Background: I have a 6 week old infant daughter.
In an ongoing effort to avoid sleep deprivation psychosis, my wife and I now alternate “standing watch” for Grace each night. Last night was my night. Man, a day that ends at midnight and begins at 4:30 sucks. Really could’ve done with another hour of sleep at least.
Still, it beats Sunday night/Monday morning, at which time my daughter went to bed at 11:30, then woke up at 2:30 and screamed the next 18 hours.
Yes, I’ve caught the blogging bug. I feel different enough from my former self that it seems to make sense. Maybe I’m reading too much Peter Egan these days. Whatever, I’m here, again.
This weekend was another hole in my soul weekends when Joey gets to go to Louisville to be someone else with Dad #1. This is not how he phrases it, but that’s it in effect. From my perspective, I drop him off @ 7pm Friday, he goes into a fugue state for 48 hours, then I pick him up at 7pm Sunday. In any case, it kills me, as Joey’s my only defense against the giggly, shopping, toe-painting brigade known as the Combs Women.
Whitney - Nov 1, 2010
Hey. I laughed plenty this weekend about things revolving around fire. and seriously? When was the last time I had my toenails painted? When was the last time I had toenails, come to think of it? See what happens? You call me female and the claws come out. oh. wait. shucks.
From time to time, I like to check-in on what daily life is like. Yeah, it’s mundane, but it helps me remember what I was like at any given moment.
So, it’s a busy, structured day almost every day. Back when I first got married, the above would’ve driven me mad. I hate/hated repetition and routine, and the daily grind got to me often. Two infants drive that sort of hubris right out of you, apparently. Nowadays, I yearn for those nights where I can get 6 uninterrupted hours of sleep.
Randal L. Schwartz - Nov 5, 2010
I like how it says it twice, like you don’t believe it the first time.
Inspired by @tr0x on Twitter.com, here’s my anti-bragging list @ age 32.
I suck at most anything sports related. I’m egotistical and I hate to lose, from which naturally follows I never liked being on any sports team. I was on a T-Ball team when I was 6. I played right field, couldn’t catch a ball to save my life, and that team ended-up winning the league championship. I chose to retire on top, you might say.
Susan - Nov 4, 2010
You are not a bad friend. We all get wrapped up in life sometimes and that is that. Friends are people that you can talk to at any point and it seems that no time has truly passed. :-0
Yeah, commenting on my own post.
I was in a training class last week, and thought these quotes were interesting:
I’m 31, and I have arthritis in my lower back.
THIRTY ONE YEARS OLD.
Mom’s prophesy has come true: “You need to get up and move, or you’ll have arthritis by the time you’re 30.” You were off by one, mom.
Can’t really lay blame on anyone but myself here. I’m the one who decided sitting around like Jabba the Hut for the last decade was the way to go. Twenty six percent body fat, zero flexibility, and no core strength.
I’ve been pulling lots of OT at work lately (as has my whole team) and this past week, the walls started closing in on me. That’s appropriate–I work in a windowless lab surrounded by high-walled cubicles and machines that wouldn’t pass FCC Class B certification with a bribe and a reactor radiation shield. Our lab has a sign with fake (?) blood on it that says: “Stress relief: Bang head here.”
Whitney - Jun 3, 2010
ummm……yeah….>I don’t think you’re part of the generation that grew up on these movies and thus including yourself in the “moving on” generation is absurd. You were 16 when the first one came out - mostly grown…..
Most of my Saturdays involve me getting to “sleep in” to 7am. Today was special–I got to sleep in to 8:30, at which point Bella declared, “Well, I’ve been awake for 2 hours at this point, might as well get up.”
To encourage domestic sanity, Whitney and I have an arrangement–each of us gets alone time for around 4 hours each weekend. Traditionally, Whitney gets hers Saturday mornings ’til 1pm.
(As related to Kim Tegge, the lone coffee holdout at work)
Stage 0: Coffee?! BLECH! Does smell good, though.
Stage 1: Coffee?! BLECH! I’ll take a Mocha Frappuchino, please.
Stage 2: Coffee?! BLECH! I’ll take an instant French Vanilla Cappuccino, please. I drink one of these every couple of weeks or so.
Stage 3: Latte, please. I can’t stand coffee. This is my first one this week.
Stage 4: Hmm…no latte? No Starbucks? Need something…I’ll take some coffee with my cream and sugar. Never had this before.
This morning, my daughter Maria, had a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy at an outpatient surgery center in Lexington. She did very well, considering. She wasn’t happy to have all that pain when she awoke.
She cried, and I held her in the recovery room as they took the IV out of her left arm. The nurses and staff at the outpatient center were attentive, answering our every question.
We took the slow trip back to Georgetown in the Cube (still no van ’til next week), and she dozed lightly with mom keeping her company in the back seat. Since then she’s taken her Tylenol 3 (with yummy Codeine) and 2 popsicles.
This year, I was puzzling over the word ‘Easter’ itself. Doesn’t seem to have any religious connection, does it? All the Latin-derived languages borrow from “Pesach,” the Hebrew word for passover.
Surprise, Easter is named for an Anglo-Saxon Goddess of Spring. Traditionally the goddess Eoastre saved a frozen bird by turning it into a bunny. A bunny who could lay eggs, like a bird. BANG–“Easter Bunny”
For me, this Easter has been a real bust. Really, the whole Lenten season, too. Usually, I get into everything from Ash Wednesday through Pentecost–purification, focus on religious life, prayer. This year, it’s been a succession of issues: Pregnancy, Mom’s cancer returning, ongoing illness in my wife & kids, work, a car accident, dealing with insurance company. This weekend’s been the exclamation point on that–missed our Good Friday chorale because of shuttling J, then missed Easter because J’s got stomach flu. Three roundtrips to Louisville in 3 days, then I get to look forward to my boy being gone for a week. :-(
Since March 22nd, my family’s been tooling around in a Nissan Cube.
Let’s be honest: We hate it. We miss our Honda Odyssey and look forward to its return. Heck, this thing makes me yearn for the consistent handling, quiet competence of my 10 year old Toyota Camry.
Yep. This brick is Hello Kitty with wheels, and yikes has it overstayed its welcome.
For those who don’t know, a Nissan Cube is a Nissan Versa with a different body. A Nissan Versa is the smallest Nissan automobile sold in America, featuring a coarse 122 hp 1.8L engine and a Continuously Variable Transmission. Pic of the versa:
Chat convo with my wife:
Bella: I’m gonna need that $ back.
Harvid: Sure, right after I put that deposit down on that motorcycle
Bella: Oh, so you’re leaving me then?
Harvid: Oh, didn’t the guy show up with the papers? ;)
Finished reading this book Saturday night
It was an interesting tale of an entitled, White Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP) whose life completely unravelled in his late 50’s. This true story follows Michael Gates Gill, son of Brendan Gill of The New Yorker magazine fame, graduate of Yale, member of Skull & Bones. Gill’s never worked a real job in his life–he moved from Yale to a prestigious Madison Avenue ad agency, living a jet-set life and leaving his kids behind. As he entered his 50’s, he got downsized and went home (for the first time, really) to a wife he didn’t know and children who grew up without him. He descended further, carrying-on an affair with a younger woman and fathering a child at 60 years old. Then his wife left him. Then his ad clients stopped calling him back.
I’ll get some pics up soon…just some thoughts from attending the 2010 Louisville Auto show
So yeah, I feel like an old fart–I like reasonable cars, with good styling, interior appointments, and room. I dislike gimmicks and needless complexity–they seem like sleight-of-hand to hide bad engineering.
I live in a dysfunctional state.
Actually scratch that…I live in a dysfunctional Commonwealth.
Looking at this logically:
Yeah, so of course we’re flat broke. Comically so, like your friend who’s lived off credit cards for the last 10 years, then can’t convince Citibank to up his limit.
