<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437</id><updated>2011-04-21T17:42:28.020-07:00</updated><category term='we are not freeloaders but will take more free stuff'/><category term='engaging reading'/><category term='stimulating conversation'/><category term='holy crap my world is about to change'/><category term='family is funny'/><category term='tired'/><category term='cult hero'/><category term='yes ma&apos;am'/><category term='Possibly TMI'/><category term='next month he will want a credit card and cell phone'/><category term='Raffi'/><category term='i am such a dork'/><category term='Ew'/><category term='cute boys'/><category term='we live in a zoo'/><category term='interesting reasoning'/><category term='lazy'/><category term='ridin&apos; the rails'/><category term='good brew good time'/><category term='indestructible layne'/><category term='easily amused'/><category term='non-stop excitement'/><category term='good food'/><category term='cars'/><category term='rant'/><category term='grand outings'/><category term='sequins'/><category term='freakout'/><category term='that boy ain’t right'/><category term='yummy'/><category term='sophisticated'/><category term='bum bum bum'/><category term='being appreciated is great'/><category term='random recollection'/><category term='holiday'/><category term='Proud Papa'/><category term='boring recount'/><category term='life is a highway'/><category term='petty jealousy'/><category term='uptight parents'/><category term='holycrap'/><category term='bad cook'/><category term='playground'/><category term='why?why?why?'/><category term='SURPRISE'/><category term='no modesty'/><category term='model behavior'/><category term='poor kid'/><category term='begging'/><category term='hot'/><category term='future blackmail'/><category term='hopefully tomorrow goes a tad better'/><title type='text'>The Dad Abides</title><subtitle type='html'>And I'm talkin' about the Dad here--  sometimes there's a man who, wal,  he's the man for his time'n place,  he fits right in there--and that's the Dad, in Houston.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-4657958202314452453</id><published>2009-03-03T14:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T14:28:59.669-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lazy'/><title type='text'>Awesome</title><content type='html'>I sure stuck with that.  8+ months since last post?  outstanding.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-4657958202314452453?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/4657958202314452453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=4657958202314452453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/4657958202314452453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/4657958202314452453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2009/03/awesome.html' title='Awesome'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-1217303840812133751</id><published>2008-06-27T13:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T13:34:19.578-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sophisticated'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good food'/><title type='text'>Waiter, I’ll have the Chilean Sea Bass</title><content type='html'>For the past several weeks, Sarah has been taking the kids to a story time held at a fish/aquarium store close to my office.  She has of course mentioned that the fish store is “close to Daddy’s office” to the boys, and Marshall has repeatedly asked to come and see my office.  So today, we decide to oblige, let them see my ultra-exciting office space, and then we will head out to dinner.  At the office Marshall is somewhat shy, Layne is of course charming everyone in sight, and Susie is mostly asleep.  They enjoy my desk, mostly because of the pictures of themselves on display.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we head out to &lt;a href="http://www.chuys.com/"&gt;Chuy’s&lt;/a&gt; for a yummy dinner of fajitas, their wonderful creamy jalapeno ranch sauce, and possibly (likely) a margarita.   At the restaurant Sarah and I are looking at the menu, mainly trying to decide what to get the kids.  I glance over at Marshall, and he has the kids menu open, he appears to be reading it, and states he wants a cheeseburger.  The whole thing just looked hilarious given that he of course can’t read, but it sure came across that he was.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner was wonderful and the margaritas strong.  Layne enjoyed the creamy jalapeno, but then again he seems to love any kind of dipping sauce.  Oh, and Marshall ate a grand total of 1 bite of the cheeseburger he wanted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-1217303840812133751?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/1217303840812133751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=1217303840812133751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1217303840812133751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1217303840812133751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/waiter-ill-have-chilean-sea-bass.html' title='Waiter, I’ll have the Chilean Sea Bass'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-2472817136979490101</id><published>2008-06-26T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T12:46:34.941-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='next month he will want a credit card and cell phone'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='begging'/><title type='text'>Planning for Sarah’s birthday</title><content type='html'>Actual discussion shortly after dinner last night.  Marshall started to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, when I told him my birthday was last week.  He then stated that mama’s birthday was next.  I told him yes, then the following occurred:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Me:&lt;/b&gt; What should we get mama for her birthday?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mars:&lt;/b&gt; I don’t know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Me:&lt;/b&gt; Well, you are not any help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mars:&lt;/b&gt; You can give &lt;i&gt;me&lt;/i&gt; more money so I can buy more toys!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hilarity ensued.  3 years old, and already begging for money.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-2472817136979490101?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/2472817136979490101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=2472817136979490101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2472817136979490101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2472817136979490101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/planning-for-sarahs-birthday.html' title='Planning for Sarah’s birthday'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-7909335743523997448</id><published>2008-06-26T12:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T12:35:59.576-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ridin&apos; the rails'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grand outings'/><title type='text'>Casey Jones you better watch your speed – 6/21/08</title><content type='html'>So we have decided that we should try and do at least 1 big outing a month with the kids.  Last month was the &lt;a href="http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/going-to-zoo-zoo-zoo-how-about-you-you.html"&gt;zoo&lt;/a&gt; when Susie was all of 9 days old.  Today we finally decided we should check out something we have been eyeing for over a year.  Up in Hockley, about a 30-40 min drive northwest of us, is a group called &lt;a href="http://www.hals.org"&gt;Houston Area Live Steamers (HALS)&lt;/a&gt; who build and maintain (relatively) large steam model trains.  Once a month during the spring and summer they offer free rides to the public.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made the decision to go late Friday night, so the boys had no idea what was in store for them.  I tell Marshall during breakfast that we are going to ride mini-trains, and he looks nominally excited.  Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but at least he wasn’t outright opposed to the idea (which is always a distinct possibility).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get to the park in Hockley shortly after 9:00, and there doesn’t appear to be too many people there yet.  I unload the boys and Sarah stays in the car to feed Susie.  We go up to the building and I scope out the situation.  They have a clear box for donations which has some model trains in a mountain setting.  I let Marshall put a dollar in the box, this only mildly amuses him, he now wants to open the box and play with the trains.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah and Susie finally come up, and we decide that I will ride with the boys while Sarah waits with Susie for the first ride.  So the boys and I get in line and wait.  And wait.  They actually did great waiting; I don’t think we have really ever dealt with lines quite like this.  I think they are a little nervous though, lots of people, and the trains going by are not all that quiet.  I keep trying to build up their excitement, but Marshall remains somewhat quiet, saying he is excited but not really looking the part.  As we get closer, he starts telling me he wants to ride every train that comes by: “I want to ride the blue train”, “I want to ride the black train”, “I want to ride the orange train.”  At the last turn in line before the front row, there are some little kiddie benches, then the front row has normal benches.  Layne has a blast playing on these, climbing up and down, over and over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So up to this point the boys have been great in line.  Then our turn to finally board the train comes and Layne flips out, screaming and trying to run away from the train.  I have to grab him and carry him, and luckily he calms down as we sit down.  Marshall was a bit nervous I think, but was still eager to get on.  The seats are basically just a wooden bench you straddle; Layne is between my legs and Marshall is in front, holding on for dear life.  I told him to hold on tight, and he took it quite literally.  Glad he listens to me every now and then.  The train whistles and departs, and as we pass the station house we wave to Sarah who was waiting to get pictures of us.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The setup of the track is pretty cool.  They have many scale station houses, water mills, signs, etc, along the way.  There appear to several routes to take as they have lots of forks it is not just a simple circle or anything.  This group has put some serious thought into the layout.  There are also many bridges along the way, some a pretty impressive length as well.  A good portion of the track goes into the woods and alongside a creek.  This is a nice break from the sun and makes it more interesting than just riding around in an open field.  The ride lasts for about 10 minutes.  As we approach the station house again, Sarah has switched sides so we can again wave and get our picture taken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the ride Sarah and I switch off as she gets in line with the boys.  Unfortunately the line is much longer this time, but we think there should be enough time to ride again before we have to head home for lunch.  I wait under the cover for 10-15 minutes holding Susie, then decide to move to the other side so I can get pictures of them departing on the train.  Think I moved too early because I end up waiting in the sun for well over 20 minutes.  Susie had fallen asleep and was covered in her stroller, so I wasn’t worried about her in the sun, but I got stuck.  Plus, I am sure she was still quite hot.  I was basically on the sidewalk backing up to the parking lot, so I ended up moving the stroller next to a van so it could be in the shade.  I felt odd leaving her out in a parking lot, but I was never more than 5 feet from her, so it really wasn’t a big deal.  I ended up sitting in the shade of the van as well for a good part of the time.  Not a lot of shady spots there, but I guess they didn’t really build this for spectators.  Plus, it is free and all, so I shouldn’t complain too much.  Once I saw Sarah and the boys make the last turn in line, I had to hop up every time I heard a train whistle to make sure I didn’t miss them on the train.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except for the sun, it was a good time.  Marshall said he enjoyed riding the trains, but wasn’t as talkative about it as he normally is about things.  Layne seemed pretty happy on the way home.  We will probably go again, but maybe do it earlier in the spring next time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-7909335743523997448?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/7909335743523997448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=7909335743523997448' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7909335743523997448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7909335743523997448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/casey-jones-you-better-watch-your-speed.html' title='Casey Jones you better watch your speed – 6/21/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-8523472862866884639</id><published>2008-06-18T08:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T09:59:06.654-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life is a highway'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='that boy ain’t right'/><title type='text'>Life is a Highway Part 3</title><content type='html'>Marshall has still been singing "Life is a Highway" non-stop, and it is getting to Sarah.  He is also constantly asking what the rest of the words are to the song.  So last night, Sarah asked me to download the song and make a CD with it on it.  We both figure this will make him insanely happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, "insane" was certainly the operative word here.  This morning as we were getting ready for breakfast, he starts singing again.  So I tell him I have a surprise for him and put the CD on in the kitchen.  He is very excited about the concept of the surprise "What surprise? What surprise?" he asks over and over.  But when the music starts, he immediately goes and stands in the corner between the fridge and the counter.  Then, when the chorus kicks in, he lets out a huge whine and starts crying.  I ask him what is wrong, and he says he does not like that song.  I ask him “if you don’t like it, why are you always singing it?  And don’t you want to hear all of the words?”  “But I don’t like that song!” is his only reply.  Well, so much for that CD, back to the radio I guess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-8523472862866884639?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/8523472862866884639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=8523472862866884639' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/8523472862866884639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/8523472862866884639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/life-is-highway-part-3.html' title='Life is a Highway Part 3'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-7845960981085451462</id><published>2008-06-17T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T11:25:32.027-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bum bum bum'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sequins'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='i am such a dork'/><title type='text'>speaking of dorky</title><content type='html'>Bought 4 tickets to see Neil Diamond this October.  The greatest songwriter of this or any generation.  Now I just need to find a sequined shirt to frame my chest hair.  And a babysitter, for a Tuesday night of all nights.  Who cares, it will be a blast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KVilgNifLcM&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KVilgNifLcM&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing to know about our love of The Neil.  Our daughter was very close to being named Caroline, as in Sweet Caroline (bum bum bum).  In fact, had Layne been a girl, that would have been its name.  By the time Susannah came along, we had begun to change our minds slightly, and felt it went better with Marshall and Layne.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-7845960981085451462?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/7845960981085451462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=7845960981085451462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7845960981085451462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7845960981085451462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/speaking-of-dorky.html' title='speaking of dorky'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-3168947202049584954</id><published>2008-06-17T10:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T11:08:58.401-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='i am such a dork'/><title type='text'>Now that I am (finally) caught up</title><content type='html'>Been posting in the past thus far.  I decided a good point of time to start this blog was the day Susie was born, as it was pretty momentous.  Plus, one of the main reasons I wanted to have this blog was for my own sake.  I have a terrible memory, and need to jot down such little stories so I don’t forget them.  I have tried actual pen and paper journals in the past, but have had trouble finding time to sit down and write.  Advantage of the blog is I can post from work or home, so when I find time to post I can.  Which is partly why it has taken so long to catch-up, between work and 3 kids, any extra time is pretty rare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So maybe I can keep up with it now.  And maybe someone will actually read this one day.  Of course that implies I tell someone it exists.  Even then, the only people that will likely care will be my wife, and maybe the kids’ grandparents.  That is if I get to the point of posting pictures as well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-3168947202049584954?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/3168947202049584954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=3168947202049584954' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/3168947202049584954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/3168947202049584954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/now-that-i-am-finally-caught-up.html' title='Now that I am (finally) caught up'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-3619782100521020535</id><published>2008-06-17T10:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T10:55:20.706-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SURPRISE'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='yummy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='being appreciated is great'/><title type='text'>Birthday – 6/16/08</title><content type='html'>I get a great gift this morning, a gift card from everyone (Sarah and the kids, my parents, her parents) to the Apple Store so I can finally get an iPhone.  I was initially skeptical of them, but seeing several people at work with them I really want one.  And besides, I still don’t have an iPod, so this will kill 2 birds with one stone.  Although Sarah tells me that it will cost me more per month for the plan, so hopefully my cheapskate gene does not kick in too much.  I have a month to go before the new iPhones come out anyways, so I have some times to think, and at the very least, I will get an iPod.  So I am excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going to work on my birthday is not so exciting, however.  Especially given the current mood of the office, which is somber at best due to some recent rumors.  Fun times.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get home from work and Marshall greets me right at the door screaming “SURPRISE!”  Startled me, and I don’t think there was really any surprise.  Guess he just felt that birthday’s require a surprise to be complete.  Then, just a few minutes later, I was in my room getting dressed.  The door was slightly closed and I hear something outside of it.  I see his hand come around, the door opens, and he again yells “SURPRISE!”  It appears he doesn’t fully grasp the concept of a surprise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah made a delicious dinner, a gnocchi recipe which is my absolute favorite and a caramel peanut butter torte for dessert that was amazing.  Layne was mesmerized by the candles, and kept wanting me to put one back into his piece of cake.  Marshall got into the act as well, and even wanted it lit again so he could blow one out.  This of course then meant Layne wanted one lit as well.  They may have enjoyed the candles more than the dessert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rest of the night didn’t go that well unfortunately.  We are still trying to find the right sleep set-up for the boys, and this choice didn’t go all that well either.  Sarah spent most of the evening in their room trying to keep Layne calm.  I hope we figure out something soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-3619782100521020535?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/3619782100521020535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=3619782100521020535' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/3619782100521020535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/3619782100521020535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/birthday-61608.html' title='Birthday – 6/16/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-5588664537947715381</id><published>2008-06-17T10:17:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T08:16:05.102-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='future blackmail'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life is a highway'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Possibly TMI'/><title type='text'>Life is a Highway followup – 6/16/08</title><content type='html'>Getting dressed for work, I step out of the bedroom to hear Marshall singing this, again.  As I approach the living room, I quickly realize he is not in there.  In fact, he is in the bathroom, sitting on his potty, belting out his favorite tune.  Yes, I got a video of it on the digital camera.  Yes, this morning will haunt him for years to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sHewpQ-eTVY&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sHewpQ-eTVY&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-5588664537947715381?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/5588664537947715381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=5588664537947715381' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/5588664537947715381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/5588664537947715381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/life-is-highway-followup-61608.html' title='Life is a Highway followup – 6/16/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-7991001534742501718</id><published>2008-06-17T09:37:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T08:16:18.724-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='random recollection'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cars'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life is a highway'/><title type='text'>Life is a Highway – 6/15/08</title><content type='html'>And Marshall wants to ride it, all night long.  And all day long.  Over and over and over again.  As I lay in bed, trying to take advantage of my Father’s Day sleeping in time, I awake a few times to Marshall belting out this song.  Now if you are old like me, you might be wondering why he is singing this early 90’s &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCPbL4yA7ik"&gt;one-hit wonder&lt;/a&gt;.  It has since been updated by the quasi-“country” band Rascal Flatts and featured in Marshall’s favorite move Cars.  He is definitely associating it with the movie, as later in the day I saw him driving his &lt;a href="http://www.allaboardtoys.com/assets/product_imagesm/MAT-M6424.jpg"&gt;Mac&lt;/a&gt; toy around and around the coffee table, as it is in the cross-country driving scene in the movie when this song is played.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is odd is that it has literally been months since he has last seen that movie, but the singing of this song has only started within the last week or so.  The things he manages to remember out of nowhere constantly amazes me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-7991001534742501718?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/7991001534742501718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=7991001534742501718' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7991001534742501718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7991001534742501718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/life-is-highway-61508.html' title='Life is a Highway – 6/15/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-3933111070896171178</id><published>2008-06-17T09:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T09:37:19.060-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cute boys'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lazy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='being appreciated is great'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holiday'/><title type='text'>Father’s Day – 6/15/08</title><content type='html'>Got to sleep in this morning, thanks to Father’s Day!  Naturally last night was rough for both Susie and Layne, so I couldn’t amass as much sleep as I would hope, but I will gladly take what I can get.  I woke up to the boys running into my room holding gift bags and screaming “Happy Father’s Day!”  They are both very excited.  Marshall so much so that he pulls my present out of the bag, before I can even open it.  Layne, on the other hand, is very reluctant to let go of his gift bag.  They each gave me a coffee mug which they helped paint, which is something I not-so-subtly hinted at recently.  Sarah tells me later that her intention was for them to each paint 1 half of the mug, but she quickly realized that would not work out well, so I got two.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marshall has also helped Sarah make my Father’s Day breakfast, and he is very excited about it.  They made a honey-baked French toast, which is a new recipe Sarah found.  It is funny the ingredients that Marshall fixates on.  “There’s eggs!”  “And honey!”  “BUTTER!”  Sounds like a great breakfast to me.   And it indeed was very tasty.  I got to enjoy a great breakfast, and drink coffee out of one of my new mugs.  A great start to Father’s Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few things dawn on me about today as well.  For one thing, this is only my fourth Father’s Day, and I already have 3 kids.  Yikes.  2005-1, 2006-1, 2007-2, 2008-3.  I hope that trend stays halted for a few years now.  Second, out of those 4 Father’s Days, this will probably be the first truly lazy, relaxing one.  In 2005, I actually started the day in Florida at my parents, where I had gone to help out after my Dad had some surgery.  I felt weird missing my first Father’s Day, but I felt at that time that helping out my Father was the more important thing.  The next year was the weekend we moved into the house.  We actually moved the Friday just before, which happened to be my birthday, but of course spent all weekend unpacking and making quick trips to the old house to get the left behind items.  Last year was somewhat calmer, but was the day after my 30th birthday party, so we had lots of family in town and a fair amount of clean-up to do.  So I am certainly looking forward to today, where we have nothing at all hectic planned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-3933111070896171178?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/3933111070896171178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=3933111070896171178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/3933111070896171178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/3933111070896171178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/fathers-day-61508.html' title='Father’s Day – 6/15/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-2234329606598979056</id><published>2008-06-16T12:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T10:11:21.608-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good brew good time'/><title type='text'>Take me home, country roads – 6/14/08</title><content type='html'>So today is a going away party for some good friends in the neighborhood.  They are moving to West Virginia, and everyone is very sad.  It is probably Marshall’s best friend, and is certainly one of Sarah’s closest friends at the moment.  But the playgroup in others in the neighborhood will be giving them a final send off this evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In honor of their future home, and for better or worse on our part, we are throwing them something of a “hillbilly” party.  This probably makes us bad people to stereotype and all, but too late for that now.  The party is at Keith &amp;amp; Katie’s house, which is decorated with a singing fish, a clothesline of tattered clothes, recliner in the front yard, multiple beer signs, tables with newspapers for tablecloth, plastic flowers with wipee canisters as the “vase”, and every table complete with a flyswatter.  The cake had an initial inscription “Happy Birthday Karen”, which was crossed out and “We Will Miss You” written underneath.  On the beverage menu is Miller High Life (actually, my favorite domestic brew), Natural Light (aka Natty Lite), Budweiser (full flavor, not light; and actually probably my #3 domestic brew), and even a 6 pack of Schlitz tallboys.  For the non-beer drinkers, we have 2 bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, and a &lt;a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Vodka-Watermelon"&gt;vodka-soaked watermelon&lt;/a&gt;.  Of course we have juice boxes for the kids, and caffeine-free (and alcohol free) drinks for the pregnant/nursing attendees.  Such considerations I don’t remember having to make in college, which this party-planning felt like at times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of us dressed up as well, Sarah in a pair of uber-cheap Sears jeans, cut off naturally, and her red boots.  Keith looked like a slimmed-down &lt;a href="http://www.uterwincenter.com/applause/2006/dec06ap/images/Larry2.jpg"&gt;Larry the Cable Guy&lt;/a&gt; in his sleeveless plaid shirt.  Katie in a Budweiser tank-top (around her pregnant belly, mind you).  Others came in old hats, trashy t-shirts, etc.  All of the kids we had running around just in diapers.  Marshall had no pants, but we did have him in a shirt: a red shirt we cut the sleeves off of.  Best part was that the honorees weren’t fully aware of the theme of the party, and came dressed quite nice.  Luckily, they seemed to find the humor in everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I somehow got nominated to be DJ early in the week, and spent several nights amassing a collection of fitting songs.  Ended up with a 3-volume set which included mostly old country (David Allan Coe, George Jones), southern rock (Skynrd,  Georgia Satellites), 70’s classic rock (think more Rick Derringer-like as opposed to Zeppelin), some bluegrass and of course John Denver.  I think it was well received, and some of my selections certainly generated intrigue in my musical interests. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Party was a great time all in all.  The boys were rather well behaved, and think they had a good time.  They enjoyed the badminton court, running around with the racquets and watching the birdie fly back and forth when the adults played.  And the bouncy house was a hit as always.  Layne went to town when the watermelon (not the soaked one!) came out; advantage of him being only in a diaper made clean-up easier.  The honorees seemed to enjoy themselves as well, and appreciated the sentiment.  They will certainly be missed, they have been good friends.  Who know, maybe a vacation to West Virginia is in our future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wh_wbtbo9Yo/SFlAmfUFO3I/AAAAAAAAAAU/K6_t6x8DoBA/s1600-h/badmintion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wh_wbtbo9Yo/SFlAmfUFO3I/AAAAAAAAAAU/K6_t6x8DoBA/s200/badmintion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213269073642994546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;badminton&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wh_wbtbo9Yo/SFlAxCVIUEI/AAAAAAAAAAc/E3teNcv2es4/s1600-h/watermelon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wh_wbtbo9Yo/SFlAxCVIUEI/AAAAAAAAAAc/E3teNcv2es4/s200/watermelon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213269254841323586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;mmmmm, watermelon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wh_wbtbo9Yo/SFlBAKE7lUI/AAAAAAAAAAk/U_kWT1b1Nww/s1600-h/susie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wh_wbtbo9Yo/SFlBAKE7lUI/AAAAAAAAAAk/U_kWT1b1Nww/s200/susie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213269514618901826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Susie napping...on the porch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-2234329606598979056?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/2234329606598979056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=2234329606598979056' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2234329606598979056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2234329606598979056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/take-me-home-country-roads-61408.html' title='Take me home, country roads – 6/14/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wh_wbtbo9Yo/SFlAmfUFO3I/AAAAAAAAAAU/K6_t6x8DoBA/s72-c/badmintion.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-546537033228062400</id><published>2008-06-16T12:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-16T12:38:08.272-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='freakout'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='indestructible layne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holycrap'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='that boy ain’t right'/><title type='text'>Scary - 6/14/08</title><content type='html'>Layne is quite insane.  He has now flipped himself out of his crib 3 times in 3 days, twice tonight.  He in Marshall are sharing a room, and he has been keeping up Marshall either by laughing and playing, or just crying.  We’ve felt bad for Marshall, so we decided that we will let Marshall fall asleep in our room, then move him back to his room once Layne is asleep.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Layne didn’t take to kindly to this plan, and in fact has been very distraught that his brother is not where he should be at bedtime.  He will cry uncontrollably, pointing at either Marshall’s bed or the door.  We try to reason with him, telling him Marshall will return once he is quiet, but reasoning with an emotional 19 month old is often about as effective as reasoning with a rock.  He fell out of his crib after about an hour of crying Wednesday night.  Last night he went to sleep, but they had a very active day so he didn’t put up much of a fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, however, he put up quite the fight.  He was quiet for a few minutes, then started to get worked up.  Not wanting things to get out of hand, I decided to go in after he had been pretty vocal for about 10 minutes.  I think this just made things worse.  His screams grew much louder.  I put him back down several times, then went back into the kitchen to finish washing dishes (Sarah was out at the grocery store this whole time).  I barely get back to the sink when I hear a “thud”, I run to his room and there he is, on the floor again.  I comfort him and make sure he is ok.  Once I see he is alright, I decide the crib mattress needs to be lowered, we of course should have done this after the first occurrence.  So I grab the tools, and make him sit quietly on Marshall’s bed while I adjust the crib.  Once done, I go through the whole bedtime routine again, and put him down.  The rail is now at his shoulders, so I feel somewhat confident he can’t get out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Given that I have been locked in his room for some time, I decide I better go check on Marshall.  We have a monitor in Susie’s room of course, but none in our room where Marshall is.  I don’t get halfway to our room when I hear a thud again.  He found a way out again.  He almost did it a third time, as I was trying to close the door a little later and saw how he was getting out.   Basically, he was just hoisting himself up and flipping out head first.  That can’t end well.  He will be graduating to the “big boy” bed sooner than expected.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-546537033228062400?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/546537033228062400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=546537033228062400' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/546537033228062400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/546537033228062400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/scary-61408.html' title='Scary - 6/14/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-4658201416432749971</id><published>2008-06-12T13:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T13:09:16.961-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stimulating conversation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='we live in a zoo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='being appreciated is great'/><title type='text'>Why are you home from work daddy? – 6/9/08</title><content type='html'>So I get home from work, get comfortable, and Sarah hands off Susie to me so she can go take care of something.  I sit down on the couch to relax for a minute or two before dinner, when Marshall asks “Why are you home from work daddy?”  Nice, apparently he wants me to stay at work all day now or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funniest part of this exchange was that I learned later he had apparently had spent a fair amount of time just sitting in the chair by the front door looking out the window waiting for me to come home earlier in the afternoon.  Guess he got mad I didn’t come home then, so he didn’t care that I was home once I got there.  Nice to be appreciated like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He followed that with another interesting conversation during dinner.  About halfway though Oz, our third and most recent cat addition, came in and jumped up to sit down on the window seat near behind the table.  I said “hi Oz” or something, and the following ensued:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mars: Why do we call him ‘Oz’?&lt;br /&gt;Us: Because that’s what &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt; wanted to name him.&lt;br /&gt;Mars: But I wanted to name him PAWS.&lt;br /&gt;Us: Oh, we thought you were calling him ‘Oz’.&lt;br /&gt;Mars: I want to name him ‘Paws’.&lt;br /&gt;Us: We prefer ‘Oz’, sorry, we are not changing his name.&lt;br /&gt;Mars: I will call him ‘Paws’.&lt;br /&gt;Us: Fine.  Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;moment or 2 of silence&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mars (looking at Oz): HI OZZIE!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh, ok.  Glad that is now solved.  What was solved, I have no idea, but he seems content with the outcome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-4658201416432749971?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/4658201416432749971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=4658201416432749971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/4658201416432749971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/4658201416432749971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/why-are-you-home-from-work-daddy-6908.html' title='Why are you home from work daddy? – 6/9/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-5413987088323150150</id><published>2008-06-10T14:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:38:58.744-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='indestructible layne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cult hero'/><title type='text'>Postscript to Jack’s party</title><content type='html'>So when we left the party the party-goers had long emptied the original beer coolers and were tapping into Keith’s stash of High Life (&lt;i&gt;Ed note: great choice!&lt;/i&gt;) and were continuing to hang out.  Katie tells Sarah that she had walked outside, all the dads were feeling quite good, and she overheard one of them say “You know that Layne kid?  He’s pretty cool.”  Guess he made quite the impression.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-5413987088323150150?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/5413987088323150150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=5413987088323150150' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/5413987088323150150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/5413987088323150150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/postscript-to-jacks-party.html' title='Postscript to Jack’s party'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-8774345676404275801</id><published>2008-06-10T14:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:34:34.548-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='indestructible layne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='why?why?why?'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='that boy ain’t right'/><title type='text'>Jack's Birthday Party – 5/31/08</title><content type='html'>We went to Jack’s 2 year old birthday party this afternoon.  Our neighborhood has purchased a bouncy house, which then gets loaned out first-come first-serve for various parties, quite a nice deal, and of course it was there.  Marshall and Layne pretty much head straight for it the minute we get there.  There are 3 or 4 other boys in there, all about Marshall’s size or bigger.  This does not faze Layne in the least; he gets bounced around like a ping pong ball and enjoys every last second.  At one point he was trying to exit, got caught on something, fell over the side, hung upside down for a second, then fell on his head.  Did this bother him?  Of course not.  This impressed many of the other father’s observing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marshall discovered a love of real cherries, which had graciously been pitted by Katie (Jack’s mom).  They seemed to be a big hit amongst all of the kids, as they were pretty picked over in the giant fruit bowl.  Marshall also spent a fair amount of time wrestling with a 4 foot long stuffed rhinoceros inside.  He was concerned however that “no water was coming out”, to which I replied “of course there is no water, it is a rhinoceros”.  One of the other mothers found this line of conversation quite amusing.  I think her child was a bit younger than Marshall, and therefore not really aware of the sheer number of bizarre conversations that occur when living with a toddler.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone seemed to enjoy the party.  Being still so small, everyone is really interested in Susie and wants to hold her.  Given the lovely Houston summertime heat, we are more than willing to pass her around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While driving home, we passed Gwen, Matt, Eva &amp; Levi who were walking home.  This prompted Marshall to ask why Eva was at the party.  We explained that Eva was also Jack’s friend, so she was invited as well.  “Why?”  “Well, they are friends like you are friends.  They both came to your party.”  “Why?”  “Because they are your friends.” “But why was Eva at Jack’s party?”  This went on and on.  Sarah finally tried to throw it back at him and asked Marshall why he asked so many questions.  His response “because I like to”, “Why?” she responded.  “Because” he retorted.  She kept asking “why” but it never seemed to faze him.  So much for that trick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-8774345676404275801?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/8774345676404275801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=8774345676404275801' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/8774345676404275801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/8774345676404275801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/jacks-birthday-party-53108.html' title='Jack&apos;s Birthday Party – 5/31/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-596114505316963868</id><published>2008-06-02T15:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:43:29.174-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uptight parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holiday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='that boy ain’t right'/><title type='text'>Memorial Day – 5/26/08</title><content type='html'>Grams and Pops left this morning.  We are now on our own for an indefinite amount of time.  Now the fun really starts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily it is Memorial Day, and we have a nice big distraction this afternoon in a neighbor’s barbeque.  The boys usually get up from their naps by 2:30, which is perfect because the bbq starts at 3, so we should have no problem being there at 3 or shortly thereafter.  We don’t leave the house until 4:00.  Ah, the fun of motivating/organizing/cleaning/feeding 3 separate beings whose combined age is less than 7. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is much controversy on the walk down the street.  We are bringing some cookies and a pitcher of homemade sangria and are using the wagon for transportation.  But of course the mere sight of the wagon means the boys want to ride in the wagon, which there is no room for.  We finally calm everyone down, and reassure that they will likely be able to ride home in the wagon should they choose to and we set off walking down the street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got to Seth &amp;amp; Amber’s house and everyone is in the backyard.  We unload the goodies we brought and have a seat and start to chit-chat with all of our neighbors.  Before long, one neighbor, Josh, asks to hold Susie.  I had only met Josh maybe once before, and on that occasion I was really talking to his wife more than him per se.  To my knowledge Sarah has not met him many more times than that.  Not that it really mattered; it is just a backyard barbeque after all.  The funny part was just that here was an almost complete stranger holding our 2 week old baby for a solid hour.  I don’t think many will confuse us for uptight parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, Marshall and Layne had taken off and were busy in the playhouse which Seth had just bought and assembled that weekend.  They played very well together and seemed to enjoy it without any arguments.  After about an hour or so, Marshall comes back to the main area and tells us he is hungry.  This is really just code for “I want a cookie”, but I go ahead and make he and Layne a plate anyways.  Layne is still out in the playhouse, all alone, but this does not upset.  I pretty much have to forcibly remove him to come and eat, and it is a very rare thing for him to resist food.  Sure enough after he eats, he heads right back out there and continues to play by himself most of the afternoon.  According to Sarah, at one point he had taken the toy phone from the house, and was walking by the fence pretending to talk, just as if he were someone on a cell phone trying to find some privacy.  What a goof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The barbecue was a good time, and it was fun catching up with the neighbors and discussing life with 3 kids.  Although one neighbor did threaten us, saying there would no more dinner drops if we have more kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-596114505316963868?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/596114505316963868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=596114505316963868' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/596114505316963868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/596114505316963868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/memorial-day-52608.html' title='Memorial Day – 5/26/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-2190618666569140463</id><published>2008-06-02T11:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-02T11:48:55.196-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cars'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='interesting reasoning'/><title type='text'>Where is the car with the flashing lights - 5/25/08</title><content type='html'>Today is the day of the Indianapolis 500.  Being obsessed with the movie &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0317219/"&gt;Cars&lt;/a&gt; we figure Marshall would enjoy watching it.  When he wakes up from nap, I go in and ask him if he knows what is on tv.  He smiles real big, says "race cars!" and runs into the living room.  He sits and stares at the tv for a few moments.  Then, instead of being impressed by the fast race cars, he simply asks "where is the car with the flashing lights?" Apparently, the pace car is more impressive to him than any-ol-car going 200+ mph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Granted there is a little background info needed here.  Just a few days ago, he was "rewarded" for continuing to sleep in late (yes, we have bribed our son to sleep in past 5:45am) and he got &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Disney-Pixar-Cars-Character-Charlie/dp/B00158CJFU"&gt;Charlie Checker&lt;/a&gt;, the pace car who has but a tiny part in Cars as the reward.  As it goes with most kids the newest toy is by far the best toy, so he is currently obsessed with the pace car.  So forget about those sweet ultra-fast Indy cars, I want to see a normal car with yellow flashing lights drive around the track making all of the race cars drive behind at a quarter speed.  This was the most exciting part to him, the laps AFTER a crash.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-2190618666569140463?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/2190618666569140463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=2190618666569140463' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2190618666569140463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2190618666569140463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/06/where-is-car-with-flashing-lights-52508.html' title='Where is the car with the flashing lights - 5/25/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-2516881264450232201</id><published>2008-05-30T14:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:44:29.519-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='future blackmail'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cute boys'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='no modesty'/><title type='text'>Naked Boy - 5/24/08</title><content type='html'>“Naked Boy” is currently Marshall’s favorite alter ego.  Every night after bath time, I put him in a robe he got back at Christmas.  He wears this proudly, for a few minutes, then usually before I am done getting Layne dried and into his pajamas Marshall proceeds to shed the robe and run around the house proclaiming himself to be “Naked Boy”.  Ah, to live without modesty.  File this story away to tell his future girlfriends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-2516881264450232201?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/2516881264450232201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=2516881264450232201' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2516881264450232201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2516881264450232201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/naked-boy-52408.html' title='Naked Boy - 5/24/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-1111534449988933849</id><published>2008-05-30T13:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:45:40.291-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poor kid'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='freakout'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='model behavior'/><title type='text'>Going to the doctor, got your earplugs? - 5/22/08</title><content type='html'>Today is Susannah’s 2 week appointment, and Layne’s 18 month appointment. Sarah asked that I tag along as Layne is not always the most cooperative child at the doctor’s office.  I have not taken him to the doctor in awhile, but apparently he acts fine in the waiting room, but once they start walking to the exam room he breaks down.  Marshall stayed home to play with Grams, allowing things to be slightly easier for Sarah and I. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get there and thanks to Susie’s newborn status are called back pretty quickly.  Layne does ok on the walk back, so we start to feel a bit better.  In the waiting room he is acting a bit reserved, which if you know Layne is extremely odd behavior.  He just stands there slowly eating his snack, just staring at everything around him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nurse comes in and tells us everyone needs to be weighed.  I am holding Susie at this point, so I start to get her down to her diaper, and the nurse for some reason asks that Layne take his shoes and clothes off as well. Sarah gets no further than sliding his shoes off when he goes ballistic.  And I don’t mean a simple tantrum, he proceeds to scream pretty much for the next 40 minutes.  They quickly give up on getting his clothes off and weigh him just without his shoes.  We try all we can to calm him, but nothing works.  It is as if he is just flat-out terrified of this place.  I have to hold him while the doctor checks him out.  We finish with him first and they still need to look at a few things for Susie, so he and I leave the office and I attempt to calm him down outside.  I end up having to go to the car to get a book, and we just sit down on the ground and read, and he slowly gets (somewhat) calm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and they were apparently doing some construction/renovations at the office there, so many of the ceiling tiles were missing in the exam rooms.  Prior to the screaming, we could hear the people in the next room clear as a bell.  So hope he didn’t freak out any other children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently after I went to work later that morning, he sat outside on the swing with Grams and Marshall.  Grams said he just sat close to here, and every few minutes would shudder.  Poor kid.  As an infant, he was something of an uptight baby, but now is generally much more laid back about things.  Guess he still has it in him.  And apparently he doesn’t do anything half-way; he goes all-out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-1111534449988933849?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/1111534449988933849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=1111534449988933849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1111534449988933849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1111534449988933849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/going-to-doctor-got-your-earplugs-52208.html' title='Going to the doctor, got your earplugs? - 5/22/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-6617846082464855414</id><published>2008-05-30T08:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-30T13:10:05.385-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-stop excitement'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='petty jealousy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='engaging reading'/><title type='text'>Adult Conversation - 5/21/08</title><content type='html'>So I get a call from Big Dan tonight.  Dan is one of my best friends from back in college; he is also a jerk.  Why you ask?  Because he spends his summer as a fishing guide up in Colorado, then comes back to Texas for the winter for various local guide services.  So instead of spending most of his time in an office staring at a computer, and toiling around in 100 degree Texas summer, this is his “office”:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EubWLsCW9s0&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EubWLsCW9s0&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See what I mean?  Total jerk.  Anyways, he calls to check in, say congrats on the new baby, and all of that good stuff.  We had already exchanged a few emails after Susannah was born, but he said he felt the need to call me after reading an &lt;a href=”http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/17/us/17texas.html”&gt;New York Times article&lt;/a&gt; about a family in Austin getting rid of all of their possessions and moving to a cabin in Vermont.  He said it made him think of us, given our recent “hippie” birth at a birthing center as opposed to the traditional hospital.  I told him the idea of “voluntary simplicity” sounded nice, except no way I am taking a 1 week old to live in a cabin in Vermont.  (Ed. Note: yeah right, that’s the ONLY reason I won’t go.  Sure.  Still a nice and noble thought though).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funniest part of the conversation though had to be when he asked what I had been reading lately.  I gave him the honest answer, &lt;a href=” http://www.amazon.com/Secrets-Baby-Whisperer-Connect-Communicate/dp/0345479092/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1212177907&amp;sr=8-1”&gt; Secrets of the Baby Whisperer&lt;/a&gt;.  Quite the fun-filled page turner.  Its great being a parent.  All joking aside, that book helped us the most when we were having sleep issues with Layne.  I am just re-reading so we can start from the get-go with Susie.  I sure hope it works as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have fun in Colorado Dan, enjoy what’s left of the snow.  We will be enjoying temperatures in the 90s here!  Yippee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-6617846082464855414?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/6617846082464855414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=6617846082464855414' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/6617846082464855414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/6617846082464855414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/adult-conversation-52108.html' title='Adult Conversation - 5/21/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-8299687460930536039</id><published>2008-05-29T14:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T14:31:27.819-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holycrap'/><title type='text'>My how you have grown! – 5/19/08</title><content type='html'>Crazy, gone for like 9 hours at work, and when I get home Susie already looks bigger to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-8299687460930536039?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/8299687460930536039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=8299687460930536039' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/8299687460930536039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/8299687460930536039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-how-you-have-grown-51908.html' title='My how you have grown! – 5/19/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-5378676894648458924</id><published>2008-05-29T14:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T14:24:54.875-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tired'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hopefully tomorrow goes a tad better'/><title type='text'>Congratulations, are you getting any sleep? - 5/19/08</title><content type='html'>Is about all anyone can say when they encounter me.  Think I should start responding “Yes, never slept better.  We have 3 kids 3 and under at home, and the house is completely silent from 10pm to 7am.  Its like a vacation.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This seems to just fall into the obligatory “small talk intro” category.  Same as the “so what’s your major” line in college, or the “and what do you do?” once you are out of college and working.  I am probably guilty of it, but just annoying that I’ve been asked that like 4,207 times today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-5378676894648458924?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/5378676894648458924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=5378676894648458924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/5378676894648458924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/5378676894648458924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/congratulations-are-you-getting-any.html' title='Congratulations, are you getting any sleep? - 5/19/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-9072451784300443393</id><published>2008-05-29T14:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:47:07.056-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tired'/><title type='text'>Back to work - 5/19/08</title><content type='html'>Grams and Pops came back to town this weekend, with Grams staying the week to help Sarah around the house.  This means I have to go back to work after missing 7 full work days.  Looking forward to it like a hole in the head, and I genuinely enjoy my job, at least a fair amount of the time.  Too bad I have to go to work to provide for my family and all, since staying home and spending time with them doesn’t pay all that well.  It certainly should, I’d argue that is more trying than most jobs, and I know several dads who will back me up on that statement.  Also unfortunate we don’t live somewhere in Europe where even the fathers get something like 3 months paternity leave.  No way any mom is fully prepared to take on caring for children, much less three 3 years old and younger a mere week or two after childbirth.  Good thing that Puritan work ethic has stuck around in this country so well…or something like that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-9072451784300443393?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/9072451784300443393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=9072451784300443393' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/9072451784300443393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/9072451784300443393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/back-to-work-51908.html' title='Back to work - 5/19/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-4692430520405875174</id><published>2008-05-29T14:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T14:06:56.394-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cute boys'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Raffi'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='easily amused'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grand outings'/><title type='text'>Going to the zoo, zoo, zoo. How about you, you, you? - 5/17/08</title><content type='html'>Took the kids to the zoo.  Proceed to sing Raffi song on the way to the zoo.  Raffi song stuck in head all day.  Good times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, about the actual trip…We originally wanted to hit the zoo on Thursday, but the forcast earlier in the week indicated heavy rain Thursday.  I barely saw a cloud on Thursday.  Since we felt bad for basically doing nothing big or special with the boys the entire week I was off of work, as was our original intent, we decide Saturday is the day.  Zoo opens at 9:00, we plan to be there right before that.  Despite the boys generally being awake by 7am each morning, being anywhere by 9:00 is still a pretty tall order, but we make it, and without forgetting to pack anything major!  Ironically, as we are unloading the family truckster, a few drops of rain fall on us.  Nothing major, but funny that would likely have remained dry on Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marshall had chosen to wear one of his new favorite shirts which features a rhinoceros, and wants to show his shirt to the zoo’s rhino.  Once inside the gates, we consult the map to plan out our trip, as we know there is no possible way to see everything within the 2 hours we have.  We don’t see rhinos on the map, and after asking a zookeeper, we find out he “uh, doesn’t live here anymore.”  Marshall doesn’t see too disappointed yet, but even if he was, it didn’t last long.  I mean the first exhibit we saw had turtles, and how can you possibly top that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rest of the zoo trip was enjoyable, for the most part.  Layne like just about everything he saw.  Marshall really enjoyed the elephants, but was disappointed most of the big cats were hard to see.  Layne really like the monkeys, but I personally was very saddened that the orangutans were not out.  The funniest part of it all though had to be that the 2 things Marshall probably liked the best, the turtles and the birds at the duck pond, were 2 things that we can easily see anywhere around town without paying admission.  Forget your exotic monkeys and giant lizards, I want to see birds floating in water and fish and turtles in an aquarium.  Guess I shouldn’t complain he is apparently easily amused.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-4692430520405875174?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/4692430520405875174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=4692430520405875174' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/4692430520405875174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/4692430520405875174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/going-to-zoo-zoo-zoo-how-about-you-you.html' title='Going to the zoo, zoo, zoo. How about you, you, you? - 5/17/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-9015707839890494447</id><published>2008-05-29T12:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T14:05:47.337-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='playground'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='easily amused'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='being appreciated is great'/><title type='text'>I want you to go back to work Daddy - 5/16/08</title><content type='html'>So the whole family goes to playgroup this morning, we have to show off Susie of course.  Things are going pretty smoothly and all; Marshall appears to actually be sharing his park toys with other boys and girls.  After being there awhile, we notice at the far end of the field next to the playground a tree that has fallen over.  We decide the boys might find this interesting, so I head over with Marshall and Layne to check it out.  It apparently turns out to be a playgroup field trip as I turn around and notice I am being followed by 2 other kids, whom I don’t know.  No big deal though, provided they don’t make a run for the street or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get to the tree, and it is of course incredibly exciting to the kids.  I mean it is a tree on the ground instead of standing up after all.  Marshall offers several theories on its demise, saying it either fell while he was asleep, or just during breakfast.  It unfortunately had not been down long, I was hoping to find worms, centipedes, etc under it but found nothing.  We did see a frog deep inside a hole in the tree, but you could barely see more than its eye.  This was more than enough for all of the kids.  After 10-15 minutes of examining the tree, we all make our way back to the playground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometime later, Marshall decides he wants to see the tree again.  So he, his friend Eva and I head back out.  Layne stays behind to dig in the playground’s woodchip ground covering.  A boy has got to do what a boy has to do.  Anyways, the rest of us are at the tree for another few minutes.  It is getting late, and I know we will need to be leaving soon to get back home in time for lunch.  Bad things happen when we are late for lunch.  So I give Marshall a “2-minute” warning, saying we will head back to the playground in 2 minutes.  That time passes, and I start to tell him it is time to go, say goodbye to the tree, etc, etc.  He (naturally) wants to stay.  We go back and forth until I finally get him moving, albeit slowly.  We make it all of five steps when he utters a sentence which should offend me greatly, but I just find hilarious: “I want you to go back to work, Daddy”.  This is what I get for a staying home for a week so we can spend time together as a new family of 5?  Can’t you just feel the love?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-9015707839890494447?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/9015707839890494447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=9015707839890494447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/9015707839890494447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/9015707839890494447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-want-you-to-go-back-to-work-daddy.html' title='I want you to go back to work Daddy - 5/16/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-6563182385060270287</id><published>2008-05-29T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:48:02.733-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='we are not freeloaders but will take more free stuff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bad cook'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good food'/><title type='text'>Neighbor's rock, and cook! - 5/15/08</title><content type='html'>So our neighborhood mothers’ group has an informal dinner drop program where families with newborns get 3 weeks of meals, 3 nights a week.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It is an extremely nice deal, and great example of neighbors helping other neighbors because it allows people to help others they may not know yet.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;With our 3 kids, we of course are signed up to participate, waiting until the week after Grams comes back to stay with us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This week however, I have stayed home and had planned on cooking each night.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Slightly disturbing thought if the meal is anything more than hamburger helper or mac &amp;amp; cheese.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not that I am worthless in the kitchen, but more that I get stressed easily, and a 3 year old and 18 month old running madly around the house doesn’t always lower my stress levels.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But I was keeping an open mind, and even spent some time this past Sunday looking at cookbooks for some new recipes to try out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Fortunately, that got put on hold, as when we were out walking with the kids Monday, we ran into a few neighbors down the street, and learned that 3 had planned to make us dinner on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sweet, no work for me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And they brought over some great food: Tuesday was red beans &amp;amp; rice with awesome cheesy corn bread, Wednesday was delicious chicken enchiladas, and Thursday was an interesting take on Shepherd’s Pie using sweet potatoes instead of regular potatoes; this came from the Scottish family of course.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was all wonderful, and we were very grateful that we could eat so well all week.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Can’t wait for the “official” dinner drops to start.&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Oh, and we are not freeloaders at all or anything.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Sarah has been very active in dinner drops, even during the pregnancy, participating in every drop over the past several months.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She even got mad early on in the program when she was left out of making dinner for families.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-6563182385060270287?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/6563182385060270287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=6563182385060270287' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/6563182385060270287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/6563182385060270287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/neighbors-rock-and-cook-51508.html' title='Neighbor&apos;s rock, and cook! - 5/15/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-834526660738727430</id><published>2008-05-27T15:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:49:03.116-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holycrap'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='good food'/><title type='text'>Lunch Date - 5/13/08</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;NiNi and Grandaddy are coming over today to watch Marshall and Layne.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Sarah and I are going to grab a bite of lunch, and run a few errands.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Errands” unfortunately means our third trip to Target in little over a week.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am excited that wifey and I will enjoy a quite lunch together, even Susie will be there as well.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Being all of 5 days old, she is still sleeping most of the time, and will probably stay in her carrier the entire time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Seems like forever that Sarah and I have been out to lunch or dinner together, when she reminds me it has only been like a week and a half.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Funny how life-changing events can warp your sense of time.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Anyways, we head over to Onion Creek for an OC Poboy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We have wanted to eat there for some time, but it is not really the best locale to bring Marshall and Layne.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It is a coffee house/bar with a huge patio, which usually means it is packed on the weekends when the weather is nice.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We sit on the patio, enjoy our thoroughly unhealthy poboy, and stare at little Susie muttering “What are we going to do?” over and over again.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sarah was pregnant for 38 weeks, and Susie is now 5 days old, and we &lt;i style=""&gt;still&lt;/i&gt; have not fully accepted our status as “parents of 3”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Hopefully one day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Preferably sooner than later.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-834526660738727430?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/834526660738727430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=834526660738727430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/834526660738727430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/834526660738727430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/lunch-date-51308.html' title='Lunch Date - 5/13/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-1776376629658929262</id><published>2008-05-27T14:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:50:15.239-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tired'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boring recount'/><title type='text'>So. Tired. - 5/9/08</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;New baby equals not a full night of sleep. Imagine that.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I sure thought I would be somewhat prepared for the lack of sleep, given the number of low sleep nights recently due to work and/or sick kids, but I am exhausted this morning.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Guess I just didn’t get enough to overcome how out of it I was last night.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Fortunately, Grams and Pops are staying with us, so after Susannah’s morning feed we hand her off to them while Sarah and I catch up on some sleep.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The day turns into “visitors” day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My parents come over with Great Dad (my mother’s father) and bring over 2 frozen lasagnas they bought at a place up in Spring.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Aunt Gogi, Uncle Rusty and Granny (Pop’s &amp;amp; Uncle Rusty’s mother) come over as well.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We cook one of the lasagnas, and keep the other in the freezer to use later.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Our goal is to stock up on mass quantities of frozen (real) food to put off cooking for real during the work week as long as we can.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My focus for most of the day is to pay attention to Marshall and Layne.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I figure everyone will want to see Susie, we need to make certain the boys don’t feel left out of anything.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-1776376629658929262?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/1776376629658929262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=1776376629658929262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1776376629658929262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1776376629658929262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/so-tired-5908.html' title='So. Tired. - 5/9/08'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-65152503417232723</id><published>2008-05-23T14:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:51:41.706-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cute boys'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holycrap'/><title type='text'>That was fun, what's for dinner? - 5/8/08 evening</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Unbelievable.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When we fed the boys lunch we were a family of four.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now it is 5:30 and we are headed home with a brand new baby to show them, and it is still not even dinner time yet.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Get to the house and the boys and all of the grandparents are outside waiting for us.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We get out of the car, I run around and pull Susie out and we get swarmed by everyone with cameras flashing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Closest we will ever get to the paparazzi I guess.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sure is nice that our third child is getting all of this attention (and this is my parents’ eighth grandchild).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I set the infant carrier on the ground so the boys can get a good look.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They just stare and smile and point; it is really quite cute.&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;We all head inside, and see that in addition to all of the cookies I had made earlier, there awaits a red velvet cake that my mother had bought and the boys helped decorate while we were gone.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;One of the decorations was some sugar-hearts that once &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;Marshall&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt; discovered they were edible they became quite the hot commodity.&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Try to spend the rest of the evening being as “normal” as we can for the boys’ sake.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We get them fed, bathed and into bed by the usual time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My parents take off, so it is back down to Sarah, Grams, Pops and I, and Susannah of course.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Sarah and I are pretty tired, but it appears I am way more exhausted than she is.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Pretty sad really that she is fairing better than I am.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Honestly, what did I do today?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Nothing in comparison with her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This happened with the boys as well.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We justify/rationalize that she is still riding an adrenaline high.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Works for me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m going to bed now.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-65152503417232723?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/65152503417232723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=65152503417232723' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/65152503417232723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/65152503417232723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/that-was-fun-whats-for-dinner-5808.html' title='That was fun, what&apos;s for dinner? - 5/8/08 evening'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-1530539993532583274</id><published>2008-05-23T13:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:53:43.505-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Possibly TMI'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ew'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Proud Papa'/><title type='text'>Can we get an oil change with this? - 5/8/08 midday</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;We get to the birthing center just before 1pm.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Quick exam later and find out she is only 4cm dilated which is disappointing given that she was already 8cm when we got to the hospital for Layne.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sounds like it will still take some time then, so we decide that when I get a chance, I will call the grandmas and tell them to hold off a little longer.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We make our way to the birthing room and get the bath started.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I make the phone call to my mother and they are almost there already, so I don’t bother telling them anything about waiting longer.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This turns out to be a good thing.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So Sarah is in the bathtub and feeling a bit more relaxed; in between contractions at least.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The grandmas show up, everyone exchanges pleasantries and they get their cameras ready.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We have 2 people taking pictures on 3 cameras: our camera, NiNi’s camera &amp;amp; Grams’ camera.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not sure why, in this age of easily transferable digital pictures, but now is probably not the best time for a technology discussion with the grandmas.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Contractions start to really pick up in intensity and frequency at this point.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am doing my best to help during, but really have no idea what to do.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I rub her back and maybe utter some reassuring words.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No idea if it is helping, but I haven’t been told to stop so guess I am not hurting.&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So our midwife Kathy and some nurses finally come back in the room for another check, and it is getting close to “go” time.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Sarah is still in the bathtub, I am sitting by her head, Kathy is to my right and then a nurse by Sarah’s feet.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Labor pain is now on 11 judging by what wifey is saying during the contractions.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Very frustrating as her husband as I hate to see her in pain, but I have no real concept of what she is going through and can therefore be of little help in suggesting ways for her to be more comfortable.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m reduced to saying “good job”, “keep pushing”, “you’re doing great, honey”, etc, etc.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Kathy has her try a few different positions to ease the pain, but they don’t appear to be helping all that much.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She is definitely in pain, more so than I remember her being in with Layne.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;One of the nurses says she can see the head, but when I try to take a look a few minutes later I don’t see anything.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I figure she is just saying that, you know, mildly exaggerating to calm Sarah.&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I guess she wasn’t lying because it seems like just a few minutes later, after a handful more contractions, out pops a baby!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was totally caught off guard, for both Marshall and Layne I could see the head and knew it was coming; she seemed to come out of nowhere (much like the pregnancy itself).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But the best part was seeing the dramatic swing in Sarah’s attitude.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Here was a woman in extreme pain and, for lack of a better word, agony just a few minutes ago, and now she was expressing sheer joy and amazement at the new little one in her arms.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Guess that is part of the whole "miracle of childbirth" people are talking so much about.  It also hit me harder than our other two, I guess because it was such a surprise to see Susannah so suddenly that I was very overcome with emotion.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Well, as much “overcome” as someone who is without emotion (as wifey calls me) can show.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;After cutting the cord they give me the baby, and I go admire her and then pose for pictures with the grandmas while Kathy and the nurses tend to Sarah.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Next few hours are really a blur.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Little Susie has her first feeding, lots of pictures, a bath, weighed, while we just hold her in awe.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I suppose it is not much to talk about, but it is a lot to take in.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We have a new baby.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A third child.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Holy. Crap. We have three kids now.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But what a beautiful baby she is.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And how amazing is my wife?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;So sometime after 5:00 we are ready to go.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Seriously, how fast was that?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We got to the birth center just before 1pm, Susie is born at 2:32, and we are headed home before 5:30!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What a concept, gee, both baby and mother are fine, no complications, let them go home and be comfortable as opposed to keeping them in cramped hospital space for 2 days so we can milk them for more money.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Talk about quick service!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;(&lt;i style=""&gt;Ed. Note: h/t to Kirk for inspiring the name of this post.&lt;/i&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-1530539993532583274?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/1530539993532583274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=1530539993532583274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1530539993532583274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/1530539993532583274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/can-we-get-oil-change-with-this-5808_23.html' title='Can we get an oil change with this? - 5/8/08 midday'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-7538052525519139593</id><published>2008-05-22T13:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:54:33.276-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holy crap my world is about to change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family is funny'/><title type='text'>In the immortal words of Al Bundy, 'Let's Rock' - 5/8/08 midday</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The boys have been fed and are napping.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When Sarah had talked to our midwife Kathy earlier, she had said to call back at 1:00 barring any obvious signs the baby is coming sooner.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Still no obvious signs; contractions are getting closer and more painful (&lt;i style=""&gt;Ed. Note: of course this is what I am being told, I have no concept whatsoever about what she is feeling&lt;/i&gt;), but they really are not getting too close together.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Despite this, Kathy says to come on in when we call her back.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I finish weeding out the “presentable” cookies I had made earlier and put them in a container to take to the midwife’s office.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These naturally get forgotten and never make it there.&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;We hop in the car and head off.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I call my parents to let them know we are on the way to the birthing center; they are already headed to our house and we actually pass them on the street as we are on the phone.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Plan is for them to still go to the house for a little bit, so Sarah can get situated, and then my mother (NiNi) and Grams will head up to the birthing center.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Grandaddy (my dad) and Pops (wifey’s) will stay at the house and watch the boys.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We were somewhat surprised that Pops was already in town since when Sarah had talked to him early in the morning he had seemed rather nonchalant about the whole thing and stated he may still go into work.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now he is in &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;Houston&lt;/st1:city&gt;, making the 330+ mile drive from &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Harlingen&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt; in a quite impressive amount of time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Guess he didn’t make it to the office this morning.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-7538052525519139593?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/7538052525519139593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=7538052525519139593' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7538052525519139593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7538052525519139593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/can-we-get-oil-change-with-this-5808.html' title='In the immortal words of Al Bundy, &apos;Let&apos;s Rock&apos; - 5/8/08 midday'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-2877734204407692228</id><published>2008-05-22T13:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:42:03.385-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bad cook'/><title type='text'>I wanna bake - 5/8/08 mid-morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Try to recreate the normal morning routine for the boys’ sake.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Wake them up and feed them breakfast as normal.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Start to tell &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Marshall&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt; that baby Susie might be coming home today.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He shows excitement, but don’t think he fully grasps it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Luckily Grams is here (Sarah’s mother) to keep the boys occupied, so I can spend most of the morning being very domestic, of course checking in on Sarah.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Expecting to have a baby sometime in the very near future, I do a quick clean of the house; certainly mopping our bedroom, hallway and bathroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;On top of that, for some unexplainable reason, I end up baking like 5-6 dozen cookies.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;First 2 hardly count, Sarah had bought some of the break and bake sugar cookies so little effort there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Rest were more complicated, actually baked from scratch.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While cleaning the kitchen I ran across a bag of chocolate/peanut butter chips.&lt;span style=""&gt;  Sarah &lt;/span&gt;said she had wanted to bake them for the Midwife’s office and by way of a massive build-up of anxious energy and lack of sleep, I actually uttered the phrase “I want to bake”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Next thing I know I am in the kitchen with a bag of flour and a mixer.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Grams asked if I was nesting.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Nope, just bored, and feel like I need to be doing something, anything.    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;By the way, the cookies looked terrible, but tasted great.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am not a baker.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-2877734204407692228?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/2877734204407692228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=2877734204407692228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2877734204407692228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/2877734204407692228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-wanna-bake-5808-mid-morning.html' title='I wanna bake - 5/8/08 mid-morning'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33163247276989437.post-7573644780524715675</id><published>2008-05-22T12:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T14:55:00.635-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tired'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ew'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='yes ma&apos;am'/><title type='text'>Well that was kinda messy - 5/8/08 (really) early morning)</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Sleeping on the futon again.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not because of cliché fight with Sarah, but because it allows her to get comfortable and get some sleep, which then means I get some sleep.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Win-win. She wakes me up at 3am and tells me her water broke, so I jump up eager to get going; something that rarely happens at 3am.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I figure we best start get packing and generally be ready, even though she tells me the contractions are not all that close together.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As we make way back to the bedroom, she warns me to “watch your step” in the hallway between the bedroom and bathroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ew.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Floor is wet, trail all the way from her side of bed to bathroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So I get towels and start wiping down the floors, strip and re-make the bed and other fun things.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not my place to complain though, this pales in comparison with what she will be going through later in the day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So I happily clean up, anxious with what will happen next.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Despite this being the third baby, this is our first water breaking experience.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It broke but just a little with &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Marshall&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;, and they did it in the hospital with Layne, but this was the first time we had to deal with the mess.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We can’t simply ignore it like in the sitcoms.&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;What happens next?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not much.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We sit and watch tv in the bedroom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There was a huge sinkhole all over the news last night, and they are still talking about it early this morning.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Of course we can’t see it because it is pitch black, but they keep talking.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We also debate when to start calling people.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Both of our fathers are early risers, but don’t want to call too early since nothing is imminent.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;About 6:00 I go back to the office to check my email and also check on the sheets in the washer.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Come back into the bedroom and I spot water on the floor again.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Her water broke again.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And much messier than last time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She was prepared, sitting on no less than 2 towels on top of the bed, each folded in half.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But it soaked through all 4 layers of towel and onto our duvet.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ok, more laundry to do, but at least now things should really get moving, right?&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Not so much.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Contractions still only 10 minutes apart.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I wonder how that sinkhole is doing?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33163247276989437-7573644780524715675?l=thedadabides.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/feeds/7573644780524715675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33163247276989437&amp;postID=7573644780524715675' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7573644780524715675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33163247276989437/posts/default/7573644780524715675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thedadabides.blogspot.com/2008/05/well-that-was-kinda-messy-5808-really.html' title='Well that was kinda messy - 5/8/08 (really) early morning)'/><author><name>The Dad</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08756985744276994057</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
