One of the most interesting aspects of living in the section of Orlando in which we do, is that many of our neighbors work for NASA. I know for some people this may not be interesting at all but I am intrigued by the fact that I actually know rocket scientists. It is pretty cool hearing different stories about space flight and NASA on a regular basis.
Now I am not the most brilliant person in the world (as noted by my awful grammar here on the blog) but I can hold my own having somewhat intellectual conversations. And, as my wife will attest to, I can pretty much bullshit with anyone and act like I know what I am talking about. Except when I am talking to the NASA neighbors about their work. I immediately become a 10-year-old kid asking all sorts of retarded questions. Or I make suggestions on how the NASA program could work better because, you know, I have seen Apollo 13 and Armageddon.
When I bump into the NASA engineers or scientists at the playground or pool I get all excited to hear about their current projects. The conversations start with me asking, “So, what are you working on?” And the responses vary on whom I am speaking with and which department at NASA the individual works.
After listening to long answers about fuel boosters and foam insulation and instrumentation and flux capacitors and wave motion guns (okay I added the last two because that is really what I want to hear from them) I usually end up blurting out some type of idiotic question or response. Usually it is an attempt at humor but most of the time they don’t see it that way.
Here is a list of my responses or questions to my NASA Neighbors.
After hearing about how Kennedy Space Center has one of the longest runways in the world.
“Is the end of it shaped like a skateboard ramp? Because I am sure that would help with take off.”
After hearing about my one neighbor being in the Firing Room.
“Do you get to wear a head set and say GO or No GO?”
After hearing about the instrumentation panels used for launching.
“Do you get to push the button?”
After one guy told me he analyzes photos taken from space.
“C’mon you can tell me and I won’t say anything to anybody, do you ever see UFO’s in the pictures?”
After hearing about budget cuts and trying to start new programs.
“What you guys need is a corporate sponsor. Like Nascar. NASA? Nascar? It is a perfect fit. I am sure you could throw a Home Depot decal on the side of the shuttle. You know for a couple of mil.”
And it usually after I have spoken that the conversation comes to a screeching halt.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
NO DAD
Video Hosting - Upload Video - Video Sharing
Many people count their child's words in an effort to quantify their kids intelligence. They say things like, "Oh, well Thurston Howell the 5th knows 75 words and he is only 13 months old."
I stopped counting after these two words. "No Dad."
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Best decision I ever made...
...was going to the restaurant that night.
I posted this story last year (consider this a summer re-run).
The night we met.
I posted this story last year (consider this a summer re-run).
The night we met.
World Cup
Sippy cup manufacturers need to come to an international agreement in regards to the way they manufacture their goods. Not necessarily the sippy cups them selves, because I like all the different shapes and size and colors and handles options, but more so in the way they make the little-rubber-stopper-sucky-prevent-leakage thing that fits into the lids of the sippy cups.
We have multiple cups in our house. There is one for milk, one for juice, one or two for water, and of course some back up cups. These little rubber pieces need to get washed everyday otherwise mold will grow in them. The problem with the rubber-stopper-sucky thing is, is that I have to figure out which cup gets which rubber-stopper-sucky thing. Not one brand of sippy cup is compatible with another brand. If I put the wrong one in the wrong cup there is potential for spillage. Or maybe the suckage/flow factor does not work for a specific cup and Max gets frustrated and ends up throwing the thing across the room.
I have another issue with the way these plunger devices are made. These rubber plunger type things are usually two sided with one side that fits into the mouthpiece of the cup and the other side that fits into the airflow hole on the under side of the lid. Most of them are made out of a clear rubber with a clear arrow printed on them to indicate which side goes into the mouthpiece and which is for airflow. These things are small and they are already clear. How am I supposed to see a tiny clear arrow on a tiny clear piece of rubber at 5 in the morning? Bad design I tell you.
So I propose a universal rubber-stopper-sucky thing for all sippy cups. Gerber, Playtex, Avent and what ever other company listen up. It would make my life easier.
Google search is going to have a field day with these keywords.
We have multiple cups in our house. There is one for milk, one for juice, one or two for water, and of course some back up cups. These little rubber pieces need to get washed everyday otherwise mold will grow in them. The problem with the rubber-stopper-sucky thing is, is that I have to figure out which cup gets which rubber-stopper-sucky thing. Not one brand of sippy cup is compatible with another brand. If I put the wrong one in the wrong cup there is potential for spillage. Or maybe the suckage/flow factor does not work for a specific cup and Max gets frustrated and ends up throwing the thing across the room.
I have another issue with the way these plunger devices are made. These rubber plunger type things are usually two sided with one side that fits into the mouthpiece of the cup and the other side that fits into the airflow hole on the under side of the lid. Most of them are made out of a clear rubber with a clear arrow printed on them to indicate which side goes into the mouthpiece and which is for airflow. These things are small and they are already clear. How am I supposed to see a tiny clear arrow on a tiny clear piece of rubber at 5 in the morning? Bad design I tell you.
So I propose a universal rubber-stopper-sucky thing for all sippy cups. Gerber, Playtex, Avent and what ever other company listen up. It would make my life easier.
Google search is going to have a field day with these keywords.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Pets
My patience and tolerance of our pets has been waning. They are really starting to frustrate me. Yes I know they are pets and they do things that pets do but I am really getting to the point where their unconditional love and “friendship” and all the other benefits of having pets is no longer outweighing the negatives.
I feed the cats. I feed the dog. I walk the dog three times a day. I clean the litter boxes. At the end of every night I gather the cats and lock them in the garage so they won’t disturb us. I let them out in the morning. I am constantly stepping over the cats and dog while walking through my house.
A month ago I spent a Saturday afternoon steam cleaning our carpets. Within 2 hours Bogart the cat gets a dingle-berry stuck to his ass and scoots his backside across the carpet. Basically he used the carpet as toilet paper.
Luna, our dog, in desperate need of attention is constantly nudging her way between Maxfield and I whenever we are playing on the floor. She gets so excited and wags her butt in our faces, until we stop playing.
My in-laws are in town for a few days and I was discussing with them the all of the stuff that annoys me regarding our pets. My In-laws love pets. I tried to convince them to take the animals back to Pennsylvania with them. I thought I made a good case. I offered my Father-in-law the dog in exchange of my Mother-in-law.
My Mother-in-Law laughed and thought it was a great idea because she would get to see her grandkids all the time. I thought it was great idea because I would not have to walk her or feed her. She could babysit the kids and Lauren and I could go out. I only gave her one rule: She was not allowed to shake her butt in my face.
I feed the cats. I feed the dog. I walk the dog three times a day. I clean the litter boxes. At the end of every night I gather the cats and lock them in the garage so they won’t disturb us. I let them out in the morning. I am constantly stepping over the cats and dog while walking through my house.
A month ago I spent a Saturday afternoon steam cleaning our carpets. Within 2 hours Bogart the cat gets a dingle-berry stuck to his ass and scoots his backside across the carpet. Basically he used the carpet as toilet paper.
Luna, our dog, in desperate need of attention is constantly nudging her way between Maxfield and I whenever we are playing on the floor. She gets so excited and wags her butt in our faces, until we stop playing.
My in-laws are in town for a few days and I was discussing with them the all of the stuff that annoys me regarding our pets. My In-laws love pets. I tried to convince them to take the animals back to Pennsylvania with them. I thought I made a good case. I offered my Father-in-law the dog in exchange of my Mother-in-law.
My Mother-in-Law laughed and thought it was a great idea because she would get to see her grandkids all the time. I thought it was great idea because I would not have to walk her or feed her. She could babysit the kids and Lauren and I could go out. I only gave her one rule: She was not allowed to shake her butt in my face.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Two conversations
I have the habit, good or bad, of taking off my wedding ring when I do the dishes or if I am working on something around the house.
“Lauren? I can’t find my wedding ring. Where did you put it?”
“I did not touch it.” She says from the other room.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I am sure.” She says as she gets up from the sofa.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes!”
“Did you maybe put it in the….Oh nevermind.”
Lauren enters the kitchen. “Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Where I left it.”
“Do you want to apologize?”
“Yes. But I won’t.”
Conversation number two starts off in a similar way.
“Lauren? Have you seen my pajama pants?”
“You mean the ones you wore last night?”
“Yes.”
“They are on the hook on the back of the door.”
I, of course, look on the back of the door to our bedroom, which has never had a hook. I look to her confused. Lauren rolls her eyes and said, “The back of the bathroom door.”
Confused I walk over to the bathroom door to find them hanging on the hook. I gave Lauren a puzzling look and said, “I didn’t put them there.”
Shaking her head, “Oh I KNOW.”
“Lauren? I can’t find my wedding ring. Where did you put it?”
“I did not touch it.” She says from the other room.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I am sure.” She says as she gets up from the sofa.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes!”
“Did you maybe put it in the….Oh nevermind.”
Lauren enters the kitchen. “Did you find it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Where I left it.”
“Do you want to apologize?”
“Yes. But I won’t.”
Conversation number two starts off in a similar way.
“Lauren? Have you seen my pajama pants?”
“You mean the ones you wore last night?”
“Yes.”
“They are on the hook on the back of the door.”
I, of course, look on the back of the door to our bedroom, which has never had a hook. I look to her confused. Lauren rolls her eyes and said, “The back of the bathroom door.”
Confused I walk over to the bathroom door to find them hanging on the hook. I gave Lauren a puzzling look and said, “I didn’t put them there.”
Shaking her head, “Oh I KNOW.”
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
The Belt
I originally posted this on the Blogfathers last week. I did not post anything on Father's Day for my dad due to Wyatt's arrival. Happy Father's Day Dad.
My father was the disciplinarian in our household when I was a kid. Sure my Mom would occasionally ground us, or wash our mouths out with soap but the penalties for the major infractions to the family rules were left up to my father to dish out. The worst punishment to get, besides the “I’m disappointed in you” speech and look, was the Belt. The Belt was an important tool when disciplining 9 kids.
I can only remember being punished with the Belt twice. One time, when I was about 8, I told my brother to “suck my *#$@”. I was 8 and I did not know what the phrase meant, but I did know it was an insult. After the three cracks of the Belt on my ass I knew that I would not say it again.
The other time that I was on the receiving end of the Belt was when the entire family, all 9 of us, were going to be punished for not eating our dinner. You see my Mom cooked dinner every night for 11 people. She tried real hard to make meals that were healthy and that we would all like, or at least eat, and that were within the food expense for the week. One time she decided she was going to be creative and make us a Chinese meal. Chicken Chow Mein I believe it was.
None of us would eat it. It tasted awful. My mom is a good cook but for some reason this recipe did not pan out. My 7 brothers, my sister and I sat at the dinner table for an hour without anyone touching their meal. We complained the entire time about how disgusting it was. It was gross. I think at one point one of my brothers threw the contents of their plate on the floor. When this happened my mother said to my dad, “I want them all punished.” She then placed her head in her hands and yelled at us to “go to your rooms.”
There were 5 bedrooms upstairs. My sister had her own room and all of the boys shared a room with another brother, 2 to a room. My room was in the middle of the 5. I heard my dad climbing the stairs snapping the Belt. I could hear him enter the first room. There was a pause. Then I heard the crack of the belt against their backsides. –Crack- “Ow” –Crack- “Ouch”, -Crack- “Owww!” –Crack- “Ooh!” The first two brothers got theirs.
My father entered the second room, the one right next to mine where the LawnWhisperer shared a room with Dan. I could hear him say something but it was muffled. There was a pause.
-Crack- “Ouch. Dad?” –Crack- Ow!”
-Crack- “OOOH.” , -Crack- “Arrrh.”
That was two more brothers were punished. It was my turn next. I sat on my bed as far away from the door as possible thinking that that would save me. The bedroom door flew open. I could tell from the look on my father’s face that he was not happy. He started to speak in a low, barely audible voice.
“Okay guys,” he whispered. “I want you to hold up your pillows. When I hit them with the Belt you scream like it hurts. Do you got that?”
My brother and I exchanged glances of disbelief. We were shocked and could not quite understand what was going on.
“I said, hold up your pillows. Do you got that?” He repeated as he nodded his head.
My brother and I shook our heads and held our pillows up. –Crack- went the Belt across the pillow. “Ouch” my brother yelled through a smile. –Crack- “OW!”- Crack- the belt popped against my pillow. “OOW!” I yelped. –Crack- “Aww Ouch.” I hollered.
My dad turned to leave the room, he turned back and said “I didn’t like dinner either, don’t tell your mother.” And he left.
My father was the disciplinarian in our household when I was a kid. Sure my Mom would occasionally ground us, or wash our mouths out with soap but the penalties for the major infractions to the family rules were left up to my father to dish out. The worst punishment to get, besides the “I’m disappointed in you” speech and look, was the Belt. The Belt was an important tool when disciplining 9 kids.
I can only remember being punished with the Belt twice. One time, when I was about 8, I told my brother to “suck my *#$@”. I was 8 and I did not know what the phrase meant, but I did know it was an insult. After the three cracks of the Belt on my ass I knew that I would not say it again.
The other time that I was on the receiving end of the Belt was when the entire family, all 9 of us, were going to be punished for not eating our dinner. You see my Mom cooked dinner every night for 11 people. She tried real hard to make meals that were healthy and that we would all like, or at least eat, and that were within the food expense for the week. One time she decided she was going to be creative and make us a Chinese meal. Chicken Chow Mein I believe it was.
None of us would eat it. It tasted awful. My mom is a good cook but for some reason this recipe did not pan out. My 7 brothers, my sister and I sat at the dinner table for an hour without anyone touching their meal. We complained the entire time about how disgusting it was. It was gross. I think at one point one of my brothers threw the contents of their plate on the floor. When this happened my mother said to my dad, “I want them all punished.” She then placed her head in her hands and yelled at us to “go to your rooms.”
There were 5 bedrooms upstairs. My sister had her own room and all of the boys shared a room with another brother, 2 to a room. My room was in the middle of the 5. I heard my dad climbing the stairs snapping the Belt. I could hear him enter the first room. There was a pause. Then I heard the crack of the belt against their backsides. –Crack- “Ow” –Crack- “Ouch”, -Crack- “Owww!” –Crack- “Ooh!” The first two brothers got theirs.
My father entered the second room, the one right next to mine where the LawnWhisperer shared a room with Dan. I could hear him say something but it was muffled. There was a pause.
-Crack- “Ouch. Dad?” –Crack- Ow!”
-Crack- “OOOH.” , -Crack- “Arrrh.”
That was two more brothers were punished. It was my turn next. I sat on my bed as far away from the door as possible thinking that that would save me. The bedroom door flew open. I could tell from the look on my father’s face that he was not happy. He started to speak in a low, barely audible voice.
“Okay guys,” he whispered. “I want you to hold up your pillows. When I hit them with the Belt you scream like it hurts. Do you got that?”
My brother and I exchanged glances of disbelief. We were shocked and could not quite understand what was going on.
“I said, hold up your pillows. Do you got that?” He repeated as he nodded his head.
My brother and I shook our heads and held our pillows up. –Crack- went the Belt across the pillow. “Ouch” my brother yelled through a smile. –Crack- “OW!”- Crack- the belt popped against my pillow. “OOW!” I yelped. –Crack- “Aww Ouch.” I hollered.
My dad turned to leave the room, he turned back and said “I didn’t like dinner either, don’t tell your mother.” And he left.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Last Picture
I don't want this blog to "jump the shark" due to pictures of my new kid but I had to post this one.
Monday, June 19, 2006
See the resemblance?
Maxfield a few days old.
Wyatt Blue a few days old
Baby William a few days old. The facial hair comes from MY mom's side of the family.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Wyatt's Arrival (The conclusion)
Somewhere between 8:30 and 8:45 pm Lauren’s contractions became more intense. I was watching the contraction monitor and could see the peaks of the contractions were hitting a new high as well as the down time was becoming less and less. Even with the epidural Lauren could feel the pressure. The delivery nurse was in the room with us since 7:00. I asked her if she had any other patients and she said it was slow and that there were about 10 staff members at the nurses station with nothing to do. She ended up leaving the room at about 8:45. Lauren was doing really well when the door opened and another nurse popped her head in.
“Everything okay?” She asked.
“We’re doing good.” I responded.
“Okay, Barb, your nurse went on a break. I just wanted to pop in and check on you. If you need anything let us know.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
It was 9:10 pm when Lauren, with beads of sweat forming on her forehead, looked at me and said, “Can you go tell the nurse that I am ready to push now?”
I left the room and went to the nurses station. There were about 20 people at the station chatting away. Barb the delivery nurse was typing away on a laptop.
“Uh. Barb. Lauren says she is ready to push now.”
Barb looked up and me and laughed and shook her head from side to side as almost to say “These silly pregnant woman do NOT know when it is time to push. Fine I will get up from my break to comfort her. Hah ha hah.” She did not say that but her look and laugh and the slight rolling of her eyes said it for her. She followed me into the room and checked Lauren. She was surprised to realize that Lauren was ready to push.
“Okay, Mom (referring to Lauren), I am going to need you to wait for the doctor. He should be here in a few minutes. Don’t push. Just breathe through the contractions.”
We waited for 10 minutes which I am sure seemed like forever to Lauren. Dr. Bart finally came in and did a quick a check. Yes. Lauren was ready to deliver. He turned to Barb and said , “Call me when she is ready.” and he left the room.
Barb told Lauren to push. Which she did. She then said to me. “Dad, you stand there and help her and when I tell you hit that red button on the intercom.” She told Lauren to push again. Which She did. And again.
Barb said, “Okay dad. Hit the red button.”
A voice came over the intercom. “Can I help you?”
Barb barked, “ I need Dr. Bart, a delivery nurse and the pediatric nurse right away.”
I couldn’t resist the urge and I said, “And an order of Fries.”
The intercom voice said, “What?”
I fumbled to turn the thing off.
The door opened and two nurses came into the room followed by Dr. Bart. Lauren lay on the bed, legs in stirrups ready to deliver a baby. Dr. Bart got into position. We were waiting for a contraction so Lauren could push. One of the nurses at the foot of the bed said, “She does look like Paula.”
Barb responded, “See I told you.”
The pediatric nurse moved from the side of the bed to the bottom to get a better look. “I think she looks like Paula.”
Lauren had another contraction and pushed. As she took a breath she looked and the nurses and smiled and said. “Which part of me looks like this Paula.”
The nurses laughed. Lauren said, “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
Which then I said, “She is laying here spread eagle and you say she looks like Paula. I got to meet this Paula.”
The room got quite as Lauren had to push again. And again. The baby’s head was out. She pushed again and the baby was born. Lauren only pushed for 7 minutes. At 9:31PM on June 11th 2006 Wyatt Blue weighed 8 pounds even and was 21 and ½ inches long.
A few hours later we were being wheeled up to the nursery and we passed the nurses station. One of the nurses said, “Is that the Paula room?”
We stopped, and I asked if Paula was working. They called her on the intercom and she came out to meet us. I relayed the story of how her co-workers see her. Spread Eagle.
“Everything okay?” She asked.
“We’re doing good.” I responded.
“Okay, Barb, your nurse went on a break. I just wanted to pop in and check on you. If you need anything let us know.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
It was 9:10 pm when Lauren, with beads of sweat forming on her forehead, looked at me and said, “Can you go tell the nurse that I am ready to push now?”
I left the room and went to the nurses station. There were about 20 people at the station chatting away. Barb the delivery nurse was typing away on a laptop.
“Uh. Barb. Lauren says she is ready to push now.”
Barb looked up and me and laughed and shook her head from side to side as almost to say “These silly pregnant woman do NOT know when it is time to push. Fine I will get up from my break to comfort her. Hah ha hah.” She did not say that but her look and laugh and the slight rolling of her eyes said it for her. She followed me into the room and checked Lauren. She was surprised to realize that Lauren was ready to push.
“Okay, Mom (referring to Lauren), I am going to need you to wait for the doctor. He should be here in a few minutes. Don’t push. Just breathe through the contractions.”
We waited for 10 minutes which I am sure seemed like forever to Lauren. Dr. Bart finally came in and did a quick a check. Yes. Lauren was ready to deliver. He turned to Barb and said , “Call me when she is ready.” and he left the room.
Barb told Lauren to push. Which she did. She then said to me. “Dad, you stand there and help her and when I tell you hit that red button on the intercom.” She told Lauren to push again. Which She did. And again.
Barb said, “Okay dad. Hit the red button.”
A voice came over the intercom. “Can I help you?”
Barb barked, “ I need Dr. Bart, a delivery nurse and the pediatric nurse right away.”
I couldn’t resist the urge and I said, “And an order of Fries.”
The intercom voice said, “What?”
I fumbled to turn the thing off.
The door opened and two nurses came into the room followed by Dr. Bart. Lauren lay on the bed, legs in stirrups ready to deliver a baby. Dr. Bart got into position. We were waiting for a contraction so Lauren could push. One of the nurses at the foot of the bed said, “She does look like Paula.”
Barb responded, “See I told you.”
The pediatric nurse moved from the side of the bed to the bottom to get a better look. “I think she looks like Paula.”
Lauren had another contraction and pushed. As she took a breath she looked and the nurses and smiled and said. “Which part of me looks like this Paula.”
The nurses laughed. Lauren said, “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
Which then I said, “She is laying here spread eagle and you say she looks like Paula. I got to meet this Paula.”
The room got quite as Lauren had to push again. And again. The baby’s head was out. She pushed again and the baby was born. Lauren only pushed for 7 minutes. At 9:31PM on June 11th 2006 Wyatt Blue weighed 8 pounds even and was 21 and ½ inches long.
A few hours later we were being wheeled up to the nursery and we passed the nurses station. One of the nurses said, “Is that the Paula room?”
We stopped, and I asked if Paula was working. They called her on the intercom and she came out to meet us. I relayed the story of how her co-workers see her. Spread Eagle.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Wyatt's Arrival (part 2)
Read Part I here.
Lauren was doing great in the Brand New delivery room designed just for mothers giving birth and I sat in the corner playing Play Station Portable* Tiger Woods golf. Dr. Bart came in and broke Lauren’s water at 5:54 pm. I know the exact times of these things because I was typing them into my Blackberry as they happened for blogging sake. Our nurse was a quiet but confident girl named Michele who asked Lauren to pee in the hat. Which is a medical term for peeing into a plastic bowl that is inserted into the toilet bowl. Both Lauren and I found this pee in the hat phrase funny. Every time Lauren got up she had to take the gown she was offered which was filled with holes and cover herself. New Hospital, same old hospital gowns.
I was at 6 under with 8 holes to go at Pebble Beach on the Play Station Portable.
There was a shift change at 7 pm and a room change at 7:10 pm. You see the bed that Lauren was in did not work properly. She had to hop down from it. The automatic lifter thing was broken. There was no way the doctor would be able to deliver a baby with this bed, so we had to switch rooms. Brand New Hospital, refurbished beds.
For those keeping score I eagled the 13th hole.
In the new room things started to progress. Lauren got an epidural from a guy with shaky hands who missed on the first attempt. Apparently it is very painful when an "epiduralist" misses. He got it right on the second try. We had not seen the doctor since he broke the water and I suggested we get him to check on Lauren. I guesstimated that she was at 8 centimeters. Lauren said to me, “Are you ever going to put that thing down?" Referring to the play station. I turned it off.
I was 9 under par.
When the doctor did come in to check he confirmed the 8 centimeters. I was all "Did I tell you 8 centimeters?' Can I guess this stuff or what?" And I walked around the room like I was the champion. That was at about 8:30.
As Dr. Bart was leaving he said, “You will be ready in no time. You be a good girl and wait for me. I have to do a C-section. I will be back. We’ll get this going in time.”
I was shocked. Lauren’s mouth dropped. “What? Why? Is there something wrong?”
Dr. Bart turned to us, “No. everything is great.”
Lauren said, “You just said I need a C-section.”
Dr. Bart never realizing how he sounded said, “No you don’t. I have to go perform a C- section on someone else. Not you.”
Lauren and I were relieved.
We were chitchatting with our new nurse about the staff and what not when Lauren started to have worse contractions. It was getting close to delivery time.
* Earlier in the day every time Lauren winced from a contraction I would say “You okay?” Finally she said to me “Bill, Please stop asking if I am okay. I am fine. You keep asking and it isn’t helping.” I decided I would be of better help to Lauren if I were distracted while she was going through the early stages of labor so I brought my PlayStation Portable to keep me occupied.
Lauren was doing great in the Brand New delivery room designed just for mothers giving birth and I sat in the corner playing Play Station Portable* Tiger Woods golf. Dr. Bart came in and broke Lauren’s water at 5:54 pm. I know the exact times of these things because I was typing them into my Blackberry as they happened for blogging sake. Our nurse was a quiet but confident girl named Michele who asked Lauren to pee in the hat. Which is a medical term for peeing into a plastic bowl that is inserted into the toilet bowl. Both Lauren and I found this pee in the hat phrase funny. Every time Lauren got up she had to take the gown she was offered which was filled with holes and cover herself. New Hospital, same old hospital gowns.
I was at 6 under with 8 holes to go at Pebble Beach on the Play Station Portable.
There was a shift change at 7 pm and a room change at 7:10 pm. You see the bed that Lauren was in did not work properly. She had to hop down from it. The automatic lifter thing was broken. There was no way the doctor would be able to deliver a baby with this bed, so we had to switch rooms. Brand New Hospital, refurbished beds.
For those keeping score I eagled the 13th hole.
In the new room things started to progress. Lauren got an epidural from a guy with shaky hands who missed on the first attempt. Apparently it is very painful when an "epiduralist" misses. He got it right on the second try. We had not seen the doctor since he broke the water and I suggested we get him to check on Lauren. I guesstimated that she was at 8 centimeters. Lauren said to me, “Are you ever going to put that thing down?" Referring to the play station. I turned it off.
I was 9 under par.
When the doctor did come in to check he confirmed the 8 centimeters. I was all "Did I tell you 8 centimeters?' Can I guess this stuff or what?" And I walked around the room like I was the champion. That was at about 8:30.
As Dr. Bart was leaving he said, “You will be ready in no time. You be a good girl and wait for me. I have to do a C-section. I will be back. We’ll get this going in time.”
I was shocked. Lauren’s mouth dropped. “What? Why? Is there something wrong?”
Dr. Bart turned to us, “No. everything is great.”
Lauren said, “You just said I need a C-section.”
Dr. Bart never realizing how he sounded said, “No you don’t. I have to go perform a C- section on someone else. Not you.”
Lauren and I were relieved.
We were chitchatting with our new nurse about the staff and what not when Lauren started to have worse contractions. It was getting close to delivery time.
* Earlier in the day every time Lauren winced from a contraction I would say “You okay?” Finally she said to me “Bill, Please stop asking if I am okay. I am fine. You keep asking and it isn’t helping.” I decided I would be of better help to Lauren if I were distracted while she was going through the early stages of labor so I brought my PlayStation Portable to keep me occupied.
Wyatt's arrival (part 1)
Lauren was crampy all day on Sunday. She was just not feeling right. She was having contractions all day but did not think they were all that bad. They got worse as the day progressed but she has a high tolerance of pain so we were not sure if she was in labor. Around 3 pm she suggested we go to the hospital. She even said, “They will probably send me home but I would rather be safe.”
We dropped Maxfield off at our neighbor’s house (thanks Ann) and headed to the hospital 15 miles away. When we approached the tolls booths I asked Lauren to act like she was in serious labor so we could see if we could get through the toll for free. She said no. I asked again as we approached the next toll booth , “Please? Act like they do in the movies. Moan and stuff. I want to see if the guy at the booth let’s us go without paying.”
“No. I am not doing that. Don’t ask again.”
We signed in at the brand new, just opened a few weeks ago, hospital at 4:40 pm and were seen by a the triage people fairly quickly. One of the funny things about being in a brand spanking (pun intended) new hospital is the fact that none of the nurses knew where anything was in the rooms. The simplest task of finding a rubber glove took several attempts of opening different drawers and cabinets. The hospital was slow that day. There were about 20 staff members with only about 4 patients.
Lauren was at 5 centimeters and the they we going to admit her. The triage nurse was excited because they finally had “someone going up.” to the delivery floor. She wheeled Lauren past the nurses station where 15 nurses stood chit chatting. One of them asked something to the effect of “You got one?” referencing how slow it was at the hospital. The Triage nurse nodded . I asked for a round of applause for Lauren because she was “going up” and the 15 nurses applauded as we headed towards the elevator.
They wheeled Lauren up to the delivery floor. The nurse wheeling us got lost in the new hospital and it took us quite a while to find the right department. The entire hospital is based on circles. There really is no left or right when turning down the hallways because you are walking in one big circle. We entered two separate areas of the hospital that were totally vacant of any person. After a few tries we finally found the birthing area and into a delivery room and settled in for the night.
Kind of.
We dropped Maxfield off at our neighbor’s house (thanks Ann) and headed to the hospital 15 miles away. When we approached the tolls booths I asked Lauren to act like she was in serious labor so we could see if we could get through the toll for free. She said no. I asked again as we approached the next toll booth , “Please? Act like they do in the movies. Moan and stuff. I want to see if the guy at the booth let’s us go without paying.”
“No. I am not doing that. Don’t ask again.”
We signed in at the brand new, just opened a few weeks ago, hospital at 4:40 pm and were seen by a the triage people fairly quickly. One of the funny things about being in a brand spanking (pun intended) new hospital is the fact that none of the nurses knew where anything was in the rooms. The simplest task of finding a rubber glove took several attempts of opening different drawers and cabinets. The hospital was slow that day. There were about 20 staff members with only about 4 patients.
Lauren was at 5 centimeters and the they we going to admit her. The triage nurse was excited because they finally had “someone going up.” to the delivery floor. She wheeled Lauren past the nurses station where 15 nurses stood chit chatting. One of them asked something to the effect of “You got one?” referencing how slow it was at the hospital. The Triage nurse nodded . I asked for a round of applause for Lauren because she was “going up” and the 15 nurses applauded as we headed towards the elevator.
They wheeled Lauren up to the delivery floor. The nurse wheeling us got lost in the new hospital and it took us quite a while to find the right department. The entire hospital is based on circles. There really is no left or right when turning down the hallways because you are walking in one big circle. We entered two separate areas of the hospital that were totally vacant of any person. After a few tries we finally found the birthing area and into a delivery room and settled in for the night.
Kind of.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Introducing....
Wyatt Blue...
Born on 6/11/06.
Mom and Wyatt are both doing well.
The whole family is happy.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Nesting...Lauren Style
Our spare beddroom/office before
Maxfield's bedroom...after
Part of Lauren's nesting instinct for this pregnancy was making sure Maxfiled had a big kids room. As you can see the before pictures, everything was white. Now Max has a very colorful room done completely by Lauren, Okay I helped paint, but everything else was done by a pregnant women. The quilt, the window seat, the window treatment, the pillow on the window seat, the shelves being painted, the knick knack stuff on the shelves even the artwork on the walls was done by Lauren. I don't want to brag or anything but she is awesome.Max started sleeping in his new room about a month ago. It took one night for him to adjust to his big kids bed. He selpt straight through the night without getting out of his bed once. He has done the same every night since then. We'll see what happens when the baby arrives.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Signature
Did you ever notice that when you pay for something with a credit card the electric signature pad and pen never really work? Besides the fact that most of the signature pads in major stores like Home Depot or Sears are always scratched up like someone was using a dull dry wall screw as a writing implement, but even brand new signature pad machines never can actually capture a true signature. I also hate the fact that the electric pens, if there is one attached, are designed for right-handed people. Being a Southpaw I am always trying to finagle a way to get enough slack on the cord just so the pen can reach the pad.
But no matter how hard I try to make it work my signature always ends up looking like my left hand had a spastic seizure at the exact time I attempted to sign. Usually my first name looks okay, but nine out of ten times my last name ends up like an ECG read out from Dick Cheney’s medical records.
Recently I started to play a game when I make purchases. I sign my first name to get a feel on how the machine is going to react. If it looks like it may be okay I finish with my last name. But if it reacts like most of these machines do, I now write something different for my last name to see how it appears on the receipt. At Lowes, the other night, I wrote William Nerd. At Sears, yesterday, the machine was really messed up, so I wrote Duke of Earl. I know it is a silly little game and I am sure there are federal regulations against it, but I play anyway.
Yesterday, at Toys R Us, I signed IMA DORK. When the girl at the register looked at the receipt with the electronic signature on it she thanked me, started handing me my receipt and did a double take and re-read the signature. She snickered. Of course it printed clear as day. I was slightly embarrassed.
But no matter how hard I try to make it work my signature always ends up looking like my left hand had a spastic seizure at the exact time I attempted to sign. Usually my first name looks okay, but nine out of ten times my last name ends up like an ECG read out from Dick Cheney’s medical records.
Recently I started to play a game when I make purchases. I sign my first name to get a feel on how the machine is going to react. If it looks like it may be okay I finish with my last name. But if it reacts like most of these machines do, I now write something different for my last name to see how it appears on the receipt. At Lowes, the other night, I wrote William Nerd. At Sears, yesterday, the machine was really messed up, so I wrote Duke of Earl. I know it is a silly little game and I am sure there are federal regulations against it, but I play anyway.
Yesterday, at Toys R Us, I signed IMA DORK. When the girl at the register looked at the receipt with the electronic signature on it she thanked me, started handing me my receipt and did a double take and re-read the signature. She snickered. Of course it printed clear as day. I was slightly embarrassed.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Litter
I went with Lauren to the Obi-Gyn Kenobi yesterday. I have been to many of her appointments in an effort to meet all the possible doctors from the practice that may be delivering our new baby. While in the waiting room there was a little girl, Brianna, about 4 or 5 that was waiting with her mom. She was very friendly and very cute and kept Maxfield occupied as they played together.
After we met with the doctor, Maxfield and I went back to waiting room with our new rubber glove balloons, while Lauren went to the appointment desk. Brianna was excited to play with the five-finger balloons and told why she was there. Her mom was going to have a baby. She was going to be a big sister. She liked to dance and wanted to be a ballerina. I said hello to her mom who is only a few months pregnant.
Lauren entered the room, 39 weeks pregnant belly first, Brianna’s eyes widened and she said, “Ohhh look.” Pointing at Lauren’s belly, “She is going to have LOTS of babies.”
I took this picture this morning. Lauren was not happy that I was going to post a picture of her just after she got out of bed. I think she looks great.
After we met with the doctor, Maxfield and I went back to waiting room with our new rubber glove balloons, while Lauren went to the appointment desk. Brianna was excited to play with the five-finger balloons and told why she was there. Her mom was going to have a baby. She was going to be a big sister. She liked to dance and wanted to be a ballerina. I said hello to her mom who is only a few months pregnant.
Lauren entered the room, 39 weeks pregnant belly first, Brianna’s eyes widened and she said, “Ohhh look.” Pointing at Lauren’s belly, “She is going to have LOTS of babies.”
I took this picture this morning. Lauren was not happy that I was going to post a picture of her just after she got out of bed. I think she looks great.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Pool Party 2
We attended a second birthday party on Saturday that also involved swimming. While at the party Max played in a kiddy pool as Lauren and I stood by chatting with other parents that we had just met.
While talking, one of the other mothers mentioned that she worked at the local hospital. She turned to me and said, “You look familiar. You look like one of the doctors that I work with.”
I smiled and said, “You work with Dr. McDreamy? People mistake us all the time.” Referring to Patrick Dempsey’s character on Grey’s Anatomy.
She laughed and said, “Oh believe me, no doctors are that good looking. I mean no one looks like Dr. McDreamy. Television does not get it right. If there were a doctor that was that good-looking working at our hospital, I would know it. I have never seen a sexy looking doctor.”
Without missing a beat, Lauren laughed and said, “So wait, what are you saying? My husband isn’t good looking?”
The woman picked up on the fact that Lauren was just teasing but she tried to backtrack anyway. We all laughed and went about talking about the hospital some more.
When we got home I thanked Lauren for defending my honor in the looks department and told her how uncomfortable it was meeting people for the first time at a swimming party and that I felt awkward the entire time.
She said, “Don’t worry about it. You were no worse than anyone else.”
“What? Worse? That implies that I looked as bad as other people.”
“You looked just like everyone else.”
“Whoa, what happened to defending my honor and my looks?”
“Let’s face it Bill, you’re 35 and not in the best shape.”
While talking, one of the other mothers mentioned that she worked at the local hospital. She turned to me and said, “You look familiar. You look like one of the doctors that I work with.”
I smiled and said, “You work with Dr. McDreamy? People mistake us all the time.” Referring to Patrick Dempsey’s character on Grey’s Anatomy.
She laughed and said, “Oh believe me, no doctors are that good looking. I mean no one looks like Dr. McDreamy. Television does not get it right. If there were a doctor that was that good-looking working at our hospital, I would know it. I have never seen a sexy looking doctor.”
Without missing a beat, Lauren laughed and said, “So wait, what are you saying? My husband isn’t good looking?”
The woman picked up on the fact that Lauren was just teasing but she tried to backtrack anyway. We all laughed and went about talking about the hospital some more.
When we got home I thanked Lauren for defending my honor in the looks department and told her how uncomfortable it was meeting people for the first time at a swimming party and that I felt awkward the entire time.
She said, “Don’t worry about it. You were no worse than anyone else.”
“What? Worse? That implies that I looked as bad as other people.”
“You looked just like everyone else.”
“Whoa, what happened to defending my honor and my looks?”
“Let’s face it Bill, you’re 35 and not in the best shape.”
Monday, June 05, 2006
Is it wrong...
...that instead of giving Max a bath I just used 10 or so baby wipes to clean him before bed?
Pool Party
This past Saturday we attended two birthday parties for some neighborhood kids. Both parties involved cake, presents, lots of kids and the worst part, swimming of some sort. Now I like cake and presents and such but the swimming part was difficult for me. I had a decision to make. I am a vain man, but I also realize that most of my vanity is in my own head. So the decision was do I take off my shirt to go swimming or do I leave it on.
By taking off my shirt I would reveal to people, that I hardly know, my pasty white, somewhat overweight, partially gray hairy body. By not taking off my shirt, I look like the guy who is embarrassed by said body and when I would get out of the pool the t-shirt would stick to all the flabby areas of my midsection. The worst part about it, whether I wore a shirt or not, my hair would get messed up. I am very vain about my hair.
At the first party Max wanted to go into the pool right away. So I sucked in my gut and took off my shirt and we went swimming. After a few minutes Max went over to the baby pool and I sat on the side letting the sun dry me off. I felt very awkward being introduced to people for the first time with messy hair and no shirt. I am glad most of them were wearing sunglasses because I am sure that their eyes would have revealed their shock and horror to amount of water pouring out of my belly button as I stood up to shake their hands.
By taking off my shirt I would reveal to people, that I hardly know, my pasty white, somewhat overweight, partially gray hairy body. By not taking off my shirt, I look like the guy who is embarrassed by said body and when I would get out of the pool the t-shirt would stick to all the flabby areas of my midsection. The worst part about it, whether I wore a shirt or not, my hair would get messed up. I am very vain about my hair.
At the first party Max wanted to go into the pool right away. So I sucked in my gut and took off my shirt and we went swimming. After a few minutes Max went over to the baby pool and I sat on the side letting the sun dry me off. I felt very awkward being introduced to people for the first time with messy hair and no shirt. I am glad most of them were wearing sunglasses because I am sure that their eyes would have revealed their shock and horror to amount of water pouring out of my belly button as I stood up to shake their hands.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
I could have been a contender
I am a lefty. A Southpaw. Technically I am a “sit down lefty”. Actually when I was little I could use both hands equally. “I could go to my right, go to my left. I am what you call Amphibious.”
Growing up my 8 siblings and I were all encouraged to play sports. It was not forced upon us but encouraged. We all played the big three, Baseball, Basketball and Football. Eventually some of my brothers branched out to play, what we called then, pussy sports, such as Soccer and Cross Country Running. But when we were little it was the big three.
Some of us were naturally gifted athletes. Then there were some, actually one, me, that were not. I was always the outsider when it came to sports. I realize now that part of that lack of natural talent was due to me being ambidextrous. My dad used to say that when I was young that I would play with either hand. Whatever hand I caught a ball with I would use to throw it back. I could bat left handed or right. I did not favor one over the other.
Eventually what happened was, is that I would imitate my brothers. They were all right handed. So naturally, I would play right handed. Dan and John both batted righty, so then would I. Kevin would drive to the hoop, on the right, so that is what I did. I ended up learning to play sports right handed. I ended up favoring my right side. It never felt uncomfortable, but also at the time maybe I didn’t know better. Maybe I should have played as a lefty, but I wanted to be like my brothers.
Maybe if I played left handed, that one game in 12 year old little league, when the coach gave into my begging to let me pitch a few innings, I would not have thrown a pitch over the back stop. Or maybe that one time when I was in left field that grounder would not have gone through my legs. Or perhaps in high school, I could have been a left handed quarterback, with a rifle arm and gotten a scholarship and now I would be a pro making 20 million a year.
Yeah, I blame my brothers for their influence and for my lack of 20 million dollars. I think they should pay up.
Growing up my 8 siblings and I were all encouraged to play sports. It was not forced upon us but encouraged. We all played the big three, Baseball, Basketball and Football. Eventually some of my brothers branched out to play, what we called then, pussy sports, such as Soccer and Cross Country Running. But when we were little it was the big three.
Some of us were naturally gifted athletes. Then there were some, actually one, me, that were not. I was always the outsider when it came to sports. I realize now that part of that lack of natural talent was due to me being ambidextrous. My dad used to say that when I was young that I would play with either hand. Whatever hand I caught a ball with I would use to throw it back. I could bat left handed or right. I did not favor one over the other.
Eventually what happened was, is that I would imitate my brothers. They were all right handed. So naturally, I would play right handed. Dan and John both batted righty, so then would I. Kevin would drive to the hoop, on the right, so that is what I did. I ended up learning to play sports right handed. I ended up favoring my right side. It never felt uncomfortable, but also at the time maybe I didn’t know better. Maybe I should have played as a lefty, but I wanted to be like my brothers.
Maybe if I played left handed, that one game in 12 year old little league, when the coach gave into my begging to let me pitch a few innings, I would not have thrown a pitch over the back stop. Or maybe that one time when I was in left field that grounder would not have gone through my legs. Or perhaps in high school, I could have been a left handed quarterback, with a rifle arm and gotten a scholarship and now I would be a pro making 20 million a year.
Yeah, I blame my brothers for their influence and for my lack of 20 million dollars. I think they should pay up.
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