Saturday, November 22, 2008
So Much to Write, so Little Scotch...
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
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
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.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Oh, I know... so BACK OFF.
Friday, September 5, 2008
The First Week
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.
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!
D
Friday, August 29, 2008
Layla Marie has Arrived!
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.
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…
\
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Let the Countdown Begin...
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
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Bump Watch Update: Feel the excitement, kids.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
And This, it Begins...
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?
Monday, August 11, 2008
We Know Everything Now
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!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Bump Watch 2008: Update!
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
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Just some photos...
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.
D
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Cruisin' along like a Cadillac...
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!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Everything's Coming Up Roses...
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!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Bump Watch 2009: er, 08... dammit.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Bump Watch 2009: Thus it begins...
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!
Friday, July 18, 2008
Putting the "Sir" in Surprise...
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
Friday, June 20, 2008
Classically Strained
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
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The State of the Universe
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
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.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Kansas and Optimism
Monday, March 17, 2008
It only hurts the first time...
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.
D