So Much to Write, so Little Scotch...

Actually, that's not accurate. I have an entire bottle of J&B yet to be cracked open, but this entry really doesn't merit an entire bottle of scotch. That's saved for the holiday stress.

The first thing I have to address is the question that is on everyone's mind, "Are you guys moving home?" The answer is an emphatic, "YES!" We cruised up to the hometown last week for Carrie's interview, and all went well, and so we are planning on heading north in two weeks. Yes, two weeks. We have a lot to get done, and have to balance all of that with caring for Layla and working, so the next two weeks will probably be the highest-stress days for us so far. Say a prayer for patience, and also for the ability to let go of some of this crap that is sitting around here. Yikes!

We will be moving back into my house on N. Middle St, in Cape. Now it's time for me to pour out and laud the efforts that our friends made in preparing a place to call home...

When we found out we were pregnant, I immediately began thinking about the possibility of moving us home. Around the same time, my renters told me they were moving into a house of their own (grats again, guys), and so I asked Liz and Josh to do some clean up in there for me. As things progressed and it began to look more and more like we'd be able to come home, they approached me about doing up Layla's room as a surprise for Carrie. "Absolutely," I told them, knowing that both of their artistic touches would make it perfect.

Fast forward to last week, and one night they said they wanted to meet us at the house to show Carrie her "surprise" (and yes, it was; I can keep a secret). To both our surprises, the entire upstairs of the house was redone! The carpets in all the rooms had been pulled, and the hardwood refinished. New flooring in the bar/music room, kitchen and bath. New paint jobs; they even took down all of Pat's sex toys (oh; i've said too much)!

Seriously, we were overwhelmed. I can't begin to describe the feeling of relief that I had at seeing this. I was dreading trying to move back in and do this work while doing my work and trying to have a home for our daughter. I almost cried in front of Josh, and that would've demoted my seat on the bus to Hell.

They gave us a nice certificate with everyone's names on it that pitched in, whether it was funds, labor, supplies or all of that. The love that I have for you all is so huge; you have no idea. It cemented my thoughts that this was the right decision for us, knowing the kind of friendship and love that Layla will experience from all of our true friends as she grows up. Carrie and I thank you all, with every ounce of our being.

And to Liz and Josh; words can't describe the appreciation I have for you putting this together and seeing it to fruition. Sometimes the best intentions never see the light of day, and to know that your gift to us was realized and done so well moves my heart. We love you both, and look forward to stealing your daughters for babysitting.

In other news, Layla is doing great. She's growing like a weed, and is really developing a personality. She always has a smile for Mommy and Daddy in the morning, no matter how early, and is still sleeping through the night. She was a bit constipated this week, which made for some really rough evenings (to the point where I had to lay her on the bed and walk away). Her screams could wake the dead, and after 4 days of no poop, we called the doc. "Give her 1/2 ounce of prune juice, and see if that clears it up."

Oh, my dear lord. I've seen nervous cattle poop less than this child did today. It was so extreme, I actually paused to take a picture. That's pride, mixed with awe and sick fascination. Good stuff.

Time for me to hit the sack, but I wanted to drop and update. Between work and Layla, the extra-curricular writing has taken a hit for a while. Hopefully, after the move, I can get back to the funny stuff.

One Love,
D

Dumb but on My Mind

So as I sit here at 230 in the morning, I've been thinking about something that's been weighing on my mind. I've had pets for pretty much my entire life, and I've always thought of them as members of my immediate family. I've talked to my pets, told them things that no human will probably ever hear. My cat, Truman, has been like a best friend to me for over 12 years now.

Now I have a daughter. It's weird how, at infancy, the child is very much like a pet. She requires food and water and things of that nature, and her diaper's the equivalent of a litter box.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want anyone to think that I'm lessening the importance of my child to that of a common house cat. That's not my point at all.

My point, in this early-morning/late-night rambling, is that even though they have similarities this point, I can look at my daughter's eyes and realize she is listening to me. Actually listening to me. She is going to retain the things I say, to a certain extent. She's going to be able to speak back to me, and make choices on her own. I can already see her eyes and mouth reacting to things I say, and the things I do.

But don't really know where I'm going to us. I just was really thinking that I still haven't really come to the realization of the depth of having a child. It really will make you rethink your outlook on the entire human race. You have a new appreciation for people's feelings and reactions that you may have not cared about before.

I need to get some sleep, but it is said to get that out of my head I should probably write it down. That's it for tonight's little blog. Nighty night.

Oh, I know... so BACK OFF.

Yeah, I've been slacking on the writing. Not for lack of want, but for lack of focus. Between Layla and working things out to adjust our lives, I've been busy. Plus, I spend entirely too much time playing World of Warcraft, but if that's my worst vice, we're doing okay.

Layla is 5 weeks old today. It's hard to believe how quickly this last month has gone by. We've had visits from both parents, as well as from Aunt Renae and our friends here in Texas. She's been to my office to meet the SHOEBACCA.com crew, and even got to see Uncle Justin play a show last weekend (it was acoustic, so don't chastise me for taking my kid to a rock show just yet).

We've been pretty busy, taking care of Layla and trying to keep up with the daily things we can't neglect here in our time of bliss. It's hard to not want to just lay in bed with my baby girl, watching her search for things to fixate on, listening to her grunts and coos, and feeling her death grips on my fingers. She's happy and healthy, and we've been very, very blessed to this point. Last night, she decided that once she was free of her diaper, it was time to try to shoot across the room. Unfortunately, that whole "opposing forces" logic only works when the force is equal to or greater than the object that its trying to move, so instead we got poopy sheets.

Good times.

So my mom and dad came down last weekend for a very short but very fun visit. Aunt Renae flew in to meet her niece as well! The Grandparents and Carrie and Layla and I went to El Chico on Friday night and saw Justin play. Dad's smile when he broke out the Johnny Cash was great. Layla seemed to enjoy herself, especially when she got to hear Uncle Justin sing "The Rain" by her request. ;-)

On Saturday, Opa, Carrie and I took Layla to the fair. We were hoping she'd get her first look at some beef cattle, but they weren't in the barn yet. The cattle that were there were miniatures; Xebu is the breed. I don't understand it; what's the point of miniature cattle? It remains a mystery to me, but they are cute. You could hear all the non-observant types saying, "Aww, look at all the babies." Ha, ha.

We had a great time at the fair, getting to hear new sounds and see new sights. I know Layla's vision at this age is pretty limited (http://www.tinyeyes.com/), but she did react well to the parade at dusk. I can't imagine what goes through her head sometimes, with all the new things to take in. Such a small child and so many things to learn!

We were sad to see Grammy and Opa head back to Missouri, but we are hoping that we'll be seeing them again soon! We are also looking forward to the day she gets to meet her cousin Dori and Aunt Jamie and Uncle Hef!

A couple of weeks ago, I had "the talk" with my boss about working from home. Ideally, I wanted to continue my work for SHOEBACCA.com that I love so much and be able to do it from home, so that I can be there for Layla, but mainly so we can move back home to Missouri where we will have an actual house and all of our family and friends there to be a part of Layla's life.

Yesterday, we came to the resolution that this will work, so starting next week, I will be working from home. I will still come into the office a few times a week for now, to kind of transition everything and to be able to see my friends here, but sometime this fall, I hope to have us loaded up and heading back home. The key to everything right now is Carrie's work. We need a comparable position to open up at the Best Buy in Cape, so that Carrie can continue to work and carry her insurance. Layla is on her insurance now, and with me going to "at home" status, I will lose my company insurance, so it's imperative that we keep Mom and Baby healthy!

When will we be heading that way? It's hard to say, without any definites from Best Buy. Carrie goes back to work on Tuesday, and hopefully that will give her a better opportunity to find things out in Cape. For now though, We'll be balancing schedules here in Dallas. Despite our anxiety over all of this, we got a big dose of stress relief when my boss said we're good. Now we don't have to worry about putting Layla in some damn daycare while Carrie and I are at work.

Thanks to all of you who have sent goodies for the kiddo. We've gotten some pretty cool stuff, as well as some much-needed gift cards. I've been slow on the "thank you" notes, which, if you are a friend, probably doesn't surprise you that much, but they are coming. Thanks to everyone for their continued prayers and well-wishes!

Layla sends her love. For a look a lot of the pictures from the Grandparent visits, go to my MySpace page at www.myspace.com/iceburgtx or to my PhotoBucket scrapbooks at http://s287.photobucket.com/albums/ll125/IceburgTX/. I promise to write something damn funny in the next 5 days!!! :-)

One Love,

D

The First Week

Here we are, bright and early on a Friday, and it amazes me that it's been a week since the arrival of my daughter. Even now, it seems like it was only a couple months ago when Carrie and I weren't even thinking about having children yet... Oh, wait.

So things have been going pretty smoothly. Yes, we're losing some sleep, but I honestly can't blame Layla for it, other than being so sweet that we want to just stay up and look at her. She's strictly breastfeeding now; has been since about her 3rd day here. Carrie is a wonderful mom already.

I'll tell you what; I'm extremely lucky to have Carrie. As a new mother, she's adapted to so much, from the breastfeeding and irritating "leakage" that comes with it to the late night wake-up calls for more food from mommy. I knew she would make a good mommy someday, with her patience and integrity, but she's really shined through all of this. I'm very blessed.

Plus, she got a prescription for Hydrocodone, which is making this badass toothache I've got bearable. If you've never taken a close look at one, these pills look like Certs. Hydrocodone: now with Retsin!

Toothaches suck, and now that I have my dental insurance (hey, only 5 months late!), I can finally get it taken care of. I hate the dentist, but I hate the distraction of pain more.

Layla is very healthy. We took her in for her first visit with the pediatrician Wednesday morning, and the doctor--besides noticing her obvious beauty--said she's a happy, healthy girl. The jaundice is fading, and wasn't that bad to begin with, and she's alert and all her vitals are right on target. Again, very blessed!

Here's a couple of fresh pictures of her from Tuesday. She was laying in the sun (as recommended by the doctor) to help dissapate the jaundice, and I had to take a couple shots. That's Truman in the background, studying this new little person that's arrived in our home.

The cats are slowly adjusting. Surprisingly, Napoleon is the one that is warming up faster. Maybe it's because he was a baby when Dori was born, but I think it's because he's always kind of been Carrie's baby, and feels a stronger bond with Layla. Of course, he could just like the smell.

We're doing well... using up the diapers and wipes pretty fast, but no surprises there. We had a wonderful visit with Carrie's parents when Layla came, and am looking forward to getting to introduce her to the rest of our family and friends. We miss you all, and hope to see you soon!

* * *

SEMO plays Mizzou tomorrow night. I actually found this on the Uverse guide last night, on PPV. I'm going to get on tomorrow and see how much the PPV is to watch the game. I can't imagine how horrible this slaughter will be. The odds have got to be ridiculous. I honestly looked, just to find out, and I can't find any place even taking bets. I have not seen a spread less than 50 points though, which leads me to think that maybe SEMO will be looking beyond the bench for some players. Golden Eagles; now is your time to shine!

I wish Southeast the best of luck, don't get me wrong. This is a Redhawks hat on my desk, after all. I just hope that this $100k exhibition game doesn't break half of the team. Chants of "Puuuut in, Jaaaaay C!" ring through my head.

Stay happy, healthy and let the rest fall into place. Hope to write again soon!
D

Layla Marie has Arrived!

28 August 2008: The day begins at 2am, when we finally fall asleep. The feeling is one of high anticipation, touched with a sense of anxiety that I'm sure is exponentially higher for Carrie. Around 4am, I woke with a start as Carrie was getting out of bed. "Ooh; everything okay, woman?" I ask. "Yep, just gotta pee." Seconds later, I'm back asleep.

5:00 comes just as quickly as you'd suspect, and even the cats weren't awake. After a couple of short snoozes, I hit the shower. We managed to pack and repack everything the night before, so that we wouldn't have to think too much in the morning. The Pontiac horses are saddled, and we make our way to Baylor.

After a brief check in, we're taken down the hall to room 112, or something similar. I know it has a 12 in it, anyway. It's a pretty big room, and a decent daddy chair stands ready against the wall. Guess where I am right now.

I'm going to chronicle the day in military time, because I've always felt that using "a," "p" and "m" for time designation was a waste of good letters.

1900: Carrie has her IV at this point, and they're getting the "Let's Have a Baby" juice, a.k.a. Potosin. Our nurse's name is Jamecia, I think. Again; it's way too early to think at this point, and my brain is the only one in the room that hasn't been challenged mentally. They've checked her cervix, and she's around 2cm dilated. The inducing has begun!

0830: The Potosin is doing its job, and we have our first visit from the doc. She decided that to speed things along, she would break Carrie's water. Okay; that worked. Contractions have started.

0916: Her last contraction merits an "8" on the pain scale. The reality of this entire day is settling in really quickly, and I'm realizing that two nights in a row of sleeplessness is taking its toll on both of us. We know that we have a long day ahead of us, and it's key to pace our energy right now. That, and the two episodes of "Saved by the Bell." That gets to me pretty damn quick.

1004: The decision has been made to kick in some pain meds. Carrie's a trooper, but it's time to bring that 8 down to a 4 or so. It's gonna be a long day, kids.

1131: Contractions are steady. She's going from passed out from pain meds to waking up and squirming… Carrie + Drugs = bad experiences, I think. I'm doing my best to be supportive, but the meds have made her pretty lucid, so I could be talking about tattooing our daughter's name on my butt and she wouldn't know the difference. Good times.

1204: The decision is made that she wants the epidural. Anesthesiologist's on his way… until then, its breathe and wait.

1220: Epidural gooooood… Amidst the small talk that I shared with the doctor, I mentioned that we were originally from southeast Missouri, and he said, "Like Cape Girardeau?" Well, smack my mama; he's heard of Cape! He got Carrie taken care of lickety-split, and her spirits lifted pretty quickly. Shortly after the epidural placement, her parents arrived. Time for lunch…

1330: A Chik-Fil-A sandwich later, Carrie's dad and I are back in the room, just in time to find out about the nausea. Just another one of the many pleasures of labor, ladies! Looks like that Aquafina wasn't so fina after all-a.While I was gone for lunch, the doc came in for a check up. Carrie's around 4cm now, and (this is paraphrased) you can expect about a centimeter an hour. Okay… so, Carrie should be at 10 cm by 1900. That's a long time, to be certain, but then you have to throw on the 2-3 hours of pushing time, and you suddenly get the big picture of what childbirth is all about. The stuff you see on TV is bullshit; don't believe the hype.

1710: almost 10 cm!!! she's really progressed quickly. SO much that I need to go--[ed. ps.; i stopped typing here because the last thing I wanted to do was to piss off the nurses becuase "dad won't get off the damn laptop"]

1750: the doc should be back in about ten to check her out personally, and if everything is cool we'll set up with the green light to push push push! I know this hasn't been the most creatively written blog I've ever done, but dammit; I'm going on 12 hours at the hospital in a baby shit green chair with the most awkward sitting position ever. Not to mention, I'M GONNA BE A DAD IN A FEW HOURS SO BACK OFF. Oh, sorry; I didn't get an epidural. I thought about tapping the lines, but voted against it.

1753: checking to see if that last little bit of her cervix is gone and then it's time to start pushing!!!

29 August 2008: and here we are.

0139: ...and pushing commenced. I will write a more detailed completion to this blog later, but for now, here are the vital stats:

Layla Marie Burgfeld

21" 8lb 9.2oz

Born at 1957, 28 August 2008

Here is our current hospital information:

Baylor University Medical Center

3500 Gaston Ave

Dallas TX 75246

Room 725

Jonsson Hospital

Room Direct Line: 214-818-9725

Like I said, more to come, but we want to say thank you to everyone who was praying and writing and texting and anticipating right beside us through this whole ordeal. Layla is absolutely breathtaking; I am so in love.

For now, enjoy some pics.

Peace,

D

\

Let the Countdown Begin...

26 August 2008: Today we headed back to Dr. Bakos' office, for the "Okay, the baby's not here yet; let's talk" appointment. After a short ten minute wait (no interesting articles this time), we headed in for the sonogram. Today, we were joined by Carrie's parents, who got in Saturday afternoon.

After jellyin' the belly, the sonogram started. "The head is down, so that's good." Sounds familiar, doesn't it? Well, she rolled around Carrie's big beach ball, and did the usual checkups. Layla's heart rate is around 150, which is great. We saw fingers and her face, and again, the vag. I don't know why this tech is insistant on showing us the vag every time; we get it. She's a... she.

Then came time for the measurements. After doing the very scientific point-and-clicks that the tech does, she said, "...and put all that together and we get 9.1 pounds."

HOLY SHIT.

Remember, folks, the baby is still inside Carrie. I wasn't surprised, frankly. I was surprised in my accuracy in predicting the weight today, though. After the first two sonograms, I did an estimated per-day weight gain, based on my experiences with the cattle. Yeah, it sounds archaic, but it's freakin' accurate. I estimated her at 9 pounds, 2 ounces on this date, and she is 9 pounds, 1.6 ounces. Man, I'm good...

Epidural is sounding better and better.

I wanted to share the video of the sonogram, but since it's nearly half a gig and I don't have an FTP set up to let you watch it while I host it, you're out of luck. Sorry; I'll figure out someway to screenshot it or something. Windows sucks (and that's a whole other blog, too).

We got back upstairs and saw the doc. She said that Carrie is about 2 cm dialated, so we will have to induce. We have set up an appointment for Thursday morning at 6 am to go to the hospital and get the ball rolling, so to speak. Now we're preparing for the longest day of our lives... Carrie's already taking a nap. I think she's a bit overloaded after all that. I can't imagine what is going through her head. I'd be scared poopless, frankly, to imagine pushing something that big out of my body. I'm here for her, though, and her parents as well, and for those of you lamenting us being so many miles away, we do feel your hugs and hear your prayers. Thanks to all of you; from the heart.

So now we wait... again. Layla definitely has my "I don't wanna get outta bed" genes, that's for certain. I'll be filling in loads of bloggy goodness on Thursday, when Bump Watch '08 goes live on location. Be sure to tune in on any of my blogs; http://iceburgtx.blogspot.com/, www.myspace.com/iceburgtx or on the Facebook for a link. I'm taking the webcam, so for those of you with MSN messenger access, add me at iotapsi94@hotmail.com and you'll be able to join in the conference. I've also got skype (Iceburgtx), and I may use that as well.

Here we go, kids; the ride has been quick, but we're coming up on the big finish!

Love,
D

Bump Watch Update: Feel the excitement, kids.

19 August 2008: Headed to the doctor's office today, for our scheduled appointment. After my usual 10 minute nap in the waiting room and reading an intriguing article about the future of Penthouse in Forbes magazine, we headed back for Carrie's check up.

"Well, looks like you're about 1 cm. The head is down, so that's good."

Could be any day now. Could be a week. It's just that time to play the waiting game. We did set up another appointment for next week Tuesday. If Layla hasn't made her grand entrance by that time, we are doing another sonogram and will talk about inducing labor. IF (and that's a big "if") we have to induce, I'm going to suggest that we go to B-Dubs (a.k.a. Buffalo Wild Wings for the layman).

B-Dubs, as we affectionately call it, has a little in-house contest associated with their hottest wings. The sauce is known as "Blazin'," which is probably the understatement of the year. This sauce has the potential energy to run Dallas for about 2 months in one bottle. Frankly, I don't see why we don't tap this renewable energy source and start saving money immediately, but that's an entirely different blog.

Anyway, they have a contest that if you can eat six wings in the Blazin' sauce in six minutes, you get a t-shirt and your photo posted on their "Wall of Bad-asses" or whatever they actually call it. It's interesting to me to see the pictures of people who have accomplished this seemingly impossible feat. I feel for them; going the rest of your life without a sense of taste seems like one hell of a sacrifice to make for a t-shirt and a photo with a semi-hot waitress, but I digress.

They say spicy food is one way to start labor along its natural path. I'm thinking, let her tear into these wings, and maybe (and this is a long shot) they'll have to put a picture of Carrie on their wall with "Labor Face"* and shocked waitresses. I think that would trump any Polo-wearing Mexican with a 6-pack waitress.

Of course, there are the side effects to think of, but those are just that: Things to think of and not write about. At least, not today.

*Labor Face: I use this term to define what can only be described as a mix of primal aggression, fear, fatigue and longing for satisfaction and rest. It applies to women during childbirth and men during really, really bad constipation. I'm not saying the acts are equal; just the faces are similar.

One night last week, we put all of our stuffed animals that we owned and that we've received in the crib. We thought that would be nice, for Layla to share some cushy goodness that helped us through some tough times as a kid.

We did that in the evening, and when Carrie came upstairs to go to bed, she came to me and told me to get the camera for an uber-cute moment. Napoleon decided that he needed some cushy comfort, too. After I snapped the picture, I went back into the other room, and then Carrie came and grabbed me about five minutes later. Truman, it appeared, had decided that Nappy took his turn and ousted him from his spot. Napoleon got voted off the island, so to speak.

"Any day now..." I guess we're ready. Here's a photo of our super awesome mega stroller 5000. It's one of the "Travel Systems," as they're known. We scored this off of Craigslist for less than half of the original price, brand new and still in the box. Just outstanding.

Someone made the comment to me about what it will be like when we have our second, having to wait 9 months instead of 6 weeks. I'm sure it will be ridiculously long, but on the upside, I'll be able to blog about it a lot more. :-)

And This, it Begins...

11 August 2008: Another doctor's visit yesterday, and the longest waiting room wait that we've experienced there. We've been pretty spoiled to this point, so waiting for an hour seemed like an eternity. Actually, at least for me, it went by relatively fast, since I kept falling asleep. Carrie woke me several times, as I had begun to snore. Meh. Babies like snoring... I think (hope).

Finally, we are called back for Carrie's appointment. We're meeting with Dr. Martin today, as our regular doc is on vacation (which you would know if you've read the other blogs), which explains the wait. Patients don't go on vacation when the doc does.

After Dr. Martin's assistant did the usual heart rate/blood pressure/weight checks, she came in to meet with us. She checked Carrie out, and was very cool. She talks a lot more than our other doctor.

Anyway, to cut to the chase, Carrie is now 1-2 cm dialated. Does this mean we rushed to the hospital, expecting a baby at any moment? No. It means that on the scale of 1-10 cm, she's in the "Cheerio" stage. In Dr. Martin's words, "If I was a betting woman, and I am not, I would say you'll have this baby girl here in seven to ten days."

7-10 days.

Awesome. We're pretty much ready, minus the diaper thing. We were informed by some vets of the diaper world that the Diaper Champ is much better than the Diaper Genie. You can use Target bags or Schnuck's/Kroger bags instead of the proprietary ones. Good call, AC.

* * *

So the adventure has really kicked into high gear now. This is the part of the movie where Indy loses his step at the top of a cliff and slides down a makeshift waterslide into the river. I guess the waterslide analogy is really not a great visual, given that we're talking about labor and delivery, but you get the point. The brakes are off, and it is time to lock and load. Any more cliches?

We Know Everything Now

09 August 2008: Today, Carrie and I are attending a class that is supposed to educate us on childbirth and all the fun things that come with it. Typically, these classes are done over several weeks, but not this time around. We'd have preferred that, but time just didn't allow. One more point for rogue baby.

We get to the hospital around 9am, and after a few "it's-too-damn-early-leave-me-alone" arguements about which street to park on, we get in a nice shady garage spot and start the trek to the class. Carrie spies a group ahead of us with protruding bellies and pillows, so we decide to follow those folks; they seem to know where they're going.

Our assumption was right--we follow them straight in to the class. there are about a dozen couples here, with at least four sets of twins! Fertility drugs FTW (that means "for the win" for you noobs)!

Our instructor's name is Melissa, and she has five kids of her own. She's probably around my age or so, and I think having an instructor who has five children and still looks young and pretty reassured the women in the room somewhat.

We started the day off with name tags and introductions, and we paired up with another couple to "interview" them, and then we introduced them to the group. The whole room was introduced, and we had quite a menagerie of folks, from students to lawyers and investment types. Of course, I had to brag a bit about Carrie's Magical Womb of Power and how we just found out a month ago... yada, yada, yada. Every woman in the room gave Carrie a dirty look, I think. That's the effect of the Magical Womb of Power.

We were handed workbooks, which we didn't use a lot in the class, probably due to the fact that we were crash-coursing this stuff. We discussed the medical/science side of things, which even still ellicits a giggle or two from guys in the room. Believe it or not, it wasn't me this time.

Though it was an early morning after a typically sleepless night, I didn't find myself nodding off. I've discovered that really listening and concentrating will keep me awake most of the time. I finally used that train of thought for something constructive for once.

Carrie was a real trooper. Even as the class was barely starting, I was reminded of how much of a rock she is; how well she is taking this pregnancy. All these other women needed their feet propped up and had to lay out on the bed and etc.; Carrie could've just as easily been plowing the fields, as resilient as she is. Now, don't get me wrong; I don't less of these other women because they are "soft" or "have needs," but I bet Carrie could kick their asses.

We took lunch at noon, and Carrie and I hit up the cafeteria. This cafeteria cheats, by having stuff like Chik-Fil-A and other pre-made stuff. It was good, but I miss Saint Francis' home cookin'. At lunch, we sat near a walk-through area, and I was reminded that a hospital is a place mainly for sick people, not just for the joy of childbirth.

Sitting behind us was a family, and at the head of the table was a woman in a wheelchair, probably about 60, and it was obvious she was having radiation treatments. Her family flanked her, helping her to eat and trying to maintain a happy facade as they worked through lunch. A kid of maybe 10 or 13 came walking through, in his gown and stockings, with his right hand on the rolling tree holding his IV bags. I caught his eyes for a brief second, and swear he could've made me break with a smile.

After lunch, we regrouped for a tour of the birthing facilities. We trekked down the hall and went into one of the birthing rooms, and managed to pack everyone in. Some poor sap was asked to play guinea pig, and he lay down on the bed and Melissa showed us all some of the different positions recommended for delivery. Did you know that "doggy style" is an actual birthing position? They also discussed squatting while holding a rail over your head, as well as gripping the ceiling fan and pulling the knees toward the chest. Okay, that was a stretch, but believe me when I say that I was amazed.

When we returned to the lobby, we had to move quickly, as the air-evac team was coming through with a bed. there wasn't a person on the bed, but two tanks and a small box-like tent. I think everyone knew at that point that it was a baby, and I could just hear the distress from the mothers-to-be, as well as us dads. Later in the day, we found out that the baby most likely came from one of the birth clinics, and required attendance at the lvlIII NICU at Baylor. They have to air-evac the babies there when that need arises. Yet another great reason to have a kid at Baylor (or at Saint Francis for you folks in SEMO; they also have a leading Level III NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit)).

Also while we were in the lobby, a group of Asian people, one dressed in priest's clothing, came in. They headed towards the OR waiting rooms, and I could only assume they were here because of the bus crash that happened earlier. Read more about that here: http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/080808dnmetbusaccident.2646008e.html

Again, the mortality of mankind hit me like a sledgehammer, and I just thought about everything I must do to prepare the world for my daughter... and to prepare my daughter for the world. It's a scary place, but I managed to make it okay so far, and I'm sure my daughter will be able to outsmart me, which will be a feat in itself.

We heard from one of the anethesiologists at the medical center, and he informed us of all the things that are involved when you look at epidurals. Carrie wants to try to have things roll naturally, but we're keeping the option open. Even though everything has been, well, perfect so far, there is no doubt in my mind that this will freakin' hurt, especially with my buffalo head in the genetic mix.

At the end of the day, we wrapped things up with relaxation and breathing. Melissa had us all get on the floor, and I picked a spot where I could lean up against a chair behind me. The chair was leaning up against a bed or something; it doesn't matter, really. Carrie sat between my legs, and i put the pillows and blanket between us so she could get very comfortable. We closed our eyes and practiced breathing together.

While all of this peaceful time was going on, Carrie was sitting on my femoral artery, so the bloodflow to my left leg was gone. I couldn't say anything or shift around; this was a zen-like, peaceful meditation for an entire room of pregnant white women. I'd be shot.

Once she had the moms relaxed, Melissa started with the dads. "Picture yourself on the day the baby decides to come." I'm naturally tense from the leg, and now this? Nice.

"Think of the things you need to grab from the house, and then picture helping mom into the car. Think of the roads you'll take to get to the hospital, and the picture yourself sweating--" Did I hear that right? No, surely not--"yourself PARKING and getting mom inside." Ah, okay; I'm hearing things now.

At this point, my leg feels like needles are covering it, pressing randomly over a thousand points. On top of the pain in my leg, I can't help but picture the goofiest, worst-case scenarios during this "relaxation" period. I see us checking in at the hospital, and the receptionist is this big sister, on the phone with her cousin, saying something like, "Ooh, girl, I know... But he was cute though and I was drunk anyway... [to us] Um; can I help you?"

I'm doing my best to relax, but I know my face is betraying me. Finally, after about 10 minutes of relaxation, We're dismissed for the day. I hobble up onto my right leg, and feel the immediate relief of a mad rush of blood to my left side. Ahh... now I'm relaxed.


In all sincerity, we did learn a lot. I feel much more prepared for this whole thing now (remember, I never took health class in school), and feel like Carrie and I can handle the world. We've been so incredibly blessed and lucky so far, and I know that our adventure is just beginning. I just wish the hospital validated parking...

10 August 2008: During yesterday's class, I received a call from J. C. Penney's, and our crib finally came it. Actually, let me rephrase: Our crib came in on the first, it just took them eight days to call me about it. Sigh. I resolved to make this day, Sunday, pick-up-and-put-together-the-crib day.

I got to Penney's, and waited in line at customer service behind a family that looked like they had more returns than the store had inventory. Finally, another rep stepped up and told me I needed to go to the catalog section. Makes sense; shows how much I actually shop.

I arrived at the catalog section and was greeting by a petite, mousey girl of maybe 20. I showed her my receipt, and her eyes widened as she realized what they had to get out of the warehouse. Her assistant? Maybe 20 pounds heavier than her... I volunteered to get the bed out for them, but they said they would take care of it.

Fast-forward to home, where I seamlessly put the entire thing together. Have a look:

Yeah, I think I did pretty good, too. We don't have the bedding on it yet, but you get the basic idea.

So now, baby Layla has a place to sleep, a place to swing, a place to play and a bunch of stuff to throw up on and poop in. Our essentials that we have left are the high chair (which we're looking at tonight when we have dinner at Sam & Lois' house), diaper genie and stroller/travel system thingy. I'm amazed that we've been able to prepare what we've needed in such a short time, but we've had great family, friends and luck on our side. Not to mention that Carrie and I are superheroes... Ha!

* * *

We head back to the doctor this afternoon, and we aren't meeting with our regular doctor, but a stand-in as ours is on vacation. Great timing, eh? I look at it like we've only seen her a few times, so really we're not dedicated to her only. It does tend to make one nervous, though. All should be fine; this is more of a check-up to see what Carrie's cervix is like, and hopefully Layla decided she needs to cook a bit more. More to come soon!

Bump Watch 2008: Update!

I think I'm finally becoming fully aware of what is happening, and I couldn't be happier. I watch Carrie's belly stretch and rise and fall as our little girl squirms around inside her. She's going to either be incredibly hyperactive or a professional breakdancer, because this kid squirms more than a crackhead dipped in butter.

Odd analogy; granted.

2 August 2008: With a baby shower pending on the 3rd, we decided to really dedicate ourselves to determining her name. After all, "Baby Girl" won't go over too well at preschool. Carrie and I have been on the same track as far as names go, and we decided on--wait for it--Layla Marie. It flows well; I've already practiced my dad yells and it just rolls off the tongue like that butter-dipped crackhead. Sorry; there's that analogy again.

3 August 2008: This Sunday night, we had our first baby shower. It was put together with much haste by our friend Jessica, who also works with Carrie. It was at Buca di Beppo, which I highly recommend for any Italian food enthusiasts. Anyway, some of Carrie's friends from work came out, as well as my friends from SHOEBACCA, and Justin and Glynda as well. We had a great time, and got some great gifts!

5 August 2008: We returned to the doctor for our weekly visit, and everything seems to be just peachy. Our doctor informed us that she will be on vacation next week, so we'll be meeting with a different doc next week. I'm sure that Carrie felt the same sense of "Uh-oh" that I did, but then again, it's not like we've been seeing this doctor for months... I don't expect the baby to come next week anyway. Of course, that being said, I didn't expect the baby to come in August, either...

We're preparing things at home as much as we can. The crib should be in soon, and I am off to meet a woman after work who I am buying some things from. Again, Craigslist. It's the shizznit.

On a side note from our prenatal saga, Darrel and Michelle had their boy the other night. He's a premie, but mom and the boy (Oliver Michael) are doing very well. Darrel finally got some sleep, too. He said that they are expecting to have Oliver in the hospital for at least three weeks, and hopefully Michelle will be getting out Friday. Say a prayer for them, and if you want to see some pics of the wee lad and for more information, read my blog on the Tone Def All-Stars page here.

One Love,
D

Just some photos...

Here are some photos that I thought I would share with y'all.

D

First, July 8th; the test. This is a picture of test #2, which pretty much confirmed what test #1 told us.

I bought the digital kind, because I wanted to be sure. Those "meh, not sure if it's blue or not" and "sheeez, the line is fady-like, honey" tests are just not gonna cut it. As the commercial says, "The most expensive thing you'll ever pee on."

This is the Chinchilla Belly. I was going to draw something everyday, but then when out time was cut short, I voted it out. Plus, I wasn't quite sure what the markers would do to my kid. That would be grounds for prison time if it made her come out zebra-striped.

Before we headed to the store, she had to water her flowers, So I snapped some pictures. She's really showing now. Shocking, isn't it? This kid has grown so fast... Those of you who saw us not long ago in May will probably poop yourselves. Perhaps you should take the laptop to the bathroom.

Hope you enjoyed the pictures. Oh; we've got the basics prepared for the coming kid. I bought a bad mutha of a car seat (which is still in the box in case we get one of those super mega stroller/carseat 5000 thingys) the other day, and we have fresh drawers to bring her home in (for the kid and Carrie). We're putting the emergency bag together tonight so we're ready on that end.

One other must-have piece of parenting technology has been acquired. Last night, Carrie's manager cut us an incredible deal on a end-of-model camcorder. It's one of those with the built in hard drive, which means I can record, at minimum, 10 hours of video. What this means is more video on my blogs and a ton of AFV moments. I can pull it straight to the computer and burn to DVD. Awesome; just freakin' awesome.

Blessings and love to you all,
D

Cruisin' along like a Cadillac...

29 July 2008: The visit to the doctor went off without a hitch today! Our “little” girl is now around 6 lb 2 oz, which is up 13 oz from last week’s visit. If you do the math, that’s a gain of about 1.86 oz/day. At this rate, if she goes to August 26 as predicted, that’s gonna put her at 9 lb 6 oz. Math is fun. I doubt that will be the case; I honestly doubt if she waits that long to pop. We’ll see!

We got to see fingers and toes today, and she gave the sonogram nurse a swift kick. Funny to watch that happen in real time. NINJA BABY! She’s got hair on her head already, which means she has more than I do and she’s not even born yet. Awesome.

It still overwhelms me to see a live baby inside Carrie's tummy. The definition of a humanoid is getting ever clearer, and she's so active now! At night, I put my lips against her belly and sing to my baby and I can feel her kicking and punching my mouth. That slowed down once I switched from Pantera to Jack Johnson, thankfully.

I took prego Carrie pictures outside of our townhouse last evening, so I'll stick one or two up when I get home. It's going to be a shock to our friends who saw us not two months ago. She's become so... round! She still doesn't have any swelling anywhere or back pain or the usual pregnancy issues, which is such a blessing. Hell; I got home from work yesterday and she had cleaned the apt on her day off. She's resilient, and so strong. Probably the strongest spirit I've even known.

I can't wait to see our superkid! We don't head back until next week, as the doctor is very pleased with how everything is going, despite our crazy beginnings. I would've never expected that my baby would be relatively trouble-free; what a crazy blessing!

I hope you're all ready for the coming of my baby girl. Oh; yes, we are working on names. We have narrowed the selection to a short list, but I'm not posting anything up yet. Carrie already outted Esmerelda and Wilhelmina. Dammit.

Thanks for reading! That’s the latest from Bump Watch ’08!

Everything's Coming Up Roses...

You know, it's probably good that we didn't find out about the pregancy until later on, because I'm already slacking on the blogs.

Business first....

25 July 2008: Bright and early Friday morning, we headed to the doc's office for a check-up and to review the blood work. After getting in without much wait, Carrie went through the usual checks, like blood pressure and weight. Again, the doctor is amazed by her constitution (it's the Nordic heritage, I'm telling ya). We went over the blood work, and everything is just aces.

She even went so far as to say it looked like she had been taking prenatal vitamins full-term, even though she's only had them for 2 weeks. My honey rocks! We are scheduled for our second ultrasound on Tuesday again, and she'll be getting her cervix checked again then, too, to see if she is starting to open the gates.

Again, I encourage you to repent before this child comes.

The OBGYN offices must be some of the most efficient doctor's offices I've ever seen. You're appointment is at 11? No worries; you're in ten minutes late at the most. Crammed into a small, antiseptic room? You won't be there for long, because a doc or nurse is in there quick. It's really starting to make me rethink the need for women in politics. Maybe they can streamline Washington and trim some serious fat. Of course, not Hillary. Now, I'm waaaaay off topic...

For those who want to know, we are cramming this pregancy thing like I crammed term papers in college. We have managed to register for stuff we need at Babies 'R' Us and Target. The amount of stuff they have for babies is really overwhelming, but we know that you don't need much starting out, so we're gonna be fine. Really, just getting the place ready here at the apartment is the biggest deal. We need to keep the guest bed for visiting grandparents in the first few days, and so she will be in the big master bedroom with us. That's fine; we probably won't sleep much anyway.

Some of you have asked for our address so you can send beer and nachos for me. That's sweet of you. Oh, and baby stuff would be cool, too. Condoms would be great, in the future. I ran out... but I'm sure you guessed that.

Darren & Carrie
4936 Vandelia St
Dallas TX 75235

There's our address. If you don't know our last names, just msg me. I think you all do, though. We've received so many wonderful messages from all of you from my blog here and on my regular blog site, as well as from the e-mails I've sent out. I want you all to know that these are the best gifts we've gotten; they lift our spirits, make us laugh, and warm our hearts as we take on the biggest challenge of our lives to this point. I share all of your warm notes with Carrie, and we both want to thank each of you for all your wonderful messages. That's the most serious, heartfelt message you'll ever hear from me, so eat it up.

Carrie's mom and dad bought us a crib today, and I'll be picking it up at J.C. Penney next week. Then Dad gets his tools out... which will, I'm sure, merit an entire blog just for that. I'm good with my tools, though; otherwise I wouldn't be a dad, right? Heh, heh...

Again, thanks for all your love. I'm off to search Craigslist for baby goodies and super bargains. I love that site!

Bump Watch 2009: er, 08... dammit.

So here we are at entry #2, but it might as well be entry #200... and we'll call it "Bump Watch 2008" now. Let me explain.

21 July 2008: Carrie and I are lounging on the loveseat, watching CSI (I think; one tends to forget the details after the fact). I was absentmindedly rubbing my hand on her belly, because I do it on mine all the time and thought hers might get jealous. I brushed across what felt like a hard spot, about the size of a lime. My eyes widened, and then it moved. It moved. It freakin' moved. I got all excited and called my mom, but expected the reasoning that I got.

"There's no way you are feeling the baby at 8 weeks, honey," my mom knowingly told me. Dad chimed in with, "It's probably just a gas bubble." Ah; parental logic. I wrote it off as my imagination, and that was that.

22 July 2008: Time for doctor's visit numero dos. We get in quicker than I think I've ever seen in a doctor's office, which was really nice. I was already getting hungry for lunch, and as we walk downstairs, I can smell the barbecue the caterer we saw outside must have brought in. Dammit; I'm not getting any of that," I think, and then quickly remember why we're here.

We step into the ultrasound room, which is small but effective. They ask Carrie to strip down below the waist, and she asks me if she has to take her underwear off as well. "Well, they aren't going to work around it, honey," I reply, with a grin on my face.

The woman comes back in, and prepares the instrument used to check. Once again, I'm reminded why I'm so glad I'm a guy. Upon insertion, the OB nurse backs out almost immediately."We're gonna have to do this with the other piece, honey. You're further along than what they had estimated; quite a bit further." Our hearts jump a bit, but her Texas drawl calms our nerves a little, taking the shock out.

That lasted for about 30 seconds. Then the real shock kicked in."Yeah, darlin'; you're way farther along than what they thought. I'd guess you're pretty close to having a baby!"

Holy s***.

"You wanna know the sex of the baby?" she asked, nonchalantly. "Yes; please," we reply with vacant expressions scored across our faces. "See that? That's... [skipping science here], so you're having a girl!"

A girl. My baby's a girl. Time to clean the shotgun and work on my mean faces.

We continued with the exam, getting to see the feet, hands, face and organs, including the kidneys, stomach, liver, brain (freakin' huge, heh heh) and heart. Seeing her little heart beating put me over the edge, and I could feel the tears sneaking down my cheeks.

My first call was to mom; it went something like this:

"Hey, mom? You remember last night, when I called and said I felt something move?"

"Yeah... what?"

"Yeah, about that; it was the baby. We're quite a bit further along than what we were initially told."

"How much?"

"Like instead of 7-8 weeks, we're around 34 weeks."

Silence.

I told mom that we would call back later on after meeting with the doctor, and ended the call. I hope she was sitting down.

We met with the doctor shortly after, and discussed the craziness of our situation. They took a urine sample, and there were no problems with that. They took four vials of blood, and we go back Friday to see the results of the blood tests. The doctor was actually ready to admit her to the hospital right then and there, because her blood pressure was high. She decided to give Carrie some time to cool down; the shock of the information we just got was the culprit, and her blood pressure went back down to normal. The doc said that from what she could tell, everything looked fine. The baby's around 5 1/2 pounds right now, and seems perfectly healthy. The crucial information we wanted was unattainable now; since the pregnancy was so far along, they couldn't give us an exact due date. Could be 5 weeks; could be two.

We were glad to not have to head directly to the hospital, but were (and are) still in shock. We went home and laid down and just thought. I won't detail all of the things that are swimming in my head now, as that would afford it's own book, but rest assured that we both have our heads above water... for now.

* * *

We have so much to do, and now the months of time to plan and prepare are gone without it even being our fault. Typically I can blame procrastination, but this time I have to blame our sneaky little girl. :-) We're getting ready with a new fervor, and hope that we can at least have the basics ready. Ironically, we recieved a package from Carrie's mom with the book "What to Expect When You're Expecting" in it. Anyone know where I can get the Cliff Notes on this?

We're trying to squeeze in for the one day newborn classes at Baylor, as well as the maternity tour, but realistically, there's only one before we're going to have our girl. Craziness.

Say a prayer if you do that kind of thing. This is the most focus I've ever needed in my life. I feel like we're going to war and skipped basic training. Hooah!

More to come soon!

D

And now, pictures.

Bump Watch 2009: Thus it begins...

Okay, so you probably read the earlier blog regarding our new addition (not a tribute band, i'm talking about the wee baby). I'm going to be chronicling everything for posterity, so here we go!


8 July 2008: We take two pregancy tests, and both of them come back as positive. I feel like I just won the lottery, but was instantly reminded of all the taxes I'm gonna have to pay.

9 July 2008: We spend the morning searching for a good OBGYN in Dallas to verify everything. After searching the internet and comparing ratings and balancing all this with insurance coverage, we pick a winner and set up an appointment for the following Wednesday. Now the longest week of my life begins... We decided to wait until after the doc's visit to tell family, just in case it's only gas.

12 July 2008: We can't wait anymore and spill the beans to immediate family. No friends yet; the network carries faster than a fiber line, so we avoid that mess. Moms are elated; dads grin and nod. My sister decides she needs a new tattoo.

14 July 2008: The vag mechanic, aka doctor's office calls and ups the appointment to Tuesday morning. We're happy, because that's 36 hours sooner than we expected.

15 July 2008: We arrive at the initial doctor's visit. The building looks like it just appeared from 1976, but the inside is much nicer. Within screaming distance of Baylor Medical, too, so that's a plus. After a veritable book of paperwork, we patiently wait. I read "The Best Seat In Second Grade," and pray that if I have a boy, he doesn't smuggle a hampster into the museum.

We meet with the OBGYN nurse for this initial visit. She hits Carrie with a barrage of questions that would make Rumsfeld say, "Damn; that's a lot of questions." As Carrie is adopted and it was a closed adoption, she doesn't know much at all about her family history genetic or otherwise, so a lot of these questions remain unanswered. The nurse senses her nervousness, and explains that they test for most of these things anyway. She then pummels me with her verbal ballistics, and I realize that my kid may turn out to be a ginger. Please, Lord; no.

The nurse sends us home with a portfolio of materials, along with a good 60 days of prenatal vitamins. You should see these pills; I've shoved worming pills down the mouths of cattle that were smaller than some of these. Carrie's okay with it; after all, she's vitamin-ing for two now.

We make another appointment for the following week for the first sonogram. The nurse estimates Carrie is about 7 weeks along, so we should be able to hear the heartbeat at this next appointment. Cool!

20 July 2008: Target trip number one... for anything baby-related. Time to start shopping for some maternity pants and shirts, or as I call them, "eatin' drawers." I'm really thinking about getting some of these in my size. They are possibly the most comfortable-looking pants in the world. I digress...

We spent a good half-hour in the baby section, until I started to bleed from my eyes. I can't believe the insane amount of stuff for newborns. Breast pumps (I still laugh when I say it), slings, formula, diapers, food, bottle washers, bottle warmers, binkys, blinkies, pink blankys... it's crazy. We booked out of there, and I was forced to buy a new game for the Wii just to justify all that baby thinking.

* * *

The next doctor's visit is tomorrow, so you can expect an update after that. Hope you enjoyed reading the saga thus far; stay tuned for more fun and frivolity from D&C!

Putting the "Sir" in Surprise...

There are a lot of monumental things that can happen in a man's life. His first car (mine was a 1982 Mazda Rx-7), the first time he touches a boob; these are life-altering events.

I just had one.

Last week Tuesday July 8th, I was at work, biding my time writing away about some random shoe that I don't really find amazing, but if you were to read my copy you would be dumbfounded at how cool I make them sound. I digress...

I was sitting there when I get a text message from Carrie. Here's the basics of the conversation:

Carrie: "I need you to pick up a test on the way home."

Darren: "What; a spelling test?"

Carrie: "No, smartass."

Darren: "Are you late?"

Carrie: "About a week and a half. Plus, Aiesha [her homegirl at work] said that I'm glowing like her sister did when she was pregnant."

Darren: "Black people glow?"

Carrie: "Smartass."

Darren: "Okay, I'll take care of it. Love you."

So, on the way home from work, I stopped by CVS (because Walgreen's is the devil) and picked up a test. I got a good deal, too; two tests for the price of one! AWESOME!

That night, after Carrie got home from work, she took test number one. She went into the downstairs bathroom, which is feet from the couch. "Did you do it," I asked.

"Yeah." Okay; just a yeah? "Did you look at it yet? It says it only takes 30 seconds..." I was getting impatient at this point, so I got up and looked for myself, since she had not.

Pregnant. I shook it to make sure the "Not" wasn't just hiding behind the LCD, laughing at me. That "Not" was gonna take me seriously.

"Hmm. Okay, we'll do test #2 after the thing resets, okay?" We both suddenly found ourselves locked in the most awkward hour of our lives todate. TV lost interest, and a beer was the furthest thing from my mind. We passed the time rather quickly, but there wasn't much discussion, other than "Aww... hurry up!"

An hour and one forced pee later, we were staring at another instant winner.

I can say right now that at that moment, Carrie was the most beautiful, most fragile thing i had ever seen in my life. She was glowing. Sure, the glow came from shock and a slight sense of foreboding, but she was warm and... how to put it? I can't; I don't have the words.

We laughed, we cried, we kissed and we talked. A torrential downpour of thoughts flooded my mind. First, of course, was "Ahh dammit why haven't I married this girl yet?," followed by about 1,000 thoughts about what I should do as a father.

We will get married, but after the child is born. If you don't like that, well... suck an egg. Honestly, we both agreed on that decision, because I don't want us to have a shotgun wedding, that seems like it's a marriage for the sake of the child. The welfare of my kid is in no danger; I'm not going to run off or anything like that. I want our wedding to be a celebration of our love in the eyes of God and our families, not a "Well, she's knocked up so at least he's doing the right thing." We aren't trash, we just don't use condoms. There; I said it.

Moving on...

We had our first doctor's appointment Tuesday of this week, which we were very nervous for. Mainly we wanted a physician to tell her that she is, in fact, pregnant, and give us an idea of how far along she is. We met with the nurse, who ran us through the myriad questions about our family histories.

That is the one thing that I think troubles Carrie the most. She is adopted, and doesn't have any family history per se. No idea what genetic issues there might be, basically. After addressing our concerns about this by telling us about the testing they do, we were very relieved and have a ton more confidence than we initially did.

We were given an estimated due date of March 4, which puts her at about 7 weeks. We go back Tuesday again for our first sonogram, and should be able to hear the heartbeat. I can't wait; I honestly can't wait.

We're both excited. Our friends are excited. Our families are excited. Sure; we were all thrown for a bit of a loop when the news came, but there are no regrets, and we will move forward as a family.

Your prayers, thoughts, burnt offerings and the like are appreciated as we move forward. Stay tuned for more on BUMP WATCH '09 right here on my blog. First picture exclusives!!!

ONE LOVE,
D

Classically Strained

This post is going to be a venting post, so if you're not up for "Emo moments with Big D," then go ahead and find something funny on YouTube.

If you've ever had a pinched nerve or a similar annoying pain, then you can relate to my latest issue. It's not physical; my body is in perfect shape as usual (scoff). My problem has to do with work.

It has nothing to do specifically with my job. I love what I do, and the people I work with here are just stellar. The actual problem is much bigger than just my direct issue, but this is where the rant stems, so I'll put it in perspective.

We have an ever-increasing amount of shoes coming in that I have to write about. I'm doing my best to keep up without any major issues, but one recent order caught me off-guard a bit. It is a big Ralph Lauren order; you know, shoes for boring white people and $30,000 millionaires? Anyway, my voice isn't really the appropriate spokesman for these shoes, so writing about them makes my head hurt.

In order to get these shoes online and out of my pile, we decided to use an outside writer to knock these out. You wouldn't think that would be such a big deal, right? Find said writer, give them the needed info to write, and then give the finished product a quick review before posting them for sale.

Finding a writer who can write above a 10th grade level has proven to be the most challenging thing in the world. People cannot write anymore.

First, there was a writer we had used for previous definitions for our resource site. This writer did an okay job, but I still found myself wasting time editing his stuff, which basically wiped out the efficiency of someone else doing some work. Writer #1 bailed on doing the shoes, and needless to say, I wasn't too upset about it.

Then, a week later, I got samples from writer #2. This writer sent over samples, which I promptly edited and sent back. After a short conference call with too many people, this writer was out. Another week passes...

Writer #3 sent samples, which never even made it to me. The contact that works between me and this writer sent them back with a "strong letter," hoping to get some better quality stuff. After a day or so (I am assuming, since I didn't know that we were trying another one), he sent revised samples. These made it past the middleman, and I took a look.

I won't post a sample of this work for the sake of that person, but I was floored. This was a second draft, mind you, and things like mispelling "perfect" as "prefect" shouldn't have been present. Sentences with missing words, missing punctuation and other commonplace errors plagued these samples. I couldn't believe that someone would finish this work, look at it and say to himself, "Self, that's some damn fine writing. Let's e-mail it off!"

The search continues, but it continues with me. I will not accept shit work when it's going onto our site which I have worked so hard to make right. I have gone through and edited tons of the work from the person who was here before me, trying to make everything grammatically correct and smooth. In my opinion, if you can't spell shit right on your website, I doubt you put too much emphasis on any other professional aspects of your business.

I know that I am a perfectionist, but I can give a little lee-way, too. However, if you want to be a professional writer, be it freelance or full-time, you have to get fundamentals right. You may be a creative mother fucker, but if you write like a fourth grader, you might as well write on toilet paper, because all I will do with it is wipe my ass.

***Sense my increasing anger? That's called voice. Note that I do it without frowny faces or using "u" instead of "you."***

Here's today's hasty generalization: Language arts teachers have given up. English is hard to teach. You have more grading than most other instructors, and you can't use Scantron sheets, either. Too many teachers have gotten lazy, passing students with poor skills on to the next grade level, perpetuating a generation of fucktards.

***I'll say this now before I continue: There are students and teachers who are exceptions to this rule, just like with any other stereotypical situation. With that in mind, I continue.***

There are students in college right now who cannot write over an 8th grade level. This isn't bullshit; I have seen their work. Simple things that should be taught at the earliest age are ignored. What happens to these students? How the hell do they even get into college? They take an ACT or SAT test (whatever it is nowadays; I'm old as dirt), and are funneled into beginning English classes. These classes basically rehash the education they should have received in four years of high school in four months. At the end of the semester, either they are promoted to the next level of class or they flunk. The majority of them are passed.

Reason number one for college administrators to allow lower admission standards, and probably the prime motivator for letting these idiots into our higher education system: MONEY. A student who has to take remedial classes before they even start their core curriculum pay more into the university's pockets, and tend to be in college longer than an average or above average student. Even if they have dropped out, they have gotten at least one semester of tuition, incidental fees, parking permits, book rentals and other fees. It's sickening, and it's getting worse.

***I'm not going to research and provide sources on these ideas unless you pay me and print me. These are my thoughts, and I think they make sense.***

Because too many people have associated college with a "must do," too many idiots are getting into school. In turn, our work force suffers at the base level. Work for professionals in a skilled trade industry is booming, yet fewer high school grads choose a technical training school or similar education experience. Why? Because Americans attach a stigma to people who actually work for a living.

"Oh, you're a welder? What; did you have trouble finishing homework?" Here's a staggering truth:

Right now, working 6/10's (the typical week), a pipeline welder will gross $4000
per week not including the benefit package. Only around $2900 of that is taxable
income. The breakdown is $41/hr on the man, $15/hr on the rig, 41.50/day per
diem, plus a benefit package (insurance, pension) of $16.70.

How's that liberal arts degree treating you?

We have coddled the new generation of students to believe that sub-par work is still passable. For most average students, they have been able to do the minimum to get by for their entire lives, and because we have perpetuated the "Trophy-for-last-place" mentality, they think that
their sub par work will actually cut it in the real world. This is reinforced by the university
system that over the last ten years, has continued to institute a "university studies" program
that boils down to two years of high school education that you pay for.

Teachers, please teach your students. If your students are shitty writers, do not pass their work. Do not give "good tryer" awards. Education is about enlightening young minds and directing them to do what is considered intellectual and correct. High school students who cannot tell the difference between "to," "too" and "two" should not graduate.

It's already affecting the world. Far too many (yes, that's the right "too") businesses have professionally produced promtional materials like signs and brochures that have misplaced apostrophes and other grammatical errors. Web blogs and internet posts are plagued with
horrible writing, and no one really seems to care.

Writers, have some self-respect. Unless you are a fourteen year-old girl in Provo, Utah, a
sentence like "OMG, I cant beleive what u typed on ~corey~'s page 2day!" should make you want to stab yourself in the eye with a pencil. STOP BASTARDIZING THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE!

I watched a movie recently, and it seemed eerily accurate. It's called "Idiocracy," and portrays the downfall of mankind due to the changing face of natural selection. Check it out; the movie
sucks but it makes a damn good point.

***

So, the search continues for a good writer. I hope to find one soon, but if not, I'll survive;
I'll just have to write about stupid dress shoes that I think are boring as shit.
Do u no any good riters?

One Love,
D

The State of the Universe

Last weekend Carrie and I went to Arlington to see my boy Justin Ross play a show at "Hot Rods & Hoggs." I had one of the best burgers i've had in Texas, watched a monster truck rally on the Deuce, and drank a fair amount of Lone Star beer. Justin's music fit this scenario perfectly, and the night was complete. The women folk (especially my sexy babydoll) were lookin' good, and even Elvis was there. It was pretty impressive seeing the King up close and personal amidst the ladies. Here's a shot of Amon's girlfriend and sister with a hunk-a, hunk-a burnin' love...


Here's a link to Justin's music: Justin Ross

Here's a video from the show: http://youtube.com/watch?v=PR9JZjgu1ec&feature=PlayList&p=84764651AA171849&index=19

* * *

Last week, I bought a scooter. Immediately, I know what you think. "You're gonna look like a pumpkin on a toothpick, fat boy." I'll concede that I am a bit big for a standard scooter, but this is not a standard scooter. For those of you who knew me in college when I had my first scooter, that was a toy. This new buggar is, legally, a motorcycle. I just don't like shifting, so the "turn and burn" action of the automatic scooter is just lovely.

It's a Baccio VX150, which is a nice way of dressing up a Chinese company's name. The VIN tag has some long-ass Asian name on it, so we'll just stick with the Baccio title. It's red, has hydraulic anti-lock brakes, security alarm, and only 846 miles on it when I bought it.

Yeah; matching wheels does seem a bit... fruity, but I live in the gayborhood and the Chinese apparently love coordinating colors. Hey; it matches the 4Runner.




So the interesting story on the purchase... I had been watching Craigslist.org for several months, hoping to find a good deal on a used scooter. My work commute is only about 15 miles round trip, so a scooter is ideal. Last Monday night (2 June), I saw a posting that read, "150cc scooter, $450." Well, that got my attention, so i dug a little deeper. It was also noted in the description that they didn't have a title, but I didn't let that discourage me. After all, I'm a dirty redneck and seem to always find a way around the bureaucrats, right?


Tuesday morning, I got a call from Adrian, the scooter's owner. She said that she had gotten over 30 e-mails about the scooter since posting it the night before, but because my e-mail signature made her laugh, she called me first. What is my signature?


Darren B. Burgfeld
Writer, poet, musician; general slacker
cell: 573.270.7988
home/fax: 214.257.0666
www.myspace.com/iceburgtx


That stupid line merited my moving to the front of the pile of hopeful scooter purchasers. Anyway, I told her that I had cash in hand, and would be able to come get it after work. I was already scheduled to go to Fort Worth that evening to shoot some pictures for Justin's new album, so the timing was perfect.


A little later in the morning, she sent me a text saying that she had someone offer $600, and she had to go with what was in her best interests. I understood; I thought the price was really cheap. Turns out, however, this person was full of it, so the scooter was mine. I figured that there may be some things that need to be done to it, but I was prepared to get $450 worth of scooter.


I met Justin at his house, and we proceeded to head to the scooter's location, which was Adrian's parents' house. When we got to the gate to the neighborhood, I was immediately relieved that I wasn't going to have any problems for two reasons: Her dad was riding the scooter around the neighborhood, and the security guard for this neighborhood was asking more questions that I got from customs when I came back from Germany.


These people are rich. Like George Bush over for a BBQ rich. Ridiculous rich. You could film cinemax movies at these houses and not have to change the sheets rich. Lawn jockey rich. You get the point, right?


The backstory on the scooter is that Adrian had a friend who did testing on these in the US for the Chinese manufacturers. After testing, these were to be destroyed, but that's the dumbest thing since NAFTA, so he gave Adrian and her parents three scooters; two 50cc and the one I bought. They had already sold the other two.


It had never been titled because her parents were the ones that built the houses in that neighborhood, and they used the scooters to hop back and forth between jobsites. That's also why a 2004 scooter only had 846 miles on it.


I paid them, had her sign the bill of sale and title certificate, and Justin and I loaded it up and headed out. I am still shocked that I got such an incredible deal. It's the Burgfeld luck, I think.

So now I am in the process of titling it. I have to register it with the state, since a 150cc is considered a motorcycle. This also means I have to get my motorcycle license, which means I will finally have my Texas driver's license. In the chain of events, that means I have to register my 4Runner in Texas now. I guess I should brace myself for the finality of becoming a Texas citizen.




Titling it shouldn't be a major undertaking. If the regular channels prove to be a pain, I can do a bonded title, which means for $100 i get the title and as long as there are no claims against it for 3 years, it's mine. Shouldn't be a problem there. State tax is $28, and the registration is $33. What all that adds up to is for around $600, I'm getting a vehicle that will top out around 65 mph, gets 85 mpg and will hold my fat ass with no problems. Simply outstanding.




This picture shows the pinnacle of the whole scooter; the Engrish on the side.

That's right; the VX150 has "Improved Inyection." I thought, "Hmm; maybe that's Swedish," but then after reading the VIN tag, I was reassured that it is, indubitably, Engrish.


Oh, happy day!


I did drive it, in case you are wondering. I actually drove it to work and back a few days, but on Tuesday I got pulled over by a Dallas County Constable, and that put to bed any notions of further operation without the proper paperwork.

The conversation went something like this...


Constable: "I've pulled you over because you don't have any plates on your bike."


Me: "Yes, sir. I just bought this yesterday from a girl in Ft. Worth, and I thought I'd drive it to work today to make sure everything worked right."


Constable: "Um, hmm... Let me get your license, please (I hand him my license). Missouri? How long have you lived here?"


Me: "Oh... It's been about 2 1/2 months... my neighbor was saying I had 90 days to get the Texas license, but since I was shopping for a bike I thought it would be best to wait so I could get the motorcycle endorsement as well."


Constable: "Well, you've actually only got 30 days... What does the K mean? Is that motorcycle?"


Me: "No, that was for vision correction, but I've since had lasik. The other was for commercial vehicles."


Constable: "So, you didn't have a motorcycle license in MO either?"


Me: "No, sir."

Constable: "D'ya have insuance on the bike yet?"


Me: "No, sir."


Constable: "Okay... so you realize you're looking at four seperate violations here, right? No helmet, no insurance, no license on the bike and no motorcycle operator's license?"


Me: "Yes, sir... Like I said, I just got it yesterday. All of the paperwork for it is in my office just down the road (literally; i was maybe 1/2 mile from work). I realize that I shouldn't have it out on the road, and I guarantee that it will sit until eveything is legal on it, sir. It was poor judgement on my part, and I'm sorry to have wasted your time."


Constable: (Looks down his nose like is this fat boy for real?) "Alright, well I need to run your license. You have any outstanding tickets or warrants or anything?"


Me: "In Texas?"

Constable: "Anywhere; Missouri, Texas, Hawaii...."


Me: "No, sir. Last thing I got was a speeding ticket in 2005. That was in my 4Runner."


Constable: "Alright; hang tight for a minute."


It's at this time that the officer sits down in his car, and I grab some concrete from the retaining wall conveniently where I pulled over. After about ten minutes of sweating balls, he steps back out.


Constable: (Pulls a long piece of paper from his patrol car) "Alright; I'm going to give you a warning for the violations. Get it home, park it, and don't get back on the road until you have all your shit together."


Me: "Yes, sir. Thanks a lot for understanding. New toys... it's hard to not give 'em a little run."


Constable: "Well, it's more for you than anyone else. You get hit, and you're screwed. How fast will this thing go, anyway?"


Me: "Oddly enough, it stayed right at the speed limit all the way over here."


Constable: (laughs) "Okay, nice. Be safe out there and get your registration and license taken care of."


Me: "Yes, sir; thanks again. Have a safe one."


So, this week I've got to get this stuff taken care of. I hated to use all my good karma points in one day, but I know that it's a bigger pain in the ass to get your motorcycle license when you've been cited for driving without a license in Texas. This state doesn't play. Soon, you'll see me cruising in style, in a helmet, laughing at the $4 I spend to fill my tank. Until then... 4Runner fun time.

Kansas and Optimism

Last night, I think we all saw the painfully abrupt end to Memphis' chance at the National title. It was a heartbreaker, but just like Favre's chance at the superbowl, they lost it for themselves.

Sigh... I was really pulling for Memphis. I didn't slide off of the couch and kneel on the floor in a fetal position like I did with Green Bay's loss, but it was a painful loss to watch.

First overtime battle since '97, and what a battle it was. Mario Chalmers definitely earned his Most Outstanding Player honors. Hitting that critical three with 2 seconds left was it. That's the cloud he will float on for the rest of his career; for the rest of his life.

On the other hand, Kansas played one hell of a game, and honestly deserve the win. They worked extremely hard and earned this Championship. Kudos to the Kansas team.

* * *

This game taught us all one thing. You never give up until the clock is done and the buzzer resounds. It's a life lesson long taught, and this game was just another example of how perseverance pays off in a big way. I know you've heard it before, but just think about what it is you're shooting for, and what it takes to get there. Close your eyes for ten seconds and picture yourself victorious. Now picture the steps it will take to succeed. Make it happen. You might not get a second chance.

* * *

I left the apt in a great mood this morning, which is rare. I hate mornings; always have, always will. But the weather was cool, and we're supposed to get some badass storms over the next few days, so I was happy.

The rain held off as I drove to work, so I had the windows down, the moonroof open and "It's My Turn to Fly" by The Urge cranked. Love that song...

I got to work, closed up the 4Runner and headed in. As I walked up the steps mere feet from our front door, I got a surprise on my arm.

I got pooped on. That's right; a bird decided to let loose and got a 50 point shot on my forearm. I didn't even get mad; I just walked in to work, set down my stuff, announced this little thing to my coworkers and went to wash it off.

I had to announce it to my friends at work. We're the kind of people that relish laughing at other's misfortune, so this was prime nether to brighten their morning.

After I got cleaned up and sat down, I started to really doubt my Karma. I can't imagine what I did that merited a fecal blasting, but it must have been bad.

First, I tried to think if I did anything to any actual person lately, but other than the standard yelling at poor drivers (which is balanced by the red lights and cut-offs I get), there wasn't anything I could recall.

Maybe it wasn't people karma at all. Maybe I wronged some poor bird recently and just didn't notice. there's no way that this is a possibility, I thought. On Sunday, I cleaned out the bread box and discarded a stale pita and several english muffins to the "bird feeder," also known as the carport where we park. We throw bird seed, bread and other clean edibles up there for the birds and such to wipe out. I loaded these chirpers up, and then I get pooped on.

I've decided that when I get home, I'm going to let the birds in my neighborhood know what happened. Maybe they will retaliate for me.

* * *

I still believe that everything is eventually justified. Karma is still operating, even if it isn't obvious. Live right, and life will be blessed. Just don't poop on anyone... metaphorically, of course.

One Love,

D

It only hurts the first time...

Consider this your welcome. Before I even roll too deep, please note that this is a continuation of a journal that started in 1991. After many volumes, I've decided to go digital.

There are some things, as you can imagine if you know me, that may be written here that aren't appropriate for all ages. There will be words with which you may disagree, and you are welcome to that. This is not, however, a public forum for bullshit discussions that turn into redundant crap. This is me, on the web, as nearly as pure as you will see.

If you don't know me, then e-mail me or post a note if you find something you can identify with. It's always nice to meet kindred souls.

Now, to dig into the world that is me. Let's begin the history lesson.

* * *

Chapter One

For a kid, I was pretty sharp. I mean, I was in accelerated programs at school, at least until parochial school where the ruling law was heavy handed and the clipboard rained down its justice upon the grade school miscreant… but I digress.

I kept up with the adults, for the most part. I could run a competitive Scrabble game, and most conversations I could follow. I’ve always stayed on point with current events, even if it is only to understand the superficial.

All the intelligence reports tend you lead your train of thought to one thing; “Damn, what a geek.” You’re right. I was a geek. In the early years, I held my own. That was simple; catch a snake, kick the ball hard, ride your bike down the ravine. Eight-year-old jackass.

Up until 5th grade, I was a public school kid. I think part of my accelerated learning was because I was a happy kid. I loved to read. I absorbed books like a sponge, and even helped other kids with their reading. I was active, with my nearly white blonde hair and my blue eyed wonderment. My family loved me, and life was great.

Then I got glasses.

It was third grade when I finally succumbed. Glasses were an instant encumbrance; constantly sliding down my nose, getting lost in my not-so immaculate room and constantly needing to be cleaned. I would be cursed with this “disease” until I would be three months from my 30th birthday.

After a fourth grade year of slacking grades and sloping interest in school, I was transferred to a parochial school in the Lutheran church. Sorry for those who had hoped for catholic school stories. I think the degradation of my interest in school was sparked by a really bad teacher in 4th grade. I don’t honestly remember anything from 4th grade other than a day where several of us had to line up for swats from our teacher. I don’t even recall the offense that necessitated such harsh retribution…

Parochial school started out good. My teacher was great, and very supportive. I was going in cold turkey; I knew some of my fellow students from church and Sunday school, so I had some inside connections already. Not that it mattered, but the class sizes were small, and we spent the entire day together. This was fine, if you fit. Once you didn’t fit anymore, it was hell. Hell-- brought to you by the Lutheran church, Missouri synod.

Sam and Bryant were my best friends. Sam was also the pastor’s son, which was really neither here nor there. Bryant and I had been friends from early youth, and was my “outdoor” friend, meaning he had a 3-wheeler and I didn’t.

The girls in my class, for the most part, were horrible little bitches. I hate to use the term to describe such a young age, but it fits. They would torment the other girls that didn’t “fit,” as well as some of the boys. Everything, at that time, was about labels. Clothes. Shoes. Backpacks, trapper keepers, watches, hairstyles… it was probably the heart of the superficial 80’s, and we were caught in the midst of it at the most awkward time of our adolescence.

I wasn’t rich, by any means. Now I think, “Thank God,” but then it was all I could do sometimes to keep from lashing out at the teases about my Rustler jeans or my off-brand shoes. My parents were perfect. We had love in our home, we had music and inspiration and creativity and lots and lots of Love.

In 6th grade, we took comprehensive but basic skills tests to determine if we would be good candidates for the band program. I passed with one of the highest aptitudes in the class, and shortly after receiving our results, we got to go to the high school band room to peruse the instruments.

I wanted to play the trumpet or drums. I had never seen a trombone, nor had I cared to. The trumpet was the front of the line… it was a weapon of domination for band nerds everywhere, and although I wasn’t a band nerd yet, I was aspiring and I wanted that weapon of mass destruction.

My parents, standing close behind, watched me as I was introduced to the program directors. I saw saxophones, clarinets (yeah, right), baritones, tubas, and trumpets. My eyes brightened, and then the head director, nick Leist, told me to check out this trombone.

I thought to myself, “Hey, if it’ll convince him that I should play something else, let’s get it over with.” He carefully showed me how to properly hold the instrument, and it was surprisingly heavy. That impressed me, for reasons both primal and aesthetic. Then he told me to blow into it. As I innocently went to place my lips on the mouthpiece for the first time, he stopped me.

“Don’t just blow air into it; you have to buzz, like you’re making motorboat noises in the bathtub.” Strangely, this analogy made sense to me, and without further ado, I placed my lips against the horn and “buzzed.”

There are several times or events in my life I will never forget. Sorting my baseball cards at my grandma’s house in Jackson when I was sick, Grandpa and I going fishing in the Galaxie, seeing my dad cry when I moved away to Texas, my wedding day, the day my divorce went through, my sister’s child’s birth… These are epiphanies in my life. Changing events, or glacier movers.

The first note I ever played was a B-flat. It was a little sharp, but it was there. Then I moved the slide around and made a real mess of my first performance. Mr. Leist said that I was a natural. I will never forget that; it is what sold me on playing this horn. Maybe it was said in good humor, maybe he said that to every kid that picked it up, but what I can tell you is that for a kid in hand-me-down glasses with early acne and a really odd sense of humor, it had me floating above the floor.

I signed on to play the trombone, and shortly thereafter, we got a rental horn so I could start practicing. Band became my personal refuge. Most of the students who teased and poked fun didn’t do band, at least not after the first year. We would all get on a bus and travel to the public school to learn our scales and fib about how much time we practiced. It was a break from the dulling monotony that was school.

Fast forward to my eighth grade year. I’m still pretty short, around 5’2”, and husky. I liked husky, unlike most kids. My friend Travis and I actually compared how many rolls we had on our bellies one day in the locker room.

I finally got contact lenses in eighth grade, after what was probably a lot of deliberation by my parents. Contacts were not cheap; these were hard lenses, and would require a level of responsibility that I probably hadn’t shown to this point. It wasn’t that I was an irresponsible kid; I just was borderline most of the time.

This was a pivotal point in my school career. We finished parochial school in 8th grade, and I would now return to public school. In the span of a summer, my family would move into our unfinished new home, I would grow about 6 inches and I would adjust to not having to wear thick glasses anymore.

* * *

More to come.

One Love,
D