting together some new shelves I bought at our new SuperTarget, I was thinking I could use the time to type out a blog post if anything interesting had happened recently.

Aside from work, things have been pretty tame around here, other than that anyway.

New SuperTarget:

Since we moved into our neighborhood in 2003, we've had to rely on Walmart as our discount-retail-grocery-and-consumables-big-box-chain-store. I hate it. It's dirty and the people who work there are rude. Its only redeeming qualities are the price and selection that come with being a big discount store.

There's a new big discount store in the neighborhood now. The new SuperTarget opened up two weeks ago. I made it in there on Friday after work when I was looking for some shelves for Heather. It's like heaven. I was so excited I was doing S curves with my shopping cart in the big shiny unobstructed aisles. It even has a Starbucks in it. It's clean and roomy and the people are nice. It appears to have all the stuff we used to get at Walmart, sans dirt and bad attitudes.

I'm never going in that stupid Walmart again. I really don't know how it's going to stay in business with the SuperTarget right down the street. I estimate SuperTarget will make my life at least 1.5% better than it was before.

Shelves:

Heather has been couponing for about a month. She's been stocking up on non-perishables when she has a coupon and the item is on sale (it's called coupon stacking). This has resulted in the closet under our stairs looking like we were preparing for the apocalypse. Heather asked me to get some shelves so no one got hurt in a can avalanche.

I got these at SuperTarget for $19.99:

Thank you SuperTarget. I heart you.

Punched Myself in the Face:

While I was putting together said shelves purchased at said SuperTarget, I almost K.O.ed myself.

I put the shelves together and they didn't quite fit under the shelf that was already on the closet wall. Heather asked me to take the top shelf off to make it shorter.

The whole thing fits together without any screws, so you just shove the legs into the shelf and stack. Then, unless you foresee that your wife will want you to take it back apart, you pound on it really hard to make sure it won't fall apart.

I was trying to get one of the legs back out of the shelf and I guess I had my head too close to my hands while I was pulling. When the leg came loose from the shelf, I hit myself in the face with my fist and the shelf leg as hard as I can recall being hit in a while.

This is my nose after it stopped bleeding and I had put an icepack on it:

My unshaven upper lip and nose would be unsightly even it wasn't injured. Noses are really better observed from afar. You also can't capture the full scope of the injury in a picture. It's more on the inside - not, like, emotionally on the inside, but actually on the inside of my nose and deep inside my head.

This blow was minor on the scale of nose blows I've taken in my life, but it still hurt. Since college, I've been more careful in doing the things that resulted in countless nose bleeds and several broken noses. I went so long without taking a good hit to the nose I almost forgot what it felt like. It feels like no other injury. Somehow, your brain knows to numb your nose right after it takes a hard hit, so it takes a while to even feel it. It's an odd and bad type of pain. Being the one who inflicts the injury doesn't help much either. Pain and shame don't go well together.

After I took the top shelf off and hit myself, Heather decided she liked it better with the top shelf on and asked me to put it back together. Too bad she couldn't have just imagined what it might look like without the top shelf.

Headbanging is Rhythmic

2009-10-19T21:33:00.002-05:00

About six months ago, we were concerned about the kids hitting their heads when they fell down. We asked their pediatrician, Dr. C., about it and he said: 1) it's no big deal unless they knock themselves out; and, 2) some kids hit their heads over and over on purpose, specifically stating, "it's rhythmic - it's like masturbation." What? Who? Where did that come from? Just in case we weren't clear, Dr. C. was vigorously nodding his head back and forth to simulate head banging when he said it. Heather and Brooke were both in the room, so I didn't think it was a good time to ask for elaboration. Lord knows what he would have said.

I've had the image of Dr. C. nodding his head back and forth saying that burned into my brain for six months. I think about it almost every day, sometimes several times a day. I don't mean to think about it; it just happens.

Then, a few weeks ago, just like Dr. C. said, Henry started banging his head rhythmically on his crib at night. I hear smack - smack - smack from his bedroom at night, over and over. We try to stop him, but he just starts back again. It's how he puts himself to sleep.

The loud noise in stereo from the room above and the baby monitor on my night stand is bad enough, but I lay awake wondering what Dr. C. meant. Was he trying to explain it by letting us know that a child's headbanging was like that to us? Did he mean it was like that to him? Surely he didn't mean the kids. I seriously have no idea - other than headbanging can be rhythmic. But he could have left out the other part entirely and I would have understood. It's very disturbing.

After a few too many nights of head smacking, we finally determined that the risks to Henry's head from the banging outweighed any possible risks of entanglement from crib bumpers at his age, so we put the bumpers in.

With the bumpers, we've noticed less bruises on Henry's head and the banging sounds a little softer. The smack is now more of a thud, which is nice.

Last night, though, while Henry was banging and I was staring at the ceiling thinking about that, Heather rolled over, half asleep, and said: "Man, Henry sure is going to town up there." I was awake for almost an hour after that.

Proof That Henry Can Walk

2009-10-15T07:55:00.002-05:00

I was pleased to finally witness Henry walking last night. Then I got the video camera and he did it again.

That's legitimate locomotion. This myth is confirmed.

It's cliche to say "they grow up so fast," but it's true. They do. Maybe it seems to be going by more quickly because we have three babies turning into little children all at once. I don't think I would be any less shocked to see it if we only had one. It's just amazing.

Really - what have I accomplished in the last year while these three kids have gone from not being able to roll over to walking? I could have developed the ability to fly and it would be less impressive. And that's just what kids do. I knew it would probably happen, so I don't know why I'm so shocked.

Maybe I just lack foresight. One day it seems that the next big milestone isn't even on the horizon, and then it happens. Then it happens again and again with the other two kids. You would think I would come to expect it, but I am no less amazed the third time - every time.

I'm so proud of my little guy.

Henry Can Walk

2009-10-13T21:21:00.003-05:00

We have three walkers!

OK, maybe the title is a little misleading. He can walk. I just have no proof of this new ability. This was the best I could do after bathtime on Sunday. Actually, I haven't really seen it either - at least not more than a few steps at a time. My sources say it's true. When Henry didn't know he was being watched, Heather and Brooke say he walked all the way across the nursery twice. I feel like the only person in the woods who missed a spotting of Bigfoot.

We believe Henry has been able to walk for about a week, but he won't do it while anyone is watching. It sounds crazy, but it seems my little buddy has a some performance anxiety. He just doesn't like an audience. That's cool - all in due time. Maybe he wants to master the art before the big unveil. I expect to be very impressed; just don't tell Henry.

Pumkinpalooza

2009-10-11T21:01:00.002-05:00

Our Saturday trip to the Pumpkin Patch was an entertaining spectacle. I knew the part about the kids playing with pumpkins would be good, but the scope of the pumpkin enterprise was more than I expected.

I thought the pumpkin patch would be a grass field with some pumpkins and a hay ride that probably wouldn't be necessary to get to the pumpkins.

When we pulled up to the pumpkin patch and saw a full-on pumpkin festival, I was positively giddy:

In hindsight, I don't know why Heather would have suggested we drive 45 minutes to go to pile of pumpkins in a grass patch with nothing else. But really, what do 15 month old kids know? It's all fun. It's all new. But this was bigger and had a little more potential for fun than I had expected.

When we arrived on the main pumpkin picking grounds, it looked like it was about to rain, so we went straight to the pumpkin patch via the hay ride.

I was pretty happy to discover that the hay ride wasn't just a circle around a pumpkin patch. It was actually necessary for transportation from the barn compound, where we started, to the patch. I'm sure the kids wouldn't have noticed, but a necessary ride in a hay truck is more enjoyable to me than riding around unnecessarily in a circle and acting interested.

Even though I figured our hayride destination was likely to be a bunch of pumpkins unloaded into a grass plot, I was secretly hoping for a real pumpkin field.

Jackpot. We found real pumpkin plants in the field at the end of the hay ride. The pumpkins on the vines were a little picked over and were restocked with non-native pumpkins. But it was still neat to go pumpkin hunting in a real pumpkin patch (for the kids, of course).

One thing I didn't know about pumpkin plants, or at least these pumpkin plants, is that they have thorns. Lots of thorns. Probably more thorns than pumpkins even before the pumpkins were picked.

I can see how the idea of throwing a bunch of pumpkins in the grass and calling it a pumpkin patch caught on after seeing hordes of bloody children screaming and crying while entangled in actual pumpkin patches. Picking pumpkins in bushes full of thorns is an ill conceived idea, at least for little kids.

We kept the kids on the periphery of the patch and I went in a got pumpkins to bring out to the kids. Heather documented the pumpkin picking pretty thoroughly here.

After we got our pumpkins, we took the hay truck back to the barn compound. The kids seemed particularly pleased with their bounty.

There was a food barn next to the gift barn so I ordered us some burgers and fries. While we were sitting in the eating barn, next to the music barn, I noticed that the band in the music barn was playing a lot of Jesus music.

I like Jesus as much as the next guy, but the fire and brimstone anthems just seemed a little weighty for a day at the pumpkin patch. I wasn't really in the mood for contemplating my mortality or spirituality. If I would have had my druthers, I would have gone with some folksy looking people with banjos and washboards. Maybe a tub or a bucket on precussion. That seems more pumpkin pikiny to me.

We had about two or three Jesus songs, and then I heard:

. . . if we play it good and loud
She might get up and dance again.
Ooh, she put her beer down.
Here she comes . . .
honky tonk badonkadonk . . .
Got it goin' on
Like Donkey Kong . . .

And we saw this tenish year old girl who had been called up to dance to honkey tonk badonkadonk.

First we heard all about hell and then we punched our ticket to the place. Holy Lord. I didn't know how filthy country music could be. The singer followed that song up with a nice little country number about adultery. Then, like it never happened, right back to gospel. If I didn't see it, I wouldn't have believed it.

Gold Star

2009-10-08T22:29:00.002-05:00

Thank you for your votes in the 2009 Multiples and More Blog Awards, both the voluntary ones and the ones that may or may not have been coerced.

I got a gold star!

In the process, I discovered some great new blogs - as if I needed more interesting things on the internet to occupy my time. I expanded my Blog List in the left sidebar with a couple of the other nominees, one of which I already read, Pyjammy's Blog (triplet mom), and a new one, Twinsomnia (fellow lawyer and twin mom). If you haven't already, you'll find a bunch of other good reads over at Multiples and More.

Random funny and non-funny blog posting will now resume. Thanks again.

Funny

2009-10-03T12:10:00.002-05:00

I have a cute video of Rosemary doing some of her first real walking. She got up out of her chair, walked over to the toy bin and got a toy. I have a problem though. I can't post it because it's not funny. It's just a kid walking. That's not funny.

See, I have a little problem. I'm supposed to be funny. Some people were nice enough to nominate me for Funniest Blog in the Multiples and More 2009 Blog Awards. That's good - and really nice. Adults generally don't get the opportunity to be nominated for subjective non-professional accolades. When you just do the things you normally do and someone likes it enough to think you deserve an award, it's refreshing. Frankly, this should happen more often. It would be nice to get some recognition for Most Efficient Order at Starbucks, or maybe Most Polite Traffic Rule Violator from a policeman. Alas, that doesn't happen, so seeing that I made somebody smile and got nominated for an award really made my day.

The problem arises when someone reading the Multiples and More site sees a list of three purportedly "funny" blogs and clicks on BGPP to get a laugh or to decide whether to place a vote in the poll. If they happen to come by on a day when I discuss baby fighting for profit, or a tirade about Pampers, they might think: OK clown - mildly funny - job done. Sometimes, though, I don't want to be funny, like when I reflect on the babies' time in the hospital, or how far our little peanut has come. Then, even worse, what if I'm not funny? I can't just be funny on demand like Carrot Top or that witty Get 'er Done guy. Funny just happens. When it happens, I write about it. If it doesn't, there's no "ha ha" to be had.

Maybe I'll get lucky this weekend and witness or be a party to some tomfoolery or shenanigans. The hilarity will ensue and those nice people won't be disappointed.

How Often Does This Happen?

2009-09-30T22:02:00.000-05:00

I pulled up next to Heather at a traffic light after work the other day. We weren't anywhere near the house or our offices, so I wasn't expecting to see her. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to surprise my wife, I scratched out this note, put it up in the driver's side window, and honked the horn.

I know. It lacks originality - and penmanship, but I only had a few seconds. "I heart you" was the best I could come up with on short notice.

I was peering around my makeshift sign as I honked the horn. Heather heard the honk and slowly turned her head with a look short of disgust, but not by much. She glared at my sign, rolled her eyes, and looked back straight ahead.

Huh? You would think the same thing had happened at the last four traffic lights. If my sign had said "show me your boobs," or my horn played Dixie, I would expect the reaction, but I hearted her. With a nice little beep. And she just rolled her eyes.

I wasn't going to let this go with her thinking (another) stranger had professed his love for her, so I slid the sign all the way forward in my window and honked again - a little longer than the first one. This time she looked over at me with full annoyance and disgust mixed with a little pity. If it wasn't my own wife shooting down my bad game, I would have been irretrievably shamed.

Fortunately, she saw it was me and laughed. I laughed too, but not quite as hard. At least I know my wife isn't interested in flattery from idiots.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

2009-09-28T21:55:00.003-05:00

We live in a subdivision. At both ends of our subdivision are busy roads. We have nice sidewalks within the subdivision, so there's space to take the Baby Jogger.

As far as the options on where to go, we might as well live on an island, though. There was just nowhere to go, other than here. My walks around the neighborhood consist of seeing people working in their yards, people walking dogs and other people walking kids. I like our neighborhood, but seeing house after house just gets old. Houses and people. And dogs.

That is, until the powers that be decided the people in "here" needed the ability to go "there."

This is where the sidewalk used to end.

This was the end of "here."

Really, there is nothing wrong with here. I like here. It just got old. I wanted to go "there."

Now I can.

Isn't it beautiful. I went there on Sunday.

I don't know if the people who design and build the sidewalks know exactly what they've done for me. I have always been able to run or ride my bike out there, but I couldn't take the stroller on the road.

This is more of there, or the way to there, rather.

It goes all the way to - where the sidewalk ends now. A little over a mile further than it used to.

. . . which is here.

Surely I will get greedy and become dissatisfied with my new "here" and wish that the sidewalk ended there. Until then, however, I like it here.

All Day Chili

2009-09-25T07:55:00.003-05:00

Last weekend, I made a big pot of chili. It's my favorite food for fall and football season. I love starting a pot early in the day and then keeping watch while the aroma fills the house. The long wait makes dinner that much better.

I have a "secret" chili recipe, but I can't keep it to myself any longer. This recipe started with LBJ's Pedernales River Chili, but right away I had to start changing it. LBJ's chili has 4 pounds of beef and only 2 cups of water. I couldn't make anything other than seasoned moist beef with that recipe. I guess when you're the first lady, people just tell you how great your chili recipe is and don't mention that they served it on a plate.

In addition to adding beer and beef stock, I've changed a couple things and tried additional ingredients. Some of them worked; some of them didn't. This is the result of about ten years of tinkering:

4 pounds lean stew beef [1]
Olive oil for browning beef
1 large onion or 2 smaller onions
6 to 9 cloves of garlic, minced
1 quart beef stock or broth [2]
1 pint Guinness or other dark beer
1 pint water [3]
6 tablespoons chili powder
1 tablespoon dried oregano
½ tablespoon dried parsley
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper [4]
1 tablespoon cumin seed
½ cup tomato paste with one tablespoon of cider vinegar (OR) equal amount of ketchup [5]
2 14.5 oz cans stewed tomatoes (with liquid)
2 4 oz. cans Old El Paso chopped green chilies (with liquid)
2 27.5 oz. cans Bush’s dark red kidney beans (rinsed) [6]
Kosher salt to taste

Chop the onion and place aside. Brown the beef in a large skillet using a small amount of olive oil in batches together with the chopped onion and minced garlic. Transfer each batch of meat with its liquid into an 8 quart stew pot (because the beef is lean, there should be little or no grease in the liquid). After you transfer all of the browned beef into the stew pot, cover with the beef broth, the beer and water. Put on medium-low. Stir in the chili powder, oregano, parsley, cayenne pepper and cumin seed. Add the tomato paste with vinegar (or ketchup), the stewed tomatoes, and the green chilies. Bring to a boil and reduce the heat to get a low boil. Cook for about five to six hours, stirring occasionally. Taste for salt and add the rinsed beans about an hour before you are finished cooking. This recipe makes about 8 to 10 big bowls.

Notes:
[1] Stew beef can be a one of a few different cuts of cheap, tough beef - usually chuck pectoral or round. The meat should be lean and cut into cubes.
[2] Kitchen Basics makes good beef stock. Beef "broth" has more salt in it; adjust the salt accordingly.
[3] A good bit of the water is going to boil out over the five or six hours of cooking.
[4] This recipe makes a pretty spicy chili. Adjust the cayenne pepper accordingly.
[5] I used to use tomato paste and vinegar, but I used ketchup when I didn’t have tomato paste. The ketchup is just as good.
[6] Some people think adding beans to chili is an abomination. I think they all live in Texas, but I'm not sure. Just be aware that they exist.

I think the first pot of the fall turned out well.

The makings:

The cow:

The skillet:

The assembled pot:

The pot with beans, six hours later:

A bowl of the good stuff:

A bowl of the formerly good stuff after being adulterated by Heather with a handful of cheese:

She might as well put ketchup on a steak.

Happy Friday.

Heather vs. The Trashcan

2009-09-22T20:00:00.000-05:00

When I heard the clatter from the garage on Saturday and then Heather angrily yelling at me, "I FELL DOWN IN THE GARAGE," I knew it wasn't going to be good.

Shockingly, these injuries were all caused by one fall. I count six distinct pre-bruises, one cut and one long abrasion that runs the length of Heather's arm. This one really looks to me as if she was defending herself from an attack or series of attacks. It was actually Heather wrestling a trashcan to the ground. The trashcan was OK.

Heather’s run-ins with inanimate objects are nothing new. She falls down a lot. And she runs into things. It used to freak me out, but after the thirtieth or fortieth time, I trust that she’s going to be mostly OK.

I fall too, but more often than not, I almost fall. You know that feeling where you almost fall down, but then you catch your balance and think: man - I almost fell down - that was close - I sure am glad I didn't fall. Heather has never had that felling. I’ve never seen her almost fall. She just falls. It’s not that she doesn’t put up a fight. Actually, trying not to fall after falling is inevitable is where things usually go wrong. She will begin to fall and then fight it, grasping for things, and hitting everything within a five foot radius all the way to the ground. Heather has passed this trait down to Piper, who once hit the changing table, the diaper pail, and a wall, all while falling the length of her eight inch legs. It's horrifying to watch, mainly because it take so long to happen.

In addition to being painful to see, I worry that people will think that I'm a wife beater because Heather always has at least one bruise on her. Usually, I have absolutely nothing to do with the injury, like when it's caused by her walking into the bed post or a door frame. On Saturday, though, Heather's trashcan match was initiated by two cases of bottled water.

I put them there, next to her car. This picture is taken from the steps of the garage that lead into the house. The garbage can, that was the immediate cause of the injuries, is three feet out of frame to the left. I can't help but feel partially responsible for this.

I know what your thinking: Gary, how could you possibly know that Heather would fall over the two cases of bottled water you put in her path with no room to walk on either side. I know. I know. Even though I could have never foreseen her falling over the cases of water piled next to her door, I still feel bad in a way.

Just writing it makes me feel better, though. I'm glad I was able to get that off my chest. Heather's fall on Saturday was really hard on me. My wounds are on the inside. They take longer to heal.

New Baby Walking and an Eskimo Kiss

2009-09-19T21:40:00.000-05:00

Rosemary started walking in the last week. I took this video after work on Thursday and it's already a little outdated as far as her capabilities. She stops by taking a dive at you, though, so you have to be paying attention when she's coming. She fully expects to be caught.

Henry was being playful the other night at bedtime and I got this video of him giving Heather Eskimo kisses . . . and then eating her nose.

I googled Eskimo kiss to see if it was an acceptable term, and my results were inconclusive. I don't know what else to call it. Hopefully the term is acceptable when used in the context of a nose rub as opposed to an identification of ethnicity. I don't want to offend someone and get Eskimo punched.

Reasons to Watch UF – UT

2009-09-17T21:14:00.000-05:00

I know Florida and Tennessee fans are a small subset of college football fans, which are again a small subset of all football fans, which are still a subset of people generally. This weekend, however, there's a reason for almost anyone to watch Florida play Tennessee (Saturday, CBS, 3:30 Eastern). There's some human interest / drama going on. The following is what you will see during the game that has almost nothing to do with the football game itself.

1. Lane Kiffin. Newly appointed 34 year old Tennessee football coach, Lane Kiffin accused Florida coach Urban Meyer of recruiting violations at one of his early public events. The SEC asked him to apologize, which he sort of did. The spunky youngster has since made a few other comments to get under the skin of the Gators. Urban Meyer claims not to be mad, but the players are talking about it. After Urban Meyer got pissed at Georgia and ran up the score last year before calling two end-of-game timeouts to make Georgia stay on the field, who knows what could happen if Florida plays well in this game.

2. Layla Kiffin. Lane Kiffin's wife is an absolute lightening rod. Today, deadspin.com had this picture with a caption that said: “The vivacious Mrs. Kiffin was decked out in Circus Peanut orange for game day. And whore shoes.” If a UF student doesn’t have a poster that says “Lane Kiffin’s wife wears whore shoes,” I will be surprised.

3. Tim Tebow. You can count on the announcers gushing about Tebow ad nauseam. I am a Tebow fan. A big one. But if you listen to what the announcers say about him just to fill the empty space between plays, it can really get a little weird. They will talk about him so much that you can make a drinking game of it. Pick any Tebowesque phrase as your drink word and you will find yourself on the floor in the third quarter. Examples are: Heisman; character; leadership; Philippine(s) and/or orphanage; or, if you just want to kill yourself from alcohol poisoning, take the word Tebow. Even if you don't play the drinking game, you might still puke from all the man on man Tebow love (not that there's anything wrong with that).

4. Layla Kiffin's Dad. Layla Kiffin's dad, John Reeves is a former Florida quarterback. At one time he held the NCAA record for career passing yards and still holds the NCAA record for most interceptions thrown in a game (9 vs. Auburn in 1969). Actually, that's just trivia, but I say there's a 50/50 chance it will be the Aflac trivia question during the game. If the game is on and you see a duck walk across the screen, yell "John Reeves!" and you will either look very smart or very crazy.

So, there's your Florida-Tennessee preview that involves absolutely no Xs or Os. Happy viewing and Go Gators.

Chicago - U2

2009-09-15T21:36:00.001-05:00

I had a few days in Chicago this past weekend for the opening of U2's new tour. Heather doesn't like U2, crowds or loud noise, so I was solo on the trip.

This was my first time in Chicago. My plan, in a addition to seeing U2, was: 1) to see Wrigley Field; 2) have a steak at Gibson's; and 3) eat a deep dish pizza.

Wrigley Field - check:

Steak at Gibson's, Friday night - check.

World famous Chicago deep dish pizza - not check.

The plan was to head over to Soldier Field in the morning and unload some extra General Admission tickets we had bought before we got better seats and then have pizza and beers for lunch.

We went to Soldier Field and saw the General Admission line, in which we were happy not to be waiting.

After that, we waked through Grant Park and saw these neat leg things.

Then we started having beers at about 11:30 on a nice patio.

And we went to the John Hancock Tower to see the slightly hazy view from the bar at the top:

. . . and the next thing we knew it was time to get ready for the concert and we had forgot to hit the pizza place. I went all the way to that city and missed what was probably #2 on my list of things to do next to the show. I love pizza and love deep dish pizza. I really dropped the ball on that one. Maybe I'll get another chance one day.

The show, which was U2's first stadium show in the U.S. in about 12 or 13 years, was just incredible. It was like rock show meets Cirque du Soleil. I don't know if that is necessarily a good thing, generally, but it was a sight.

The production and the sound were so good, and the stage was so huge and doing many synchronized visuals, that it was hard to believe that even the crowd's flash bulbs and numerous sing alongs were not somehow half faked with lighting effects and pre-recorded audience vocals. It was all perfect - a little too perfect. I think everything the crowd appeared to be doing was real, just because of the repercussions a band would face if they faked something like that; it would be like a reverse Milli Vanilli. But, it is possible to make a show too good. This one was about 2% better than what I thought was realistically possible.

We had pretty good seats in what was supposed to be a special section, so I thought I might see Vince Vaughn or Oprah or some other fancy pants Chicago person. My hopes were exceeded when I saw Kenny Powers on the way out. I had to act cool and not talk to him, but I got the picture.

That beautiful mane. It made me want to reach out and pet it, but I exercised restraint. My self control probably kept me from taking an ass kicking at the hands of a Midwestern corn-fed redneck. I hear that the Midwestern redneck is smarter and more agile than the Southeastern redneck, so I don't want to tangle with former if I don't have to.

All in all, the trip was great up until I opened my eyes Sunday and realized that I was 600 miles away from my family. This was my first trip away from the kids and the weight of being gone hit me as soon as I didn't have major distraction. I really wanted to be teleported home right that second.

I was scheduled to be home in time to do afternoon bath-time and have some quality time with the kids before dinner and bed. My plane was really late, though. I have missed meetings and social events because of late planes before, but I don't think I have ever been as pissed at an airline as I was at the thought that I would miss putting the kids to bed.

I am glad I went and I had a great time, but I think the best part of my trip was hurrying into the house on Sunday to see that Heather was able to keep the kids up a little later, reading a book, ready for me to kiss them goodnight.

Little Gators

2009-09-08T21:24:00.002-05:00

I ordered the kids' Gator outfits for the football season just in time to go to a pre-football-kick-off tail gate fundraiser weekend before last. We took the triple stroller because it has big tires and we didn't know what the terrain would be like. It's also a lot easier to eat, drink and be merry when both Heather and I don't have to tend a stroller.

I really shouldn't be that surprised that we didn't fly under anyone's radar by dressing the kids in bright Gator gear and taking them to an event in a 4 foot wide red stroller. We attracted more attention with the kids than I can recall before, but I've begun to accept our kids making people smile at face value rather than thinking they are being treated like an exhibit at the zoo. We had fun and we met some nice people, but we didn't make it more than about 10 feet from where we parked the stroller when we got there.

Most of the SEC and local alumni groups had tail gate tents set up at the tail gate. I had the best of intentions on taking pictures of all of the tents and then posting them on here and making fun of them. But after meeting people from almost every tent and finding out that the LSU fans didn't really smell like corndogs, I changed my mind. I also didn't get a chance to take any good pictures of the tents because I was busy chatting about the kids.

Henry got to ride on my shoulders for a little while until Heather said it looked dangerous.

I'm no expert on kid carrying etiquette and I didn't want to look like the jackass with a baby on my shoulders, so that didn't last long. In my defense, I was holding Henry's legs, so the worst thing that could happen is that he would fall backwards and yell while I flailed around trying to figure out how to get the upside down crying kid off my back. I guess that could look bad to the untrained eye.

Then, this past weekend, we had the long-awaited opening weekend of football season. We dressed the kids in their little outfits again and tried to get some pictures around the house.

This is as good as it got.

Florida defeated the hated Buccaneers of Charleston Southern, but the kids were in bed by the end of the first quarter. They just don't care about football, or anything on TV for that matter. Year 2 of the Gator indoctrination is off to a slow start, but I have a couple more years of brainwashing before they ask for non-Gator sports gear.

My Gator Flag

2009-09-04T07:44:00.001-05:00

I come from a long line of flag people.

We always had an American flag on our front porch growing up, lest someone mistake our home for a miniature foreign embassy. My dad has no less than 30 flags for various occasions and organizations to fly on his boat. I don't care to admit it, but we may have done a little car-flag flying as well. If there was reason to fly a flag, you could bet my family would do it.

Naturally, when Heather and I bought our house seven years ago, I found the best place to fly a flag and told Heather where the flag pole could go. I wanted an American flag for the Fourth of July and other patriotic holidays and a Gator flag for the other 363 days of the year. Heather said: 1) you aren't drilling any holes in our new brick; and, 2) I don't want a big ass flag flying off of the front of my house.

So, this is my flag.

No holes in the house and it's small. Really small. It's in the flower bed in front of our garage.

It doesn't say "suck it" to the other SEC fans in the neighborhood, as I would like, but being in the minority of fandom in the Poverty Hills section of Nouveau Riche Estates, it's just as well. I don't want any flaming poop bombs on my front door step if Florida has another good season.

Happy Plaid Pants Friday and Go Gators.

Friday

2009-08-28T07:15:00.001-05:00

It's official. I have exhausted all the world's low hanging fruit related to plaid pants. Today is Plaid Pants Friday on BGPP and I have no plaid pants subject matter. If I was an investigative journalist, maybe I could find something. But I'm not. So I won't. And that's that.

I have something of greater interest to the non-plaid pants wearing members of the world, though: food.

I tried a new burger joint last Tuesday . . . and last Friday. I attempted to have it again with Heather and the kids on Saturday. I foolishly agreed to Happy Meals at McDonald's, with the new place as a back up, knowing that it was only 10:40 a.m. and McDonald's didn't serve lunch until 11:00. Turns out I was wrong on that point, and the kids got their first Happy Meals. I'll be more careful next time.

The new place is Baha Burger. It's only in Birmingham now, but I'm pretty sure if the owners have the desire, this place could spread in the Southeast like kudzu.

They offer seven options for the burger: beef; pork; lamb; chicken; turkey; salmon; and, portobello / eggplant.

I had the standard Baha Beef Burger both times, which comes with Pepper Jack cheese, grilled pineapple and chipotle sauce. I opted for the wheat bun instead of the onion bun.

. . . with sweet potato fries.

The theme of the eatery, called a "fresh gourmet burger" place by its owners, is 60s surf. They got the theme right, with more Endless Summer and less Gidget. The food is great and I found nothing to complain about, including the price. The burger with sweet potato fries was $7.50. I give it 4.5 pairs of plaid pants out of 5. I have no reason for docking Baha Burger a half of pair of pants, other than I would lose all credibility if I give my first BGPP restaurant review the whole five pairs.

Happy Plaid Pants Friday.

A Wedding Story

2009-08-26T07:09:00.001-05:00

I woke up from my slumber flat on my back covered in sweat. I didn’t know where I was, but I had woken up in places and not immediately known where I was before. This was different. Heather was kneeling next to me on my left with a concerned look on her face. My dad was to my right with a look of concern mixed with a little disapproval. Standing at my feet was our priest, Father Muller. As I tried to shake the haze out of my head, I figured out where I was and what I was doing that day. I realized that our friends and family were all seated in pews behind my head in absolute and total silence because I had passed out at my wedding.

My dad said two words, “get up,” which I did as quickly as one could under the circumstances.

In polite company, because we are polite people, my family says that I had a 24 hour bug. My friends say that I drank too much at the rehearsal dinner and I was hung over. Whatever the case may be, the facts are as follows: I didn’t eat the day before our wedding because I was busy with finishing law school and business school projects before leaving on our honeymoon. At our rehearsal dinner, my stomach was in knots and I hardly touched the meal that Heather and I had so meticulously chosen for our guests. I did however, have a great deal of a ‘97 Cabernet that our waiters circled the dining room with, like buzzards, topping off my glass each time it was only 2/3 full. I also had an unknown amount of Glenlivet 18 before and possibly after dinner, although the reality of my beverage consumption has turned into a bit of a fish story for those who witnessed it.

I don’t know why my 24 hour bug / alcohol over-consumption happened – maybe it was nerves, maybe it was lack of food, maybe I was really sick. All I know is that I showered and shaved sitting down in a hotel tub the day I was to marry my wife, and between the throwing up and bouts of cold sweats, making it to the church on time dressed in my morning formal was one of my life's greatest accomplishments.

Even though I hadn’t stood up that morning for more than three straight minutes, I was sure I could summon the strength to stand for the ceremony. I got burst of energy when Heather walked down the aisle and I was pleased that Heather’s dad actually went through with the hand-off. We got a helpful series of short breaks during the portions of the Catholic mini-Mass when we were sitting or kneeling, and by the mid-way point, I was feeling pretty good about my chances of pulling it off. I made it through getting the ring on Heather’s finger with no problem, but the adrenaline started to wear off and everything went dark after she put the ring on mine. I tried with everything I had not to go down, but my body was not listening to my mind begging it not to let this happen.

After the little incident, I made it through what must have been the fastest second half of a wedding Mass Father Muller had ever performed. I was intent on finishing the ceremony and he was intent on not having me fall out on his alter again.

During the honeymoon, I convinced myself that grooms must go down on a pretty regular basis. People tell you not to lock you knees for a reason, right? You see it on those home video shows frequently enough. The reaction we received from our law school classmates when we got back from the honeymoon, however, let me know that it is significantly less common than I had wanted to believe. The fact that I have still never seen it happen, despite secretly wishing for it on occasion, confirms its rarity.

I was embarrassed about it for a few years, but it has just become a fact of my life. Now, as one of the few men who has completely botched the wedding day, I take solace by telling myself that a marriage is not about the wedding day. It's about the life that two people will live together for every day thereafter. I’m sure Heather would have preferred to have had a nice wedding with a conscious groom as well, but after nine years (today) I can say with complete certainty that it’s possible to botch the wedding day and have darn good every-day-thereafter.

Happy Anniversary, dear. Sorry about that thing at the wedding.

Saturday Afternoon Videos

2009-08-23T11:40:00.002-05:00

I broke out the video camera on Saturday primarily to get a shot of Piper walking around while she's still wobbly. I ended up videoing the kids for about thirty minutes just playing.

In the process, I discovered that if you shoot enough footage, you can make about any kid look smart in a short clip.

Here's Piper putting together two cups to make a barrel.

Pure genius.

Here's Rosemary putting together a slightly less structurally sound barrel.

Henry gave it a shot.

Like I said, you can make almost any kid look smart, but there is a limit on what you can do with editing. You can only isolate the moment of brilliance; you can't create it. It's a good thing he's cute.

Piper started to get a little upset towards snack time, so I gave her a little peek-a-boo for entertainment. Then, I didn't want to leave Rosemary out of the fun, so I did a little one handed patty cake with her.

I've been doing this peek-a-boo thing for almost a year and I still can't get over how idiotically simple it is. I only believe that children like it because they laugh so consistently.

Here I am. . . Now I'm gone. . . I'm back; "peek-a-boo!". . . Laugh. . . Repeat.

It almost never fails to please. Piper was totally upset and I turned her around with peek-a-boo. I'm going to start doing peek-a-boo at angry adults to see if it has an equally positive effect.

You may notice that Rosemary is only loosely participating in patty cake with me. Rosemary generally doesn't do the patty caking; she directs that patty cake be done. In this case, I had a camera in my hand. She normally requests that Heather or I patty cake by clapping her hands and then she watches us do the whole routine while she looks on approvingly without partaking. After we throw the imaginary pastry in the imaginary oven, she usually requests that we do patty cake again by clapping several times. Life could prove to be disappointing for Rosemary after being able to control two adults like puppets by clapping her hands.

I actually don't know if the imaginary pastry is a cake of the patty variety, or it one pats a regular cake, making the game "pat-a-cake," not "patty cake." I don't think one pats a cake in the process of making a cake, so it can't very well be pat-a-cake. Then again, I've never seen a patty cake in a bakery, so I can't be sure this is correct either.

After the barrel making, peek-a-booing, and patty caking (or pat-a-caking as the case may be), the kids had their afternoon snack. When Henry was finished with his snack, we did a reverse peek-a-boo with him doing the hiding behind a dish towel.

And, I got my shot of Piper doing a wobbly walk.

It won't be long before she's not wobbly anymore, so I don't want to let the wobbliness slip away without documenting it.

Plaid Pants Friday

2009-08-21T07:20:00.002-05:00

Happy Plaid Pants Friday. The pants I write about today are not plaid, but as mentioned before, there is a finite amount of material out there about plaid pants.

I have noticed for awhile that guys my age wear nice jeans with nice shirts and sometimes sport coats for occasions that are more than casual, but less than full dress. By “nice” jeans, I mean the kind that you purchase at Saks and pay four to five times the cost of regular jeans. For reasons I can’t explain, it is deemed acceptable to wear fancy jeans to a restaurant when wearing regular jeans would get you thrown out. Heather wears nice jeans out, but I have always considered that to be just a little too cool for my taste. I am a traditionalist. I wear blue blazers. I even have bow ties. I prefer to be slightly overdressed as opposed to underdressed. I was not a fancy jeans guy, until I bought a pair this week.

My desire to procure fancy jeans was spurred by a client meeting a couple weeks ago. I handle some matters for a firm client, who I will call Mr. R. Mr. R is over 80 years old - I think. I have not asked his age, but from the details of his life I have gleaned from his stories over the last several years, my calculations say he must be at least 80.

After Mr. R arrived at my office, I walked down the stairs to find Mr. R seated in our atrium, wearing an oxford shirt, jeans, smart shoes and holding a sport coat and hat in one hand and a hand carved cane in the other. Mr. R normally has his driver with him, but for this meeting he brought his wife, Mrs. R., who is a snappy dresser for a woman of the age to be married to Mr. R. I noticed several "LV"s and "D&G"s on or about Mrs. R., and I suspect Mrs. R does the shopping for Mr. R.

I had not seen Mr. R since late last year, even though I've talked to him on the phone at least every couple of weeks. Between the time I last saw Mr. R and now, I changed my hairstyle from a short buzz to a smoothly shaved dome.

As I walked up to Mr. R's chair, he looked at my head and asked me bluntly: "Gara, Gara, do you have the cancer." I told him simply “no,” even though my full eyebrows should be an indication to anyone that all of my hair has not fallen out. He said “I'm glad; you're a good lawya – I would hate to see you get the cancer.” I presume by this statement that he does not mind bad lawyers getting the cancer, and I am happy that he approves of my lawyering skills such that he doesn’t want me to have the cancer. I also note that older people have a habit of adding the word “the” to just about any word. This habit is unfortunately contagious, unlike the cancer, which I don't have.

Mrs. R was quick to tell Mr. R about current trends in hairstyles, saying, “that’s what young people do now, Mr. R – they shave their heads when they are going bald.” I felt my choice of hairstyle, or lack thereof, sufficiently vindicated, so we stepped into our main conference room to discuss business. As I held the door for Mr. and Mrs. R, and Mr. R walked past, I noticed that Mr. R was wearing a pair of jeans made by the company that makes Heather’s favorite fancy jeans.

Mr. R is over 80, he puts the word “the” in front of everything, and he was sporting some mean fancy jeans. As traditional as I am, I know that if Mr. R can, and does, pull off this look, I can too. I can handle people my own age dressing significantly cooler than me, but when you are out-cooled by an 80 year old man, it's time to rethink your wardrobe.

After asking some friends and satisfying myself as to what sort of fancy jeans would be the proper addition to my wardobe, I purchased a cool pair of fancy jeans:

Next week, Heather and I will celebrate our ninth anniversary. I am going to wear my fancy jeans to a nice steakhouse with her. If the Maitre d' attempts to sit us in the back corner with the other undesirables, I will explain that my jeans are fancy and I expect to be treated accordingly.

Our Homecoming Anniversary

2009-08-16T09:31:00.002-05:00

One year ago today, we brought Rosemary, the last baby, home from the hospital. That day marked the end of a 101 day journey at UAB Hospital. I spent every one of those 101 days at the hospital praying for the day we might all leave and be home together.

The first day of the journey, when Heather was admitted, was dismal. Things didn't look good for the kids if they had been born that early.

Each day Heather was in the hospital, still pregnant, we had more reason to hope that things might be OK. We celebrated every weekly milestone. And, fortunately, there were more milestones to celebrate than anyone had expected.

Heather delivered on day 49 of the journey. Day 49 was a good day, certainly a significant day, but there were still the lows of fear and uncertainty associated with having three babies in the NICU to go with the highs of having three new members of our family.

Shortly after the kids were born, we settled into our NICU routine and it became apparent that, barring an infection of some sort, we would eventually bring home three babies.

Piper came home on day 87 and Henry came home on day 92. And then, on day August 16, 2008, the day that I had prayed for happened. We drove away from UAB with Rosemary in the car, bound for home, where Piper and Henry were waiting.

In the scope of 101 days, we went from hoping with little basis to be hopeful all the way to the fruition of having three babies at home. It seemed like forever at the time, but now I can't believe all that happened in just 101 days.

Plaid Pants Friday (New Camera)

2009-08-14T07:01:00.000-05:00

I got a new camera last weekend. It's not a fancy one like Heather got; it's just a slightly smaller version of the one like I had.

This is my old camera (taken with my new camera)

This is my new camera (taken with my old camera)

For comparison purposes, and in keeping with the Friday theme, this is a picture of some plaid pants taken with the old camera.

. . . and with the new camera.

Wow. Money well spent on the new camera. It's at least 2% better than the old one. Actually, I think the color is off on the new one. I need to read the directions.

No biggie. The new one has a little button with a flower on it. You know, for taking pictures of flowers:

Pretty.

Happy Plaid Pants Friday.

We're Still That Nice Gay Couple

2009-08-10T21:52:00.000-05:00

When our last next door neighbors moved in, they told us they purchased the home thinking a gay couple lived in our house. Apparently one of our other neighbors informed the realtor that we were a "nice gay couple." The realtor saw this as a selling point, I suppose.

I was sort of flattered that our other neighbors thought my yard was nice enough to belong to a gay man, but wished that we knew our neighbors well enough to realize I wasn't my own gay life partner.

With the couple to whom we were outed, we tried to be good neighbors. We all went to dinner and they told us the gay couple story. Then we didn't see them as much as we would have liked. And then they moved. They were really nice, but Heather and I just didn't find the time to be good neighbors to them.

We got new neighbors in that house a month ago. As soon as I saw them the first time, I went over and introduced myself. This time, I was going to be a better neighbor. I want to be Gary, the cool neighbor who will help you move a couch or cut down a tree (even though I lack the knowledge, tools or skill set to cut down a tree). The new neighbors are cool - the type of people I would be friends with. We talked about having a beer, but haven't done it after a month. Same story, new neighbors.

We've been in our house for six years and I can't say I really know our neighbors. We're still the nice gay couple that keeps to ourselves. I just suck at being neighborly.

Plaid Pants Friday

2009-08-07T07:27:00.001-05:00

I usualy like to keep it light on Plaid Pants Friday, but I may have been the victim of some sartorial hornswagglery.

I purchased these trousers from Brooks Brothers at the season-end clearance a few weeks ago:

My new trousers are on the right; the thing on the left is a shirt. The pants are patchwork madras - 50% off. I had thought I got a good deal.

Then, an astute law firm employee spotted this character walking downtown on Tuesday:

This man is wearing the other half of my patchwork madras suit! Brooks Brothers sold me a suit without its jacket.

I know what you're thinking - I wouldn't wear my new patchwork madras shirt with the patchwork madras suit; that would be silly looking - unless, of course I had a patchwork madras tie.

If you see this man walking in Downtown Birmingham, please get my jacket for me. It should be a 42 Regular if my suspicions are correct.

Happy Plaid Pants Friday.

Daddy Blogs and Honey Bees

2009-08-06T06:58:00.001-05:00

You know that thing with the honey bees where they all disappear? It's called colony collapse disorder. One day there are bees. The next day there are no bees. They're just gone. We don't know why.

To a lesser extent, the same thing has happened with daddy blogs in the last week. Real ones with, like, actual readership.

First there was The Wind in Your . . . and then Looky, Daddy. They wrote words that evoked emotion, and they were good at it. Both daddy authors just decided to stop with the daddy blogging. One day they were there, and now they are gone. Just like the bees.

Eastbound & Down

2009-08-04T07:20:00.001-05:00

For those of you who didn't catch the series Eastbound & Down on HBO earlier this year, it's out on DVD. If you find redneckery as appealing as I do, you'll probably want to drop this in your Netflix queue.

The series is about a fictional washed up pitcher, Kenny Powers. The Powers character is a version of former Braves closer John Rocker, but with an awesome mullet and lacking about 15 more I.Q. points.

I don't want to oversell it too much, but Eastbound & Down makes Citizen Kane look like Jaws 4. The six episode series is probably mankind's greatest achievement thus far, pending Season 2 of Eastbound & Down, of course.

I will warn you, though, it is foul. It is so foul that I made Anne (a/k/a Auntie Anne - babies' NICU nurse) cover her eyes during part of the second episode. Anne is 25 (I think) if that gives you any idea just how foul it is. Funny, but foul.

Baby Photo Shoots

2009-08-02T11:58:00.000-05:00

Heather just got a picture from the babies 6 month / 8 month photo shoot back from the framers.

I liked it so much, I took a picture of the picture.

The reason the 6 month photo was taken at 8 months is the newborn pictures were taken at two months, right after Rosemary came home, thus setting us two months behind the standard baby photo schedule of newborn - 6 months - one year, etc. I base this on my newfound knowledge of baby photo shoot protocol.

I am a wealth of knowledge on the subject of baby photos now. About a year ago, however, I was thoroughly shocked when Heather proposed to have a photographer come to the house and take pictures of the kids. I was unaware this was something normal people did. I was only persuaded when Heather gave examples of otherwise reasonable people to prove that practically everyone we know engages in this practice.

I still think it's widespread insanity, but I do like the pictures. The taking and having pictures part is not insane; it's more the cost associated with the pictures and framing the pictures that boggles my simple little mind.

After two rounds of baby pictures, Heather and I have set into a nice routine for purchasing and framing pictures:

1. We look at the proofs and we oooh and ahhh as we pick the best ones.
2. Heather mulls it over and tells me the total amount of the picture order.
3. I become outraged and mumble things about college funds and retirement.
4. I eventually cave on the picture order because I can't find any that we don't "need."
5. The pictures come in. We oooh and ahhh over them and discuss where each picture will go in the house and our respective offices.
6. Heather has the pictures framed and tells me how much each one costs.
7. I, again, become outraged, telling her that she "must be kidding me" and she "can't be serious" a la 1980s John McEnroe.
8. We get pretty framed pictures back; we hang them; we go oooh and ahhh.

Given that steps 3 and 7 involving my outrage are enjoyable to neither of us, we have come to a compromise. We skip the parts of steps 2 and 6 where she tells me how much we are spending. It's a win-win, really.

I'm going to have so many pretty pictures of our babies in my office when they are grown and I'm still working when I'm 80.

oooh - ahhh.

Plaid Pants Friday

2009-07-31T07:11:00.000-05:00

Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion on Plaid Pants:

[Tonight's show] brought to you by Gary's Plaid Pants Warehouse.

Tim Russell: Get into the mood of spring with a pair of bright, festive plaid pants - the fashion exclamation - plaid pants, one way of saying, "This is me, it couldn't be anyone else."

Garrison Keillor: In primitive aboriginal tribes, the male who wore the brightest colors was the most virile and aggressive, and it's the same in this country too.

TR: That's right. If you get yourself the right pair of pants, people will remember you for years afterward.

GK: With bright plaid pants, you'll get faster service in restaurants, and you'll never be struck by a moving vehicle.

TR: Plaid pants keep bugs off and distract opponents in golf matches, and they revitalize your marriage or whatever else is going on in your life.

GK: So - get happy. Get a load of pants at Gary's Plaid Pants Warehouse, where the giant pants on the flagpole show you the way to big pants savings. Available only where sold, should not be used when operating heavy machinery.

A Prairie Home Companion, April 12, 1997

Honestly, I only listen to A Prairie Home Companion when I leave NPR on after Car Talk. I don't catch Car Talk as much as I used to because I'm not in my car when it's on anymore - which reminds me, why don't car stereos have Tivo? How hard can that be. The technology already exists - just put it in my car. Take out a couple airbags or something. I can't be the first person to think of this.

OK, the topic du jour: Happy Plaid Pants Friday - brought to you by Gary's Plaid Pants Warehouse.

Toddlers & Tiaras

2009-07-29T21:10:00.002-05:00

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

If a little girl is objectified in a beauty pageant at the insistence of her mother and I don't watch it on TLC, is her self image still destroyed?

I'm going under the theory that my observation of either of these realities doesn't affect the outcome.

Timber!

If you have a shred of dignity about what you watch, I'll save you the guilt: mom convinces daughter that she likes beauty pageants; daughter wants to make mom happy; mom teaches daughter dance moves that are not even appropriate for an adult; mom dresses up daughter like a little stripper (or Vegas show girl in Season 2, Episode 1); daughter either receives accolades because she shakes her money maker well or is disappointed because she didn't shake her money maker well enough; and, viewer sees a self image time bomb start ticking.

It almost can't be real - but it is. I may being going straight to hell for laughing.

Pampers Overnight Extra Protection Diapers

2009-07-27T20:11:00.008-05:00

This is a long post, so I will provide a summary: 1) Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers caused a flaming red chemical burn in and around the diaper areas of both Piper and Rosemary; 2) I sent a complaint to Pampers; 3) I got a form response; 4) I followed up with a bunch of annoying emails; 5) Pampers sent me $26.00; 6) I'm pissed.

Just so Pampers doesn't sue me for defamation, I will clarify the "flaming red chemical burn" statement. In my limited experience with two one year old girls, Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers caused a flaming second-degree chemical burn in and around my girls' private parts 100% of the time. I can't say with certainty that this will happen every time with every baby using Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers, but I think it is reasonable to assume there is at least some risk that our 100% injury rate with Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers is indicative of the product's capacity to cause harm. So, it is just my opinion, not fact, that the use of Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers is only slightly less dangerous than using gasoline soaked rags with duct tape as diapers.

For the long part. This is my correspondence with Pampers regrading our experience with Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers, redacted as shown [ ]. I realize, of course, that I am being absurd, but as stated, I'm pissed - and that's what I do.

From: Gary
To: Pampers via Customer Service Website
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 12:48 pm

Dear Pampers People,

I am the father of one year old triplets and a faithful user of Pampers products (for my kids, not me). Since we brought our two girls and one boy home from the hospital, we have been extremely pleased with Pampers products, first with Swaddlers and now with your Cruisers. The Cruisers work well during the day, but we had a need for a little extra protection at night. I was pleased when my wife found the Pampers Baby Dry Overnight Extra Protection diapers (Size 4).

We purchased a medium sized package (64 count) of the Extra Protection diapers and used them for two nights last week. After the first night we didn’t notice any problems. After the second night, both or our girls had a scorching red rash – what looked to be a chemical burn - on their girl parts. We called our pediatrician immediately and got a treatment regimen. One of the girl’s rash got a little better, and one developed into a large blister which broke leaving an open wound. Even though we stopped using the diapers after the second night, neither girl has fully recovered. One of them has been in noticeable pain for almost a week. The other one handles it a little better, but she is still uncomfortable and cries during diaper changes. Both of them still have severe rashes and are being treated with yeast infection cream to fight the rash, Vaseline to ease the pain from chafing, and daily baths with baking soda (don't know the reason for the banking soda). We have been in contact with our pediatrician, but because the rashes have not improved, my wife will be taking the girls to the doctor tomorrow morning.

I am not happy with your Baby Dry Overnight Extra Protection diapers. I do not have the Production Code or the UPC Code, because I promptly threw away all the remaining Extra Protection diapers to avoid confusion with the Cruisers, thus preventing further burns and rashes to my children’s sensitive parts.

I think these diapers have a serious flaw that needs to be addressed before other little babies are hurt as well. I also believe some reimbursement in the form of diapers is in order. As to the amount of diapers you feel would fairly compensate my family, I will tell you that we have purchased and used approximately 8,000 Pampers diapers over the past year at a cost of approximately $2,600.00. Also, my wife and I are attorneys. I don’t mention that we are attorneys because I am threatening to sue Pampers over a rash; that would probably be excessive and cost prohibitive. I tell you this because our time has an established market value. My wife’s billable rate is $[ ] per hour. Tomorrow she will miss approximately [ ] hours of work taking the kids to the doctor, for a total value of $750.00. In addition to the $750.00, we will pay a $20.00 co-pay for each girl, bringing the total to $790.00. I expect that we will receive a prescription cream for which we will pay a $35.00 co-pay, which brings us to $825.00. Gas driving to and from the doctor and the pharmacy will be another $2.00. We also paid about $26.00 for the diapers that I threw away, which brings the grand total, not counting the value of the discomfort of our kids and my time writing this complaint to $853.00.

If you could please send $853.00 worth of Size 3 and Size 4 Pampers Cruisers, to the following address, I would greatly appreciate it:

Gary [ ]
[ ]
[ ]

Thank you in advance for your attention to this matter.

Gary [ ]
_________________

From: "P&G North America"
To: gary[ ]@aol.com
Subject: Thank you for contacting Pampers.
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 3:24 pm

Hi Gary,

Thanks for contacting Pampers.

I'm sorry about your experience. Our products and packages are thoroughly evaluated to be safe when used as directed, and we wouldn't expect the results you described. I'm sharing your report with our Health and Safety Division. Meanwhile, please hold on to the package and any remaining product for two weeks in the event our Health and Safety Division needs to retrieve them.

Your satisfaction means a great deal to us so I'm also responding by postal mail. Look for my letter to arrive within the next 2-3 weeks. For answers to medical questions, we recommend you speak with your doctor who will be able to give you the best advice.

Thanks again for getting in touch.

Kelly
Pampers Team
_________________

From: gary[ ]@aim.com
To: pg_naconsumerrelations@mailnj.custhelp.com
Subject: Re: Thank you for contacting Pampers.
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 3:58 pm

Kelly,

Thank you for the response. Everyone makes mistakes; I didn’t expect the flaming rash and open wound either.

As stated in my initial correspondence, I have thrown away the package and remaining product to prevent further injury.

Please advise on the status of my $853.00 worth of Size 3 and Size 4 Pampers Cruisers.

Gary [ ]

P.S. Are you a real person or am I replying to a computer named Kelly?
_________________

From: "P&G North America"
To: gary[ ]@aol.com
Subject: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 4:40 pm

Hi Gary.

We do appreciate your loyalty to Pampers and have forwarded the experience your family had with our Health and Safety Team. I am sorry for any confusion our previous message caused as the compensation we are sending is for just the diapers that you had the problem with. Your request for additional compensation has been sent to our Health & Safety Team who will most likely follow up with you via postal mail for additional information and in a separate mailing.

Thanks for writing.

Mary
Pampers Team
_________________

From: gary[ ]@aim.com
To: pg_naconsumerrelations@mailnj.custhelp.com
Subject: Re: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 5:21 pm

Mary,

What happened to Kelly? Was Kelly a computer? I actually think I may have caused the confusion by asking for $853.00 worth of diapers. I am not seeking money compensation from Pampers; I would just like diapers, please. I was using the figure to roughly quantify the value of the diapers. For simplicity’s sake, why don’t we just call it “2,843 diapers?” I trust this will avoid any future confusion.

Thank you.

Gary [ ]
_________________

From: "P&G North America"
To: gary[ ]@aol.com
Subject: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 5:32 pm

Hi Gary.

Thanks for writing back. First I would like to assure you that Kelly is a person and one of my associates here in our corporate headquarters.

I do appreciate you clarifying your request for compensation, however any request for compensation above the product you had the problem with is handled by our Health & Safety Team. I have forwarded your detailed messages to them for follow up.

Thanks again for writing.

Mary
Pampers Team
_________________

From: gary[ ]@aim.com
To: pg_naconsumerrelations@mailnj.custhelp.com
Subject: Re: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 5:54 pm

Mary,

I am glad that Kelly is a person and not a computer.

My apologies, I thought there was some confusion that I was asking for money. Just to confirm, the Pampers Team is sending me 64 diapers (Size 3 or 4 Cruisers) and my request for the balance of 2779 diapers is being forwarded to the Health & Safety Team for consideration.

Thank you for you assistance, and please thank Kelly for her assistance as well.

Gary [ ]
_________________

From: "P&G North America"
To: gary[ ]@aol.com
Subject: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Thu, Jul 16, 2009 9:23 pm

Thanks for getting back in touch, Gary.

I'm sorry for the confusion and I appreciate the opportunity you've provided for us to try to clear things up.

After we received your first message, Kelly shared your report with our Health & Safety Consultants. To help compensate for your purchase of Pampers Baby Dry Overnight Extra Protection, she requested a check in the amount of $26. You should be receiving this check within the next 2-3 weeks.

Your request for additional compensation will be handled by our Health & Safety Consultants. They typically follow up by postal mail.

I hope this information is helpful. More importantly, I hope your daughters are feeling better. We value your loyalty to Pampers and appreciate the time you've taken to get in touch.

Linda
Pampers Team
_________________

From: gary [ ]@aim.com
To: pg_naconsumerrelations@mailnj.custhelp.com
Subject: Re: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Mon, Jul 20, 2009 11:08 am

Linda,

Thanks for getting back. I still think I may not have been completely clear in what I was asking for. I do not want money. I do want a 64 pack of diapers, please (plus whatever the Safety people send). If you send me a check, I just have to go to the bank and deposit it or cash it and then drive to Babies R Us and buy the diapers. If you could stop the check request and just send some diapers - that would be great. From Proctor & Gamble’s standpoint, I think you are better off sending 64 diapers as well. A 64 pack of Size 3 Pampers Cruisers retails for about $20.00, and P&G’s cost should be considerably less than that, even taking into account the shipping costs.

On the baby butt front, we have seen a good bit of improvement after Friday’s doctor appointment. Our doctor prescribed a compounded antibacterial, antifungal, anti-inflammatory cream. If your department keeps notes on product specific problems and other people call about the Extra Protection diapers, you may want to recommend that they go see their doctor as opposed to just calling the doctor. It is hard to convey the severity of the chemical burn over the phone, so it was helpful for the doctor to actually see it. I know you guys don’t give medical advice, so that may be tricky.

Thanks again.

Gary [ ]
_________________

From: "P&G North America"
To: gary[ ]@aol.com
Subject: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Mon, Jul 20, 2009 4:06 pm

Hi Gary.

Thanks for writing and I will share your additional comments regarding the girls condition with both our Pampers and our Health & Safety Team.

Unfortunately, we are not able to send actual diapers for a couple reasons. The check we are sending is for $26 so actually more than you stated you paid for the package of diapers, that check has already been requested and can not be cancelled. Further we do not have actual product on hand to send out. Our compensation is either in the form of coupons or refunds not actual product.

While we could issue coupons it would require having you return the check we mailed back to us and once it is received we could send a product coupon. However this option would be much more time consuming as mail is handled in the order it is received so it may be some time before we got to the check if you did send it back and then issued a coupon.

Thanks again for writing.

Mary
Pampers Team
_________________

From: gary[ ]@aim.com
To: pg_naconsumerrelations@mailnj.custhelp.com
Subject: Re: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Mon, Jul 20, 2009 5:29 pm

Mary,

Just to be clear. The package of Extra Protection diapers that caused the burns was about $26.00. A package of Cruisers that does not cause burns that I would have liked as a replacement is only about $20.00. That is where is $6.00 difference comes in. My outlay was actually about $26.00 plus the other line items I listed in my initial correspondence. I just didn't want the more expensive diapers again.

I will keep an eye out for the $26.00 check.

Thanks.

Gary [ ]
_________________

From: gary[ ]@aim.com
To: pg_naconsumerrelations@mailnj.custhelp.com
Subject: Re: Thanks for contacting Pampers
Date: Wed, Jul 22, 2009 8:23 pm

Mary,

I received the $26.00 check today. I would like to return it and get the product coupon for a 62 pack of Size 3 Cruisers as suggested. Could you please give me the best address to get that back to P&G.

Thank you.

Gary [ ]
_________________

Now, I don't want to give the impression, by my acting like a buffoon in my emails, that I don't take a product injury to my children seriously. I just don't know how else to give it to the people at Pampers. I figure if the customer service people have enough traffic about Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers, it will raise some sort of flag and they will re-evaluate the product. It almost certainly won't work, but I don't have any better ideas other than writing the words "Pampers Overnight Extra Protection" diapers over and over with links in hopes that someone will see this post and not buy Pampers Overnight Extra Protection diapers.

Status: Sitting on the edge of my seat waiting to hear from the Health & Safety team regarding the other 2779 diapers. After three weeks and the use of the antibacterial, anti-fungal, anti-inflammatory paste, Rosemary has just recently cleared up and Piper still has a mild to medium rash. I'm still pissed.

The Hammer Stuffs His Face

2009-07-26T21:21:00.000-05:00

I am confused by why Henry stuffs his face. He has nothing on his calendar, as far as I know, so there's no reason to rush a meal - or in this case an afternoon snack of cheese and fruit.

Yesterday, I gave the kids a half a watermelon for their afternoon snack and Henry stuffed his cheeks so full, I videoed the other half melon today. It was a close second to Saturday's stuff show.

In other news, my life has been reduced to videoing my kids eating. And I actually like it.

Plaid Pants Friday

2009-07-24T07:11:00.002-05:00

A Plaid Pants Friday story of a man and his pants reunited:

Pat Dye was the football coach at Auburn from 1981 until 1992. Dye is an old school guy, sort of like your grandpa with a deeper voice if he had won four SEC Championships, was in the College Football Hall of Fame, and if your grandpa could pull the arms and legs off a cougar while snacking on a nice crunchy bottle of bourbon.

In December of 2007, the water was down in Central Alabama's Lake Martin. Local flotsam/jetsam hunter Shannon McDuffie found a pair of, what are described by Lake Martin Magazine as, "big-check green-and-blue Madras pants" in the lake mud.

McDuffie fondled through the pants and found an alligator skin wallet, which she took home, leaving the real find (the pants) behind. After getting the wallet home, she cleaned off the muck and found that the 1980s vintage credit cards and driver's license belonged to none other than Coach Pat Dye. With the knowledge that this wasn't just any wallet, she went back to get the pants and found Dye's car keys in the pants as well - all of which had been in the lake for 23 years.

McDuffie called media giant Lake Martin Magazine with her story and the Magazine contacted Coach Dye. This is the odd part: When told about the find, Dye said he had no recollection of losing his wallet, his keys or his pants.

Lake Martin Magazine got this photo of McDuffie giving Dye back his pants:

Dye said, "I do remember those pants." Of course you do. Those are awesome plaid pants. How could you forget those? Coming home pantsless with no keys and no wallet, sure - easy to forget. But not those pants; you would not forget those gems. Nice pants, Coach.

Throwing Babies

2009-07-21T21:17:00.002-05:00

I have a problem. The first step to recovery is admitting it. I am a baby thrower. The kids don't help; they are enablers - egging me on with their smiling and laughing.

This is me throwing Henry:

I dropped him once:

No, not really.

Here's Rosemary. I think I could launch her in the air and field her like a fly ball and she would like it.

And Piper:

Piper may be the only sensible one in the bunch. There is a height at which she thinks I'm displaying some bad parenting skills and gives a grunt of disapproval as opposed to a giggle.

But, all is forgiven on terra firma.

Google Searches

2009-07-19T08:38:00.001-05:00

When Heather decided to make a blog to share the babies progress in the hospital instead of sending out email updates, I was reluctant because I didn't want everyone to be able to peer into our personal lives on a website. I did, however, want all the people who supported us and prayed for the babies (some we will never know) to be able to check in and see that their prayers worked. Heather made me comfortable with the blog idea when she told me that she could turn on a blogger function to disable search engines from finding threeleesinapod.

Since Heather has had her blog up and running, I have overcome my aversion to people peering into our personal lives - at least the part of it we put out there. When I set up BGPP last month, I really didn't think about search engines. I just left all of the default settings, so unlike her blog, this blog shows up on Google. One "non-default" thing I did was to get Heather to make me a stat counter (she's the family blog expert). On the stat counter, I can see "keyword activity," which shows the recent Google queries people used to stumble on this site.

Here are some of the searches that brought people to this site in the last few days:

john daly plaid pants - I think this blog shows up because Daly's pants are more of a check than a plaid. Maybe I helped these people by letting them know that they would be mocked if they purchased those pants, even by someone who wears plaid pants. You're welcome.

strange bald guy at sporting events - That probably wasn't me. Is there one strange guy who has been showing up at sporting events? If he wears plaid pants, I need to get a new name for the blog.

ricky barnes plaid pants - (lots) Poor guy. He came in second at the U.S. Open and people find him here. Maybe he doesn't wear plaid pants very often.

smash cakes or baby smash cake - Surely, I helped these folks by letting them know they should ask the baker to approximate the size of the smash cakes when they place their cake order.

small cake pands (twice) - It's called a "pan." You bake a cake in a "pan." That is why you can't find any small cake pands.

bald guy in plaid pants - These people were probably looking for this site, or they are looking for the guy that sold them their last used car.

I don't think I will turn on the thing that disables search engines. If I get rid of the people who stumble upon my blog accidentally, I could wipe out half of my readership - and lose my new toy.

Plaid Pants Friday

2009-07-17T07:00:00.004-05:00

The dos and don'ts of plaid pants:

This is John Daly with his girlfriend getting ready for the first round of the British Open yesterday:

They match. Isn't that cute? I don't even know if these are plaid. They are plaid-ish. They have sort of a court jester vibe to them. John Daly has made a lot of mistakes in his life and his fashion choices of late are in the upper third of the mistake list (it's long). If this is the worst thing Daly is doing right now, we can't give him too much grief. They are still a plaid pants "don't."

This is Ian Poulter playing a tee shot yesterday:

Poulter's pants are a "do." Standard plaid. Good fit. If you saw him turn around, you might question the sweater vest, but the pants are great.

Ian Poulter got so much notoriety for his trouser choices on tour, that he scored his own line of Poulter Pants. You can get some Poulter Pants for only $289.95. AAKKKK!

John Daly's pants are by Loudmouth Golf and you can get a pair, full price, for $89.95 from the manufacturer's site, or for $14.95 on clearance at the place the used to be the Goody's.

Poulter is married, a father of three, and lives stateside in Orlando. My sources tell me that Poulter's wife, Katie, does not have any skirts that match his pants.

Nice pants, Poulter. They aren't $289.95 nice, but still, nice pants.

Do They Share?

2009-07-15T22:01:00.003-05:00

At the kids’ final Early Intervention Session (yeah - knock on wood), one of the questions Beth, the kids' therapist, asked was if they “shared.” They don’t. At all.

Henry will sort of "share" when he rolls a ball to me, but only with the expectation that I will roll the ball back to him. I don’t think Henry would roll me a ball if he thought I was just going to take the ball and leave. Nor should he.

I wasn't aware that sharing was a developmental milestone or something that we should be encouraging. I read the baby books, but I just missed that part. I think we may have even been discouraging sharing buy buying three of everything, like these soccer balls.

If it is a milestone, I really haven’t hit it myself. I don’t share my stuff. As a non-sharer, I don't know how I can encourage this behavior in my children. I have my stuff, other people have theirs, and never the twain shall meet.

I question whether sharing is even a good thing. If a child shares, the child has less of whatever resource is being shared. I can see the purpose of sharing in a hunter gatherer society where one person kills a bird and someone else has some berries, so they make a meal out of it. But we have Publix. We don't need to share now. We can just get our own stuff.

I know that while it is odd but semi-tolerated for me to blurt out "I'm not sharing" after a waiter at PF Chang's tells the table about how the restaurant encourages trying each other's plates, that same behavior may not go over well in a kindergarten class. I also know that am not in a position to be overly critical when I get a note from a teacher that says Henry doesn't share well with others.

Baby Fight Club

2009-07-13T21:19:00.002-05:00

If Michael Vick would've had three babies and a telephone, he wouldn't have gone to jail.

I checked the legality of baby fighting in Alabama and it appears to be legal. Dog fighting is illegal, of course. See Ala. Code Section 3-1-29. As is bear wrestling. See Ala. Code Section 13A-12-5(a) ("A person commits the offense of unlawful bear exploitation if he or she knowingly . . . [p]romotes, engages in, or is employed at a bear wrestling match.") Surprisingly - nothing specifically about babies.

So, this Saturday, bring a baby and a stack of twenties to my place. BYOB. Regular UFC regulations apply, but with a scaled down six sided ring.

I will warn you that the 18 to 20 pound weight class is stacked. And, don't forget the two rules of Baby Fight Club.

Plaid Pants Friday (Belated)

2009-07-11T22:38:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was Friday, which I declared to be Plaid Pants Friday two weeks ago. But finding interesting people in plaid pants to feature every week was harder than I thought. Maybe interesting people don't wear plaid pants; I'm at a loss.

Being without a subject for Plaid Pants Friday yesterday, I took a picture of my own plaid pants with my Blackberry when I got to my office. I tried to send it to myself, but it didn't go through. Then I got busy and had no Plaid Pants Friday post.

I was alerted to my failure by a fellow parent of multiples. So here is an autobiographical Plaid Pants Friday post . . . on Saturday.

My plaid pants from Friday:

This is the part of the post where I would write about the wearer of the plaid pants. In this case, you know that the subject sports a pair of fancy plaid pants to work at a law firm. What else is there to know?

Happy Belated Plaid Pants Friday. Nice pants, Self.

Our Little Peanut

2009-07-08T22:02:00.002-05:00

The kids had their one year checkup on Tuesday. Rosemary weighed in at 16 pounds, 3.5 ounces. She is still not on the growth chart for her actual age (not adjusted for prematurity) despite our efforts to fatten her up. She is getting closer, but the bottom line on the chart in the pediatrician's file still eludes her.

She is proportionally small, in that she is a short as she is light. She is just small all over. She only grew out of her size 0 newborn sandals last month.

She is Thing 3 on the left:

And the flying Thing 3, who looks like she is crying, but is really laughing (I think):

She is a perfect little package, but I still get frustrated when her dot doesn't make it on that stupid curve. After every weigh in, we do our own chart at medcalc, and every time I obsess about it - looking at the prior charts and seeing if she has moved up or down a fraction of a notch around the fifth percentile for her adjusted age.

Then, after the appropriate amount of obsessing and stressing about why she is not yet huge, I remember to look at my wedding band on my finger and think of this:

I took this picture of Rosemary when she was 21 days old - as soon as her little arms looked big and sturdy enough for me to slip my well scrubbed wedding band over her hand. If I wasn't scared I would snap her arm, I think I could have gotten it all the way up to her shoulder.

When I put the location of her dot on the chart in perspective with the ring on my finger, I stop obsessing and I'm just appreciative that we have a healthy, happy, beautiful (according to me) one year old girl, who has come a long long way.

Baby Names

2009-07-06T21:55:00.004-05:00

I am fascinated with baby names.

First, the name a parent chooses for a baby tells you so much about the parent on many different levels.

Second, the idea that a parent gets to assign a name to another human is just baffling. When our kids' Social Security cards came in the mail (with sequential numbers, by the way), I still couldn't believe we got to name other humans, even if they were our kids. We just picked names, declared the kids to have the names, and the government and everyone else recognized our choice.

So, how did we pick our kids names?

Before we knew the allotment of boys and/or girls in our trio, Heather and I decided a system for name picking. I wanted to give a boy a family name if we had one, so I asked for first boy pick. Since I had first boy pick, Heather had first girl pick. I got second girl and Heather got second boy, etc. Each of us had complete veto power on any pick.

First Boy, George Henry ("Henry"): My grandfather and great grandfather were both George Henry. They were not George Henry and George Henry, Jr., they were just George Henry and George Henry - again. Heather wanted to call George Henry, "Henry," and I reluctantly agreed. Now I can't believe that I ever wanted to call our little Henry, "George."

After first boy pick, my version and Heather's version of events may differ. This is my version:

First Girl, Piper Grace: In the December 2007 issue of Vogue, there was a piece on the Governor of Alaska, Sarah Palin. Keep in mind, this was before Sarah Palin was picked to be on the Republican ticket and became a Tina Fey impression. She was just the Governor of Alaska and the former mayor of Whoknowswhere. Evidently, she was also well dressed enough to make the pages of the magazine that sits in our bathroom. Heather apparently saw the name "Piper" in the article (one of Palin's kids), liked it, and filed it away. When we were discussing names in early 2008, Heather tossed out "Piper" as her pick. I wanted something a little different and "Piper" certainly qualified. Heather didn't remember where she had seen the name until Palin was tapped as McCain's running mate after the kids were born. If she did, Piper may have not been a Piper.

The name Piper became less "different" in 2008, jumping from the 240th most popular girl name in 2007 to the 172nd in 2008, per the SSA database, which I attribute to the Palin effect.

Second Girl, Rosemary Faith: Heather doesn't like it when I tell people this because it makes me sound like a redneck. But, it is what it is. On Lenny Kravitz's CD, Let Love Rule, Track 9 is "Rosemary." The CD has been in and out of my CD player (and now my iPod) since high school. I won't say that I named a child after this song (because that would make me a redneck), but the name of the girl in the song gave rise to the inspiration for the name for our child (got that?). I have just always thought it was a pretty name. I threw it out and it stuck.

Although Rosemary seems less "different" to me than Piper, it was actually the 754th most popular girl name in 2008 - much less popular than Piper even before the Palin effect.

I think our children's names are a good reflection of us and they seem to fit the kids. I don't know what the manner by which we chose the names says about us. But, it is what it is - at least according to me.

The Other Time I Called Poison Control

2009-07-03T18:30:00.005-05:00

The incident re: the butt paste Wednesday night was the second time I have called Poison Control. The first time was in college.

I was asleep in bed and felt something in my boxer shorts. As I was coming to, I felt a stabbing pain. I frantically swatted about my shorts area and got a second slightly less painful shot. I jumped out of bed and pulled off my boxers.

A scorpion crawled out of my boxer shorts.

At the time, the only thing I knew about scorpions was what I had seen in movies. Scorpions in movies are usually in the desert and are really bad, hence the inclusion in the movie. I had no idea there was a possibility of being stung by a scorpion in Florida, much less in my apartment - in my bed. From my existing knowledge base, the possibility of being attacked by a shark in my bed was just as likely as my scorpion encounter.

Not knowing if death was imminent and living in the dark age before Google, I called 911. They asked if I had an emergency. I said I didn't know, but I would appreciate a little information in that respect. After a some banter about how the 911 operator could either send, or not send, an ambulance if I thought I needed one or not, we decided I should call P.C.

I called P.C. and the operator asked me about the scorpion, which was now on my wall. We determined that it was one of the several species of non-lethal Florida scorpions. Who knew?

The thing is, both times I have called, the P.C. person has been totally nonchalant. Every time those people pick up the phone, they know they are about to hear a mildly crazy story. That would be a pretty cool job.

For future reference, the number for Poison Control is 1-800-222-1222. The number for Delta Airlines is 1-800-221-1212. They are sort of similar.

Plaid Pants Friday

2009-07-03T10:23:00.002-05:00

This is Harry and his famous plaid pants:

Harry is the one on the left. I don't know Harry. I don't know who Harry is, but I googled some variant to of "plaid pants" for the second Friday ~~space filler~~ tribute to plaid pants and found this picture captioned "Harry and his Famous Plaid Pants."

This is what I know about Harry. There are 13 people in this picture. Harry is only half in the picture. Yet, Harry made a big enough impression on the person who scanned this 30+ year old picture that he/she named it after him. Way to make an impression, Harry. Nice pants.

Because I regressed so quickly from professional golfer Ricky Barnes to an old picture of a guy named Harry, I am having serious doubts that I can find anything timely regarding plaid pants once a week for Plaid Pants Friday. I couldn't have possibly have overestimated the popularity of plaid pants. Everyone loves plaid pants, right?

Friday will still be Plaid Pants Friday going forward, but some weeks I will just give it a moment of silence.

Are They Twins?

2009-07-02T07:22:00.008-05:00

So, I was on the phone with Poison Control last night after the girls played in / ate about an eight of a tub of Boudreaux’s Butt Paste. Henry, because he has a big brain inside that big melon of his, did not partake in the snack.

I told P.C. about the incident and what happened, and we had this exchange:

P.C.: How old are the girls?
Me: One.
P.C.: Are they twins?
Me: Yes . . . well, sort of. They are two of a set of three, but the third one didn't eat any butt paste. So, I guess they are twins with respect to each other, but they aren't the only two.
P.C.: So they are triplets?
Me.: Yes. But only two ate the butt paste.

Normally, I would just let the twin question go with a "yes" if I don't know the person, but this was health care related and I thought it might be relevant that the girls are high order multiples.

The "twin" question usually comes up when I am walking with a double stroller containing the two girls and I don't want to flag down Heather with Henry in the single stroller after the person asks to see the other baby. The only other time I said they were twins was when I was in Gymboree on an emergency swimsuit/cover-up/floppy hat run and the salesperson who asked me was a mother of twins. I just didn't feel like one-upping the nice lady who had helped me pick the swimwear ensembles by saying that there was really one more baby, but the other baby already had a full compliment of swimwear and swimwear related accessories. I was also in a hurry to get out of Gymboree because girls' clothes stress me out. In hindsight, my not wanting to one-up the nice lady wasn't reasonable, but I was all out of sorts from the exposure to the girls' clothes.

Anyway, after I got off the phone with P.C., Heather and I were talking about the "twins" thing. She thinks the girls are never twins because they are two of a set of three. I can't argue with that logic, but I also can't get around the confusion and complexity I add to a conversation when I am speaking of just two kids, in isolation of the third kid, and I say they are triplets. As the kids get older and do more girls things and boy things apart from each other, I am going to have to come up with a concise statement in response to this question. As of yet, I don't have one.

The "House Divided" is Getting out of Hand

2009-07-01T06:14:00.002-05:00

I've seen an increasing number of "The House Divided" license plates on cars recently. I saw this one on an SUV parked in front of my office.

Because we are in the South, it's safe to assume this person's house is allegedly divided over football and not gymnastics or lacrosse. College football is king in the South; nevertheless, I doubt the severity of the strife in the SUV owner's home. Could this strife possibly warrant a license plate display?

From an unreliable google search, I show that Alabama and Florida only played 29 regular season games in the 102 years from 1904 to 2006. (I know my search results are unreliable because Florida didn't field a football team until 1906.)

Further adding to the curiosity of this plate choice is the glaring fact that Alabama was really good for about a hundred years while Florida was busy inventing Gatorade and jean shorts. Before 1990, Florida won only six of its meetings with Alabama and got shut out eight times. In Florida's defense, one of the shutouts came in the 1904 "game." When no Florida players showed up, it would have been nice if the Alabama guys just went and grabbed some beers rather than running up and down the field by themselves scoring points. But I digress.

For a house to be "divided" enough to justify a license plate, I say the teams have to play a semi-competitive game almost yearly. I can see if one spouse is an Alabama fan and one is Auburn, you are "the house divided." Same goes for Ohio State-Michigan, Texas-Oklahoma, Notre Dame-USC, etc. Games that are scheduled about a frequently as presidential elections just don't make the cut.

I am not one to call out a fellow Gator, so I have to assume the Gator's spouse procured the license plate in question. I still must ask you, fellow Gator, can't we just get along? Think about the kids. Please don't let a football game every 1283 days divide your otherwise happy home.

Smash Cake Crisis Averted

2009-06-27T22:37:00.002-05:00

The babies' first birthday party was Saturday afternoon. We had a cake, that everyone ate, and we had "smash cakes" for the babies.

Until a month ago, I didn't know what a "smash cake" was. For the uninitiated, a smash cake is a small cake made for a baby to eat/destroy on his or her first birthday. Baby has cake for the first time - baby gets all messy beating on a cake - fun time had by all.

I was slow to buy into the idea of smash cakes, or our kids eating cake at all, for that matter. Initially I was opposed to anything that was not whole wheat or had added sugar. My desire for good early childhood nutrition was overcome by the thought of the kids pounding the heck out of a cake and seeing the look on their faces when they ate their first big bite of cake. By Friday, the day before the party, I was really looking forward to having three cakes for the babies to destroy.

Heather had picked out the birthday cake well in advance at one of our local bakeries and ordered three smash cakes to go with the cake. She picked them up on Friday.

This is the cake:

And this is one of the three smash cakes the bakery made to go with the main cake:

For purposes of scale this is my Chap-Stick next to the smash cake:

If this was something I thought Heather would mess with me about, I would have thought these cakes were a joke. If you recall the movie Spinal Tap, there was a scene where the the band wanted a 18 foot Stonehenge replica monument on stage. Because the drawing they made said 18" instead of 18', they got a comically small Stonehenge monument instead. That is what I though of when I saw these tiny cakes. These were not at all what I had in mind.

Heather wasn't too happy about the tiny squish cakes either, so I went down to the bakery to find out what was up with them trying to pass of something smaller than a cupcake off as a smash cake. I didn't get a straight answer about how these tiny cakes could be smashed by a child as opposed to being hurled across the room, and I was told two times by two different people that there was just no way to get bigger cakes to be smashed by Saturday at 1:00.

I don't like to be one of "those" parents who thinks that every little thing is a huge deal, but I was one of those parents in the bakery on Friday. I've seen Cake Boss on TLC. Cake Boss doesn't say how something can't be done; Cake Boss does it. By God, I wanted proper cakes for my kids to smash and I wasn't leaving that place until we had it sorted out.

I am pretty sure I'm not be welcome in that bakery anymore, but we got our cakes:

And the kids did a respectable job of smashing them.

Plaid Pants Friday

2009-06-26T06:12:00.005-05:00

In the tradition of Mustache Wednesday, I declare today Plaid Pants Friday.

This is Ricky Barnes sporting a semi-mean pair of plaid trousers during the 3rd round of last week's U.S. Open. You know, professional golfer Ricky Barnes? Finished 25th on the Nationwide Tour in 2008? Right, that guy:

Barnes was leading the Open at 8-under through the 3rd round. He foolishly chose black trousers for the final round and shot a 6-over 76 to tie for second place. Lose the pants, lose the lead. But this isn't the last we'll hear from Ricky Barnes. OK, well maybe it is. Tough break, Barnes. Nice pants.

Happy Birthday!

2009-06-25T06:25:00.002-05:00

Happy birthday to Piper, Henry and Rosemary. They came into the world one year ago at 12:36, 12:37 and 12:37 p.m., respectively. The story is recounted here in case you missed it. It's hard to believe the pictures in Heather's old post are our babies. They have come so far.

Also happy belated birthday to Laramy Downs, daughter to Heather's brother Zac and his wife Kimberly. She was born last night at about 11:30 p.m., weighing 8 pounds even. Laramy missed having to share her future birthdays with her three cousins by about a half hour.