Month: October 2005

15 Month Check Up

October 31, 2005 / DB

M. went in for her 15 month check-up today. No real changes, but here are the numbers.

24 lbs, 6 oz. Still 75th percentile.
29 3/4 inches. Still 25th percentile.
Head circumference 49 centimeters, still 95th percentile. Of course, she’s in the 99th percentile with the hair.
A smooth, regular rate of growth on her little chart. Where’s that growth spurt at?
In the spirit of completely jinxing her for her booster shot in four weeks, she did wonderfully with her MMR and flu shots. Maybe 15 seconds of crying then she was perfectly happy again. I guess she did wake up in a horrid mood from her nap while I was at class, but if I didn’t have to hear it, I’m not convinced it happened. S. may beg to differ.

She dressed as a ladybug and did some light trick or treating tonight. She was much more excited about waiting on our front porch for trick or treaters to visit us. By the end of the night, after we had come inside, she was standing at the door, looking out the side windows, with a candybar in each hand ready to share with the bigger kids. I got a few pictures that look like they could be good. I’ll try to get them posted tomorrow.

PDX Trip

October 27, 2005 / DB

Ahh Portland. Fair city of books, beer, NPR listeners, and misty days. I’ve had the good fortune to travel there many times in the last few years. This weekend was the first time S. was able to tag along with me, along with M. who got to meet her god-parents. Some highlights below the jump.

First, and perhaps most importantly, M. traveled like a dream. She got some help from the magic solution known as Benadryl, but that has failed in the past so it was no guarantee. On the way out, we flew through Chicago, which meant a 30 minute flight followed by a 4 1/2 hour flight. She slept about half of the way to Portland, then spent much of the rest of the flight playing with her books and toys we had brought along. Did I mention we flew first class? Oh, I did? Well, that extra legroom came in very handy when she wanted to spread out a bit. On the way back, we flew through Dallas, meaning a 3 1/2 flight there followed by a two hour flight to Indy. With a two hour layover, the trips were timed just right for a second dose of Benadryl before flight #2. M. slept almost all of both flights. Again, expect the worst from your kid so when they act normal, they seem like little angels.

I wish I could say she was as good on the ground in Portland. The kid just doesn’t get time zones. We worked on them for two weeks beforehand, but she just couldn’t grasp the concept. So she was awake at about 4:00 each morning, thinking it was 6:00. Thank goodness we went before we revert to Eastern time forever. If she had been waking up at 3:00, she might have slept outside. She also struggled to nap for some reason. Very frustrating.

Our hosts have a six-month-old of their own. Poor guy started teething while we were there. He had a couple baaaad days with lots of screaming and yelling. It was nightmare trying to schedule outings around the schedules of two kids who weren’t in synch.

What did we do? Walked around the Rose Garden on a perfect Saturday afternoon. Sunday, godfather and I took our kids on a hike into the trails in Washington Park. M. was in a backpack behind me, leaning around my shoulder so she could see what was coming. We climbed maybe 150 feet straight up above the neigjborhood then wound through the trees and morning mist. It was very cool. Did I mention I left our camera in Indy? You would have dug some shots from the woods above downtown Portland. Everything in Portland is organic, so we ate lots of food that was both good and good for you. Drank many a fine, locally brewed beer. Had the obligatory fish and chips. Walked around the Pearl District Sunday. Took the kidos to the zoo on Monday, then strolled around the 23rd Street (Trendy-Third Street to the locals) district on a picture perfect fall afternoon later that day. Strolled through Powell’s books while drinking a locally brewed coffee. Ate some fantastic Thai food. And enjoyed a lot of quality time visiting with our hosts. Saw one of my two college friends who live out there. Good times aplenty.

Our rental car for the visit was a Chevrolet Inlander, which I had never heard of before. It was surprisingly nice, although not quite nice enough to sway us from adding a Toyota Siena or Honda Odyssey to the garage this time next year.

Funniest thing I saw the entire trip was a four-year-old our hosts pointed out as clearly being from Portland. He was wearing black tights under knee-length shorts. He had high socks on under high tops. A sweatshirt under a t-shirt. Hair that looked as if it hadn’t been cut since birth. He basically looked like he should have been on the cover of the first Pearl Jam album. Ahhh, 1992…

Second funniest thing I saw was a dirty car onto which someone had written in the dust “Bitch Please.” Much more entertaining than “Wash Me.”

At the risk of sounding like Cliff Clavin after his vacation in Florida, have I mentioned that I love Portland? I think I could probably live there. I know there are problems I know nothing about as an occasional visitor. Now, I think the rain and clouds are somehow inspiring, as if the environment there would cause me to hole up in a coffee shop writing each day. Reality may be that my Midwest roots couldn’t handle the six months of clouds that they have instead of winter and spring. But it’s a very cool city with an extremely cool vibe. If you can afford to live in the city itself. everything you could ever want is within walking distance. Short drives take you to mountains, a cold but beautiful coast, and even the much bigger Seattle for anything you can’t get in Portland. I suppose I’ll have to settle for visiting on a regular basis, although perhaps that’s the best of both worlds.

Only frustration of traveling this time around was how our bags were treated upon our arrival in Indy. We went to the appropriate baggage claim and waited. And waited. And waited. We spent probably 20 minutes staring at the nearly endless stream of bags that were coming down the chute and dropping onto the conveyor. Finally, we noticed there were a few bags in the next claim area. That conveyor had not moved the entire 20 minutes we had been standing there. We strolled over and, sure enough, there were our bags. Very convenient. Thanks, Indy airport workers.

So, in summary, great trip, accomplished nearly everything I wanted to do, and finally got S. to the west coast. Other than trips back to KC, that may be our last trip with child for awhile. I didn’t fly until I was 15 so M. is already two trips ahead of me. She can wait awhile for her next long-distance journey.

Vacation Over

October 25, 2005 / DB

Allow me to state, for maybe the millionth time in my life, that vacations don’t last nearly long enough. We arrived home safe, happy, yet tired this afternoon from our trip to Portland. M. travelled phenomenally well. Almost good enough to trick us into taking her on another long plane trip, until we remembered our next trip won’t be in the spacious luxury of First Class. I bet her moods and behavior would have been radically different had we been packed into Coach seats. Didn’t get quite as much accomplished as I wanted to, it’s tough planning around a 15-month-old and a five-month-old, but still some stories to share, which I will do tomorrow. Also, I left our freaking camera in Indy, so no pictures of my own. Hoping to get the images our hosts took later this week.

So, anything happen while I was away?

Pudge

October 21, 2005 / DB

It was 30 years ago tonight that Carlton Fisk knocked a pitch off the left field foul pole at Fenway Park, ending one of the greatest baseball games ever played. Shockingly enough, ESPN Classic has devoted most of its daytime programming to the event. First, they aired the game in a slightly condensed version (“We’re skipping ahead to the top of the 8th inning, with Cincinnati leading 6-3…”) followed by a feature on Carlton Fisk and then one about the series as a whole. I’ve had it on while packing, organizing, and whatnot. Some thoughts.

1 – Baseball players were crazy skinny back then. I know we live in the fitness age, where everyone has a personal trainer and is on the best ahem legal supplements available in order to recover quicker, but the difference between then and now is ridiculous. No wonder it was considered outrageous when someone hit 50 home runs back then. I remember there were a lot of hitting coaches back then who were dead-set against weight lifting, thinking it ruined your swing. I wonder what they would think of today’s ballplayers who are muscular yet still hit for mad average.

2 – The game was very different as well, especially hitting. In the four or five innings I watched, players routinely swung at pitches in their eyes. Not sure why, the strike zone wasn’t that much higher. Gamblin’ Pete Rose took a hack at a pitch that was literally over his head at one point. What’s strange is a lot of these swings came very late, as if they were in fact worried they would be called strikes. Or maybe they were so concerned about going the other way, they swung at anything they thought the could shoot opposite-field. Pete wasn’t trying to protect a runner, so maybe in his case he just had money on the game.

3 – Dick Stockton’s call of the home run is great. “There is goes———–If it’s fair it’s gone———–Home run.” Very simple. Almost too simple. With the much more primitive crowd mics, between the muted reaction from the crowd and Stockton’s dry delivery, you’d never guess this was one of the biggest home runs in baseball history at first view.

4 – Tony Kubek interviewed Fisk on the field after the game. I’m not sure what amazed me more, the fact the interview went at least five minutes, or what Tony was wearing. Black turtleneck, sea-blue leather jacket. Viva los 70s!

5 – The Fenway fans refused to leave. The organist played music and people stood in their seats, on the dugouts, and on the edges of the field clapping, singing, dancing, cheering for at least ten minutes after the game was over. They were still carrying on when the NBC coverage ended. I’ve had the good luck to be at a couple games that ended improbably, mostly basketball games that were won on buzzer-beating shots. That has to be one of the greatest feelings as a fan, those moments after the game’s been won when no one wants to leave. Your body is filled with joy. You’re screaming, hugging your friends, on the verge of losing your mind, and it’s a feeling you never want to end. You look around so you remember every face, every element of the moment so you can call on it in the future. Those moments are the reasons that we’re fans and devote so much to games we have no control over.

6 – I had a discussion the other night with my man <a href=”http://storiesofdts.typepad.com/the_stories_of_dts/”>DTS</a> about how Albert Pujols’ epic home run Sunday would be viewed after the Cardinals lost the NLCS. Will it be seen as just a very cool, if insignificant home run like George Brett’s three home run game in 1978 because the Cards and Royals lost their respective series? But the Sox lost the ’75 series in game seven yet Fisk’s home run is still held in high regard. Perhaps if Albert had hit his in the World Series it would live on, but I’m not convinced it’s going into the pantheon for anyone other than Cardinals fans.

7 – Bernie Carbo hit an equally important, three-run home run in the bottom of the 8th to tie the game. NBC didn’t show a replay of his shot until the 9th inning. Today, Fox would have shown us 16 angles before Carbo touched home. Also, the live shot came from the camera behind home plate. At first view, you have no idea where the ball is going or how hard he hit it. Then you see everyone sitting in the centerfield seats going nuts. Man, baseball was hard to watch on TV back then.

8 – Today, it seems like players are either boring and business-like or egotistical pricks. Carbo raced around the bases, struggling to stay upright because of his glee. Fisk’s trot is famous even to people who don’t follow baseball. Free agency was about to hit, so this series really was the last innocent time in baseball, when the childlike joy of the game was still apparent at the highest level.

9 – Greatest series ever. We hear that label bandied about a lot, and I tend to agree with it. Why? I sure as hell didn’t see it live. Maybe that’s the reason. There’s something about baseball that makes all the things that you didn’t see because of your age somehow seem more meaningful. 1991 was fantastic, but I saw every out of that series. 2001 is wildly overrated (New York media bias combined with the post-9/11 patriotism/anger/guilt that consumed the country at the time), but again, a series I saw in total. ’75, on the other hand, is something that I just heard stories about for years, with the occasional grainy video of Fisk’s winner. I’ve seen a couple no-hitters on TV, a few triple plays, and other assorted amazing plays. Yet they never seem to compare to all the events from the pre-TV era that I’ve read about in books like <span style=”text-decoration:underline;”>Baseball’s Greatest Moments</span>.

10 – There was an incredibly controversial call earlier in the series by home plate umpire Larry Barnett. In one of the documentaries today, Peter Gammons told a great story of being in a pub in Cambridge the following winter. An old guy sitting alone at the bar recognized Gammons and some other Boston sports writers he was with and said, “I’ll never watch baseball again as long as Larry Barnett is allowed to umpire.” Then he passed out with his head hitting the bar.

Holy Albert

October 17, 2005 / DB

I was drafting a post about how it was a tough night for my many St. Louis friends when I got a strange feeling. The Colts had just extended their lead over the Rams to 11 points. I closed the draft, set the PowerBook aside, and flipped the picture-in-picture so I could focus on Albert Pujols, who was batting for the Cardinals. Down two runs, two outs, two on, top of the ninth. BOOM. I’m sure my Cards fan friends were doing their own voodoo, but I think the fact I gave the game my full attention had something to do with Albert’s massive blast that won the game and forced a sixth game in the NLCS.

Thank you, Albert, for keeping the Cardinals alive and insuring that I get to watch at least one more night of baseball this week.

Sorry, Rams fans. I care not about your team’s fortunes.

M’s First Hoop

October 16, 2005 / DB

During the third quarter of the USC-Notre Dame game Saturday (PHEEEENOMENAL game, it should go without saying. It provoked massive use of picture-in-picture, a blister on my remote thumb, and my biggest yell for a college football game my alma mater wasn’t involved in since Kordell went deep against Michigan in 1994) it was time for M’s afternoon snack. I sat her in her high chair, positioned some mac & cheese and green beans on her tray, made sure her sippy cup was full, and slipped into the living room so I could continue to watch. Since I had to stay upright so I could keep an eye on her, I ended up grabbing her basketball and shooting turn-around jumpers from across the room. I was pretty impressed with myself after hitting six of eight. That’s when I noticed she was laughing at me. It seems that each time I bent over to pick up the ball, she thought I was playing peekaboo. I’d bend over, snatch the ball, then reappear. Giggles from the kitchen. It was fun, but I didn’t think anything of it.

When she was done, I wiped her hands and face, set her on her feet, and began cleaning up her seat and tray. I didn’t notice that she immediately took off for the living room. When I finished my cleaning and returned to the couch, I found her standing in front of her hoop, on her tip-toes, pushing the ball up and over the rim into the hoop. She had her game face on; there was no laughing now. As soon as the ball dropped through, she’d chase it down and start again. Naturally, by the time I got the camcorder out, she had tired of her little game though. But I’m pleased to announce that my daughter is probably the best Under 2 hoopster on the block! It’s as if she knew this was the weekend that college basketball teams started practicing. Perhaps the many hours her daddy has spent in front of the TV the last two weeks watching baseball triggered something in her head that made her think it was time to get serious about using that birthday present so she could help daddy work off his stress once basketball season starts. I’m mostly glad I don’t have to pick her up anymore to shoot some hoops. My back couldn’t take it much longer.

Hey!

October 10, 2005 / DB

We went to our local<a href=”http://www.carters.com/”>Carter’s store Friday to buy M. some cold weather pajamas. It seems the days of her sleeping in just her diaper and a t-shirt are over, at least until next spring. There’s a little play area for kids to occupy themselves while parents shop, so M. and I hit that while S. checked out the latest in sleep-wear trends for toddlers (Bunnies and Duckies are the new black). There was a little boy, probably three or so, who came over and started playing too. The area had puzzles, Legos, and those weird wooden toys where you slide things all over the wires that turn and twist. This kid was awesome. He had a standard line, “Hey! What’s this?” He didn’t seem to mind that I was a strange man squatting in a kids play area. I was his new best friend.

“Hey! What’s this?” he asked as he turned a large wheel that made the smiling sun on the ceiling rotate. He spoke with one of those husky, toddler boy voices. If he was 19, I would have though he had been out late at the bars the previous night.
“Hey! What’s this?” as he pointed to a wooden puzzle with sea creatures on it.
“We have skeletons at our house.”
“Are they scary?”
“Yes,” he said with a look that wondered how on earth a skeleton wouldn’t be scary. “Hey! What’s this?” I couldn’t even tell what he was referring to this time, so I made something up. Not my kid, I don’t care if I mess him up for life.
Eventually his mom came over and attempted to get him to try clothes on. She was carrying a much smaller child, maybe eight months or so, and had the look of a mom that had been woken up too early in the morning and had been struggling to get control of the day ever sense. Tired eyes. Makeup slightly askew. A visage of impending panic. We shared a parental nod as her son refused to help her out in the slightest. “Hey! What’s this, mom?” I cocked my head towards M., who was playing quietly, and said, “I can’t wait for her to get to that age,” and laughed. Hey Boy’s mom offered a tired laugh and said, “I bet.”
What happened next was even funnier. His mom went back to picking out clothes and he played for a few more seconds. Then, he suddenly stopped and said, “Hey! We have to clean this mess up,” and he began gathering up all the puzzle pieces, race cars, and stuffed animals that had been scattered over the course of the day. He had made none of the mess, yet felt an obligation to clean. This kid’s been trained well. “Hey!” as he took the puzzle M. was playing with away from her, “We have to clean this mess up. Hey! What’s this?” I began looking for his mom, wanting to find out how old he was when she began brain-washing him to clean up any mess he encounters. This could be useful information.
I decided I had spent a little too much time with him, so I scooped up M. and began searching through the store for S.. As we left the play area, I heard a familiar voice say, “Hey! We have to clean this mess up…”

Jerseys

October 4, 2005 / DB

I’ve never been big on wearing sports jerseys. But the unveiling of the new Pacers gear last week got me thinking, for a moment, about purchasing one. I was thinking more of something in M’s size but still, I was in that ballpark. Even when the Cowboys were at their height in the early 90s, I never thought of buying an Aikman, Smith, or Irvin jersey. Now a Haley or Woodson one would have been sweet, but still, the thought never crossed my mind.

Basketball jerseys are problematic because of the sleeveless look. Since basketball is played mostly in winter, it’s tough to go running around in your Bulls <a href=”http://www.basketball-reference.com/players/r/randama01.html”>Mark Randall</a> jersey. Plus, I have skinny arms, so that just makes it more ridiculous.
Baseball jerseys are, to me, the ultimate in wearable sports gear. They clearly identify the team/city. Some, like the Red Sox and Yankees, lack names on the back which brings in the element of only other sports fans will pick up on the significance of certain numbers (A Yankees <a href=”http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/hofers%5Fand%5Fhonorees/hofer%5Fbios/mantle%5Fmickey.htm”>7</a> jersey, or a Sox <a href=”http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/hofers_and_honorees/hofer_bios/williams_ted.htm”>9</a> jersey, for example). Again though, I never really thought about plunking down the money to purchase a jersey, even back when jerseys were affordable before the retro craze messed with the market.

Well, almost never. In the late summer of 1990 I was contemplating my fall wardrobe and how to allot money for my shopping trips before I went back to college for my sophomore year. I needed a couple pairs of jeans from the Gap. Black Nikes were an absolute must, as this was the beginning of the black shoes trend. Yet for weeks all I thought about was getting a road grey, Pittsburgh Pirates, Barry Bonds jersey. I mean, I couldn’t sleep at night I was thinking about it so much. I had priced one out at $75. That was serious money for a kid who worked two jobs all summer to finance going to an out-of-state college (admittedly one that is famous for cheap tuition). I attempted to justify it by telling myself I would just get one pair of jeans and the cheapest Nikes I could find instead of the Flights I had my eyes on. I tossed and turned over it for days. In my final weeks of work I would obsess about it as I pulled tax forms at the Federal Records Center and wrapped burritos at Taco Bell. I’ve never been one to be on the cutting edge of fashion. I allow trends to develop, find some maturity, and gain acceptance before I suck it up and make purchases to update my wardrobe. But man, a freaking Bonds jersey would set me apart from everyone else on campus. I’d wear it every day. I’d be known as “the guy in the Bonds jersey.” KU was loaded with Royals homers, plenty of people from St. Louis and Chicago sporting their hometown gear. But someone showing up in a Bonds jersey the summer he was blowing up to the tune of .301, .406, .565, 33 home runs, 114 RBIs, and 52 stolen bases? Forget about it.

Looking back, it’s easy to say that not buying the Bonds jersey and going for the two pairs of jeans, two hooded Gap sweatshirts , and Nike Flights was a mistake. It seemed ridiculous at the time to limit myself to one new shirt to get me to Christmas. But given how Bonds’ career progressed, along with the size of his head, if I was hanging out with some guys over beers and casually mentioned I had a Bonds Pirates jersey I bought in 1990 hanging in my closet, I could do whatever I wanted the rest of the night – puke on myself, knock beers over on everyone, start a fight – and still leave with everyone talking about how fucking cool I was.

I did get some consolation, though. The next fall, my mom took a business trip to Pittsburgh and her clients took her to a Pirates game. The <a href=”http://www.baseball-almanac.com/teamstats/roster.php?y=1990&t=PIT”>Pirates</a> had just clinched their second of three-straight division titles (Bonds, Bonilla, Van Slyke, Drabek, Bell, Belliard, Bream, King, Lind, Alou…sick) so she picked up a division championship shirt I wore around for the next couple years. According to a wise man, the fact the shirt was purchased at the stadium made it much cooler, too.