Monday, June 30, 2008
Beware of Falling IQ
I don't like Wal-Mart.
This is likely a good thing since there are no Wal-Mart store in Chicago's city limits. (Chicago is a very strong union city and Wal-Mart is a notoriously bad company when it comes to workers' rights. If you don't believe me, read this and watch this.) The closest Wal-Mart to our house is located in the city of Niles, know best for their water tower, the Leaning Tower of Niles. (You'd think that they could come up with a better name.)
Of course, right next to that Wal-Mart is the closest Babies 'R' Us. Now, I don't particularly like that store either, but seeing as how they have a lot of things that we will need (ie, baby things), we've been there a few times. Each of the four times we've gone to Babies 'R' Us, we've also gone to Wal-Mart. On three occasions, we left without buying anything, each time one of us muttering, "We don't ever have to come back here, okay?"
You see, the store is dirty. It's disorganized. It's full of crazy people filling their carts with things that only crazy people want. (Pop Tarts, Kool Aid, and Velveeta seem to be required items.) They sell cheap products at a not-so-cheap price. And, worst of all, it's full of screaming children whose parents feel should be disciplined by being told to "shut up." (I hate that. I hate it when a kid is told to shut up. Today, when I was waiting in line at the DMV to get a new license plate sticker, a young girl pinched her finger when she was playing with one of the retractable belt stanchions; her mother's response, "That's what you get." Sigh. I mean, who needs compassion? Certainly not a 5-year-old girl.)
But I digress...
You see, as we entered Wal-Mart, there was a display that was overflowing with the greatest foodstuff Kraft has ever invented. That of course is the StrawberryMallow. We discovered this strawberry-flavored marshmallow a couple of years ago and they make the most wonderful Rice Krispy treat. Unfortunately, they're as elusive as leftover kibble in Cecil's food dish. Since buying them in '06, we've never found them again. (I bought a couple of bags of chocolate marshmallows, and while good, they weren't anything to write home about.)
So, knowing that we may not see these wonderful treats for another 24 months or more, we bough six bags. That's right, six bags.
Last night, while Kristen was in the office researching video cameras (what? you think we're not going to tape every waking second of our son's life?), I made a batch of strawberry krispies.
And they were good.
Maybe Wal-Mart's not so bad after all.
This is likely a good thing since there are no Wal-Mart store in Chicago's city limits. (Chicago is a very strong union city and Wal-Mart is a notoriously bad company when it comes to workers' rights. If you don't believe me, read this and watch this.) The closest Wal-Mart to our house is located in the city of Niles, know best for their water tower, the Leaning Tower of Niles. (You'd think that they could come up with a better name.)
Of course, right next to that Wal-Mart is the closest Babies 'R' Us. Now, I don't particularly like that store either, but seeing as how they have a lot of things that we will need (ie, baby things), we've been there a few times. Each of the four times we've gone to Babies 'R' Us, we've also gone to Wal-Mart. On three occasions, we left without buying anything, each time one of us muttering, "We don't ever have to come back here, okay?"
You see, the store is dirty. It's disorganized. It's full of crazy people filling their carts with things that only crazy people want. (Pop Tarts, Kool Aid, and Velveeta seem to be required items.) They sell cheap products at a not-so-cheap price. And, worst of all, it's full of screaming children whose parents feel should be disciplined by being told to "shut up." (I hate that. I hate it when a kid is told to shut up. Today, when I was waiting in line at the DMV to get a new license plate sticker, a young girl pinched her finger when she was playing with one of the retractable belt stanchions; her mother's response, "That's what you get." Sigh. I mean, who needs compassion? Certainly not a 5-year-old girl.)
But I digress...
You see, as we entered Wal-Mart, there was a display that was overflowing with the greatest foodstuff Kraft has ever invented. That of course is the StrawberryMallow. We discovered this strawberry-flavored marshmallow a couple of years ago and they make the most wonderful Rice Krispy treat. Unfortunately, they're as elusive as leftover kibble in Cecil's food dish. Since buying them in '06, we've never found them again. (I bought a couple of bags of chocolate marshmallows, and while good, they weren't anything to write home about.)
So, knowing that we may not see these wonderful treats for another 24 months or more, we bough six bags. That's right, six bags.
Last night, while Kristen was in the office researching video cameras (what? you think we're not going to tape every waking second of our son's life?), I made a batch of strawberry krispies.
And they were good.
Maybe Wal-Mart's not so bad after all.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Things I Worry About -- #3 in a Series
I worry that he's going to have my artistic talent and Kristen's singing talent. (If you've seen me draw or heard Kristen sing, well... I'm very, very sorry you had to experience that.)
I'm Not Exactly Sure What Lumbago Is, But I Bet She Has That Too
Here's a broad generalization for you all: expecting fathers tend to think that they understand everything their ladies are going through. That is, when there's a particularly tough kick to the innards, the men nod their head and say, "I know, I know, it's horrible." They dutifully pull over to a McDonald's when there's a necessary bathroom break. They wake up in the middle of the night and massage the charley horse out of her calf.
And I probably fall into that category. I think I know.
Well, I don't. I mean, Kristen is going through a lot physically -- more than just the growing Barnabas. She can't sleep well. Her back hurts. She's getting twitchy. She's always hot. She's always hungry, yet can eat less than someone who's undergone a gastric bypass.
And I sit there and try to help, but I can only do so much. I think the only thing that is really going to help her is giving birth. And let me tell you, from the videos I've seen in baby class we're taking at the hospital, that is some cure.
Of course, after that painful experience is over, and after nine months of discomfort, there is more crap she has to deal with (maybe it's just me, but breast feeding doesn't seem like a walk in the park).
So this is what I'm suggesting. Let's all just make her feel better, or at least let's not make her feel worse. If she drops a fork, you pick it up and wash it off. Not her. If you haven't seen her for a few weeks and you notice that she's gotten a bit bigger (because, well, that's what happens when you're pregnant), don't immediately say, "My God, you look huge!" If it's 100 degrees out but she's cold anyway, get her a blanket. And if icicles are growing off the tip of your nose but she wants the air conditioner on, turn it on.
I don't like to beg, but if I have to, I will.
And I probably fall into that category. I think I know.
Well, I don't. I mean, Kristen is going through a lot physically -- more than just the growing Barnabas. She can't sleep well. Her back hurts. She's getting twitchy. She's always hot. She's always hungry, yet can eat less than someone who's undergone a gastric bypass.
And I sit there and try to help, but I can only do so much. I think the only thing that is really going to help her is giving birth. And let me tell you, from the videos I've seen in baby class we're taking at the hospital, that is some cure.
Of course, after that painful experience is over, and after nine months of discomfort, there is more crap she has to deal with (maybe it's just me, but breast feeding doesn't seem like a walk in the park).
So this is what I'm suggesting. Let's all just make her feel better, or at least let's not make her feel worse. If she drops a fork, you pick it up and wash it off. Not her. If you haven't seen her for a few weeks and you notice that she's gotten a bit bigger (because, well, that's what happens when you're pregnant), don't immediately say, "My God, you look huge!" If it's 100 degrees out but she's cold anyway, get her a blanket. And if icicles are growing off the tip of your nose but she wants the air conditioner on, turn it on.
I don't like to beg, but if I have to, I will.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Friends, Family, and Me Sweating Most of the Morning
The baby shower was Saturday, and a fun time was had by all (most?).
The morning was filled with me bringing chairs out to the back patio from our basement storage, running to two different grocery stores to find properly ripe avocados, and cleaning dog feces off of the side of our building.
Bringing up the chairs wasn't that much of a hassle (Kristen's brother Jay helped, and he was also kind enough to clean them off). But, as many of you know, physical activity on my part, especially when in the spring or summer, leads to perspiration, usually about a bucketful for each degree above 78 degrees. As it was 82, it did not look good.
When I do physical things and sweat, I also tend to overheat, which also causes me to get extremely testy and crabby. It is why I'm meant to live in Alaska (like the kid from Into the Wild, but without the starvation part, of course), but I digress...
After the chairs, I walked to the front of our building and noticed a pungent smell accompanied by a swarm of flies. Flies and a smell. Not a good thing.
I love dogs. Love them. I can't wait to get a dog (I want a Bernese Mountain Dog, whereas Kristen wants a Bulldog; I'm winning this arguement, I'll tell you what). But while dogs are fabulous, their owners really aren't. So a dog made a horrible mess not two feet away from our building's side entrance (said entrance where people would be going to get to the shindig), and that meant I had to clean dog diarrhea off of brick.
It sounds a lot more fun than it really was, I'll tell you what.
So then, after scrubbing a wall for 15 minutes, I washed my hands and arms with scalding water and ran out first to the grocery down the street looking for guacamole ingredients. They had everything except for avocados. Well, they had them, but they were about 5 days from being ripe. (I tested this out by throwing one at another customer's head. He dropped like a sack of dirt. If he had said "ouch", they would've been 2 days from ripeness; if he had shrugged it off, it was ready to go.)
So I dropped off the other ingredients at home and drove off to Dominick's, where I threw some avocados at a shopper (I got a cross between the "ouch" and the shrug -- something like a "guh", so I figured I was close enough), and came home. (I won't even mention that I forgot a lemon and to run out again to the local shop.)
So, during this time of my running about, Kristen was boiling eggs, so when I returned, I deviled them up, and then started in on the guacamole (which Kristen finished so I could take a shower; did I mention that I was sweaty?). About this time, our friend Katia, who was so kind to help us host the event (she sent out really great e-invitations and brought over fruit and snacks, more of which I'll talk about later) arrived, allowing me to jump in the shower.
During my craziness, Kristen was cleaning up the place, just in case we were rained out and had to bring the party in from the back patio, and her brother ran out to get us lunch (yummmm... chicken with green mole).
And just like that, everything was done. The guacamole. The deviled eggs. The hot hors d'oeuvres. The soda chilled. The plates and plastic utensils and cups all out. I stopped sweating.
And right on the dot at 1:30, people arrived. Nearly everyone that said they were coming actually made it (although illness and a broken-down car kept some away). Barnabas got plenty of wonderful loot, and, thankfully, the rain never came.
And the cake was the topper. See, as most of you know, Kristen and I both grew up on the East Coast, she in New Jersey and me in Pennsylvania. There we were treated with Carvel ice cream stores, which would produce the most wonderful and fake tasting cakes, often times formed into the shape of an alien or a whale. (You had to be there, I guess.) Well, Carvel is slowly expanding, so a shop opened up in the northern suburbs. Our friend Barb was kind enough (on direction from Katia) to go out and get us a huge Carvel cake.
Good, good times.
Kristen will post some pictures of the party soon, and if she doesn't, be sure to bug her about it.
Again, thanks for everyone who came, and to those who couldn't make it, you missed some good eggs.
The morning was filled with me bringing chairs out to the back patio from our basement storage, running to two different grocery stores to find properly ripe avocados, and cleaning dog feces off of the side of our building.
Bringing up the chairs wasn't that much of a hassle (Kristen's brother Jay helped, and he was also kind enough to clean them off). But, as many of you know, physical activity on my part, especially when in the spring or summer, leads to perspiration, usually about a bucketful for each degree above 78 degrees. As it was 82, it did not look good.
When I do physical things and sweat, I also tend to overheat, which also causes me to get extremely testy and crabby. It is why I'm meant to live in Alaska (like the kid from Into the Wild, but without the starvation part, of course), but I digress...
After the chairs, I walked to the front of our building and noticed a pungent smell accompanied by a swarm of flies. Flies and a smell. Not a good thing.
I love dogs. Love them. I can't wait to get a dog (I want a Bernese Mountain Dog, whereas Kristen wants a Bulldog; I'm winning this arguement, I'll tell you what). But while dogs are fabulous, their owners really aren't. So a dog made a horrible mess not two feet away from our building's side entrance (said entrance where people would be going to get to the shindig), and that meant I had to clean dog diarrhea off of brick.
It sounds a lot more fun than it really was, I'll tell you what.
So then, after scrubbing a wall for 15 minutes, I washed my hands and arms with scalding water and ran out first to the grocery down the street looking for guacamole ingredients. They had everything except for avocados. Well, they had them, but they were about 5 days from being ripe. (I tested this out by throwing one at another customer's head. He dropped like a sack of dirt. If he had said "ouch", they would've been 2 days from ripeness; if he had shrugged it off, it was ready to go.)
So I dropped off the other ingredients at home and drove off to Dominick's, where I threw some avocados at a shopper (I got a cross between the "ouch" and the shrug -- something like a "guh", so I figured I was close enough), and came home. (I won't even mention that I forgot a lemon and to run out again to the local shop.)
So, during this time of my running about, Kristen was boiling eggs, so when I returned, I deviled them up, and then started in on the guacamole (which Kristen finished so I could take a shower; did I mention that I was sweaty?). About this time, our friend Katia, who was so kind to help us host the event (she sent out really great e-invitations and brought over fruit and snacks, more of which I'll talk about later) arrived, allowing me to jump in the shower.
During my craziness, Kristen was cleaning up the place, just in case we were rained out and had to bring the party in from the back patio, and her brother ran out to get us lunch (yummmm... chicken with green mole).
And just like that, everything was done. The guacamole. The deviled eggs. The hot hors d'oeuvres. The soda chilled. The plates and plastic utensils and cups all out. I stopped sweating.
And right on the dot at 1:30, people arrived. Nearly everyone that said they were coming actually made it (although illness and a broken-down car kept some away). Barnabas got plenty of wonderful loot, and, thankfully, the rain never came.
And the cake was the topper. See, as most of you know, Kristen and I both grew up on the East Coast, she in New Jersey and me in Pennsylvania. There we were treated with Carvel ice cream stores, which would produce the most wonderful and fake tasting cakes, often times formed into the shape of an alien or a whale. (You had to be there, I guess.) Well, Carvel is slowly expanding, so a shop opened up in the northern suburbs. Our friend Barb was kind enough (on direction from Katia) to go out and get us a huge Carvel cake.
Good, good times.
Kristen will post some pictures of the party soon, and if she doesn't, be sure to bug her about it.
Again, thanks for everyone who came, and to those who couldn't make it, you missed some good eggs.
Things I Worry About -- #2 in a Series
I worry that he's going to hate cats and/or the cats will hate him.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Things I Worry About -- #1 in a Series
I mentioned in an earlier post about how I'm worrying all the time about Barnabas. I figured it'd be worth it to start listing these completely irrational and inconsequential worries here, so you all can see how nuts I am. So here it goes...
I worry that he's going to grow up with a Chicago accent.
I worry that he's going to grow up with a Chicago accent.
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