First off, my apologies to our "fan," Caroline, who lives not in Grays but in Colchester, a good 40 miles away. All was not bad, however, as I was able to cancel my Grays Athletic t-shirt and replace it with a Colchester United -- The U's -- order.
I'm hoping that Caroline can start our first satellite fan club in Essex in the near future, and I'll be keeping everyone posted on her progress.
So, last night we packed Kristen's bags for the hospital. We have been putting it off for a while, instead doing other important chores such as eating ice cream and giving and receiving foot rubs, but at around 9 last night, Kristen felt some... rumbling.
Well, rumbling isn't really the proper word. More of odd feelings in her lower abdomen -- like a cramp -- and tinglings in her legs. I don't think I have to tell you that I was ready to drive to the hospital! Instead, we looked on the Internet and poured through all 142 baby books to see what was happening.
Fortunately (or unfortunately), they were just some Braxton-Hicks contractions (or false labor), and although they were uncomfortable and made falling asleep a chore, and Kristen's still pregnant. But we decided that the next strange feeling may not be a warning, and we got to packing.
We had everything on our list except for two things. The first was a pacifier (or two or three), and we'll be heading off to buy some tonight. The second was phone numbers.
Here's the thing. I'm sure some of you want to know when Kristen gives birth. And while the national news will likely take a few hours to pick it up and break into your prime time television programs, you want to know right away. Right?
So, here it goes. E-mail me or Kristen (or Caroline is Colchester if you're one of our European fans), and give us your cell phone or home phone number or whatever means you want to hear about this. I'll probably post something here (with a picture or two), but it won't be right away (or, really, any time soon).
If it's by cell phone, you'll get a text. It will likely say how big he is, what time he was born, what skin tone he has (I'm thinking he'll be an Autumn, but Kristen's sure he'll be a Spring), and the Swiss bank account number we've opened in his name (Legos aren't cheap).
If it's a regular phone, you'll get a 20 second call, but no bank numbers (the nurses might overhear).
Got it? Send me or Kristen your information, even if you're pretty sure we already have it. Doesn't matter. We just want all of it available in the same place so if I have to use my cell and not hers, there won't be any confusion.
And no 900 numbers. Perverts.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The Gravelmen
A couple of weeks ago, I added a counter to the blog. Along with telling me how many hits we get a day, it also says where the people are that are visiting.
I'm not sure why I did it, but it's interesting to see how many people read this every day. For the most part, there are about 20 hits a day from about 10 different people. They cluster around Chicago (for obvious reasons) and the East Coast (for other obvious reasons). If I see someone from Deerfield, Illinois, I assume that it's one of my former co-workers at a pharmaceutical company. If I see a hit from Brighton, Massachusetts, I assume it's our friend Jodi. If it's Austin, it's our friend Ryan.
Boring, I know. But whatever. Here, however, is where it gets interesting.
Look up at the top of the page. See what's right next to "Flag Blog" and "Search Blog"? It's a "Next Blog" icon. What Blogger (the service I use) does is they randomly choose a recently updated blog to be that "Next Blog". I assume it only lasts for about an hour or so -- until it randomly chooses something else -- but it's sort of an interesting look at what people are talking about throughout the world.
When you click on it, it can send you to blogs created all over the world. When I just clicked on it now, I got something from a writer in Argentina. I clicked again, and it was Wisconsin. I clicked one more time, and it was the Netherlands.
Well, on Saturday morning, I checked to see how many visitors we had on Friday, and I was astounded to see 50. Fifty! I felt like people actually started to like me! That all those friends and family members who had shunned us had let bygones be bygones. When I looked to see where they were coming from, though, it was strange. Brazil. Florida. Singapore. California. Places where we don't know many people -- if any. But then I realized, for an hour or so, Barnabas Monkeypants was chosed to be the "Next Blog"!
My excitement quickly abated, however. Most of the people clicked on the blog, read a sentence or two, and quickly went on their fine way. Two people read a couple of posts, but most realized that they really didn't care about me and my baby-related neuroses.
But then there was that one person, a visitor from Grays, Thurrock, United Kingdom. (Where is that, you ask? I didn't know either, but I looked it up and found out it's a small town about 25 miles east of London, right on the Thames.) This person clicked 9 times.
Nine times!
How exciting was that! They were interested enough to spend a good half hour reading up on someone they didn't know from Adam. They went back and read from the start of the blog, I'm sure pausing occasionally to compare my prose style to that of classic writers such as Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, and Stan Lee. It was nice, in that small way, to be appreciated by a complete stranger.
Here's the thing: on Saturday, they returned. They checked in to see if I had written anything new.
And Sunday, they were back.
Monday? You guessed it.
So, I'm now proud to say, Barnabas Monkeypants has its first fan. I'm thinking about starting a club, maybe printing t-shirts. Sure, it'll be slow at first, but by next year, I bet we can double our fan base to 2. The year following, I'm confident that there will be another growth spurt to 3, 4, or, possibly, 5. (Yes, yes, dear. I know. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.)
You know what 5 fans means? A convention!
I guess what I'm trying to say is this changes everything. Pretty soon we'll be splashing the site with advertising, charging a subscription to read, and maybe even branching off into books, television, and film.
And, years from now, when you complain about all this and say "I read it when", you only have one person to blame.
Our fan in Grays, Thurrock, United Kingdom.
To you, fan, I hope you're proud of yourself.
(Note: The Gravelmen is the nickname of the local football club, Grays Athletic. I'm planning on ordering a t-shirt.)
I'm not sure why I did it, but it's interesting to see how many people read this every day. For the most part, there are about 20 hits a day from about 10 different people. They cluster around Chicago (for obvious reasons) and the East Coast (for other obvious reasons). If I see someone from Deerfield, Illinois, I assume that it's one of my former co-workers at a pharmaceutical company. If I see a hit from Brighton, Massachusetts, I assume it's our friend Jodi. If it's Austin, it's our friend Ryan.
Boring, I know. But whatever. Here, however, is where it gets interesting.
Look up at the top of the page. See what's right next to "Flag Blog" and "Search Blog"? It's a "Next Blog" icon. What Blogger (the service I use) does is they randomly choose a recently updated blog to be that "Next Blog". I assume it only lasts for about an hour or so -- until it randomly chooses something else -- but it's sort of an interesting look at what people are talking about throughout the world.
When you click on it, it can send you to blogs created all over the world. When I just clicked on it now, I got something from a writer in Argentina. I clicked again, and it was Wisconsin. I clicked one more time, and it was the Netherlands.
Well, on Saturday morning, I checked to see how many visitors we had on Friday, and I was astounded to see 50. Fifty! I felt like people actually started to like me! That all those friends and family members who had shunned us had let bygones be bygones. When I looked to see where they were coming from, though, it was strange. Brazil. Florida. Singapore. California. Places where we don't know many people -- if any. But then I realized, for an hour or so, Barnabas Monkeypants was chosed to be the "Next Blog"!
My excitement quickly abated, however. Most of the people clicked on the blog, read a sentence or two, and quickly went on their fine way. Two people read a couple of posts, but most realized that they really didn't care about me and my baby-related neuroses.
But then there was that one person, a visitor from Grays, Thurrock, United Kingdom. (Where is that, you ask? I didn't know either, but I looked it up and found out it's a small town about 25 miles east of London, right on the Thames.) This person clicked 9 times.
Nine times!
How exciting was that! They were interested enough to spend a good half hour reading up on someone they didn't know from Adam. They went back and read from the start of the blog, I'm sure pausing occasionally to compare my prose style to that of classic writers such as Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, and Stan Lee. It was nice, in that small way, to be appreciated by a complete stranger.
Here's the thing: on Saturday, they returned. They checked in to see if I had written anything new.
And Sunday, they were back.
Monday? You guessed it.
So, I'm now proud to say, Barnabas Monkeypants has its first fan. I'm thinking about starting a club, maybe printing t-shirts. Sure, it'll be slow at first, but by next year, I bet we can double our fan base to 2. The year following, I'm confident that there will be another growth spurt to 3, 4, or, possibly, 5. (Yes, yes, dear. I know. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.)
You know what 5 fans means? A convention!
I guess what I'm trying to say is this changes everything. Pretty soon we'll be splashing the site with advertising, charging a subscription to read, and maybe even branching off into books, television, and film.
And, years from now, when you complain about all this and say "I read it when", you only have one person to blame.
Our fan in Grays, Thurrock, United Kingdom.
To you, fan, I hope you're proud of yourself.
(Note: The Gravelmen is the nickname of the local football club, Grays Athletic. I'm planning on ordering a t-shirt.)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Guerilla Marketing
Okay. Another pithy, "Wow-I've-never-heard-that-before!" statement:
Having a baby is expensive.
It's almost like opening up a store. (Ah, retail as a simile for parenting.) The start-up costs are huge. You have to buy fixtures (crib, dresser), gussy the place up (painting), stock up your merchandise before the first customer comes in the store (onesies, bedding, toys), and advertise (this blog [which doesn't cost anything, per se, but it does take up some of my time]).
And then, when you finally have your grand opening, people flock to the store and buy stuff.
Okay, the metaphor ends there, but after all the things that we've bought (and have been bought for us), we don't really have to buy anything else for a while -- except for diapers and other poop-related products. It's more of a wait and see so that maybe we'll need this or we definitely don't need that or I can't believe we ever lived without the other.
Either way, our bank account will be happy once we stop having to buy everything in preparation and start raking in the bucks (remember, we're selling photo rights).
Having a baby is expensive.
It's almost like opening up a store. (Ah, retail as a simile for parenting.) The start-up costs are huge. You have to buy fixtures (crib, dresser), gussy the place up (painting), stock up your merchandise before the first customer comes in the store (onesies, bedding, toys), and advertise (this blog [which doesn't cost anything, per se, but it does take up some of my time]).
And then, when you finally have your grand opening, people flock to the store and buy stuff.
Okay, the metaphor ends there, but after all the things that we've bought (and have been bought for us), we don't really have to buy anything else for a while -- except for diapers and other poop-related products. It's more of a wait and see so that maybe we'll need this or we definitely don't need that or I can't believe we ever lived without the other.
Either way, our bank account will be happy once we stop having to buy everything in preparation and start raking in the bucks (remember, we're selling photo rights).
Friday, July 25, 2008
When Weeks Go by Like Days
Just over a month ago, we had our baby shower (you can read about it here if you haven't already), and because we're so on the ball, I'm finally posting a few pictures for you who weren't there to see (and for you who were there to say "Look at that stain on my pants!").
We held the party in the back patio of our building, and we had just enough chairs (with me and our friend J.-P. standing about most of the day) for everyone to sit down. For the most part, this summer has been great weather-wise (with only a few really hot days), and this was no exception. (I don't know if you can see it, but the deviled eggs are on the table there. I ate 2.)
Our friend Katia really did a bang-up job of organizing the shower, and here she is with her really cute daughter, Zoe. (Katia informed me that Barnabas will likely have to take Zoe to her senior prom 17 years from now, so I'm having Kristen start the designs on the corsage this weekend.)
Of course, there were two other little girls there, Lily and Eva, who will also have their eye on the monkey in the years to come. There will be some tears, I'm sure, but in the end, they'll all be great friends. At least on Facebook.
We got a lot of really nice gifts from everyone, and our friend Rob (whose wife, Jenny, just had a baby 10 days ago, sure to be Barnabas' best pal), took some pictures of them. Actually, he took all of the pictures (and well, too), but because he's an Art Director, he felt compelled to better compose all of the bags, boxes, packages, and ribbons on the gift table. Jenny just shook her head. That's what wives do, I think. Watch their husbands do silly things and then shake their head.
Either way, I think he did a great job.
So that's it.
And if you still haven't gotten your thank-you card, they're on their way. I'm serious. Really.
We held the party in the back patio of our building, and we had just enough chairs (with me and our friend J.-P. standing about most of the day) for everyone to sit down. For the most part, this summer has been great weather-wise (with only a few really hot days), and this was no exception. (I don't know if you can see it, but the deviled eggs are on the table there. I ate 2.)
Our friend Katia really did a bang-up job of organizing the shower, and here she is with her really cute daughter, Zoe. (Katia informed me that Barnabas will likely have to take Zoe to her senior prom 17 years from now, so I'm having Kristen start the designs on the corsage this weekend.)
Of course, there were two other little girls there, Lily and Eva, who will also have their eye on the monkey in the years to come. There will be some tears, I'm sure, but in the end, they'll all be great friends. At least on Facebook.
We got a lot of really nice gifts from everyone, and our friend Rob (whose wife, Jenny, just had a baby 10 days ago, sure to be Barnabas' best pal), took some pictures of them. Actually, he took all of the pictures (and well, too), but because he's an Art Director, he felt compelled to better compose all of the bags, boxes, packages, and ribbons on the gift table. Jenny just shook her head. That's what wives do, I think. Watch their husbands do silly things and then shake their head.
Either way, I think he did a great job.
So that's it.
And if you still haven't gotten your thank-you card, they're on their way. I'm serious. Really.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tick Tock
I have no clue what more has to be done in preparing for Barnabas. We're just waiting.
Everything is set. The painting, the constructing, the washing and folding.
Right now, the only thing that we need is Barnabas, and unlike most of the packages we get in the mail, there is no tracking number. Kristen went to the doctor's yesterday for her now-weekly checkup, and there is no change width or thickness or size or any of the strange ways doctors measure how soon someone should be giving birth.
So although Kristen would really like to have the monkey arrive right-now-this-instant-thank-you-very-much, it's not going to happen, and we still have those three weeks (or more) to go.
(I do love how so many people say conflicting things about childbirth: it's not that bad/it's the worst pain I ever felt; first-time mothers are usually late/first-time mothers are always early.)
I guess we need to think of things to do for the next couple of weeks, especially now that Twister is out of the question.
Everything is set. The painting, the constructing, the washing and folding.
Right now, the only thing that we need is Barnabas, and unlike most of the packages we get in the mail, there is no tracking number. Kristen went to the doctor's yesterday for her now-weekly checkup, and there is no change width or thickness or size or any of the strange ways doctors measure how soon someone should be giving birth.
So although Kristen would really like to have the monkey arrive right-now-this-instant-thank-you-very-much, it's not going to happen, and we still have those three weeks (or more) to go.
(I do love how so many people say conflicting things about childbirth: it's not that bad/it's the worst pain I ever felt; first-time mothers are usually late/first-time mothers are always early.)
I guess we need to think of things to do for the next couple of weeks, especially now that Twister is out of the question.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Organizamation
I'm going to type something now that most people are going to laugh at (and not the ha, ha-type laugh, but the scoff-type of laugh):
Having this baby is going to help me get a lot of my unfinished projects on track.
And I'm not talking about baby-related projects either (although I'll be doing plenty of them). I'm talking about all of those things that I've started and not finished or never started to begin with.
I think following through with things is one of my biggest challenges in life (and I'm pretty sure it's up there with everyone). I'm not saying that I have all these great ideas and just don't have time for it. I'm saying that I waste too much time on things that I really don't need to be doing.
We bought one of these for Barnabas. Basically, it's a machine that tells you when you last fed your baby or changed your baby or napped (parallel construction, people) your baby, and it makes it so that you can (as much as possible) keep everything on a schedule.
Yes, yes, I know. Having a baby isn't that easy. Feeding should be every 2 hours, but it may be every 1 1/2. Naps should be an hour, but maybe they don't last that long or happen at all.
But at least there's a semblance of a schedule going on, right?
And maybe that's what I need. So now, after I come home from work and finish dinner, maybe I should do some writing or cleaning or organizing instead of watching television or surfing the Internet. Sure, I won't be able to do them for hours at a time -- and certainly less when Barnabas arrives -- but maybe a half hour, a scheduled half-hour. And just so you don't think I'm being selfish, I want Kristen to have this time, too.
There are too many things to get done, and maybe we all need a grown-up Itzbeen to help us get them completed.
Having this baby is going to help me get a lot of my unfinished projects on track.
And I'm not talking about baby-related projects either (although I'll be doing plenty of them). I'm talking about all of those things that I've started and not finished or never started to begin with.
I think following through with things is one of my biggest challenges in life (and I'm pretty sure it's up there with everyone). I'm not saying that I have all these great ideas and just don't have time for it. I'm saying that I waste too much time on things that I really don't need to be doing.
We bought one of these for Barnabas. Basically, it's a machine that tells you when you last fed your baby or changed your baby or napped (parallel construction, people) your baby, and it makes it so that you can (as much as possible) keep everything on a schedule.
Yes, yes, I know. Having a baby isn't that easy. Feeding should be every 2 hours, but it may be every 1 1/2. Naps should be an hour, but maybe they don't last that long or happen at all.
But at least there's a semblance of a schedule going on, right?
And maybe that's what I need. So now, after I come home from work and finish dinner, maybe I should do some writing or cleaning or organizing instead of watching television or surfing the Internet. Sure, I won't be able to do them for hours at a time -- and certainly less when Barnabas arrives -- but maybe a half hour, a scheduled half-hour. And just so you don't think I'm being selfish, I want Kristen to have this time, too.
There are too many things to get done, and maybe we all need a grown-up Itzbeen to help us get them completed.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Note to Self: Recharge Daily
On Friday, I thought I lost Kristen.
No, not in the medical-drama sort of way ("Doctor, we're losing him!"), but in the where-the-heck-is-she sort of way. And it was not pretty on my part.
Here's how it went down (I sound really "street", don't I?):
During the summer, my company lets its employees leave early on Fridays; unfortunately for Kristen, her company isn't as nice (overall they're nicer; in this instance, however, they're not). So I usually take the 2:34 train home, do whatever errands I have to do (eat ice cream, think of trades for my imaginary baseball league, ponder exercising only to decide that it's best to eat more ice cream), and then pick her up from the train station.
Most times, Kristen will call me from the office and tell me which train she's on (usually, it's the 5:21); sometimes, though, she's in a rush, so she'll call me from the downtown station or while the train is moving. It's no problem, because we're only a 5 minute drive away from the Rogers Park stop. (Are you taking notes? There will be a test.)
By 5:30, I hadn't heard anything from Kristen, but I decided to drive over to the train station anyway, and park with all the other picker-uppers. At 5:45, when the train rolled into the station, I didn't see Kristen. No big deal. I call her cell phone. It goes straight to voicemail. I call her work. After a few rings, it, too, goes to voicemail.
I figure that she missed the 5:21 and is now sitting on the train in the station downtown (where cell phone reception isnt' very good), waiting for the 5:43. So I, too, wait, and read my book. I try her cell a couple of more times, but it always goes to voicemail.
Hmm.
So, the 5:43 arrives at just before 6, and no Kristen. Now I'm starting to freak out a little bit. I mean, she's nearly 9 months pregnant! So I start driving around, going up and down the streets between the train station and our house (it's about 8 blocks -- maybe a little more; I've walked it a few times, and it takes me around 20 minutes). So I drive up and down, back and forth, looking for her.
Nothing.
It's a hot day out -- a humid, Chicago summer day. It had rained earlier, so it's even muggier than usual. Up and down, back and forth.
Now I'm getting a little frantic.
(I'm still calling her cell and her work, but now I'm adding our home number to my list. Still just voicemail.)
It seems like I've been driving around for about a half hour, and I'm starting to panic. (A side note: during my drive, I'm listening to NPR, and they have a story about the best BBQ place in Texas that has been creating something of a sensation in this small town. Listen to it. It'll make you drool. This however did not placate my fears.)
As I turn off Clark and onto Albion for what seems like the fiftieth time, my cell phone rings. It says "HOME" on it, but I still answer, not with "How are you?" or "Are you okay?", but with "Where are you?" (I'm not so good under pressure it seems). Of course, Kristen, being a normal person, answers, "I'm at home. Where are--", but I cut her off.
I then begin cursing. Yelling. (I'll censor myself because we know of some of your sensibilities.) "*#($&*@!!! Why didn't you call me? How did you get home? Don't $%@^^& do this! Are you okay? %$%!@^!" And then, suddenly, I'm a wreck. I'm in tears, bawling like I haven't in probably 30 years. I speed home.
What happened was this: I missed her when she came off the train. Her cell phone ran out of battery. There are no taxis in the area (it's too residential for there to be cabs at 5:30 in the afternoon). There are no payphones anymore (can you find one if you really need to?). So, Kristen walked. And I panicked.
And not only did I panic, but after I spoke with her and found out she was okay, I became a complete wreck. I mean, Kristen was fine (if not a little tired and overheated). Yet I was this bawling pile of flesh. As soon as I heard her voice, all the things that could've gone wrong (and didn't) came flying into my mind. Strangely, I wasn't really thinking about those things while I was driving around looking for her. I was thinking more of "gotta find her, gotta find her, gotta find her", like I was a bloodhound searching out an escaped convict. But it wasn't really anything specific or overly terrifying. But when I finally spoke with her, all I could think of was "what if she's hurt, what if there's something wrong, what if Barnabas is hurt". It was this rush of every horrible possibility.
I don't know what this says about me. Maybe I have to toughen up or something. Maybe I have to be a bit more rational. Maybe I have to panic more when I don't know what's happening and less when I know that everything's okay.
In any case, it was scary, but ended happily and with no one worse for the wear.
And, best of all, we had BBQ for dinner.
No, not in the medical-drama sort of way ("Doctor, we're losing him!"), but in the where-the-heck-is-she sort of way. And it was not pretty on my part.
Here's how it went down (I sound really "street", don't I?):
During the summer, my company lets its employees leave early on Fridays; unfortunately for Kristen, her company isn't as nice (overall they're nicer; in this instance, however, they're not). So I usually take the 2:34 train home, do whatever errands I have to do (eat ice cream, think of trades for my imaginary baseball league, ponder exercising only to decide that it's best to eat more ice cream), and then pick her up from the train station.
Most times, Kristen will call me from the office and tell me which train she's on (usually, it's the 5:21); sometimes, though, she's in a rush, so she'll call me from the downtown station or while the train is moving. It's no problem, because we're only a 5 minute drive away from the Rogers Park stop. (Are you taking notes? There will be a test.)
By 5:30, I hadn't heard anything from Kristen, but I decided to drive over to the train station anyway, and park with all the other picker-uppers. At 5:45, when the train rolled into the station, I didn't see Kristen. No big deal. I call her cell phone. It goes straight to voicemail. I call her work. After a few rings, it, too, goes to voicemail.
I figure that she missed the 5:21 and is now sitting on the train in the station downtown (where cell phone reception isnt' very good), waiting for the 5:43. So I, too, wait, and read my book. I try her cell a couple of more times, but it always goes to voicemail.
Hmm.
So, the 5:43 arrives at just before 6, and no Kristen. Now I'm starting to freak out a little bit. I mean, she's nearly 9 months pregnant! So I start driving around, going up and down the streets between the train station and our house (it's about 8 blocks -- maybe a little more; I've walked it a few times, and it takes me around 20 minutes). So I drive up and down, back and forth, looking for her.
Nothing.
It's a hot day out -- a humid, Chicago summer day. It had rained earlier, so it's even muggier than usual. Up and down, back and forth.
Now I'm getting a little frantic.
(I'm still calling her cell and her work, but now I'm adding our home number to my list. Still just voicemail.)
It seems like I've been driving around for about a half hour, and I'm starting to panic. (A side note: during my drive, I'm listening to NPR, and they have a story about the best BBQ place in Texas that has been creating something of a sensation in this small town. Listen to it. It'll make you drool. This however did not placate my fears.)
As I turn off Clark and onto Albion for what seems like the fiftieth time, my cell phone rings. It says "HOME" on it, but I still answer, not with "How are you?" or "Are you okay?", but with "Where are you?" (I'm not so good under pressure it seems). Of course, Kristen, being a normal person, answers, "I'm at home. Where are--", but I cut her off.
I then begin cursing. Yelling. (I'll censor myself because we know of some of your sensibilities.) "*#($&*@!!! Why didn't you call me? How did you get home? Don't $%@^^& do this! Are you okay? %$%!@^!" And then, suddenly, I'm a wreck. I'm in tears, bawling like I haven't in probably 30 years. I speed home.
What happened was this: I missed her when she came off the train. Her cell phone ran out of battery. There are no taxis in the area (it's too residential for there to be cabs at 5:30 in the afternoon). There are no payphones anymore (can you find one if you really need to?). So, Kristen walked. And I panicked.
And not only did I panic, but after I spoke with her and found out she was okay, I became a complete wreck. I mean, Kristen was fine (if not a little tired and overheated). Yet I was this bawling pile of flesh. As soon as I heard her voice, all the things that could've gone wrong (and didn't) came flying into my mind. Strangely, I wasn't really thinking about those things while I was driving around looking for her. I was thinking more of "gotta find her, gotta find her, gotta find her", like I was a bloodhound searching out an escaped convict. But it wasn't really anything specific or overly terrifying. But when I finally spoke with her, all I could think of was "what if she's hurt, what if there's something wrong, what if Barnabas is hurt". It was this rush of every horrible possibility.
I don't know what this says about me. Maybe I have to toughen up or something. Maybe I have to be a bit more rational. Maybe I have to panic more when I don't know what's happening and less when I know that everything's okay.
In any case, it was scary, but ended happily and with no one worse for the wear.
And, best of all, we had BBQ for dinner.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Things I Worry About -- #5 in a Series
I worry that we're going to call him Barnabas instead of his real name.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I'm Crazier Than You Think
I've determined that every parent (or parent to be) has one somewhat irrational thing that makes them go crazy. For some people, it's going organic. Everything has to be organic. OH, MY GOD, POLYESTER JUST TOUCHED MY CHILD'S SKIN! PUT THEM IN THE SCRUBBER!
For other people, it's CIA-like monitoring of the baby's every move. (The woman who sold us our sheets confided in me that she hooked up a video camera so she could watch her baby constantly in the crib.)
And for others, it's complete and utter foolishness in not vaccinating them for fear of autism. (Autism is extremely scary; not vaccinating your child is scary. The fact that vaccinations do not cause autism means that not having your baby get those shots is child abuse.)
For me, it's bumpers. What are bumpers, you ask? They're the plush crib "wallpaper" that they say prevents your baby from hitting their head. Do they cushion the blow? Of course! Do they also cause babies to smother to death? YES! And no child of mine is going to smother next to a crib bumper!
(While that is a bit of a wild exaggeration, but the American Academy of Pediatrics says not to use them, and if you can't listen to an academy, who can you listen to?)
Bumpers were first introduced in the good ol' days when the crib bars were so far apart, kids could get their heads through them. So, instead of moving the bars closer, they added another thing for parents to buy. Well, eventually, everyone got smarter, and the bars are now all a regulation distance from each other. They haven't, however, stopped selling the bumpers.
Sure, they now have very thing ones and mesh ones that are breathable, but really, why take the chance for anything to possibly tangle, strangle, or mangle Barnabas? (Nothing is supposed to be in the crib when they're an infant. No toys, no pillows, no blow-up dolls. Nothing.)
Of course, buying a crib set was more difficult. You see, they all come with bumpers. Kristen volunteered to use the fabric from the bumper to create some sort of curtain accent, but I figure she really wouldn't have much time to do crafty stuff in the near future.
So I went the whiny route. Those Lions sheets I linked to earlier? The ones that were stupid expensive? Well, I went to a local shop (one for crazy organic people) and asked if she would be willing to order the set without the bumper. You'd think these companies would like a customer's money regardless of what they were buying, but she had to cajole them into breaking it up.
But they did (and at a nice discounted price, seeing as how the bumper is the most expensive thing in the set). The set, sans bumper, should be arriving soon and will be that nice final touch to Barnabas' room.
His safe room.
For other people, it's CIA-like monitoring of the baby's every move. (The woman who sold us our sheets confided in me that she hooked up a video camera so she could watch her baby constantly in the crib.)
And for others, it's complete and utter foolishness in not vaccinating them for fear of autism. (Autism is extremely scary; not vaccinating your child is scary. The fact that vaccinations do not cause autism means that not having your baby get those shots is child abuse.)
For me, it's bumpers. What are bumpers, you ask? They're the plush crib "wallpaper" that they say prevents your baby from hitting their head. Do they cushion the blow? Of course! Do they also cause babies to smother to death? YES! And no child of mine is going to smother next to a crib bumper!
(While that is a bit of a wild exaggeration, but the American Academy of Pediatrics says not to use them, and if you can't listen to an academy, who can you listen to?)
Bumpers were first introduced in the good ol' days when the crib bars were so far apart, kids could get their heads through them. So, instead of moving the bars closer, they added another thing for parents to buy. Well, eventually, everyone got smarter, and the bars are now all a regulation distance from each other. They haven't, however, stopped selling the bumpers.
Sure, they now have very thing ones and mesh ones that are breathable, but really, why take the chance for anything to possibly tangle, strangle, or mangle Barnabas? (Nothing is supposed to be in the crib when they're an infant. No toys, no pillows, no blow-up dolls. Nothing.)
Of course, buying a crib set was more difficult. You see, they all come with bumpers. Kristen volunteered to use the fabric from the bumper to create some sort of curtain accent, but I figure she really wouldn't have much time to do crafty stuff in the near future.
So I went the whiny route. Those Lions sheets I linked to earlier? The ones that were stupid expensive? Well, I went to a local shop (one for crazy organic people) and asked if she would be willing to order the set without the bumper. You'd think these companies would like a customer's money regardless of what they were buying, but she had to cajole them into breaking it up.
But they did (and at a nice discounted price, seeing as how the bumper is the most expensive thing in the set). The set, sans bumper, should be arriving soon and will be that nice final touch to Barnabas' room.
His safe room.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I'm Half the Man I Used to Be
I can be, at times, an emotional guy. If there's a seeing eye dog leading a blind person down the street, I'll likely start to well up. It's a mixture of me being sensitive and a little bit nutty.
With the upcoming (one month until due date!) arrival of Barnabas, I think that those tear ducts are going to get a workout. I've promised Kristen, however, that I will try to limit the number of times I get weepy. Those times are as follows:
1. His birth. This may be the one with the most water works. I'm not saying I'm going to be crying so hard that I'll lose consciousness or anything, but I'm sure I'll be wiping my face with the nearest baby blanket.
2. The first time I kiss his toes. Have you seen a baby's toes? I mean, have you ever really seen them? Priceless. That's a weepy moment.
3. The first time he grabs my finger/thumb. Touching moment for even the most hardened man. That's a no brainer.
4. His first smile. What? Are you calling me a wuss!?
5. The first time he hugs me. My God, I'm getting a little weepy right now.
6. "Dad-da." Here. Take some of these. You'll need them.
7. His first crawl. Thankfully, this one will probably be hidden by the video camera stuck in front of my face. When possible, avoid others seeing you cry. It's just not manly.
8. His first comic book reading. I'm thinking Donald Duck. I'll make sure it's a short story. I don't know if I'll be able to hold out past 6 pages.
What? Eight already? I'm barely at 9 months! This is no good, no good at all.
Somebody toughen me up. You have 30 days.
With the upcoming (one month until due date!) arrival of Barnabas, I think that those tear ducts are going to get a workout. I've promised Kristen, however, that I will try to limit the number of times I get weepy. Those times are as follows:
1. His birth. This may be the one with the most water works. I'm not saying I'm going to be crying so hard that I'll lose consciousness or anything, but I'm sure I'll be wiping my face with the nearest baby blanket.
2. The first time I kiss his toes. Have you seen a baby's toes? I mean, have you ever really seen them? Priceless. That's a weepy moment.
3. The first time he grabs my finger/thumb. Touching moment for even the most hardened man. That's a no brainer.
4. His first smile. What? Are you calling me a wuss!?
5. The first time he hugs me. My God, I'm getting a little weepy right now.
6. "Dad-da." Here. Take some of these. You'll need them.
7. His first crawl. Thankfully, this one will probably be hidden by the video camera stuck in front of my face. When possible, avoid others seeing you cry. It's just not manly.
8. His first comic book reading. I'm thinking Donald Duck. I'll make sure it's a short story. I don't know if I'll be able to hold out past 6 pages.
What? Eight already? I'm barely at 9 months! This is no good, no good at all.
Somebody toughen me up. You have 30 days.
Monday, July 14, 2008
48-Hours of Fun
This was a really good weekend. Why, you ask? Let me elucidate:
1. I put the crib and dresser together. This is a momentous achievement seeing as how, if Kristen were to give birth to Barnabas today (which is not a good thing and we don't want to happen), he would have a place to sleep. (Note: we have yet to buy a mattress for the crib, but that'll happen soon. I promise.) From carrying the pieces up the three flights of stairs to final assemble, it only took about 4 hours (and that included a break for lunch and a short nap -- look, it was a hot day and I was tired and I deserved a nap). And, while I've complained a lot about Wal-Mart in the past, the pieces didn't turn out so badly, with only a small blemish on each thing (which was easily remedied by just turning things around).
2. The weather was fantastic. As many of you know, I loathe the hot, humid summer days that haunt this city. I'm wont to sweat... a lot... and when I sweat, I become cranky and ornery. The past couple of months, however, have been decent, and while I still get a good sweat on now and again, it's been quite reasonable. Oh, how I long for those cold winter months where I can bundle up instead of trying to shed as many clothes as possible.
3. It was Kristen's birthday. Sunday we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art to look at the large Jeff Koons exhibit that's in town. (A note on Koons specifically and modern art in general: I really like art, all kinds. At one point in my life, I was very much against stuff that was too modern -- silly installations, ridiculous video productions, a small red dot on a large canvas -- but I've come to enjoy a lot of it if, when I look at it or hear it or watch it, it makes me feel something. But I think that art really fails when you need a monograph to tell you what the artist meant in different situations. If so, if the art really doesn't speak for itself and needs someone to promote it, then I don't think it works. Also, I think that an artist should be the person who actually creates the art. In Koons' work, he conceptualizes it, and then someone else builds it. To me, that's missing the point of art entirely.)
Anyway, we walked through the museum and then wandered along Michigan Avenue for a while. We sauntered through the Macy's and were mere feet away from seeing a would-be shoplifter get tackled by store security. If only we had our camera. We had planned to go out to a favorite place for dinner, but it was closed on Sunday (closed? how dare they!), so we went to another favorite place instead.
You say you forgot to wish Kristen a happy birthday? Get on that, people!
4. We washed, folded, and put away Barnabas' clothes. Let me tell you something, people. There is nothing that will melt your heart more than folding baby clothes, because they are a) very cute and b) very tiny. Cute + tiny = knee-buckling adorableness. (You will find that noted the inside cover of most math books right below the quadratic equation and the Pythagorean theorem.) Especially cute were the newborn items, because they were so small, it's inconceivable how anything could even fit in them. I'm not sure if we'll ever be folding these things again, of course, as soon, with a crying baby and little or no sleep, the onesies will be tossed willy-nilly into the dresser drawer.
So that's good. The only thing not good about the weekend was that, as we were driving around yesterday, Kristen found and plucked out several gray hairs from my head. My worrying has finally begun my inevitable transition into old-manhood.
Goody.
1. I put the crib and dresser together. This is a momentous achievement seeing as how, if Kristen were to give birth to Barnabas today (which is not a good thing and we don't want to happen), he would have a place to sleep. (Note: we have yet to buy a mattress for the crib, but that'll happen soon. I promise.) From carrying the pieces up the three flights of stairs to final assemble, it only took about 4 hours (and that included a break for lunch and a short nap -- look, it was a hot day and I was tired and I deserved a nap). And, while I've complained a lot about Wal-Mart in the past, the pieces didn't turn out so badly, with only a small blemish on each thing (which was easily remedied by just turning things around).
2. The weather was fantastic. As many of you know, I loathe the hot, humid summer days that haunt this city. I'm wont to sweat... a lot... and when I sweat, I become cranky and ornery. The past couple of months, however, have been decent, and while I still get a good sweat on now and again, it's been quite reasonable. Oh, how I long for those cold winter months where I can bundle up instead of trying to shed as many clothes as possible.
3. It was Kristen's birthday. Sunday we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art to look at the large Jeff Koons exhibit that's in town. (A note on Koons specifically and modern art in general: I really like art, all kinds. At one point in my life, I was very much against stuff that was too modern -- silly installations, ridiculous video productions, a small red dot on a large canvas -- but I've come to enjoy a lot of it if, when I look at it or hear it or watch it, it makes me feel something. But I think that art really fails when you need a monograph to tell you what the artist meant in different situations. If so, if the art really doesn't speak for itself and needs someone to promote it, then I don't think it works. Also, I think that an artist should be the person who actually creates the art. In Koons' work, he conceptualizes it, and then someone else builds it. To me, that's missing the point of art entirely.)
Anyway, we walked through the museum and then wandered along Michigan Avenue for a while. We sauntered through the Macy's and were mere feet away from seeing a would-be shoplifter get tackled by store security. If only we had our camera. We had planned to go out to a favorite place for dinner, but it was closed on Sunday (closed? how dare they!), so we went to another favorite place instead.
You say you forgot to wish Kristen a happy birthday? Get on that, people!
4. We washed, folded, and put away Barnabas' clothes. Let me tell you something, people. There is nothing that will melt your heart more than folding baby clothes, because they are a) very cute and b) very tiny. Cute + tiny = knee-buckling adorableness. (You will find that noted the inside cover of most math books right below the quadratic equation and the Pythagorean theorem.) Especially cute were the newborn items, because they were so small, it's inconceivable how anything could even fit in them. I'm not sure if we'll ever be folding these things again, of course, as soon, with a crying baby and little or no sleep, the onesies will be tossed willy-nilly into the dresser drawer.
So that's good. The only thing not good about the weekend was that, as we were driving around yesterday, Kristen found and plucked out several gray hairs from my head. My worrying has finally begun my inevitable transition into old-manhood.
Goody.
Friday, July 11, 2008
At Least He Won't Be Sleeping on the Floor
Still no pictures of the green walls... Kristen is lax in her duties.
But in the meantime, I'd like to continue my tirade against Wal-Mart.
You see, I'm going to admit something that I'm not proud of. It has torn my insides apart and keeps me up at night in fitful contemplation. Okay, here it goes...
We bought our crib at Wal-Mart.
Yes, yes. I said it. After proclaiming many times that we would never shop there again, we turned around and bought the Barna-bed and dresser from them. The thing is, we did research, we read reviews, we looked at safety, and compared prices, and the cribs there are what made sense. (We bought this one -- I don't know if it's "mod" [most businesses don't really understand what modern is, I think], but it will look cool in his bedroom.)
There are some very neat and hip cribs out there that cost more than $1,000 (for example, this one is quite cool, but my god it's $1,700!!!), but I'm not sure why you'd want to buy that. Cribs are pretty much universally safe nowadays (they have to be, with the cost of lawsuits and recalls), and this is not an heirloom that we're going to pass down from generation to generation (in fact, it's probably not a great idea to do that anyway).
Back to Wal-Mart, or as we like to call it, the eigth circle of hell. You see, they don't actually sell the crib at the store. You order it online and then they ship it to the nearest store and you can pick it up. This "site-to-store" program should, in principle, work. It does for other businesses, such as Blockbuster or Borders or whatnot. Of course, at those places, they usually hire people that usually have some sort of customer relationship skills.
No, not at Wal-Mart.
So, on Tuesday, after work, we drive out to the store (right near the Leaning Tower of Niles, remember?), head back to where the site-to-store pick-ups are to be made, and press the appropriate button.
And then we wait. And wait. And wait.
Occasionally, people would pass by us and page for the appropriate person to arrive, but they never actually showed up. The "back room", as they all referred, seemed to be a vast and desolate place where employees can never truly escape. At least that's what I think, because nobody seemed to want to come out of the warehouse door. (Now the break-room door, that was used quite a bit. Slackers.) We called the store number to ask for a manager, but were put on hold, and after 5 minutes, we just hung up.
Here's the crazy thing. The same people would pass by us time and time again, and they would just ignore us or smile. A couple of people couldn't help us because they were going on their break. But instead of getting someone who wasn't on their break, they just kept on walking.
Eventually, we left because Kristen nearly passed out from hunger (a slight exaggeration). We drove over to a slightly creepy restaurant, ate some sandwiches, and returned to Wal-Mart. This time, Kristen and I split up, me in the back of the store paging and paging for help, and she at the front in the customer service line.
Eventually, someone came and helped me (and another couple -- who had twin infant girls), but even then, it was nearly a half hour until the packages came out from their warehouse. (I was also told that someone would be available to help me put the boxes in the car, but they, too, never arrived, so I did it myself.)
So as we drove away -- at 9 o'clock -- we made a blood oath to never, ever, EVER, shop there again.
Unless, of course, one of the things we bought was defective. Then we have to go back and do it all over again. God help us.
But in the meantime, I'd like to continue my tirade against Wal-Mart.
You see, I'm going to admit something that I'm not proud of. It has torn my insides apart and keeps me up at night in fitful contemplation. Okay, here it goes...
We bought our crib at Wal-Mart.
Yes, yes. I said it. After proclaiming many times that we would never shop there again, we turned around and bought the Barna-bed and dresser from them. The thing is, we did research, we read reviews, we looked at safety, and compared prices, and the cribs there are what made sense. (We bought this one -- I don't know if it's "mod" [most businesses don't really understand what modern is, I think], but it will look cool in his bedroom.)
There are some very neat and hip cribs out there that cost more than $1,000 (for example, this one is quite cool, but my god it's $1,700!!!), but I'm not sure why you'd want to buy that. Cribs are pretty much universally safe nowadays (they have to be, with the cost of lawsuits and recalls), and this is not an heirloom that we're going to pass down from generation to generation (in fact, it's probably not a great idea to do that anyway).
Back to Wal-Mart, or as we like to call it, the eigth circle of hell. You see, they don't actually sell the crib at the store. You order it online and then they ship it to the nearest store and you can pick it up. This "site-to-store" program should, in principle, work. It does for other businesses, such as Blockbuster or Borders or whatnot. Of course, at those places, they usually hire people that usually have some sort of customer relationship skills.
No, not at Wal-Mart.
So, on Tuesday, after work, we drive out to the store (right near the Leaning Tower of Niles, remember?), head back to where the site-to-store pick-ups are to be made, and press the appropriate button.
And then we wait. And wait. And wait.
Occasionally, people would pass by us and page for the appropriate person to arrive, but they never actually showed up. The "back room", as they all referred, seemed to be a vast and desolate place where employees can never truly escape. At least that's what I think, because nobody seemed to want to come out of the warehouse door. (Now the break-room door, that was used quite a bit. Slackers.) We called the store number to ask for a manager, but were put on hold, and after 5 minutes, we just hung up.
Here's the crazy thing. The same people would pass by us time and time again, and they would just ignore us or smile. A couple of people couldn't help us because they were going on their break. But instead of getting someone who wasn't on their break, they just kept on walking.
Eventually, we left because Kristen nearly passed out from hunger (a slight exaggeration). We drove over to a slightly creepy restaurant, ate some sandwiches, and returned to Wal-Mart. This time, Kristen and I split up, me in the back of the store paging and paging for help, and she at the front in the customer service line.
Eventually, someone came and helped me (and another couple -- who had twin infant girls), but even then, it was nearly a half hour until the packages came out from their warehouse. (I was also told that someone would be available to help me put the boxes in the car, but they, too, never arrived, so I did it myself.)
So as we drove away -- at 9 o'clock -- we made a blood oath to never, ever, EVER, shop there again.
Unless, of course, one of the things we bought was defective. Then we have to go back and do it all over again. God help us.
Monday, July 7, 2008
That's Really Green
I love the idea of painting. I like clean walls and new colors. Heck, I even don't mind the smell that much (if I'm in a well-ventilated room, of course).
Actually painting a room, however, is a real pain. There's the taping. And the taping. And did I mention the taping?
This past weekend I cleaned out Barnabas' room, Swiffed, washed some walls, taped, covered floors, and went to town. I have to admit, this was the best painting job I've done since we moved in a couple of years ago (the fact that we painted this room before we moved in meant it was a little easier since there weren't any crazy holes or cracks or stains to cover up). Kristen rewarded me with some ice cream. She's great like that.
The problem, however, is that the color is really not what either Kristen or I was expecting. I mean, we KNEW that it was a lime-ish green by the little swatch thingy you get at the hardware store. But once it got on the walls, it was more of a WOW, THAT'S SOMETHING! as opposed to a wow, that's something. You know?
We have to determine if we're going to stay with it soon, though. It's a fun, exciting, and bright green, but we're not sure if it's the right green for the room or the situation. The crib is here, and I'd like to put it together and set the room up, but I won't do it if I have to repaint (which I'm more than willing to do, especially if it means Kristen lets me eat more ice cream).
Because not only do I like the idea of ice cream, I also like the act of eating it.
Actually painting a room, however, is a real pain. There's the taping. And the taping. And did I mention the taping?
This past weekend I cleaned out Barnabas' room, Swiffed, washed some walls, taped, covered floors, and went to town. I have to admit, this was the best painting job I've done since we moved in a couple of years ago (the fact that we painted this room before we moved in meant it was a little easier since there weren't any crazy holes or cracks or stains to cover up). Kristen rewarded me with some ice cream. She's great like that.
The problem, however, is that the color is really not what either Kristen or I was expecting. I mean, we KNEW that it was a lime-ish green by the little swatch thingy you get at the hardware store. But once it got on the walls, it was more of a WOW, THAT'S SOMETHING! as opposed to a wow, that's something. You know?
We have to determine if we're going to stay with it soon, though. It's a fun, exciting, and bright green, but we're not sure if it's the right green for the room or the situation. The crib is here, and I'd like to put it together and set the room up, but I won't do it if I have to repaint (which I'm more than willing to do, especially if it means Kristen lets me eat more ice cream).
Because not only do I like the idea of ice cream, I also like the act of eating it.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Soft Meats or Diapers: You Decide
The whole idea behind a registry is a little strange to me. When Kristen and I got married, we registered at a few places and ended up getting all of 3 things from it. (The fact that we didn't have a proper wedding may also have had something to do with it.)
In fact, we even had a couple of people ask us if we were going to have a wedding registry who ended up not even using it. Craziness, I tell you.
The reason I find the whole thing strange is that people (and I have to include the Chelis here) put stuff on their registry that they don't need in the least bit. Some things we have on there (I'm looking at you plush wiener schnitzel) are completely wonderful, yet also ridiculous. I mean, I'd love it if someone bought that for us, because it's so silly and I'm sure Barnabas (and Kristen) will have hours (minutes?) of fun playing with it, but I have to say that if it's not purchased off the list, we're not likely going to buy it ourselves.
There were things on there that we need (high chair, bathtub, bottles, etc), but much of it is just semi-expensive junk or frivolously ultra-cute. The scary thing is that Kristen pruned it down a lot. It used to be almost all silly stuff.
I really don't know what I'm saying. I like it all. I'd like to get it all. But if we don't, we'll either buy it ourselves or forget about it and live our lives no differently.
Except for the plush veal sausage. My god, do we need that.
In fact, we even had a couple of people ask us if we were going to have a wedding registry who ended up not even using it. Craziness, I tell you.
The reason I find the whole thing strange is that people (and I have to include the Chelis here) put stuff on their registry that they don't need in the least bit. Some things we have on there (I'm looking at you plush wiener schnitzel) are completely wonderful, yet also ridiculous. I mean, I'd love it if someone bought that for us, because it's so silly and I'm sure Barnabas (and Kristen) will have hours (minutes?) of fun playing with it, but I have to say that if it's not purchased off the list, we're not likely going to buy it ourselves.
There were things on there that we need (high chair, bathtub, bottles, etc), but much of it is just semi-expensive junk or frivolously ultra-cute. The scary thing is that Kristen pruned it down a lot. It used to be almost all silly stuff.
I really don't know what I'm saying. I like it all. I'd like to get it all. But if we don't, we'll either buy it ourselves or forget about it and live our lives no differently.
Except for the plush veal sausage. My god, do we need that.
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