Amazing

Let's talk about amazing. I've been fortunate enough to witness a number of amazing events, and experience a handful of amazing times. Here are a few examples...

This is an amazing sunset as seen from our balcony. This view doesn't get old. 

This is an amazing rainbow we saw after a storm. Notice the orange sky? We stared at it for a while. It's a unique sight. 

There are two amazing things in this image. 1.The city in the background is amazing. I'm proud of my hometown Cleveland. 2.The team in the foreground is amazing. Always a Cleveland Indians fan. It will also be an amazing celebration when we win a championship. Hang in there. 

This is a snapshot of an amazing day. Here, we're in the middle of a wild afternoon of being with family and friends. I like this image because it's a still photo of a candid conversation. Of all our wedding pics, this one summarizes us best. 

Above is Ash Cave in Hocking Hills, Ohio. From this angle, we're standing inside looking out. It's amazing how erosion and other elements shaped a mammoth size cave. We traveled here on a very cold day when the snow added an amazing touch. . 

This is an amazing parking job. Looking for a parking spot in Columbus on a Saturday for a Buckeyes football game isn't easy. CJ - the gentleman on the right - parallel parked that car in that spot. Only 3 inches separate the rear and front bumpers from the neighboring cars. Amazing to witness. 

I don't have an image to post about this next amazing event. But I'd like to tell you about how amazing it was. 


A couple years ago, I had appendicitis. I spent a couple hours in some pain waiting for the doctors to remove the angry appendage. I kept telling Wife how much it hurt, and how I haven't felt anything like it before. As the pain intensified, I kept giving Wife updates on how the pain was and where it was at. Eventually, the appendix was removed. 


This past week, my wife spent a total of 39 hours in labor. Her contractions went from frequent painful discomfort to continuous agony in a short time. While it was evident to see she wasn't feeling great, she never complained out loud. At one point, the doctor asked, "On a scale of 1 to 10 - 10 being the worst pain you've ever experienced - what is your pain level?" In a calm tone, Wife replied "A 10." 


10? Based on her body language, I would have guessed it was a 6 - at most. This quiet acceptance of ongoing pain by my wife was amazing. As the day unfolded, I checked the monitor to see her contractions. With them only 3 minutes apart and lasting for 2 minutes, she responded in the same demeanor as she had 30 hours prior - just handling it as it happened. She remained very stoic throughout the whole process; treating labor and delivery like it's something she's done a million times. 


Let's make one thing clear: We are a competitive couple. It takes a lot for us to earn each other's respect. We don't congratulate one other for small accomplishments. Rather, we challenge each other to beat the record, set a new top score, or one-up the other. When I'm complaining, she tells me to stop whining. When she complains, I tell her that her mom is only a phone call away. 

But last week...

She rewrote my perspective of tough. I've been looking for a way to challenge myself and test my toughness - competing in a Tough Mudder race, joining a MMA class, running in freezing temps, finishing a triathlon. But she comes along and smashes to pieces everything I thought tough was, and she didn't even flinch. 

That's amazing. 

I don't think I'll ever see a sunset, or a parallel parking job that will be more amazing than the toughness my Wife showed last week. She has set the bar of amazing to a new height. 


There is an off chance that the celebration for a Cleveland championship may someday be more amazing than that though. 

Breathe

Anticipating a baby is fun, but it's not always easy. There's a lot to worry about. Is he safe? Is he breech? And so on. Wife and I have been locked in a state of suspense for a while. Whenever he would move around, she would say,"I just want to see him with his chest going up and down and breathing," to make sure he's healthy. 

We got our wish a few days ago.

We met our son for the first time late this past Friday night after a long time of Wife being in labor. 


The delivery of our son is one of those events that will remain etched into the fabric of my memory for a long time. With my adrenaline spiked (I couldn't imagine what my wife's was like), I can remember how each of my senses perceived the experience. 


In all the hustle of doctors, nurses, and resident doctors, I remember my first actions. I checked on Wife. She assured me she was fine. Then I checked on our baby boy. I watched as the resident doctor cleaned him up, and I remembered what Wife said about wanting to see his chest going up and down to assure us he was breathing. 


He was breathing great. I watched as his lungs expand and then exhale his first breaths of air. He threw in a couple of whimpers for a last convincing measure. His steady breathing helped me breathe easy enough to release all that suspense about his health. 


That night and the following days, we both enjoy watching him sleep. As he rests, his chest rhythmically rises and falls letting us know that he's healthy. We also get to see his lungs in action when he belts out loud cries during his diaper changes. Sometimes he struggles to catch his breath after he spits up or is coming of a crying binge. 


Now I think about how else we'll be able to watch his breathing develops as he grows older. We'll get to see his lungs work up the effort it takes to exhale his first words. We'll watch him try to catch his breath as he races around the house during a rousing game of chase. We'll have to right him when he breathes out his first bad word. We may watch as his lungs put forth the effort to play an instrument for the first time. If he decides to sing, we'll get to watch the effort he breathes into every note. We may or may not look forward to the day he musters up the courage to introduce us to his first girlfriend. We'll may watch as he makes a commencement speech, or says "I do." 


We'll watch his lungs throughout his life as they do all the talking, singing, laughing, and breathing for a long time.


In any future situation, we are just glad to see his lungs inhale and exhale over and over right now. It reminds us that he's healthy. It's his way of saying I'm finally here.

New Fan in Town

Only good part about watching the Browns game today was cheering them on with my newest buddy. He did a great job. 

Hoping this is the start to a great tradition. His mom is a big fan too. The three of us can now wait patiently for a championship together. 

Still Waiting

"You can't stay pregnant forever." 

Yes, these obvious words of hope were given to my anxiously waiting wife by hospital staff as she lay belly-up on a table during the doctor appointment this morning. While Wife expressed her displeasure at the waiting game, the STNA could only provide an eternal reference to help calm her nerves. I suppose it's not fair to be so sarcastic about the STNA's advice. She sees women everyday who just want to deliver the babies they've been carrying for months. 

Wife has been pregnant for 39+ weeks. We are days away from the due date. She is ready to deliver...now. Have you ever waited for the ice cream truck as a kid? The truck blares loud and repetitive music to announce is coming to a street near you. Kids can detect this music well. But sometimes the anticipation of the ice cream truck fogs a child's ability to hear the actual truck itself. A kid may be sitting in the basement watching a movie and hear the microwave go off upstairs. But the anxiety of waiting will tell the child "No, it's definitely the truck. Let's go!" Up comes the child - dollar in hand - out the front door; he/she arrives at the end of the driveway to a desolate street. 

Anticipating a baby delivery is similar to waiting for the ice cream truck. 

Suddenly, everything that Wife does becomes a symptom that indicates labor is only hours away. Every sneeze or muscle twitch is Googled and shown to be a symptom of approaching labor. I foolishly called her out and said, "You're not even to your due date yet. Give it a rest." Without hesitation, Wife shot back "Then YOU try carrying around a baby for 40 weeks and we'll see who starts talking."

I now stay silent; and even supportive in her anticipation of this delivery. As the due date approached, she has tried some interesting ways to begin induction:

A couple pulled us aside to inform us that Chipolte works. They said to just grab a burrito and within the day, we'll be rushing to the hospital. It worked for them, and another couple they knew. I won't pass on an excuse to consume a burrito made with ingredients that aren't injected with any hormones or antibiotics, and support family farmers that care for the land. Yum. We tried this last week. It didn't work. But I did finish my burrito, then started eating hers. She may have only made it a quarter of the way through her meal. 

Wife read that walking and exercise works every time. Since that time she's climbed more flights of stairs than a firefighter in training school. And she walks almost every day. As the temperature drops, she only increases her milage. Despite her efforts, no luck.

Just when we thought all hope was lost, December 10th showed promise. The calendar showed that there would be a full moon that night. This is the kind of break we've been anticipating. Her hospital experience says that crazy stuff - including many pregnancies - occur on nights of the full moon. As the sun went down that night, Wife came to life. She became excited. She asked questions like, "Do you think it would help if I would face the moon?" And, "Should we drive down to a beach?" We are 9 hours away from a body of water that experiences any tidal influence. This girl's gonna lose her mind. 

My biggest fears about this full moon madness were overshadowing the possibility of her going into labor. While Wife stayed occupied with trying to get induced, I feared she would pull a Michael Jackson in Thriller and start to transform into a werewolf. "No way" I thought. That's ridiculous. But her behavior still concerned me. 

'Cause this is thriller, thriller night. And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike. You know it's thriller, thriller night. You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller night. 

When we saw the doctor this morning, she tried yet another technique. Sweeping the membranes. I'll spare you the details. As it stands, we're still waiting on whether or not the sweeping process worked or not. 

None of these baby inducing tactics may work. They could all be done in vain. We - especially she - can be waiting in angst for a long time still. Good news though: you can't stay pregnant forever. At least we have that going for us. 

Lessons (about the bird)

It is tradition - a rite of passage even - for fathers to teach their sons valuable lessons. Unknowingly, young boys soak in every bit of information their father's bestow upon them. 


My father taught me how to whittle a stick with a pocket knife (a valuable skill when I get the urge to topple a grizzly with a pointed tree branch). He showed me how to bait a hook, cast a line, set the hook, and reel in a fish. Dad told me how to handle the bullies at school with one swift hit (worked every time). Learned how to hit a baseball, shoot a basketball, and tackle a running back. 


One thing ol' Pop neglected to teach me was something I witnessed recently. 


I attended the Cleveland Browns game this past Sunday. They were playing a division rival and I heard there were a lot of seats still available. Wife and I nabbed seats for 5 bucks each. When others ask, "Where are your seats?" I always reply, "high." That's the only way to describe the general vicinity of our ticket purchases - high. "Up" is also another common term. 

Our view of the game is usually above the first cloud deck.  
(go ahead and count the little helmets on the field - there's 11 each). 

After the hike to the top of Browns Stadium, I realized the 5 dollar ticket price already paid for itself. We were in the only part of the stadium - the top 10 rows - that didn't get rained on. We had a large overhang above us. Sitting in the Stratosphere has it's advantages. I carried a 'Yeah I planned that' type attitude the rest of the night. 



This particular game featured a battle of defenses. The score was 0-0 for a while until our opponents realized scoring wasn't that hard after all. Running in the first touchdown of the game, the other team trotted off the field to a pouring of boos that the Cleveland faithful rained down as hard as the weather they sat in. Not surprisingly, there were a variety of obscene gestures directed at the opponents as well. 


Stewing in my own pot of anger, I glanced down three rows to see a gentleman flipping the bird. I wouldn't have thought much about it until it was obvious there was a young boy on his lap. I assumed it was his son. This assumption was confirmed as the dad leaned to his son and held the middle digit in front of his face as if to show the lad how the bird works. Still maintaining a good flipping-off posture, the dad continued to talk with his son. And talk. And talk. 


I don't know what he said, but I imagined some remarks went like this:


"Well son, this is our only answer to the constant drubbing of touchdowns."
"Only pansies wear purple and black."
"Sometimes words aren't enough, and we have to use hand signals."
"Use this gesture only in traffic and at Browns games."


For a quick second I thought to myself: it kind of looks like he's teaching his son his first lesson on the middle finger. Not a moment later the little boy raised his left hand with only one finger showing. And it wasn't to tell the other team they were in first place in the division. He was putting his thoughts into gesture. 


Couldn't decide if it was better to be proud of this passing of knowledge, or slightly disturbed. 


Either way, I was never taught how to show such distaste with one hasty flip of a finger. I plan on showing my son a lot of the lessons my dad taught me. Whittling, fishing, car care, shaving, batting, shooting, driving, money management, hanging up Christmas lights, and so on. Not so sure the bird is going to be a part of that..........depending on how the Browns continue to do. 

Ego

Despite varying opinions of the appropriate time to begin Christmas decorating, much of the population agrees that the end of Thanksgiving is a social green light to begin. The day after Thanksgiving has been our day to decorate for as long as me and Wife have celebrated together. This year was no different. 


While most people store their Christmas boxes in an attic or above the garage, our special living situation has allowed for special Christmas storage as well. Our Christmas boxes are stored one floor below us in a dark and mysterious walk-in closet. It's about the size of a typical walk-in closet in a home, but ours is separated into sections and we share it with 15 other apartment dwellers. 


It's become normal to us, but fetching stored items is anything but typical. Wife and I have to use a key to get in. Once in, we have to turn the light on with a special timed dial. It starts to tick like a time-bomb as soon as it's set as it counts down the seconds. We turn the dial to the estimated minutes of required light then navigate to our locker. Our storage locker is secured with a combination lock which I can never remember the combination to. It's even harder to conjure up numbers with the tick,tick,tick,tick of the light-timer in the background. The small task of opening up a combination lock turns into a McGyver-like bomb diffusing situation. I begin sweating and breathing rapidly - just trying to retrieve decorations.


Once in, I sit patiently as pregnant Wife decides which boxes stay and which go. When the waiting and ticking get to be too much, I get caught up in the situation and yell a quick, "If you don't decide soon, this place is gonna blow!" She says no words, but uses her crafty eyes to tell me to calm down or she will calm me down.


With the boxes all selected, it's time to leave this mind trap and go back up to our suite. That's when... 


Wife: Hmmm. You can't carry all those boxes; you're not tall enough to see over the top. Let's make two trips.
Me: What?
Wife: Take half up now, then we'll come back down and get the rest.
Me: Are you doubting me? 
Wife: I'm being sensible, and smart too. You think you can get all that?
Me: Think? Just grab the door and watch out.


It wasn't the weight that made carrying everything so difficult. It was the fact that I couldn't see anything at all. From a distance, I looked like a 6 foot box with legs. It didn't help that the Christmas bells in the box kept jingling every stride. 


It would have been smarter to make two trips. Why not make two trips? Here are a few other direct quotes from Wife:

"You can't carry that dresser into the bedroom, you'll hurt yourself."

"You can't carry that to the car, let's take the cart."


"You can't carry all those groceries in, we'll come back down and get the rest."


"Don't stare at all the scenery while driving, you're gonna get in an accident."


"Don't walk across the frozen river, you're gonna fall through."

And so on.


In response to those suggestions:  the dresser was carried, so were the groceries, the scenery was admired, and the frozen river was traversed. 

Concerning as those comments may sound, they're phrased like that for a reason. What Wife is really trying to say is, "I don't want you to carry the dresser, because I'm afraid you'll get hurt." She's just looking out. Trying to make sure her man doesn't do irreversible damage to himself as a provider for the family. She's kept me out of trouble more times than I can count. 


The concern is much appreciated, but there is something about a man and a challenge. Maybe it's an ego thing. Accepting and conquering challenges makes a guy feel like a guy. Maybe it's so that I can hear my son someday say:


"Wow, my dad walked across that frozen river."
"Cool, dad just carried that whole dresser in there by himself."
"Dad didn't even need a cart to carry that out of the store."
"Did you see how many grocery bags dad had?! There were like seven on each wrist! Why are his hands turning purple?"


As I write this, a friend (http://cneading.wordpress.com/)  just tweeted about grilling in the snow. Smart? No. Sensible? No. Fun? You bet. Challenge accepted. Game on. 

Start Him Early

Today may not count as his first official Ohio State v. Michigan game, but he still knows how to show who he's pulling for....

Not sure whether it's right or wrong to impress favorite teams on an unborn child, but what's done is done. Go Buckeyes!!

Thanksgiving Dilemma

I had to piece together my Turkey Bowl football attire for our Thanksgiving day game. I had my jersey and hat picked out, but I needed some warm pants and a layer to wear underneath. Wife brought up the laundry at just the right time. Here's what I found...

I'm not sure a little football on my butt will go over well with the guys. But it does look warm enough. 

Closer And Closer

We are 5 weeks from the ETA. That would put us right in the middle of December. There's been a lot going on recently that indicates we are close to delivery...


Lack of mobility
I remember playing basketball back in high school. Our team got along really well. We were always looking out for each other. One of the bigger points our coach made was creating a turnover on defense by taking a charge. When one of our guys would get laid out on his back, and the ref made the move with his left hand behind his head and his right fist thrust forward, we were proud. First thing we did was extend our hand down to the teammate, he'd grab it, and we'd pull him up. You'll see that hand-clasped-pull-up teammate assist not just in basketball, but in all sports. It's a gesture that offers help, and displays cohesion of the teammates. 


Being on the cusp of delivery, Wife has some problems moving around sometimes. Her increased size has made it harder for her to do simple things. For example, when she needs to be helped out of her favorite spot on the couch, this move comes in handy. The second I see her struggle to get some upward momentum, her teammate - me - comes over with the ol' hand-clasped-pull-up teammate assist. It works perfect. We leave out the chest bump and butt slap at the end though. 


Baby room finished/things built
As it stands, we've got just about everything in place for the baby room. There's a crib, a glider (the new school way to say "rocking chair"), a dresser, clothes, books, a lamp, hamper, and so on. We even have one of those small wooden figurines of two parents holding a baby. 


Getting the baby room to that point was the hard part. Nothing comes fully assembled. Every time there was something to put together, I got my tools out. Not just some of my tools, all of my tools. Screwdrivers, socket sets, hammer, level, WD40, drill, blowtorch, circular saw, and jackhammer. Since we live in an apartment, I don't get to do much of my own home maintenance. Assembling baby junk is my equivalent of building a deck. 


Unfortunately, the only tools I needed were a Philips screwdriver, hammer, or Allen key. But you better believe that when something needed assembled, my whole tool collection came marching out. I've spent the last two weeks reading nothing but directions. Crib directions, dresser directions, swing directions, stroller directions... And now I can say I'm also fluent in both Spanish and French as well. 

Halfway through assembly and forgetting a few washers and bolts in the bottom of the box. 

Gypsy Couple
We were leaving the mall. Engaged in our own conversation, we didn't see an older couple passing by us. From nowhere, the kind lady asked us what we were having. "A boy," we replied. "Ahhhh a boy!" she exclaimed with her heavy Russian accent. She stared at us for a second then said, "And you're due next month. On the 22nd." Wife didn't respond because she couldn't understand this lady's dialect. I heard her perfectly clear but couldn't respond because I was shocked at how accurate she was. She didn't ask if it was the 22nd, it was almost as if she told us. I was able to manage a spattered, "Actually, it's the 18th." Then she said, "Yes, I can easily tell just by looking at you." 


The lady and her husband walked off as promptly as they came. I was floored. How could she be only 4 days off? 4 Days off is shocking considering we've heard guesses recently that have pegged Wife at only four months along. Four months? Really? I decided that this Russian couple must have some type of gypsy powers. I told Wife that if she delivers the Kicker on the 22nd, I will find that couple again and adopt them as honorary Godparents. And ask them if they foresee a Cleveland Championship anytime soon. 




While the above are signs that delivery day is close, there is still much to get done. 


What's most striking about the ETA is the first third of the acronym. The "E" part. E=estimated. Estimated to many guys simply means, "not now." And since the only issues I'm capable of dealing with are the ones happening in front of my face, planning for the actual Time of Arrival has been difficult. 


Of course, it's not unusual for a baby to be delivered early. While I cognitively understand that, I am physically having trouble of preparing for it. It's like being in college again: most people typically do all their studying and preparing the night before finals. But I can't afford to do all the preparation one night before the expected date. That would be nonsense.


Thankfully, Wife has been helping me be more proactive in preparing for the ETA. Here's how she's been helping me prepare...


The Route
Needing to take care of an appointment at the hospital, we thought it would be a good time for me to be familiar with the route to the hospital. The route really isn't that difficult. The hard part will be the time of year. Expecting in December and delivering on the east side of a city made famous for lake effect snow creates concern. Last winter, a white-out snowstorm created a parking lot of cars on the very route we need to take to the hospital. Workers leaving their jobs at 5 that evening didn't get home until 11. We must be ready for this. Now.....does anybody own a helicopter?


The most difficult about getting to the hospital will be figuring out parking. Wife showed me where to go, which entrance, and so on. Unfortunately, I had a hard time paying attention. Here's kind of how it went (my thoughts in italics):
Wife: Make sure you pass up this garage and keep following the road behind it.
Me: Ok
Wife: When you stop here, keep going past the intersection. Don't turn left.
Me: Yes
Wife: You keep going around the back of the hospital along this road until it dead ends into.........


Oh look, a train. It's goin' fast too........I bet I could jump off that bridge onto the top of it while it's moving. Then hop from one car to the other. Just like cowboys did back in the Old West. I'd get a six-shooter and stop the bad guy who was hijacking the train. We could get into a gun fight and when I injure him, I'd walk up to him and pull out my favorite Dirty Harry line, "I know what you're thinking. 'Did he shoot six shots or only five?'". Then I would arrest him. 


Wife: .......So can you make sure you remember all that? Because you're going to drop me off and have to park the car by yourself.
Me: No prob
We're screwed.


Who do you call?
When it's 'go' time, I guess you have to call the doctor. You say something like, "Hey, there's water everywhere and she's in pain." Then the doctor is supposed to meet you at the hospital I think. Anyway, the doctor has a number. And that number was put on a card and given to me by my responsible wife. I unfortunately have no idea where I put that card. Do you think 9-1-1 will eventually patch us over to the right person?


Pack a bag
The delivery usually requires a couple day stay at the hospital. This means we need to have a bag of clothes, belongings, toiletries, etc. ready to pick up and go. Wife dropped various hints that it would be a good thing to get this bag packed now. So I got right on it.....starting with the perfect iPod playlist for delivery day. And that's as far as I've gotten.


Now what?
The baby room is set, Wife is showing, people are predicting, and we need to be ready to go at a moments notice. But my plan of preparing on the 14th - the night before the due date - isn't the smartest idea. At some point Irresponsible Me has to become Responsible Me. The time to prepare, plan, and - most importantly - DO is now. So I'm going to get right on that........tomorrow sounds like the perfect time. 

To Quote Her...

It's not fair. I have the privilege of hearing the most absurd and off the wall comments come out of my pregnant wife's wacky mouth; but no one else gets to hear them. It's like being at a stand up comedy show by yourself - there is no one to laugh with or turn to and say, "That's so true right!" Just not as much fun. So when Wife comes up with a legendary pregnant-headed line or action, I have no one to enjoy the show with. 


I try to remember some of my favorite lines. 


The following quotes/conversations don't particularly have a place in any recent story. They just happened, and I thought it would be share-worthy. Wife says so many head-scratching things while she's pregnant....
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I Just Wanna Eat


It was around 3pm. We were cleaning up the kitchen after cooking a huge meal - odd time for a big meal. I was feeling good. I was so perfectly full that I forgot that there was a lot to complain about from the Browns game the day before. If I can forget that, I'm feeling good. My euphoria was abruptly distracted by this comment..........


Wife: (with flair and vigor) That was good!


          I don't care what time it is, I just be eatin'! 
          
          Was that dinner? 


          What was that?
          
          I just wanna eat, that's all I know!


What just happened? If I'm assessing this right, she just carried on a full conversation about her appetite, with herself. And it was full of punctuation and emotion. I thought I just cooked her an awesome meal? She's already talking about food again? There were many things I wanted to say, but I could only stand motionless and stare at the floor as if I was counting the tiles in my head. It's like daydreaming during math class, but then the teacher calls you up to the front to solve a problem on the board. You can only stare and hope for divine intervention. 


Editors Note: Just to be clear, Wife has been, and continues to maintain a beautiful figure during this pregnancy. 


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Spaghetti Sauce Dreams


I manage to do a decent job at regularly stressing Wife out. There are numerous dates I've missed, appointments I've forgotten, clothes I've left out, and Wii's I've broken while trying to fix them that she get's a good dose of stress. I remember a few weeks ago though; she was on a hot streak of consecutive days without much husband-induced-stress. Unfortunately, she decided to take matters into her own hands.....


Me: Hi Honey! I'm home form work on this beautiful afternoon. Let's go for a walk together because it's splendid outside - splendid just like you make me feel!
Wife: Do you wanna hear this dream I had during my nap this afternoon?
Me: C'mon, you know my favorite thing to do is listen to what's on your mind. I love hearing what you have to say. Want some chocolate while we talk? 
Wife: Well.....in my dream I came walking down the hallway and saw some spaghetti sauce on the couch. When I went to go look closer, I realized there was spaghetti sauce ALL over the couch....AND the chair.....and ALL over the carpet and walls, and completely covering over half the living room. I was SOOOO mad because I KNEW that you had spilled this everywhere and refused to clean it up just like you ALWAYS do.  And then I REALLY got mad when I called you to say you had messed up the living room, and you told me you forgot to clean it up!! Then I was stuck cleaning it up while I was all pregnant!!!! I woke up right after that and my heart was beating so hard. I felt so much stress like it had actually happened. Ha Ha! Isn't that funny?!


It's sad really. I finally manage to do things right, and her brain still finds something to blame me for! A mythological something of all things! Her subconscious thought it would be hilarious to make something up, and get her physical-self to be stressed because of me. 


I'm not panicking though. If the Kicker is anything at all like me, she's gonna have another one to put the blame on. And I will enjoy using him as a scapegoat. 


I also may have slightly embellished my lines there in the story. But they were close. 
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She's Got Answers


I'll admit. It can't be easy living with me. I spend more time acting 12 than 25. I joke around about her pregnant-ness, but Wife really keeps it together. She's doing a great job. In one of my more recent 12 year old moments, she blasted me with a witty response which I'll always remember. Thoughts in italics.


Me: (I'm looking down at my arms while flexing my muscles) Do you think I look tough?
Wife: What is that supposed to mean?
Me: Well, if you were walking alone in a dark alley with just me, would you feel safe?
Wife: This is a stupid question.
Me: Ha! You can't escape it. You just don't want to hurt my feelings. You can say I'm a wuss, I won't be offended. I would have been seriously offended.
Wife: It's not a fair question. 
Me: Whatever, I got what you're saying.....
Wife: No. This is like the "Do I look fat?" conversation. There is no good way to answer it. Anything I say will be insufficient for you.


See, she's good. I couldn't think of anything to say in rebuttal. I sat and thought for a while. If you were to reverse our roles with the "Do I look Fat?" question at the beginning, this conversation wouldn't change a word - except the walking down the alley part. Crazy. 




I still want to know if she'd feel safe though. Maybe she just found a creative way to dodge a bullet. 

The Most Dreaded: Part III

Part III: The Shower

The final chapter to the Most Dreaded trilogy concludes here. To sum up the series, we had a pre-registry experience, and a registry experience. We end the saga with the actual shower today. Here are the links if you'd like to read both Part I and Part II in full.


I remember May. That's when we had our first conversation about the baby shower. When Wife brought up the idea of me going, I confidently refused. I based my reasons for not going solely on my gender. There was no other reason besides that. "Well all the guys do it these days," she responded. Then she gave me about 10 guys we knew who were at their baby showers. I didn't care. 


There was no way I'm going to place myself in a room full of pastel blue colors and balloons. She constantly tried to sway my stance by telling me that's not how it would be. Didn't work. This was a ridiculous battle. I've been known to give into a variety of arguments, but this was one she was not going to win. 


It's October now, and I'm staring at my closet trying to figure out what to wear to a baby shower. I'm going. While staring blankly at my clothes, I tried tracing back the last few months to figure out how I got involved in this. I may actually remember. Now that I think about it, every time Wife would mention the shower to someone, she just casually talked like I was going. Over time, I think I just to slowly began to believe that I was going too. Next thing I know, I'm picking out what to wear for a baby shower. Just like that.  


I ended up deciding on a purple striped V-neck t-shirt. My reasons for the purple tee: I feel most comfortable in V-neck tee's, and comfort will be important today. Purple is also a color that represents royalty and nobility. This will help show my authority. To top it off, I went with jeans and work boots. I figured it would show my tough side. Kind of like a yin/yang look I think. 


While driving to the shower, we came to blows over a matter that has been for the most part quiet. Being the end of October and all, the temperature has dropped significantly. Any normal person would layer on a few more clothes and turn the heat up in the car. Well apparently, those rules don't work for pregnant ladies. I haven't felt my fingers or toes for 3 weeks now. Our windows in the apartment are always cracked open. During the car ride to the shower, Wife decided to roll down her window a bit. I was not happy with this.


Me: Seriously, are you trying to turn me into Frosty or something? I'm freezin' over here. 
Wife: What are you talking about? It's stuffy and hot?
Me: Stuffy and hot? Sauna's are stuffy and hot. This is the North Pole. 
Wife: Sorry about it. You should wear more clothes. 
Me: No, I'm tired of this. I haven't warmed up in 3 weeks now!
Wife: Let me feel your hand...


She grabbed my hand. 


Me: What's wrong with your hands? They feel like they're running a fever.
Wife: Wow, your hands are cold. That's not good.
Me: I know. Can you roll up the window please? I can't even drive.
Wife: No. I'm hot. Doctor said it's all about how I feel while I'm pregnant. Including the temperature.
Me: Did she also dip you in a vat of molten lava when I wasn't looking? 


We arrived. Ready to party. First thing I see is a number of women dressed in purple. They must know about the royalty and nobility too. And everyone is dressed kind of nice. When I went to the rest room, I checked the mirror. What was I thinking? Really? A purple striped t shirt with jeans and work boots? How can I dress my soon-to-be-born son when I can't even dress myself? I put zero - well, actually the wrong - thought into what I was going to wear. For an occasion that promises a massive female turnout, I did a bad job at caring for my appearance. It looks like I spun the roulette wheel of party wear and missed bad. 


The whole shower happened fast. There were a lot of people we knew.  Much time and effort went into throwing this party together. It was...fun. There were two tables stretched end to end, and they were loaded with gifts. There was a lot of food too. We opened gift after gift after gift. And we got to see and talk with people we haven't seen in a while. This shower will help us get off to a great start with a newborn.


I remember opening one gift in particular that was wrapped in a bag of glitter. Like all glitter, this stuff poured all over my lap and arms and shirt. When we finished opening that gift up, I looked like a sunlit vampire from the Twilight series. All shiny. That was a perfect touch to my purple outfit. 


All the people and all the gifts. Family and friends. We're lucky. Actually, the Kicker is lucky. He's going to be born into an environment were there are so many people that care about him. That's what this shower showed. I'm glad I went. And we were thankful for everyone who celebrated with us. 


Afterwards, we loaded the booty into a couple cars and headed home. Living off the first floor creates a challenge when transporting 9 tons of baby gifts. But it happened. And it was cool.

No room to stand in the elevator!!!

Once we hauled the baby's stuff upstairs, everything was put into the empty room to be sorted later. 

Wife with the loot. Still can't believe we got that much. 

There you have it. Successfully conquered a baby shower while wearing a purple t shirt and boots. I feel invincible. Now I got to pack a bag to take to the hospital when it's labor time. 

It's All About the W

This past summer, I got the chance to eat in the Patron Platinum Lounge at the Q Arena and hear Coach Byron Scott talk. He said many things. But one thing he talked about that stuck....

Winning

The man knows how to win. He's got NBA championship rings, he's coached in the Finals, etc. He talked about how winning is an attitude, an approach, a lifestyle. Winning is an expectation. Not just improvement, not getting better, but complete winning. 


He confidently told listeners that as Coach of the Cavs, he expects to win. Because he is a winner. That's how he described himself...as a winner. 


I remember my last at bat of my High School baseball years. Playing our cross-town rivals, their ace had worked all the way into the last inning. They were up by a couple runs, there were two outs, we had a couple guys on base, and we were down to our last out. Who comes up to bat? You know it. I walked into the batters box confidently. A fan of theirs yelled out, "I'd hate to be you 47!" That was my number. And I thought to myself, I'll make you eat your words with one swing. Then...........Strike one. Strike two. Strike three. Game over, season over, baseball over. 


That was not supposed to happen.


Winning never came easy for whatever team I competed on. The only championship I remember winning was with my 4th grade basketball team. We were the Seven Hills Cavs, and we finished #1. That's it. To this date, I haven't experienced a trophy since. 


(Being a fan of a city that hasn't celebrated a championship since 1964 doesn't help either)



The other day, I watched a group of kids crowded together asking for a football from a Browns player. The player threw a bunch of balls into the crowd of kids. Only about half of the kids were able to catch and keep a ball. It may not seem like much, but it's tough for a kid not to have a ball when everyone else does. At first I'm thinking, c'mon and find a way to get all the kids a ball man. Then I figured, guess some of them kids got to know what it's like not to have one. 



I want my son - and possible future children - to be winners. I want them to walk around with the attitude of winning. I want them to expect to win and succeed at what they do. But I also want them to fail. I want 'em to fall hard and not get what they were working for. 


He's got to know what it's like to not have, so he know's what it's like to have. He's gotta hurt in losing so experiencing a win will be even more appreciated. Eventually, he'll be able to see what it takes to win, to succeed, and to excel wherever he puts his efforts. The losses will be a learning experience. He'll learn how to respond when he doesn't get a football tossed into a crowd, or strikes out to end a game, or bricks a last second shot, or fails a spelling test, or doesn't get into the college he wanted to.


How we respond in our losses reveals who we are on the inside. And I hope he can be proud of the way he responds in the loss, so he can learn how to win. 

Off Days Are Now On Days

When did the off day become the busiest day of the week? It was great when the off day meant unlimited possibilities. Now the off day means check marks in the boxes of a to-do list. Has this  happened to you? 


Today was one such example.....


We had a doctor's appointment to check on the baby early this morning. Wife says early appointments are better because you don't get backed up in the waiting room like later in the day. She's right; but now I'm dozing off while reading the news and surrounded by pregnant ladies. Being at these 2 week check ups makes me feel like I'm an important part of the baby process. It makes me feel all grown up and mature asking important questions about the baby.


Still on the topic of being all grown up. The nurse showed us into the room. I went to take my keys out of my pocket and noticed my fly was wide open. Not just cracked open or halfway unzipped; it was as if my zipper called in sick that day and didn't show up for work. At least I hadn't spent the last 23 minutes in a waiting room full of ladies, then standing around a bunch of nurses while Wife's blood pressure was being taken. Could you have imagined if that would have happened?!


There's never a moment so awkward as when you're all alone with your significant other waiting for the nurse. It's like regressing to the moment in the relationship when you both first met. The room sits in complete quiet. Any talking we do is at whisper level for some reason. To break the weird silence, I decided to ask Wife a question I'd been thinking about.


Me: What should we do with the chord blood?
Wife: Nothing. There's no way we can afford to have it frozen and stored.
Me: Idea. What if we took the chord blood and froze it ourselves. Just in case we needed it for a major operation someday (before you wince in disgust, chord blood contains essential stem cells that can treat major diseases or something. Most effective when used within family)
Wife: That's illegal. They didn't let you keep your appendix when they removed that did they?
Me: That's not fair though. It was MY appendix. I grew up with it. Same with the chord blood. 
Wife: It's disgusting. We'll donate it. I'm not having chord blood frozen in our home somewhere.
Me: Fine....................Think it's still possible to get my appendix back?


We headed downtown after the appointment to meet with our financial advisor. She does an incredible job helping us situate our finances and make smart money choices. We thought it wise to seek her counsel with how to strategically allocate our monies with a baby on the way. We sat and spoke for about 3 hours. We left with a plan in place and completely exhausted.  


We got home a full work shift - 8 hours - after we had left in the morning. 


Winding down with a movie sounded good. Wife suggested the movie Sanctum. It's about a team of spelunking cave adventurers that get trapped in the worlds largest underground cave. The whole movie consisted of people swimming and crawling through narrow and closed passes. This was perfect for a guy who's claustrophobic.


Let's be clear about one thing: I'm not afraid of encloses spaces.......I just start to pass out if I happen to have no exit in a small space. There's a difference. After spending the whole movie with my head between my knees to keep the blood flowing to my brain, the movie ended. 


This was the "off day." Waiting, fly open, doctors, driving, downtown, meetings, scary dumb movies, etc. Is this how to spend our time off?


It's good though. What kind of parent's would we be if we weren't taking the proper precautions for the baby? We have peace of mind that his heartbeat is normal, and his health is in check. We're prepared for the delivery. We are taking the right financial steps in considering his future. Watching a movie that induces my fear of enclosed places really has nothing to do with preparing for the baby. But everything else is worth the busy off day. 


He better thank us someday.