My kid has a proximity sensor

Cheryl had to go to do food tasting tonight. Okay, so that probably needs some explaining. Some years back, while strolling through the row of tents down the middle of the street during Dublin's St. Patty's day festival, we happened upon an opportunity to sign up to be food testers. The National Food Lab was in Dublin (moved to Livermore a couple months back, but we still go) and they needed tester. We show up, go in a room with people in lab coats, eat something, answer questions, get $25, leave. Awesome!

Anyway, so Cheryl was out in Livermore testing toffee popcorn. I went last night to test granola bars. The kid was asleep and for the hour or so we were home, not a peep on the monitor. Cars were blowing horns in the parking lot, alarms were going off, I banged a few things around in the kitchen - nothing. As soon as Cheryl walked in, though, the kid started crying. Crazy.

Couple of weeks back, I took her for a walk. We got a couple blocks from home, and she started to cry. We walked back. As we close to home, she stopped. We kept walking and as soon as we were as far from home - in the other direction this time - she started crying again. We turned around and as soon as we got close to home, she stopped. I think she has a proximity sensor connected to her mom...?

Emma Meets Santa

Emma handled her first encounter with old St. Nick pretty well. She smiled a couple of times (lousy camera guy missed the smiles) and tugged on his beard, which we think was real...oh Emma!

Deck the Halls!!!

We dressed the Christmas tree. This is usually a fun thing to do, but this year, it was even better with our little Bean there. We put the really annoying Christmas music on, wrestled with the tree to get up and lit, chased the cats away every three seconds, had some great cocoa (thanks, Cheryl!), and stopped to take some pics with Emma Bean.

For the past eight years that I've been living with Cheryl, decorating the tree has been a fun, cheerful event. We put up the ornaments we've bought as souvenirs, remembering fondly the trips we've taken. We hang the ornaments that people have given us as gifts and are thankful for the loved ones in our lives. We smile and kid around. Growing up, not so much...

Each year, there was some dread mixed in with the excitement of Christmas. My mother is a perfectionist. My father has zero patience. With a combo like that, what can go wrong? My dad and I would be struggling with a fully decorated tree trying to turn it clockwise and counterclockwise as my mom was on the other side of the room saying, "No. Move it back, there's a bald spot showing now." It wouldn't take too much of that to send Pops over the edge.

And the ornaments...oh the ornaments. So I mentioned how our ornaments usually bring up fond memories for Cheryl and I. Somehow, they had the opposite effect on my mom. There were a few ornaments (why on Earth we still have them, I'll never know) that set my mom off. Brought flashbacks to her of the bad old days. We'd relive the same dreadful memories with my mom yelling at my dad for something someone else did 18 years back.

You know what, though? I'd never trade those memories for anything! It happened every year, and every year we loved it. The tree at my parents' house always shined brighter and looked better to me than any other I ever looked at. It was decorated with heart and soul. Our chaotic craziness breathed a life into the tree. Who knows, maybe I'll pick a fight next Christmas to give Emma something to remember later!

A Sad Goodbye

This is something I've been meaning to write about, but I just haven't been able to bring myself to do it. In September Cheryl's mom passed away after fighting cancer for the second time.

I keep wanting to scream out that it's not fair. Why is my kid being denied knowing her grandma. It is, in my humble opinion, grandparents that help to define who we are, where we came from, and what we believe. Sure, parents do the grunt work of making sure we stay alive throughout the perils of childhood, but it is the grandparents that help define our spiritual growth.

Parents can be a little crazy. They are rash, hot-headed, prone to irrational acts, and after having a baby for five months, I can completely understand why!!! But grandparents are different. They're calmer, wiser, gentler. They've seen hardships we can only read about in books. They've had adventures in far-off lands. They tell you bedtime stories about the fox with no tail - at least my grandpa did :)

It was an excitement about having Emma interacting with her grandparents that really made losing Cheryl's mom hard. Sure, there was plenty of selfishness involved. I want to see her. I miss her. I may have teased her, but I really loved her. But it was my desire for my daughter to learn from the experiences of all her grandparents that really hit me hard.

How do you get over something like this? I'm not sure I ever can. At the funeral, I was a pall bearer and I delivered the eulogy. It helped to do something, but it still hurts. In October, we did a breast cancer walk in Fresno. Little Emma was with us. We hope to do this every year in memory of Mrs. B.

We'll miss you!

The Good Stuff

When I told my cousin I was going to be a dad, he said it was going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. Wow. Understatement. He also said it was going to be the best thing I've ever done. Again, understatement.

Our little monster doesn't sleep during the day really well. We do what we can to get her to sleep. Most of the time it is a bit of a chore, but sometimes, just sometimes, we curl up together and snooze in the middel of the day. These are the moments that cannot be described. All of the worry, pain, fear, anxiety, all of the memories of the emergency room, the long, sleepless nights, the crying - all gone!

Cheryl says she hates naps. I don't understand. I wouldn't trade my naps with the little monster for anything. Anyway, thought I'd share a bit about the good things that come with being a dad.

Baptisms and Broken Toes

Yes, it has been months since I've posted. Such is the life of a parent. Things have settled a bit. She cries a little less than she used to. Her sleeping is okay at night, horrible during the day. And Cheryl decided to stay at home with the the little monster...at least for a little while.

And we baptized her last Sunday. It was something. We did it at my parents' church...in Assyrian. So the 2/3 of the 90-something guests that showed up didn't have a clue what was being said in church, but they were good sports about it. Rene's dad was serving as deacon during the mass so it was very special for him. And little Emma wore the same gown that her dear old dad had worn at his baptism so many years ago.

After mass, we went to the church hall and had lunch. We had lasagna for lunch. We had a few no-shows, and the caterers had made some "just in case" food, so we had a little extra. We ate leftovers for days and still have some in the freezer. For dessert, we had fruit that my mom cut up, cookies and such that my parents bought, and cupcakes which I made.

You've heard "blood, sweat, and tears," but I bet you never heard it said about cupcakes. I made them at our place in Dublin and hauled them to Turlock. On Saturday night, we were doing the last-minute stuff for the baptism. My parents were cutting fruit, Cheryl and I were frosting the cupcakes, and Fate was chuckling over what she was about to do.

A light rain was drizzling outside. I took the boxed cupcakes to the back of the minivan (oh yeah, we bought a minivan, that's another blog posting by itself!) and was joyfully jogging back into the house, barefoot. My parents had some concrete steps put in front of their house a few weeks back. I introduced my big toe to the steps...hard! I heard a really unhappy crunch.

Swear words, cursing, yelling, and howling, I let the family know that my toe was broken. How did I know it to be broken? Because it was facing a direction it should not have been facing. Into the truck with my dad on our way to the emergency room. Thank all that is good in this world - the ER room was not that crowded. 2 1/2 hours was all the whole thing took and I went home with crutches. Yup, for my kid's baptism, I was on crutches. Kinda lame, but oh well.

As for pain, breaking the toe hurt, but the shot they gave me to numb the toe so the large scary man could set it into place - wow, that hurt!!! My dad actually held my hand as the four shots were administered. I thought they were using pliers to pull the bone out, it hurt so bad. The ER doctor that gave me the shot was a smaller lady with a great sense of humor and made the pain a bit more tollerable. She was happy to be at work and was joking it up with my dad and my cousin (who met us at the ER waiting room) like they had been buddies since childhood. At one point, the doctor was asking if she should just saw off my toe, to which my dad told her not to bother, she should just shoot me like they do to horses with busted legs...nice. So the small lady punctured my toe, there was blood after the shots, and the large man wiggled my toe a bit and put it in place and taped it all up. I felt nothing thanks to the miraculous wonders delivered through a foot-long syringe.

Anyway, the toe is set and I'm going to get x-rays again tomorrow and the kid is Christian. By the way, the official story behind the busted toe that I'm telling people is that I was attacked by Ninjas. Let's keep the cupcake and minivan business just between us girls, eh?

Yup! I'm a dad!!!

On the 4th of July, while the rest of the country was celebrating the birth of our nation, I was celebrating the birth of our daughter...well, I was in the hospital waiting for her to be born. She just made it on the 4th - she was born at 11:18pm. A screaming, 6lb, 13oz little wonder. We named her Emma Florence.

For those that don't have kids yet, but are planning on having them here's a little secret: the pregnancy and delivery are the easy part! That's not coming from me, that's what Cheryl says! Life as we knew it is done. You'll note that I have not posted to this blog for a very long time. This is the first chance I've had to put something down.

So much has happened, I don't know where to start. Best to start at the beginning, eh? For those with weak intestines, don't read this paragraph. We woke up on Friday, July 4th and Cheryl's water had broken. Off to the hospital. This was a normal drive. None of the Hollywood speeding on the shoulder of the freeway through rush hour traffic. We took our time. Got to the hospital about 10am. From then until about 6pm, not much happened. Weak contractions and real boredom. Cheryl's doctor decided it was time for the Pit. By the time the decision was made, the IV set up, and everything ready, it was about 8pm. We were getting ready for a long night. Then the fireworks started...not the ones outside, the ones induced by the Pitocin. Cheryl's contractions got more...intense. The barely gave her any, but my clean-living wife is not used to drugs and they really impact her. Little Emma was born three hours after the labor really kicked in. Cheryl pushed for about 10 minutes, and she says to this day that she faked it and didn't really push. The little monster came out on her own.

I didn't faint. I didn't cry. I did cut the cord. Not being macho, but it is not that bad to watch. The first time I saw a birth in the 9th grade on that movie they made us watch, it was a little troubling. After nine months of prep, this wasn't that crazy. As for the crying - huh??? I was as happy as I've ever been in my life. I was excited and I was kidding with the cute pediatrician, but I wasn't crying. Who cries and why? And, finally, I did cut the cord - of course I cut the cord!!! That's what dad's do!

The first night was awesome. I slept like a log worry-free. There were nurses coming in to check on Cheryl and the baby regularly. And the nurses at the hospital were the most incredible people on earth! I wish we could have brought a couple of them home with us. It might have saved us a trip to the emergency room.

As we were getting ready for the baby, they kept telling us that formula is bad. Stay away from formula. Stay with breast milk. It is best for the baby. It was drilled into our heads. So, we stayed away from the formula. Cheryl's milk hadn't come in yet - if you don't know what this means, FIND OUT BEFORE YOU HAVE A BABY!!! The munchkin was trying to eat, but was not getting enough.

So, after a long painful night of us worrying about what was wrong with her, a call to our friend from high school who is a pediatrician, another couple of calls to her new pediatirician, and a frantic call to the nurse at the hospital, we loaded the kid in the car - sans diaper bag - and headed back to the hospital. What did they tell us? Give her formula, she's getting dehydrated. Bastards! Why didn't you tell us this BEFORE! 2 oz of forumla later, she perked up and was fine. Peeing like a champ! - which is when we realized we'd forgotten the diaper bag. Felt kinda silly asking them for diapers, but again, the nurses were lifesavers and made us feel much better. We hung out, talked to a doctor there, made sure the kid was okay, and went home. On the ride home from the hospital this time, I cried. We starved our kid. Way to get things started.

Then came the hard part. We were alone with the kid. We didn't know what to do. She was crying all the time and we didn't know why. All the people that kept putting the pressure on to have kids - where were they now??? It was a rough couple of months. I'll talk more about that as time permits. For now, I'm soooo tired! Last couple of nights I've averaged about 3.5 hours of sleep. I've been falling asleep in meetings at work. I'm going to call it a night and turn in.

The room is painted!!!

It was actually finished a couple of weekends ago, but I'm just getting around to posting about it. This is primarily due to my complete ineptitude with technology. Cheryl has to get the pictures off of the camera and onto the computer so that I can put them on this blog. I'm at her mercy - ain't that marriage though?

Anyway, Pete came over to help me paint. I was able to get a picture of him showing me his forearm. He's a little camera shy...

We had a fun day. I hooked up the laptop to the boombox and we got the 80's station on XM Radio. We spent the whole day playing the "name the singer" game. Only now, unlike the old days, we didn't have to wait for an annoying DJ to tell us who it was - it was right on the screen! I love XM Radio. It costs a bit, but man, it's so worth it! I listen in the car, at home, at work, everywhere! I've got the new age station pumping into my earphones as I'm typing this.

Painting. Pete works like I do - slow and careful. It was quite nice. We worked the whole day and all I fed the poor guy was a double-double. What is it about In-n-Out that goes so well with manual labor? Like when moving to a new place - nothing goes as good with a U-haul truck as a double-double - not animal-style, that's gross. Yes, I said it! Animal-style is gross! Thrrr!

But I digress. We painted the room. The color is hard to see in the pictures, but it looks like butter. We're trying to steer clear of the pink. I don't like the overly girly, pinky, flowery, nausiating stuff. I like funny and cute. Note the picture of Milton the Monkey. That's the wall art that goes with her room's theme - Jungle Babies. Friggin' cute!!!
So, there it is. the room's been painted. Pete was saying that we should do crown molding. Maybe this weekend if he's not busy. I think it could look nice, no?

Texas Vacation...???

Yes, it has been over a month since I last posted. I took some time off doing house stuff. Cheryl has been feeling good and we've been doing other stuff together, enjoying the second trimester. We took a trip to Texas in late February. Our fifth anniversary (five years, people, five years!!!) was on Feb 22. Instead of buying presents, we take trips. This year, it was off to Texas.

Why Texas?

It's a common question. First, because we are going to see all fifty states eventually, so why not? Secondly, we've been wanting to see Texas for some time. Cheryl's grandpa was from Texas. The man had a tremendous impact on Cheryl's life, and to be honest, mine too. If I'm going to learn about him, best to do it as I'm gearing up to be dad.

I feel really lucky. I've got some really good role models in my life of how to be a dad. Of course, the greatest example for me is my own old man. I'm hoping I'm a fraction of the dad he's been to me. But it is also great that I have other examples as well. Cheryl's grandpa was another example.

I really only spent time with him while I was in college. They lived down in LA and Cheryl and I would spend time there. Aside from the free dinner and laundry, we got to spend time with two of the most amazing characters in our lives. They were part of the greatest generation. They had seen the depression and WWII. Cheryl's grandpa was in the Navy during the war. He married Cheryl's grandma a few weeks after having met her and they were married since then. He retired from the LAPD.

I have a copy of a letter he wrote to his son describing his experience in the war. It was one of the greatest things I've read.

Cheryl once showed me an article from the LA Times. There was a picture of him in a suit and fedora, smoking a cigar, standing over a huge pile of weapons he had helped confiscate. How cool is that?

Looking back, it was an interesting time. Cheryl and I were both getting ready to start our lives on our own, and they were living their last years. Cheryl's grandpa passed away just before she graduated college.

I knew I had to go to visit the land that produced that kind of a man. He was everything that is good. He had strength, intelligence, and passion yet he was gentle and kind. We all knew he was the boss, and we all knew Cheryl's grandma was really in charge. If you're not married, that may not make sense.

Visiting there was one of the most comforting things during my college life. There was regularity. Dinner was at 5pm. There would be salad, meat, and veggies. We had our seats at the dining table that we always sat in. That kind of routine was like therapy for two college kids.

We wanted to see more of the state that produced such a hero. It was a good trip. The best part was visiting NASA. If you've never been - go! Doesn't matter if you're not into space. It makes you proud to be American - nay, it makes you proud to be human. It is incredible to see what can be accomplished when a group of people trick themselves into thinking the impossible may not really be impossible.

That really was some generation! Saved our nation from hunger, delivered Europe from tyranny, walked on the moon. What will we do? What will I pass to my daughter? What will my grandkids blog say about me on their blogs? I pray for the wisdom necessary to draw my designs.

Okay, it was a sappy posting. But stay tuned! I finished painting the baby room with a little help from Pete. There was paint, burgers, and '80s music!!! I'll post just as soon as I just figure out how to get the pictures from the camera to the computer...Cheryl!

It's a girl!

That's right! I'm going to be the proud papa of a bouncing, baby girl. We were going to keep the gender a secret, but we realized that neither of us would be able to pull it off. The name is a different story. We have the first and middle names picked out, but we're not telling.

We had the ultrasound today. The heart, head, spine, stomach, kidneys, feet, and hands all looked great. It was pretty neat to see her squirm around as the lady running the machine tried to get her measurements. My little girl was not cooperating too much - she gets that from her mom. The lady running the machine kept having to wiggle Cheryl's tummy to get the little munchkin into position. She did melt us all though by touching her face and sucking her thumb while we were watching. It was really neat.

As for the prep on the room, we have finished the office this last weekend! Yay! I took some pictures of what the final room looks like, but the pictures are on the camera and Cheryl is asleep. When she downloads them to our computer, I'll put them on here. We also bought the paint for the baby's room, but the painting is going to have to wait - we're going on vacation.

We're off to Texas in a couple of days and we're staying the for just over a week. When we get back, I'll start painting.

Here's why it's taking so long...

I work slowly. Really slowly. This is not from my parents. Not sure where this came from, actually. I came home from college one summer and was promptly informed that they had been waiting for me to come home to help them paint the house. It became very apparent, very fast, that they were not fans of masking. "We'll just be careful." Uh-huh. I spent a week trying to move as fast as possible to stay one step ahead of the two of them with the masking tape so that they wouldn't paint everything in sight. They were in a hurry and didn't want to be bothered with the silly details. Never mind that the baseboards were brown and the walls were white...

Maybe it's rebellion. Some kids drink, sneak out of the house, and do all kinds of crazy things -
Cheryl! - but me, I'm overly meticulous about my masking when I'm painting. I'm going to be different than my folks! I'm going to be careful with a paint brush! That'll show 'em!!! (also notice the testimonial to my mild OCD in the layout of the tools...)

Of course, like them, I like to have music going. What's the point in trying to do work if you don't have music? What's the point in trying to do anything if you don't have music?



Anyway, this is why it takes me forever to get this stuff done. Normally, you'd think it would take someone a couple of hours to paint a room. I took a weekend plus a couple of afternoons. We've still got some months left though. We'll see how this goes.

No really, who paints the closets?

Well, I do. I paint the closets. Even the top shelf, where no one sees, where I need extra lights to help me see, even up there, I paint. Both my parents are to blame for this insanity. "If you're not going to do a job right, don't do it at all." That, and the white-glove inspections my mom made when I did my cleanings have left me with this complex.

After we got rid of the couch, there was room for the closet in the spare room to barf out its contents. Some of it was given to Goodwill, some was tossed out, but most we kept. Before, we had stuff in the office and in the spare room. With the kid coming, all that would have to be compacted down into one closet. I needed a storage solution. I needed Ikea!

We drove down with a particular shelf in mind. It was cheap. It was aluminum. And it was small enough so that I could fit four of the shelves in the closet. At $15 a pop, it was going to be okay.

We got to Ikea. Cheryl and I had an awesome $2 breakfast (if you've never had these, go this weekend! seriously, it's great) and then took a long stroll through the warehouse in search of our shelves. We found them. I think if we had stacked too much paper on them, they would have crumpled. So scratch that plan. What else can we do?

We lookded around and found modular shelving. It was raw lumber. There were different sizes of wood that could be transformed into any size shelving needed. Some quick math and geometry told me I could have nice, solid, wooden shelves for cheaper than the aluminum jobs that I originally intended to buy. How sweet it is! And to top it off, the wood was a bit too tall. I'd have to saw it down myself. I get to use my saw!!! I grunted in approval. We bought the stuff, loaded the Accord and came home.

In just a few short hours, we had gone to Ikea, bought the shelves, sawed and sanded them to size, assembled them, and loaded them with stuff. The closets were done! Not too bad so far. I may get this baby room ready after all.

Two Birds with One Stone - Telling my Parents

Step one was to get the spare room to be an office. That meant getting rid of the old couch. It was a great couch. I really liked it. We got it from the in-laws. It was a La-z-boy with reclining seats and a fold down middle part that had cup holders. This was a couch. It didn't fit in with the new decor, so it had to go. We took it to the consignment store and got a little cash for it. Not a bad deal.

Of course, we have two Hondas. Not the ideal couch moving vehicles. I needed my dad's truck. I also needed to tell him and my mom that they were going to be grandparents. They've been nagging since forever to have kids and it was taking its toll on me.

I invited my parents up for breakfast and to help me move the couch. They were suspicious. My uncle was visiting from Canada and I'm asking my parents to leave Turlock, drive an hour up here, and have breakfast all so that I can get rid of a couch that has been sitting there for a couple of years? It took some convincing, but they came up.

We loaded the couch in the truck, took it to the store, then into the store, then up the stairs to the second floor of the store, where we reassembled it. Great, phase 1 complete! The couch was gone. If they sold it, awesome, I'd get some cash, if not, it's okay because I could at least start working on the office.

Now came the part about telling my mom and dad they were going to be grandparents. We went to a restaurant for breakfast. We had a little brag book for her and had put a picture of the sonogram we had in it. The kid has their tongue sticking out in the sonogram - yeah, it's my kid alright. The lady that took the picture had a good laugh and told us we were in for it with this kid.

A bit of advice. If your mom is like my mom, a bit emotional (understatement) and really gets excited about things, and if she has been waiting years to be a grandma, and you are about to tell her, pick somewhere private so she can flip out in peace. Smack in the middle of Mimi's Cafe is no place for an emotional outburst of that magnatude.

No matter, the couch was gone, my parents were happy, and I had some killer eggs benedict.

Getting Started

I found out I was going to be a dad. First thought? "My boys can swim!" Then, "Oh wow, someone's going to rely on me for guidance, support, and education. Am I mature enough for this?" Likely, I'm not, but then is anyone really? Doesn't matter. It's happening. So what do I do to cope? Build and paint things.

What else would I do? So far as I know, this is the ultimate test that a man faces - being a dad. My response is to fall back to what I know to be the ultimate display of manhood which is working with wood and tools. I can probably thank my dad for this. Looking back, it was working with him in the garage or in the yard where I learned the most from him. Not that he was lecturing me, he was just spending time with me laughing and having a good time. I'm hoping that we get to do the same with my kid, once they're old enough. Okay, enough sappiness.

The plan: we have a three bedroom condo. Room 1 - Master Bedroom - this is where the cats sleep at night and sometimes they are gracious enough to let us sleep there too. Room 2 - The Office - this is where the cats have their litter boxes and have agreed to let me have a desk and computer there too. Room 3 - Spare Room - the cats had an old couch they slept on in here, we negotiated a deal with them to use the closet for storage. Room 1 will stay as it is. Room 2 will become the baby room. Room 3 will be the office. We'll see how this goes.