Writer’s block is a weird thing. I’m fortunate in that I can almost always sit down at the keyboard and start tapping out thoughts. Where I struggle, though, is getting beyond that first writing session. One of the great things about blogging is that it is largely a first draft medium. Have some thoughts on the Super Bowl, politics, or a stupid TV show? Sit down, crank them out, post them.
As if there was any doubt about M’s paternity, over the weekend she demonstrated a new trick that sealed it. For several weeks, she’s been able to turn the portable stereo we keep in our three season room on-and-off, using either the remote or the main power switch. We ended up having to take the batteries out of the remote, because she also discovered the Volume Up button. We’d be in another room, hear the stereo come on, then quickly crank all the way up, followed by screaming.
It’s been very difficult not to be affected by the video and stories coming out of the Gulf Coast. When I first heard the comparisons to either the Asian tsunami or Hiroshima, I thought it was an utterly ridiculous analogy. As the shocking video began to roll in on Tuesday, though, it seemed increasinly apt. I believe that I, like many well-meaning people, viewed the events of last December through the prism of living in suburban America.
It totally freaked me out this morning when M. came walking around the corner on her own.
Being married to a pediatrician, I’ve learned that developmental milestones for infants/toddlers are very fluid. For every kid that does something right on schedule, there are two who do it early and two that do it late. Despite my knowledge of this, it has still been a little disappointing that M. hadn’t started walking yet. After all, her boyfriend Big Sam B. was walking at what, nine months? Seven months? Six months?
We’ve been trying to take M. for long walks in the morning. It started one morning when she got up at 5:00 AM, took a nap from 7:30 until 9:00 and I was faced with a long, hot day in the house with little to do. I put her in the stroller and took off for a 45 minute walk. It worked so well we went for another 50 minute walk that night, and an hour walk the next morning.
I’ve got some thoughts on the NCAA’s ban on schools using Native American mascots in post-season events. In a word, dumb. Not because I don’t think Native American mascots are offensive, or at least, inappropriate, because I do. But the NCAA’s ruling makes little sense. Basically, it’s wildly inconsistent and unenforceable. What college sports get, by far, the most attention? Football and men’s basketball. So, realistically, the ban affects only those sports to the general public.
…to all who posted comments or sent me e-mails after my big news on Tuesday. I’ve been very excited about this turn of events, so have had some trouble focusing on the things that get me through the day like reading, writing, and eating. I’m starting to feel normal again, though. Of course, when I order my shiny, new <a href=“http://www.apple.com/powerbook/">PowerBook</a> that I feel is necessary for success as graduate student, I’ll probably start freaking out again until the FedEx truck pulls up in a couple days.
(Please note my excellent grammar in the subject line.) So much for thinking it would be several weeks, if not months before I heard back regarding my graduate school application. I was informed a few minutes ago, via e-mail, that I have been accepted into the Indiana University Master’s in Journalism program. Holy shit, this is actually going to happen! I’m going to go run around the block ten times to celebrate, then probably puke from excitement.
I’ve been watching afternoon episodes of Being Bobby Brown the last couple of weeks. We assumed it for the last decade, but Bobby and Whitney are officially insane, aren’t they? You don’t act like that on national TV if that’s not who you really are, right? When the cameras turn off, they don’t magically transform into the black Cleavers, do they? There’s a part of me that feels dirty about watching it, since you’re seeing the basis for years and years of therapy for their kids in each episode.
I just realized the error of the stats I shared with you earlier this week. M’s head is 48 centimeters around, not 48 inches. I’m sure some of you caught and laughed at my error. It’s still a big head, but it’s not four feet around. S. thought my error was very funny.
M. had her 12 month check-up today. 27 3/4", 10-25th percentile. 22 lbs, 12 oz., 75th percentile. Head circumference, 48", 95th percentile! To quote our pediatrician, “Do big heads run in either of your families?”
I’m never disappointed by the people I see when I’m out and about. There’s always someone acting like a jackass or dressed inappropriately to entertain me. It’s one of the true joys of living in the Midwest. Example: I was at Target Sunday and saw a guy walking around with a shirt that said “<a href=“http://64.77.21.137/cat.asp?flt=320&ltr=A&nav=11&prd=14540”>Jerkmeoff</a>.” I think it’s supposed to be a parody of a Smirnoff shirt. I hope. I guess.
Almost a year ago, I brought back two large boxes of old cassette tapes from my step-dad’s home in Kansas City. I’ve tallied those up in a spreadsheet and have a couple writing ideas based on the results that I will get to one day. Yesterday, however, I took the rather new-millennium step of packing all my CDs away. I already had a large box of all the CDs in my collection that were either crap or rarely played.
Many others have written about this connection, but I for one think it’s very cool that I’m part of the generation that produced Lance Armstrong and Tiger Woods. Lance avoided the curse of my recurring dream (Which, by the way, entailed him losing control on a mountain descent and going over a guardrail. I had this dream at least ten times over the past year.) and retired at the top of his game, with no questions about his ability left to be answered.
I can say, without reservation, that M.’s first birthday was a great success. She got to spend some quality time in the pool. She took two very good naps. Ate some tasty food. Got some presents. And best of all, had a fat slice of her own birthday cake. We kept things small and informal; only four relatives came over for the celebration. Since we were doing things at night, we figured it best not to overwhelm her just before bedtime.
It’s hard to believe that M. turns one year old today. I’m not sure what’s harder to comprehend, though. The changes we’ve made as a family over those 12 months, or the amount of development in M. over that same time. You look at a one-year-old and imagine all of the growing, skill discovery and mastery she still has to do. But really, she will never grow as fast as she has since her birth.
I brought back several boxes of books and other old items from Kansas City two weeks ago and have slowly been working my way through them. Two absolute gems of finds were my sixth and eighth grade yearbooks (I don’t know if seventh grade is just located elsewhere or if it was destroyed thanks to an especially unfortunate picture of your favorite blogger that year). As you can imagine, each yearbook was good for quite a few laughs.
Today is one of those brilliant days when S. is working normal people hours and M. is at the in-laws. That means daddy can do lots of stuff. Here’s my To-Do List: Finish grad school application (Only two weeks later than I had planned). Write thank you notes to people who wrote me recommendations. Complete my blog post about the comments in my middle school yearbooks. Sort books I brought home from KC.
Our top-notch plumbing team finally removed all their equipment from our property this morning. What should have been a one-day project spilled over parts of three days. In the process, a neighbor’s irrigation line was cut, the phone line was severed, the plumber’s tractor broke down in our neighbor’s driveway (and sat motionless for roughly 24 hours - luckily the neighbors had both of their cars out of the garage), three of our neighbors along with our house went without power for seven hours on Monday (only 89˚ that day), and S.