A rare weekend post. Tomorrow is the day the plumbers/electrical people come to hopefully repair our sewer problems for good. It’s only supposed to be 90, so going with out A/C won’t suck at all. Thankfully, I found a sitter so I can stay here and monitor the work while M. chills in climate-controlled nirvana. Here’s a running diary of my morning with M. Friday. 4:45: M. cries. Wake up and check her.
Goodbye: Formula. M. had her final two ounces of Similac yesterday. We’ve been giving her 50/50 bottles of formula and milk since we returned from KC. The last can of formula is gone and she’s on the cow full-time now. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the switch at all. As an added bonus, we’re only using a bottle before bed now. She gets a sippy cup the rest of the day.
I made it to the 8th inning in last night’s MLB All-Star game, which I believe is the latest I’ve made it in 4-5 years. See, it’s not just fatherhood that slows you down! My man DTS posted some thoughts about the All-Star game yesterday. Perhaps it’s the difference between growing up in St. Louis and Kansas City, because I always loved the All-Star break. Maybe Cards fans were always comfortable with knowing people nationally understood what St.
“An infernal, murderous pace.” “Vinokourov is about to pop.” “What we’re seeing is a man destroying all of his competitors.” “Lance Armstrong is an angry, angry man.” I don’t know what I enjoy more about watching OLN’s coverage of the Tour de France. Lance Armstrong’s sublime performance or the pitch-perfect comments the announcers use to describe what is happening. Today was the second snapshot moment for Lance in this year’s tour.
There’s nothing like the feeling of coming home after a vacation. You get to sleep in your own bed, control the food in the refrigerator, don’t have to be polite to people anymore. Yet there’s also the sense of malaise that kicks in. After all, you’ve probably been looking forward to the trip for several months and now it has come and gone. I must say, our daughter did phenomenally well on the trip.
The only good thing about having another sewer line backup is the fact the plumber who was scheduled to pay us a visit between 5-7 got bogged down on his early job. When the emergency replacement finally showed up at 8:30, we had earned a $300 credit on our bill. For those of you who aren’t homeowners and have never had to pay for a plumber to do more than fix a leaky faucet, yes, we still dropped some money even after the credit.
Is there a scientific/mathematical term for the change in a baby’s level of steadiness and propensity to make sudden movements as they get closer to dangerous objects? For example, M’s ability to remain stationary while holding onto something gets progressively worse the closer she gets to the sharp corner of a coffee table or to our brick fireplace. She is also much more likely to squat down or stand from a kneeling position quickly when she’s directly next to something she can bang her head on than if she’s just sitting in the middle of the room grasping a toy.
In our cul-de-sac, there are several families that have teenage boys. Most of them are really good kids; super polite and friendly and respectful of their neighbors. Of course, the oldest just turned 15 so there’s plenty of time for that to change. One of our next door neighbors is a 14 year old who just finished 8th grade this spring. When we moved in, he was kind of a small guy with thick, wavy hair.
Here’s your biweekly update on the doings of M.. She’s really taken to her walker. She’ll crawl over to it, pull herself up, and if it’s parked against something, <span style=“text-decoration:line-through;">look for you to come help her turn it around</span>. Since writing that Sunday, she’s learned how to slowly and carefully pivot it until her path is unobstructed. Then, she’s off! She speeds away, laughing and yelling, pleased with herself to no end.
Funny how many of my buddies are like me: celebrating their first Father’s Day as a dad. I hope you all have something fun planned. As for me, S. is working today, so it may just be M. and I hitting the mall for awhile. I’m secretly hoping S. put some money in M.’s pocket and she’ll be getting her daddy a PowerBook if we go into the Apple Store. I won’t hold my breath, though.
Since I buzzed my hair last week, the sized Red Sox hat I got for Christmas no longer fits correctly. I look more like a six year old with his first t-ball cap pulled down over his ears than an almost 34-year-old sporting a well fitted cap. (Somewhere in there is a lesson about hopping on sports bandwagons.) I wanted to go to the gift shop at Fenway to look at another hat while we were in Boston, but we didn’t have enough time to pop in.
This getting up between 5:00 and 6:00 most mornings is getting me down. It seems like everywhere I look in the house, there are Cheerios on the floor. Oh, wait. There really are Cheerios everywhere in the house. I guess I’m fine then. Never mind. Now Playing: <strong>Super Disco Breakin'</strong> from the album “Hello Nasty” by <a href=“http://www.google.com/search?q=%22The%20Beastie%20Boys%22">The Beastie Boys</a>
It remains hot and sticky in Indy, the first extended heat wave since we moved here almost two years ago (two years next week, as a matter of fact). Yesterday, one of the local weather people said it was sultry. Can you really use the word sultry to describe conditions in a place like Indy, Detroit, Boston, etc? Am I the only one who thinks of being on an island somewhere, sipping run & fruit drinks out of condensation-covered glasses while local music and tropical breezes gently drift through the night?
Early in my sophomore year of college, I got the bright idea to buy some hair clippers so I could cut my own hair and save $12 a month. $12 a month would buy you three Pizza Shuttle pizzas in Lawrence, KS, so that was a serious savings. I pulled out the clippers, put what I thought was the longest guard on them, and started “trimming” in the center of my head.
No one ever said that life with a baby wasn’t going to be exciting. Friday night, we were sitting in the living room visiting with two sisters-in-law. M. was taking turns playing with a remote control and one of our cordless phones. Right around 8:00, we got a call that the caller ID listed as from the City of Carmel. Thinking it was some kind of sales call associated with the up-coming Carmelfest, we let it ring through.
Rather than give you 2500 words on our trip, I’ll force myself to share the highlights via bullet points for brevity’s sake. The weather, as I alluded to earlier, sucked. We didn't expect 85 and sunny each day, but this was nothing close to Chamber of Commerce weather. Luckily, I had some good books with me. M. did phenomenally during our travels. She largely slept on both flights and our 90 minute drives between Boston and the Cape.
Nothing like spending a week in Cape Cod during the worst May Nor’easter the area has experienced in nearly 40 years. Torrential rains, 50+ MPH winds, temps 15-20 degrees below normal. And believe it or not, I had a great week. Arrived home safe, sound, and tired late Friday night, still buzzing from our tour of Fenway Park Friday afternoon. Pulling my thoughts together over the holiday weekend and I’ll have a recap of the week ready when most of my regular readers are returning to work next week.
We’ve entered another rather unfortunate phase of M. waking up in the middle of the night. Sure, we might be going to bed between 9-10 each night, but waking to yelling and screaming at 2:30 AM still sucks. Last night, M. was in rare form, though. I got up with M. the first time at around 2:30. She had twisted her body into a weird angle, kicked off her blanket, and lost her binky.
I’m referring to my wife and myself. This is what roughly two weeks of 5:00 AM wake-up calls can do to you: We had dinner with some friends last night. I had three beers and S. knocked back 2 1/2 glasses of wine. We got home about 8:45. We were in bed at 9:01, asleep shortly afterwards. Kids suck the life out of you some days. M’s grin when she wakes up in the morning and sees us for the first time makes all the lameness completely worth it.
There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just come right out and say it: until recently, my daughter had no balls to play with. I’ve failed in my responsibility as a parent in allowing her to reach eight months of age before I made sure she had some balls to play with. On a trip to Target a month or so ago, however, I found a package of four whiffle balls for 99 cents.