27

Me: "I'm going to write a quick blog about my birthday tonight."

Her: "What are you going to write about? You didn't even do anything for your birthday."

If you would have asked 8-year old Matt what life would be like at 27, he would have said the following:

• in his 7th year playing for the Cleveland Indians
• have 7 World Series rings and 7 walk-off home runs to win them all
• have 100 acres of forest to romp around in
• own a boat
• drink a milk shake every day. 
• have an awesome wife 

Unfortunately, I'd tell young Matt that only one thing from the list is true today - and I'm not sure a two-person inflatable raft counts as a boat. 

Just playin'! My wife is my best friend and teaches me what selfless love looks like every day. She even approves of me using lame jokes on a public website at her expense. So we've got two things from that list. Not bad.

In 27 years so far, there haven't been any World Series appearances for me. And the closest brush with 100 acres of woods has been in a Winnie the Pooh book with the Kicker before bed. Maybe 8-year old me would be let down with himself 19 years ahead. 

But I would say a couple other things to him. Reading that book before bed will be one of the best parts of your day. And it may not be the World Series, but you'll be buying your son his first glove this winter. 

27 didn't meet all of the 8-year old expectations; it likely exceeded them. Looking forward to not meeting my 27-year old expectations of older versions of myself as well. 

It's a Nokona BC-1200C designed for infielders and pitchers. At a cool $260 it can be the Kickers first glove. Any contributions toward this mortgage glove payment can be forwarded to me. 

Sandy Came to Town

It's 6:20 on a Tuesday evening. Let me paint you a picture of what I'm looking at...

My wife is pressed against our patio door with her cell phone raised in the air searching for a trace of a signal to send a text. She keeps bringing it down to look at the screen, and then lifts it again to the sky in hopes of sending her message.

My 10 month old son is cradling an iPod touch as it plays the song Notorious B.I.G. He gives an occasional bounce up and down during the hook. 

We've arrived at this place because of one reason:  SANDY.

The name Sandy should have always remained associated with the great Cleveland Indians catcher of the '90's. But as a Hurricane that managed to affect Cleveland, Ohio, Sandy will be remembered as a super storm for a while.

On Monday afternoon I drove up to Lake Erie to see the storm. Crazy stuff. 

I also took a weak video. You'll have to excuse the quality. I was trying to not get blown off a cliff into a waterfall.

We lost 1/2 of our electricity. Our light bulbs work at about half-wattage, and none of our appliances work. But obviously the computer works. 

Here's the deal: between my wife being plastered to the window in search of cell signal, and my son clinging to one of the few battery operated devices we own, our family as a whole looks like a panicked mess without electricity. Meanwhile I've been setting up candle stations, carrying around my flashlight, and making sure I have my watch on at all times for accurate time readings. 

This is not typical for a Tuesday night. But it is kind of fun.

Fall Family Photo

We took a family portrait today. It doesn't look a lot like us, but it works.

You have dad on the left, mom on the right. Kicker is in the middle there.  And  baby boy due in February is next to him. 

We're a good looking family. What may surprise you is that the third-largest pumpkin is a lot of work to keep up with. When the second-largest pumpkin is working nights, the biggest pumpkin devotes 100% attention (99% if the Browns are on) to the third-largest one. 

All the attention makes it difficult to keep up with the site here. Fans of this blog hang anxiously in the balance to hear about our new adventures. When I do sit down at the computer, the third-largest pumpkin crawls with a vengeance across the living room floor and climbs up the chair I sit on. With his clammy hands, he then he smashes the corner of the keyboard where the Ctrl, Shift, Fn, and Caps Lock buttons are. 

Makes it tough to get any work done. Besides, what kid wants to see the back of his dad's head all evening? 

Here's to short posts and the autumn season.

Happy Fall. Be sure to enjoy.

Bash Brothers

The above image is of our newest baby. Taken today. 

For years I've seen ultrasound pictures of babies and pretended to know what I was looking at. "Oh that's cool," I'd say; when all I really saw was a Rorschach image of indefinable black and white shapes. 

Now I know what to look for. In today's case, we were looking for the gender.

To help those who still view rolls of ultrasound images as some kind of parents-only inside joke, I've added a creative border. In this case, the border is to aid in the announcement of our baby's gender. 

I thought about posting the picture of him with his legs spread and the ultrasound tech's caption that said "It's a Boy!" accented by a little tiny hand pointing at the definable quality. But I didn't want to start this kid's life off by posting a photo of his member online. 

We're very excited. Kicker has a little brother who has yet to earn a name. The evidence on the ultrasound picture was unmistakable, but we asked the doctor just to be sure.

"You're positive it's a boy?" We asked.
To which he answered, "If it ends up being a girl, it'll be a big surprise."

We've been surprised enough in the past year-and-a-half; don't push us.

The Night the Keys Got Locked in the Car

An Ode to Spare Keys

The plan was simple: take the baby to the mall, and walk for a while. The weather was cold and rainy, and he had just been given a shot at the doctor's office earlier. To alleviate a cranky baby  and dodge miserable weather, the mall would be a fine distraction.

But instead of just going up to the mall, we ended up picking a fight with higher forces of irony for the better part of 2 hours. 

We went down to the car. When I unlocked the door, I placed the keys in the ignition and went to get the baby in the car seat. Problem #1 - there was no car seat. No car seat = no safe transportation. Although I admit to debating using multiple bungees and a makeshift cushion; I quickly dismissed the notion.

(This must be the most horrendously boring story to someone without a kid. But these are the dilemmas. I used to think car seats were baskets for transporting children. Now I realize there are 9 stages of them, each required by law, and at times make you feel like you're strapping John Glenn into his space ship to orbit the earth.) 

I made quick Plan B for the evening since we couldn't go to the mall. Problem was, my mind was so enamored with devising the back up plan that my physical body went into auto-pilot. Next thing I knew, all my car doors were shut, locked, and I didn't have keys to get into the car, or the apartment building. 

Things escalated quickly.

"No problem," I said out loud. I can get the spare car key out of the apartment. Problem is, my apartment keys were attached to the car keys, attached to the ignition, attached to the locked car.

I did what any self-confident and in control 26 year old would do. I called my mom. Months previous to this she worked vigilantly trying to get an extra set of apartment keys from the leasing office. She was over babysitting from time to time and needed a set to get in and out of the building when she took the baby out. 

Brrrrrrriiiiinnnnnnggggg....

"Mom," I said. "You don't happen to have that spare set of keys to the apartment..." And then I realized the forces of irony were working their magical spells. 

You see, when my mom was able to get the spare set of keys months ago, I convinced her that the smart thing to do would leave that set in the apartment for any baby-sitter to use. It wouldn't make sense for her to have them solely in her possession - until 7:03pm on a cold, rainy Tuesday night. 

There we sat, Dad and Son. Locked out of our transportation, and locked out of our shelter. We felt like two great warriors sent off to test the limits of our patience and will. We soon managed to get into our apartment building, but still were unable to get into our actual suite. Together we sat in the lobby. That's when the Kicker thought it would be a good time to play the "Ohh-look-my-high-pitched-scream-echoes-really-well-in-here" game. 

All I had left to do was call our building's after-hours line to get someone to come unlock our suite door. Should have been an easy task. But I had to call from my 4-year old, 99 cent with the contract phone that I brag to all smart phone users still works like the day I bought it. But this day, it must have used up it's last cent in value. I attempted 9 calls (literally) to the after-hours manager and the call dropped mid-conversation each time. 

By the tenth call, I spoke so fast to cram in a distress signal about being locked out without trying to be cut off again. After a colorful two hours, we were back in the apartment, and in our suite. As of tonight, my keys sit idly by positioned in the ignition of a car that is locked. 

But Father Irony wasn't done. I checked to make sure we still had our spare set of apartment keys. The key chain on the spare set of keys stood as a final punch in the nose of my pride. "Worlds Greatest Mom" it read. It was like she knew.