Kathy and Travis visited us in shifts last night. She brought a chicken dinner and hung out while he watched their kids at home. Then they switched. He was invited for cigars and beer, and chairs were set up on the deck for us. He declined a cigar when he arrived, so I smoked while he drank. And much shit shooting ensued. That will be my last cigar for a good while; I'm smoked out.
The boy skunked both of us last night by rousing us with noises and then falling back to sleep. I woke up just after midnight to his cooing noises, usually a warning that he's about to go full wail. I sat up with him for more than two hours before he fully awoke to drink. I caught up on late-night TV, including Craig Ferguson, NBC's poker show, and some House, before putting him to bed right before 3 a.m. Your Sister got out of bed in reply to his noises at 4, and he didn't wake up until 6. We are dragging this morning. He, on the other hand, has learned how to smile and stay awake.
She hasn't filled me in on the vet visit, but she did clear away all the items of the girl cat. The other cat knows something's up, and he seems lonely. I know we'll get a new cat before the end of the year. I think we decided last year to maintain a two-cat home.
Your Sister decided it was time to put down the younger cat (the girl, the one with the tail) this morning. She was eating less and refusing her medicine. It was becoming increasingly difficult to get her settled, and it appeared she had found a place to hide and fade away. Your Sister made an appointment for this morning and took the cat while I stayed home and watched the deputy. She returned about an hour later with an empty cat carrier.
Even though we knew this was coming, it's hitting Your Sister hard. The boy is a good distraction. She hasn't told me the details yet. I'll hear about it this evening. We may have friends coming by to deliver a meal, and that will help her get through the day too. I might have another cigar with the husband of the couple to amuse her.
I have new lenses in my old frames. I can now see through dimensions. This new clarity is a little nauseous making. I may have to increase my monitor resolutions to shrink the type. It all looks enormous today.
I wish the daily activities could be made more interesting, but we have a distinct pattern these days. When I got home, Your Sis asked immediately if we could take a walk. Out we walked. The baby is a lady magnet; a passer-by turned around to peek into the stroller. I'm pretty sure it was the wife of an actor from two of my recent plays. I was also stopped this weekend by a motorist I didn't recognize. It was only when I saw his car parked next door that I realized he was my neighbor, the trooper who saved my bacon during the first bad snowstorm. I am dumb. This cannot be blamed on a lack of sleep. I'm not missing that much compared to her. She gets up more often because she has to pump anyway, and she argues she might as well feed the baby. I will have to pull my weight in other ways.
After a meal of leftovers eaten hurriedly between baby feedings, I cracked open a box of cigars. A coworker gave them to me yesterday on my return to the office. I hadn't smoked anything for years, and I never smoked a cigar. Your Sister has never smoked period. I walked her through it, and we posed for pictures. I hadn't realized how much of a chore it is to smoke a whole cigar. My brain never connected the relative girth of a stogie to a cigarette and the effort required to go through one quickly. We didn't finish ours. They are now in the compost bucket waiting to soon spoil our already coffee-addled compost worms. Maybe my twinges of nausea are a cigar hangover.
We continue to get lots and lots and lots of free formula mixes, and we add each new parcel to the formula ziggurat in the nursery.
Picture of the Day Early German battlefield communications. They put their faith on backpack dreamcatchers and wonder why they lost two wars.
We used the Snuggi for the first time to visit the grocery store. He resisted it at first but acclimated within a few minutes and slept through almost all the store trip. The former student/cashiers went crazy for him and called to Heidi in whispered coos.
We are now carrying a bottle of instant formula in the diaper bag. It's an emergency drink. We gave him a pre-mixed 2-ounce bottle last night to judge his reaction. He took to it immediately, and there didn't seem to be any digestion problems. Again, this is a back-up option at best. We have eight ounces of milk in the fridge every day, and we have milk in the freezer. Your Sister will hang out with longtime pals on an upcoming weekend, and I'll have plenty of drink options for him. The following weekend, I'll catch roller derby and learn if my logo entry won.
The 11 pm feeding goes well. He nurses around 9 and gets a top-off at 11 and sleeps for a good while. We might have figured him out. Your Sister has taken to reading to him to help him sleep. I prefer the pacifier. Both methods appear to work.
Two teachers brought us dinners Friday and Saturday, and we've made plans to make dinners throughout the week. We think we're managing the boy well enough to plan for this.
I'm now back to working at the office, and I hope she isn't insane when I get back home.
The plan was for the Lowe's folks to call us before they showed up with the new dryer. I say this was the plan because that is what we were told by whom I now know is an Exuberant Salesman. They did not call. They arrived at the crack of fuck-thirty, and we were in chaos. I hadn't yet moved the washer out of the way. I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. That call was to be my alarm clock.
Your Sister came into the room clutching a nursing baby with word of their arrival. I staggered out to the garage and watched as they put the dryer in the carport. I was then told that they would come back to get the old dryer; they had to wait for the installation guy to disconnect it from the gas line.
Lowe's was already pissing me off. The coordination between the store and the installer was nil. He called me first to ask if the store had set up a time yet. Then he asked what Exuberant Salesman had told me about any installation kits. ES said the installer would provide them. The installer told me they were not free; I had to pay for them. I decided to let them hash it out, and apparently the store decided not to charge me because of ES's claims.
Later, I realized that the dryer they delivered didn't look like the floor model. The doors were different. I called the store and talked to someone who wasn't Exuberant Salesman, saying I didn't know what else might be different. I was assured the dryers were deemed comparable. I let whoever answered the phone hear all about my retail frustrations. I told them I wasn't looking for anything but confidence that my significant purchase was given its due attention. I also suggested they rein in the salesperson.
Between delivery and installation, Your Sister and I each saw the eye doctor and were given many drops to make our eyes go wonky. I stopped by Lowe's right after my appointment and took a picture of the floor model in the now fading intention to send a multimedia complaint letter. The installer showed up on time and quickly discovered that our gas outlet was a relic. It took him a long time to get the connection set up for the new dryer, proving that the installation fee was well worth it. There's no way Your Sis and I could have managed the new connection on our own. The machine was in place within a half hour, and the installer gave me his card for his plumbing business. I put it right on the fridge, and I will call him when we need help. He struck me as a decent fella.
We used the new dryer within an hour of his departure. The old dryer was taken away by him and his assistant who knows someone in the junk metal business. The new dryer is much quieter and quicker. We still have no idea how old its predecessor was.
We're trying a new trick with the boy: A bottle feeding before our bedtime. The hope is that he'll be comatose longer, and we can sleep more. Last night didn't work so well as he took forever to sleep. We see the doctor today for a follow-up, and I'm sure our baby sponge will wigh significantly more.
Also, we have both tried her milk. Eh. It's milk. It tastes like milk. It's milky in all the milkish ways.
The common question for new parents concerns sleep. How often does the baby wake you up, I hear. He wakes up about twice a night for milk and changing, but that's not the real problem. No, what really affects you are these: the paranoia over every sound he makes, and the inability to fall back to sleep.
It's rare for him to sleep quietly. He wheezes. He snores. He clears his throat. All that mixes with my intention to get him to a bottle before the crying begins. My ears are cocked for the start of an outburst, and every chirp rouses me. Your Sister has it worse; she reacts to imaginary sounds. I'm at least dealing with real ones. But I can't drift asleep as easily as she can, as apparently all you people can. Half of my bedtime is spent trying to get unconscious. That's what racks up the damage.
Yesterday was a drama. Your Sister's younger cat was given a terminal diagnosis. It's an intestinal tumor, and the vet said she maybe has a few weeks. We'll keep her comfortable here and put her out of her misery when she inevitably can no longer eat. Also, our dryer gave out, and I rushed out to buy a new one. We hope it's delivered before the weekend. Fortunately, this nice weather let us sun-dry all the wet laundry.
We watched the semifinal World Cup match, and that first Netherlands goal may be my favorite of the tournament.
We visited a teacher friend Monday night and gave her the pineapple cake. We continue to savor the bakery cake ourselves.
Literally overnight, his schedule changed. He's now much hungrier and sleeping less. Taking in thicker milk in such larger quantities would suggest he'd take longer to sleep it off. Nope. Also his diaper action has shifted dramatically. Your Sister wonders if a medicine recommended to her is also hitting him. That might explain his digestion problems and greater unhappiness. He might actually be a crankypants.
We called the same state trooper who set up our car-seat boots to come back for a second look. We didn't like how The Deputy's head lolled forward so much. The officer apologized for setting it wrong, but he was working without a baby to check the setting. He had it fixed in no time. The Deputy now lies flatter in the seat.
Your Sis is beat. She doesn't want to use the bottled milk because she fears she won't make enough to replace it. That means she's doing all the feeding and getting the least sleep of all three of us. I do what I can to help. I rub shoulders. I make meals. I may have trained the boy to take a pacifier to tide him over until he's genuinely hungry.
The families want to come by Saturday, and we still don't think we can host a 10-person party. Not tomorrow. We're reduced to simple words between each other. We can't be witty. And we can't chase nieces. We'll try to make a cake for everyone, but I'd like to send them all out for a meal.
We just got a call from a teacher who's going to bring a meal tonight. That will be our first charity dinner. She'll also be the first co-worker to see the boy.
His schedule holds: He sleeps, he eats, he hates having his diaper changed. He's prone to hiccups. He wakes up about three times a night.
I might be able to bottle feed him tonight. If so, we can start trading off when he cries in the night. The lack of sleep has made her a bit fuzzy in the head, but it's sharpened me. I'm wired and more forthright. I don't mean I'm blunt or rude, but I've misplaced my habitual polite deferment and equivocation.
Your Sister's production has changed from a cheesy film to a thick white fluid closer in semblance to milk. He's exhibiting some of my family traits already. He sleeps with one arm thrown up next to his head, and he has my exact ears.
We saw the doctor today for what was a very quick checkup. He's two ounces lighter than his birth weight, which was considered good. There's no sign of jaundice or spine problems. It was at the doctor's office that his diaper product changed significantly; no longer did we see jet black with green flecks. This was yellow brown and thin. That suggests less meconium and more proper digestion.
There has been no request for my family medical history, and we'll eventually have to tell some doctor that his grandma has acute intermittent porferia (a word spellcheck doesn't like).
I was not aware that an umbilical stump resembled a crusty wick. I call it belly bacon. His circumcision looks OK. It gets plenty of oil and jelly.
We're hoping to get a second counseling on the carseat. It seems to force his head down and forward too much.
Retro Link of the Day Phone messages read by five of the Empire actors as promotion for the movie's original release.
I'm gonna try to remember the first two days without notes. The parents left together once dark clouds snuck in overhead, and the three of us just hung out.
Despite the advice of the murses, the Deputy does not cotton to a two-hour eating cycle with 15-minute meals. Instead, he prefers eating every four hours for about an hour each time. and then he sleeps like the fucking dead.
Sunday night was quite horrible for us. He stayed up for hours crying and eating. I could hear his stomach room roiling across the room, and suspect he is adjusting to milk meals and digesting that instead of amniotic fluid. That indigestion may have been what kept him up all night. Not long after, he was taken away for a PKU test and his circumcision. And then he slept hard. Then again, a long meal and heavy sleep. This is fine, as long as we can time it to feed him right before we go to bed. we can, for a short time anyway, get him sleeping for longer at night.
We left the hospital at about 3:15. I had to clean out about 80 Hotmail copies of Facebook comments and send pics to the family. Also, my office wanted pictures (to prove the birth, maybe?) we set up a bassinet in the TV room, and there he sits as I type. asleep and bundled.
Even as Your Sister was disintegrating into emotion after he was born, I wondered if I had lost my brains. That voice of panic -- an advocate for convenience and habit -- is drowned out by pride in Your Sister for delivering him so well and handling parenthood with genuine panache, I want to rise to her level. I want to do my wife and boy proud.
So far, I'm the diaper-person, and I don't mind. I have no aversion at all, despite my initial worries. I get my boy tied up and dry. That desire shouts louder than worry and laziness. But not louder than a hungry deputy.
Your Sister is walking gingerly, and over-the-counter drugs are helping her move. We're both thrilled to have the birthing center to ourselves for much of the stay, and we feel armed for battle after listening to the nurses' counsel. So we're home. We'll see how much we retain. of course, we were told we can call for advice, and we will if we need to. But I think most of what we do will be to follow his schedule while trying to nudge him to our convenience. Which I guess is parenting in one sentence.
I realized today I haven't slept in a bed since Thursday night. I look forward to tonight's sleep aware that it might not last long.
Your Parents came into town Saturday to help us clean out Your Sister's classroom. She discovered another teacher has already begun pilfering her teaching notes, and she was determined to take as much home as possible. It took us about three hours, and we used Your Sister's newish truck vehicle to schlep the stuff home. It's piled up neatly in the storage room. We took them out for lunch and ended their visit with a Father's Day cake for Your Dad and me. They liked the nursery.
During the cake eating, I got yet another collection-agency call looking for my ex, and I traded notes with the operator. Whatever she's doing these days, she's doing it with a trail of financial debris streaming behind her.
Now that school and the comics are done, we don't know what to do with ourselves. She attended to the nursery, and I played my new game. World Cup is on the TV by default. We caught the A-Team movie Saturday night. She loved it. She was a bigger fan of the show than I was, but it's good brainless fun.
We spent Sunday in a simmering expectation of a Roo appearance, but we got nothing. We walked in the evening and talked to my Mom. The students who work at the grocery store hound Your Sister about baby details. Everyone wants the name.
I tended to our garden before work on Monday. Your Sis will run errands Monday and might be in Asheville while I'm at the office.
I have reestablished my trade with a Wisconsin comic guy. I send him sweet tea, and he sends cheese curds.
Grades are due noon on Friday. Your Sister stayed up late stamping FAIL onto all her papers and got up early this morning to input the numbers on her school computer. I got up early to drive here there and walk back home. I had my phone and Pandora to accompany me. It fed me Lil Kim and Def Leppard. I can simultaneously easily and never get used to this.
She was at school when I got home Thursday evening, and I spent at last an hour cleaning the garden. It's again growing kelp because of more and more rain. I also staked the tomato plants. One of them is a behemoth with four thick stalks branching out everywhere. I may have to buy tomato cages. Your Sis brought me a bag of worm castings (read: poo), and I'll add them to soil mounds I'll build around the stalk plants.
There are no signs that Roo is planning to leave the cave. All is the same.
Moving Picture of the Day I have it under good authority that this recent ad features Andre 3000 covering The Beatles.
The (hopefully) last weekly OB/GYN appointment went smoothly. All the signs for Your Sister are fine. We asked to peek at Roo with the scanner one last time, and we saw a mushy face. If pressed to say, I'd guess he looks like a mushy baby. We were left in a corner office for a time, and the nurses had turned off the Musak. We passed the time listening to Pandora on our new phones.
We have both admitted that we sometimes forget we're pregnant. We're so accustomed to thinking of ourselves as a two-man tag team. The notion of having a child sneaks up on us when we're distracted with other things. My mind retains the habitual anti-baby thoughts, and they like to whisper that we're bonkers for ruining a good thing. I remind that residue of why we're doing this and why we feel so strongly about it, and the ghosts of old thinking fade again. I agree with those who say they don't want babies, the world doesn't need more babies, and babies are icky. Yes. We said the same things many a time. But we turned a corner after repeated conversations, and we'll have our roommate any day now. I don't know if I'll become overly affectionate. I refer to him as a deputy, a bear monster, and a wet bag of limbs. But I get lightheaded when I see him on the ultrasound, and the abstract becomes concrete. Is that lightness fear? Is it joy? I dunno.
Either way, there will only be one. Your Sister cannot fathom women who become addicted to being pregnant. She doesn't feel like she's reached the peak of feminine existence. She feels like a creaky battleship. I suspect some of that alleged pregnancy glamor is actually the glee of being the center of attention. Case in point: Virtually every FaceBook message this week is a variant on "is it here yet?" I'm getting them because people know Your Sis gets on FB about as often as Abraham Lincoln. She's busy with work, but she also doesn't want that spotlight, despite everyone's good and kind intentions.
Picture of the Day After she did some stuff in her classroom, we walked around the football field. This was after a day of heavy storms. Another day, I should say. I took this with the new phone camera, and I think that contraption is better than the camera I bought last year.
Unless we perceive the usual summer storms as a foreshadowing for the arrival of an adorable antichrist, we have no signs that labor is imminent. Because Roo dropped, he has more room to roll, and he does. A lot. Instead of nesting in a pod, he's now in a slack bag, and his movements are dramatic.
Your Sister has made the house an icebox, and she seem more comfortable. She drops things more often and can't decide if it's because countertops are now farther away or her hands are clumsy. Whenever I hear something hit the floor, I rush over to pick it up. I try to keep her from kneeling or bending. We'll save that for the labor. Otherwise, she grades, she eats, she sleeps, and we both wait.
We jimmy with our new phones and trade discoveries. I'm surprised there is no Blogger Droid app. I can access the site through the phone browser.
We have two new arrivals at the house: Droid phones. As a joint Jailhouse-iversary, we bought each other the phones and data plans. Our old phones are from 2006, and they were antiquated yak boxes even then. These phones are intuitive but deep, and much fiddling is required. It took an hour to set them up in the store, but we got a good deal for the devices, and Your Sis was keen on the sliding QWERTY board.
It was a busy weekend for Your Sister. She attended a graduation party with teachers Friday night and stayed out much later than usual. I handed out copies of the comic and encouraged everyone to draw their monsters and send them to me as a secondary concern. I want them, yes, but I want more that they draw. I woke up early the next morning to donate blood. The Red Cross is responding to slow lines and instituted a faster processing pace. It was pretty obvious; the nurses seemed caffeinated. But it worked. I was done in a half hour, a record. It helps that I bleed easy. They eye my veins with something akin to Twilight lust. I always forget that donating leaves me with an upset stomach, and I was dying by that evening's birthday party. This was for a teacher's son, and we ate cookout food and Korean rice, made by the teacher's mom-in-law. Holy moley cow cookies, that was good stuff. We did not stay long as Your Sis was reeling from the festivities. She flopped on the couch, and we watched TV and fed her cold snacks.
We got the phones Sunday, and we took turns playing with them and grading papers. I eschewed the basketball game to watch the Tony's. Despite the hard push by the ceremony for American Idiot, other musicals won the big prizes. I can see why: Idiot is embarrassingly simple. Good vocal arrangements, yes, but the two song pieces I've seen from it are weak. Your Sis still wants to see the show when it tours, and we try, Roo willing. He, by the way, is not quite so antic, but he nudges and rolls to let us know he's still there. Your Sis is hurting from his weight growth.
We watched the U.S./England game Saturday, and it was a blast to watch. That keeper botch was so awkward that one suspects he was on the take. We learned watching soccer from South Africa is more fun when you also eat candy from South Africa.
The cats are back to their normal selves, and we suspect a new bottle of cat treats did them dirty. It's been chucked.
The appointment was again by the numbers. We asked when inducement might be considered, and he said no later than 41 weeks. That's June 28. All signs continue to point to normal. He vouched for our pediatrician candidate. The docs and nurses had planned a weeklong vacation starting next weekend, but we and other folks are all due around the same time.
Your Sister is now soaking her feet at least twice a night. She's roasting. She eats even more ice cream to cool down. We walked last night only because the cat needed more grass, and the other cat is now acting odd. I think they ate something weird, but I can't find or smell any dead thing in their room. There's some weird stuff in the litter box. It almost looks like they ate a wad of dryer lint.
I sent off the logo for the roller derby, and now I'll unveil it.
I wanted to show the river they were named for and the local geography. They asked for "fear-inducing," and I went with a SEAL team/night monster vibe. I think the red color helps. I wanted a duotone feel to make reproduction easier and keep the design simple. I'm pretty happy with it. I submit this contently. They announce the winner on July 31. That may be the public unveiling though; I might heard earlier than that. The contest regulations are sparse. This was my busy work for this last month of pregnancy, and now I may be fidgety.
Five years ago this morning, we signed on our house and got married a few hours later. Doesn't seem like five years. Let me tell you: After Mother's Day and her birthday, I am tapped out for gift ideas. I stink, stank, stunk. It just happened that the DVD set of Voyagers! arrived yesterday, and I handed it her as a lame, LAAAAAAME anniversary gift. She seemed happy with it.
I remember this show running on Sundays on NBC. I used to draw the steampunk Omni device all the time. I wanted one from the first time I saw the show, and it may have sparked my interest in pocketwatches. If you haven't seen it, think of Quantum Leap with more swagger. Can I tie in time travel to marking the five-year anniversary? Seems a stretch.
Fifth anniversaries are supposed to be marked with wood or silverware. She'll get neither. I considered buying her silver wearing things, but she's finicky about jewelry. Also, I've heard about "push gifts," little trinkets given to new moms after delivery. I think I'll skip that too. Maybe I'll let her sleep the first couple of nights instead.
Your Sis visited a local pediatrician office as a possible Roo doctor. She seemed happy with the sales pitch. They have weekend and office hours and employ a doctor who has delivered or treated something like 75 percent of babies here in the past 30 years. We haven't met him yet, but we saw him in the delivery videos and at the recent awards ceremony. We're going to the weekly appointment later today, and I'll attach the baby-seat boots to each of our cars before we go.
Her oldest cat was acting ill this morning. He wouldn't eat, not even his beloved popcorn. But he did slink next to the door, which usually means he wants to eat grass. I harnessed and walked him in the yard, and he did munch on many a blade and stalk. He also followed the path of rabbits which also munched a few leaves last night. He does this every once in a while, but it usually happens at night.
I discovered that French dip sandwiches are messy to make and contain spooky sleep magic. We zonked out almost immediately.
Picture of the Day Slow exposure photo of the stars.
Your Sister is catching flak from all sides contending she has "pregnant brains." Parents and students accuse her of losing papers to excuse their negligence; administrators think she'll flake out on next semester's teacher workshops. The grapevine isn't helping. One upset teacher called her to ask why she was quitting teaching altogether. She spends a great deal of time putting out fires and less time grading. Another teacher party has been announced for this weekend, and I hope to help her make an appearance.
We did manage to walk last night around the neighborhood. Downhill was easy. Not so much for uphill.
Picture of the Day The New York Times at Wicker Man? I dunno.
As payback for a strawberry pie offered a few weeks back, Your Sister made a blueberry pie for Kathy and Travis, and we had a sit-down dessert at their place. Pie was devoured. Woeful tales of the workplace were swapped.
Your Mom and Aunt are greatly a'feared that Your Nieces could infect Your Nephew if they visit too soon. There's also concern about who might stay over with us once we take the baby home. We don't know. We can't say for sure as we have yet to be sleep deprived. Also -- and this cannot be dismissed -- is the possibility that Roo won't be coming home immediately. The pregnancy has been somewhat mundane (easy for me to say, yes), but that's no guarantee that Roo will emerge hale and hearty. I do not wish it. I must prepare for it. I was a sickly child. A perfectly functioning baby cannot be presumed, and we cannot lock in plans until we have all the information. I don't mention this to Your Sister, but I can get her through any crisis we might have before Roo comes home. I can at least do this much.
She's made an appointment with a local pediatrician and probably will talk with a GP later this week. I need to find one of my own too. It's been a while since I saw a doc. My Mom's pushing me hard to have a colonoscopy. Your Sister has requested that we stroll the neighborhood each day weather permitting. Of course, I said. Whenever you want. We can do it at night before bed to avoid the hot weather.
I asked about the color scheme for the new roller derby team so I could hone my logo to their scheme. I was told there is no scheme yet. It will be determined by the logo. Whoever wins is essentially designing the team look. Wow. I hope I win.
Your Sister returned to school briefly Friday at the request of her AP kids who wanted to throw her a shower. In turn, she asked that they suggest chapter books they enjoyed as kids. Many of them gave her copies, some inscribed to Roo. There was also a cake for Voldemort; the students love that name idea. I didn't see the cake but was told a student took a pic of it. I did get a slice of it and held off the urge to gobble it until Sunday evening. There were traditional shower gifts, some from other teachers.
The rain held off just long enough for me to mow the yard Saturday, but the wet grass under the mower clumped together like one long bath mat. I spread it over the weed patch next to the garden in hopes I'll make new grass. Your Sister waded through school stuff while I tweaked my logo entry for the new roller derby team, and I invited two teacher people to join me for Saturday's bout. The Blue Ridge Rollergirls again won out, this time over the Carolina Bootleggers, who employed a goon named Maddat U. She was vicious. On the way back, one passenger requested we hear my Hall and Oates CDs, and we blasted the music with all the windows rolled down. Until we drove up to the massive DWI check, and my shotgun passenger wisely suggested I remove my arena beer wristband. Tragedy averted.
I've spent a lot of time lately in the new Western PS3 game, Red Dead Redemption. It's sprawling and loaded with tangential storylines. So far, I've broken a wild stallion (hey now), bought a land deed, hunted animals, tracked criminals for bounty, found hidden treasure, and saved some saloon girls from drunks. It's gigantic.
We finally packed a suitcase for the hospital despite some blind adherence to the handbook checklist. Methinks they over do it. Then again, I won't be bleeding and losing ten pounds in 12 hours. My Mom joked that, no matter what we called Roo, she would refer to him after her father. I hope that's a joke. Her backyard pool is almost ready, and maybe we can get down there before Labor Day. One of my friends from high school has her own photo studio now, and she asked if she can get maternity pictures. She now has a very small window of opportunity, but we're game to try next weekend. She'll have to drive here; Your Sis can't handle long car rides anymore.
Picture of the Day I never noticed that Hollywood uses so many copies of the same fake newspaper.
I never mind helping Your Sister grade papers. It's glorified proofreading, but the kid will usually never see what I mark and write. These are the final papers, and they won't get them back. I don't agree with that personally; I would want to see the paper's marks if I was the student. The only way they will see them is if they formally request it the following semester. As I type that, it sounds wrong. Maybe they can see them if they come by during the teacher workdays after exams. Now I'm not sure.
Anyway, Your Sister reminds me of this and says I don't need to make marks after the first page or so. She suggests extrapolating the paper's quality based on the first sheet, but that doesn't sound right to me. I do the whole paper (minus the citations; that's hers). There was one paper last night that started strong and fell apart by the middle of page two. Another paper would have stood tall had there been any citations. That kid failed the paper, and it was the best written paper by a mile.
Parent and student shenanigans are par for the course. Your Sis has one pair arguing that her classroom is in disarray since she left and the sub misplaced the paper turned in by the student. To fix this, the parent called the sub during class so she could hear the student turn in another copy. This was to document that the sub received it. But this seems to me to document instead that the student has officially turned in her paper very late, and that leads to a hefty point deduction. They outwitted themselves.
Parents can challenge their kids' grades and request to see the final paper to ensure the student got they grade he deserved. That's why I mark it completely. The teacher who speaks to the parent may not be the one who failed the student, and I want whoever reads the paper to see all the marks that scuttled the grade. The biggest problem I see this year is sloppiness due to hurry. Sentences contradict themselves. Simple grammatical mistakes riddle the papers. These are works done in a rush, probably at the last nanosecond. I worked the same way back then. I know their pain. I think seeing those mistakes accentuated with marks could cement the need to pace their effort and give themselves a chance.
One consistent mistake I see is a lack of understanding anything about Africa. One paper last night claimed that 80% of adults and children have AIDS. There's at least one paper each year that thinks Africa has one government. They all think Africa is utterly backwoods. I hope they watch the World Cup just to gasp that paved roads exist there.
The dizziness continues in step with research papers. I'd recommend she get outside for some vitamin D, but it's rainy. I may have watered the garden three times this year.
We whittled the name list down to two options, and I suggested we use each to replace all references to Roo. A test drive, if you will. One day we use one name and then switch. We briefly considered four names as a compromise until we came to our senses. I confess I have a degree of competitive in this. She picked the middle name, and now I want the first name. Her choice has less allure only because it's her choice. Had I picked the same name, I'd employ the same sneaky methods to secure its victory as I am for the name I picked.
It feels weird to affix a proper name to the offspring, this golden child of evolution, when it's still a barely concealed hidden abstract. Yes, there's something moving around in there, but my associations of "baby" and her pouch passenger haven't reconciled yet. The manuals, decorations, accessories, and appointments aren't quite enough to convince me we'll have a baby living in our house. One that we planned for and instigated.
Roo has officially dropped as we are now in Week 37. We see the doctor today for our first weekly appointment. I don't know what tests to expect. I packed up the CDs we'll play during the labor, but we have yet to pack our clothes. I push for it daily, and it continues to be postponed. She's still lucid, though; the rumored scatterbrained phase of pregnancy hasn't hit her yet.
The office threw us a nice shower Friday, complete with ice cream cake and baby gifts. As a joke, they offered tiny pickles to eat with the cake. I tried it. The salty taste covers the daily entirely. One of my coworkers tried to whisper that I had a big smile on my face, and I immediately swallowed it. I'm a different guy at work, and I blame the atmosphere. It's not the kind of air that I thrive in socially, and I'd rather raise the blast shields and save my winning personality for Your Sister.
On the drive home, the daily 5 p.m rainstorm clobbered us with hail. Big hail. Hail that mushed and piled up like snowbanks. I've never seen that before. We drove out of it after a few minutes. There's a spot between Asheville and Mayberry that is hit the hardest during summer, and the town becomes a block of rain virtually every day at 5 p.m.
All the rain has not helped my garden seeds, and we bought new sprouts Saturday: peppers and tomatoes. I also bought marigolds to scare the bugs away from the tomatoes. Those were planted Sunday morning. Your Sister's dizziness kept her home Saturday night, and she missed a birthday party for a fellow teacher. She did go to work Sunday to grade papers.
A sudden bill in the NC statehouse has raised the possibility of shortening this spring semester. The school rumor is that the semester would end next Friday, not the 15th as currently scheduled. The county board argued over this and eventually decided to keep the current school schedule in another nod to local businesses who hire teens. This time, the summer camps balked at starting the fall semester early to avoid bad weather delays that might shove the following spring semester into late June. There was lots of to-do, and now the statehouse may make it moot. This affects Your Sister by allowing her to cut out material from the final exams. She went into school Monday to huddle with her sub, and I dropped off a carload of cardboard for the science teacher. He wants to use them for garden beds. We had gobs of the stuff from baby gift packaging.
Roo is making her much warmer than normal, and she's now taken to soaking her feet to cool down. My Mom again pressed the issue of a name, and I said we won't divulge the options now lest camps break out over preference. I don't want campaigns for names.
After buying shelf boxes, we decorated the nursery walls with an applique tree and leaves. We are rapidly running out of preparations to make. We'll pack our suitcases tonight, I hope. I also need to choose a stack of CDs for the delivery room.
Using NetFlix, we're watching Colonial House, the PBS reality show of volunteers living in a 1620s English colony in Maine. Unlike in Frontier House, this group have to work toward a common goal: making money for England, and the colony governor -- a Baptist preacher from Texas -- is trying to make it a religious retreat. They haven't tried to trade with the natives after two months of interaction, and they are betting everything on a giant crop of corn. The illusion of Jacobean civilization vanished quickly as the womenfolk refused to live under the throwback social standards. It's calamity.
Word is moving through the neighborhood that the police are looking for a couple of burglars scouting our street for empty houses. I suspect that they would have moved on by now; if the jig is up, they'd have to be desperate to try the same tactics in the same area. I'm hiding my laptop and backup drives before I leave work. Your Sister is at home of course, and I assume sneak-thieves won't try anything with someone in the house.
A podcast of Fanaticon interviews is online here. Skip to the final ten minutes or so to hear me.
Moving Picture of the Day New Scott Pilgrim trailer. I'm jazzed.
Your Sister's doctor appointment yesterday was slightly different. In addition to checking for premature delivery signals, she was swabbed, and we checked Roo with a scanner. He's in the right position, and the amniotic fluid level looked good. We tried to get final-and-for-real-this-time confirmation that Roo is an outie, but the position was all wrong for that. So a chance lingers that Roo is a Ruth. (Note: We won't use that name if Roo comes out all girly.) They remain baffeld about her dizziness, which she claims is calming down. Her blood sugar and pressure are fine. She's lost three pounds since the last appointment. Next week sees the first of our weekly appointments. She's going to work with me today for an office baby shower. I gave her feeble gifts for her birthday, but they included Nutella, and that was received well.
We had dessert with Kathy and Travis and talked babies. Their youngest is biting, and we discussed parenting tactics. I'm in favor of gradual deprivation. I hold out corporal punishment for capital offenses, and those include repeat offenses. We still like the idea of squirt bottles to shock the child and end the bad behavior until the child can understand verbal commands. As always, keep in mind we don't know know what we're doing. Kand T asked what we're missing for Roo, and we have no idea. In the mail yesterday, we received a baby seat for meals and bedding. I think all we're missing is the baby.
The annual Memorial day street festival offers a child-seat check, and I'll take my set-up there to confirm I did it right.
I'm still playing with a logo for the local roller derby B-team. I'll finish it before the second week of June and send it in so Roo can't distract me from it.
Picture of the Day That baby is all kinds of squirmy.
Your Sister's maternity leave may have begun. She's still suffering from the dizziness, and she's talked to the benefit manager about her sick days. She has more sick days than there are days left in this semester. She's preparing plans for her long-term substitute, and she thinks she'll stay home to grade the big projects and prepare plans for the semesters she's out with Roo.
The dizziness is no fun for her, and her energy is sapped. I think she has a head flu. Her nose is clogged, and her voice is getting squeaky; this happens when she's got a head cold. I think the doctor's medicines are treating symptoms and not the problem. I'm concerned that she'll be stir crazy within a week, especially when she gets over the bug. I've had lingering headiness, but I fight it with junk food and video games. I have a system. It's homeo-pathetic.
I had to back to the office. More specifically, I had to get back to Asheville, where my bank is. I had to deposit a paycheck.
My broken toe is much more an inconvenience than an injury. I've lost no sensation. It's fat and purple and mobile. I feel a dull ache when I walk, but that's it.
Picture of the Day Back to work. Got my game face on.
We're at home again today as Your Sister had something of a relapse Sunday. Saturday seemed OK, except I was feeling a whirling of the head too. So it can't be all pregnancy. Your Sister complained of fluid in her ear when we saw the doctor a week back, and he poo-pooed it. My symptoms were a headache, slight dizziness, and a fifth-gear work ethic. I went to town on my to-do list: testing the baby seats for our cars, cleaning out my car, composting and thinning the garden, cleaning my workshop, and assembling the jogging stroller. I stopped only to eat dinner. We went out to eat, showing how much better she was feeling.
But Sunday morning met her with a full case of the woozies. We called the doctor and got a new prescription, a type of Dramamine. I fetched groceries, and she took it easy all day. I also broke my piny toe punting the sidewalk border. It's swollen and bruised, but not painful to the touch. I don't think I can do anything for it except soak it to reduce the swelling. That night, we made Hawaiian pizza for the Lost finale.
This morning she's feeling better, but she's considering calling it a day for the rest of the semester. I think she's jumping the gun, but it's her call. I think she'll change her mind on that before week's end. She'll get cabin fever. I continue to telecommute, but there are some things I have to do at the office.
The Lost Finale We watched the series review before the finale. Two hours of recap had us primed for the ending, and that 150 minutes was a massive and satisfying undertaking. My thoughts:
1) Thoroughly right in tone and plot. It felt good the whole way through.
2) The last shot refers back to the first shot (Jack opens his eyes in the bamboo field, Jack closes them in the bamboo field), and this tells us the show was Jack's story. He had a purpose in life after all, and he did what he always does: He fixed things. He had a very Christlike ending (pierced side, commissions his believer to carry on his work, is aware he saved his friends, etc.) and that's fine given the religious themes throughout this episode and the series.
3) There are unspun tales between Jack's death and the afterlife -- Hurley and Ben wielding the island as they see fit, the remaining lives of those on the plane -- but I'm not desperate to know what happens.
4) The reunions were what we wanted, and they were done well. However, not everyone is ready to move on. Ben has work to do (and he should stand apart from the Oceanic people), and Daniel and Charlotte didn't have a real moment on the island to refer back to. Eloise alone seems to know what's going on, and she wasn't in the church. But we know she moves through timelines on her own.
5) I want to watch the whole series again. This might happen as we're settling in with Roo.
6) I learned the DVD of the finale season will have an extra 20 minutes tying up smaller threads from the series.
7. Man, people are having babies everywhere. Maybe we should name Roo after Lepidus (who can't be killed) or the Russian agent ("Patchovich").
Picture of the Day The National Post has a character review image. If you rollover the characters, you get a brief recap.
Your Sister may have caught a bug. She's experienced dizziness and nausea this morning and stayed home. I'm with her. We called the doctor's office and relayed the symptoms, and we were told it might be a stomach flu going around.
I suspect that's what any OBGYN office would say about a sick mom-to-be. It's smart and designed surely to squash any panic we might have had. It also could be true, I suppose. They prescribed a medication to fight nausea, Ondansetron (side effects may include poppin' and lockin'), and bland food. We're to see how she does for the next 24 hours. Roo is still moving, so they're not worried now.
I'm having some stomach problems too, and the flu theory may have merit. Or we might have eaten something off at the awards banquet last night. For the seventh year in a row, she was named a Memorable Educator by a senior.
When I went to the store for bland food, I asked the Starbucks people if they had any compost grounds behind their stand. They hadn't bagged it yet, and I was offered all they had: 15 gallons of grounds. I snagged it. I'll add it to our bin as soon as this rain lets up. I haven't watered the garden in weeks. Haven't had to.
I got my first emailed monster from a comic sold at convention. It's from an 8-year-old, and I adore it. I'm working up sketches for a logo for the new roller derby team, The French Broads. The contest deadline is June 30.
Moving Picture of the Day Janelle Monae's Tightrope featuring Big Boi. This is a very '80s video. Also, they overdosed on Ondansetron.
I don't know if you heard the chaos that ensued when My Mom decided to get the baby furniture on our registry. Initially, we balked at the months-old suggestion that we get a bureau. There's no room in the room. That didn't go over so well from either set of parents; they took it as a snub of their generosity. But there's an entire wall of shelves already there. We cemented our assertion over a couple of weeks and again when Mom said recently she was going to get the crib and changing station.
We registered at Babies R Us for both items, but there is no store where Mom lives. She went to Toys R Us to order it with the notion that it could be picked up at the BRU store near us. And a good notion it was. But BRU and TRU is a swamp of conflicting store policies.
I used to work for TRU. n fact, I worked for that very same TRU. It was my seasonal job during ECU semester breaks. As retail work goes, it was fine. I could help the parents and kids looking for specific video games and action figures. I was the shopper's friend. But the management instilled an ever-changing stream of policies that we floor employees wrestled with daily. I suspected Mom's plan would hit obstacles.
Yep. The changing station we registered for months back is no longer in stock, according to BRU, and the store could not say when or if the company would produce more. That created parental dismay, no matter how much we assured them that any stable TV tray would work. Back when TVs weighed more than a car, the TV stands had to hold them up for years at a time. They could manage a baby. Eventually we got the station at KMart. I don't care if it matches nothing in the room. Neither will Roo. It's a poop corral. It's not a treasured item. By the time Roo can identify items, he won't need it.
The crib caused more trouble. The bedrails that allow the crib to fully convert to a toddler bed are sold separately. You'd think that the store would have more of them than cribs; after all, not everyone would buy the rails if they don't want to use the conversion mode. No. The store didn't have rails in stock. Nor did they have the cribs in stock. Mom put in an order, and we were told we would be notified when it arrived.
They said they could deliver, and that would b convenient. Then they realized we only had three items (including the mattress) and then they saw our address. Not to our house, not for so small a package. We were told it wouldn't be worth the gas money to drive an hour to our house. Fine. We have big vehicles now. We can carry our items.
I got the call yesterday to pick them up. To their credit, it was almost two weeks earlier than we expected. I got there and was told neither of our names appeared in their shipment folder. But I was called, I said. I was called by name. Here's your store number on my cell phone, I said. It's from an hour ago. They found our names in another folder. But there was confusion. One item was in my last name (because Mom ordered it), and the other was in Your Sister's name (because she ordered it). I proved to them I could receive both items. Our names are on the registry. Yes, she's my baby mama.
Then I was asked if I wanted to buy protection warranties for the items. I was quoted a price. It seemed reasonable, and I agreed. The card was scanned, and the receipt signed. And would I want similar protection for the other item? The price I paid wasn't for both. It was for the cheaper item. The new cost was double. No no no. I canceled it out. At least, I started the process, because then the stockman arrived with my items. I saw the size of the crib box and said we might have to remove the box to fit the crib in the car. I was told the box was only barely bigger than the crib. But, he said, we deliver. I informed him of we had been told (remembering the conflicting policy decrees I dealt with when I wore his apron). I told him what we were told, and that if the crib didn't fit in my car, I'd come back with a bigger vehicle. He argued the policy, and I could only repeat again what we were told.
To our amazement, the crib box fit perfectly. As I closed the hatchback, the cashier arrived with the refund for the canceled insurance. And off I went. All this difficulty will prepare us for a two-year-old. I'm positive.
I put both items together last night, and it took three hours. The crib was easy. The changing station was murder. Because it involves joining supports and shelves and frames, you are required to have six hands to hold items together before screwing them in place. I was exhausted when I finished, and I chewed dinner only out of instinct. But, no, there is no room for a bureau.
Picture of the Day Closed captioning is awkward in other languages.
Your Sister is very uncomfortable. She can't sit in one position long nor can she easily stand without help. She yogas her back to help the pain, but Roo is now moving when she's trying to stretch, blocking her efforts to keep at any one exercise. Her feet are swelling at the ankles, and we walk or soak them. Her belly is now completely covered by the uterus, and that firm texture is now squishy. She's definitely growing forward now. I need to check our baby-seat boots in the Matrix and assemble the changing station. I might do that tonight.
I added three bags of Starbucks coffee grounds to our compost bin and churned the pile. Nothing has sprouted in the garden yet, but it's been a little over a week.
Tonight's Lost is supposed to be big. Last night's House was the season finale, and interesting doings occurred. They went all out on the direction and editing.
We ran by the store Friday night to get snacks and hand sanitizer (which I forgot to buy after all and borrowed a travel bottle from Your Sister). After receiving new monsters from her students on letter-sized paper, I began to worry that the small size of the comic might prevent people from buying it to draw their design. I quickly printed out 75 letter-size versions of the last page, or tried to until my printer ran out of ink. This done, I packed up all the equipment (trading out a back-up surge protector for the one I use daily) and put everything in the kitchen to load in the car the next morning. I could do no more except wait.
Got out the door Saturday morning at 7:30 and arrived at 8:30. We were advised to park on the roof deck of the museum, but I used the first-floor deck nearest my assigned station. That gave me a ten-second walk to my table from my car instead of schlepping my gear on stairs. My table was exactly where they said it would be, and I plugged in the surge protector to the outlet right next to my table. This was a lottery ticket. I had my table set up by 9 a.m. with each comic displays and stacks at opposite corners and a chair set up with pencils and pens if people wanted to draw their monster on the spot.
I chatted with the other guests as they set up their tables. The free downtown wifi was useless in the building, and I packed up the laptop. I started sketching to warm up the muscles, and I had nothing. The drawing engine wouldn't turn over. This rattled me; I had hoped to sell sketches throughout the day, and the first minutes of my convention experience were taking me off the rails. Rumors spread that hundreds of people were waiting outside for the show to open. A Ghostbusters car was outside. Darth Vader was playing bagpipes. I met with my Greenville publisher and his table as they set up, and we traded notes.
At ten, one of the organizers (in his Next Generation Star Trek costume) announced the doors were opening, and he was soon followed by a flood of people. Here's the gist: I don't think the organizers dared to hope for this many people. It was a near constant stream, even for us in the first-floor corner. The majority of artist folks were 30 yards away in a clump. We still got great exposure. My friend Jay and his sons (dressed as Jedi) were among the first to come by, and they ahd top tear through the show quickly before he went to work that day. They came back an hour later to buy comics, and he bought the first copy of my hero comic. The monster comic wasn't grabbing attention, and I quickly made a new sign that read DRAW THE MONSTER $2, and that got people to slow down. That's how I roped them in. This is why I brought a spare display stand.
I had joked a few months back that my hero comic -- the story I've tumbled for a decade now -- would collect dust while my last-second notion would sell out. I didn't (I printed too many copies for one-day show, I realized later), but the monster comic outsold the hero comic 5-to-1. I hadn't practiced my sales pitch, but I had it down within an hour.
"This is our comic about a werewolf and a vampire who find an egg on their doorstep one morning (show them second page of pterodactyl leaving them an egg in a basket). They don't know what's inside, and they prepare for their baby. And on the last page, open to show them, you get to design and draw the monster. There's an email address on the back cover, and if you take a picture or scan your age, we'll add it to our online gallery. This (point to display) has some examples of what we've gotten so far."
They were laughing at the egg page, but when I got to "you can design and draw," jaws were literally dropping open. One little girl was wearing a convention Robin mask, and when I showed her the back page, all the skin around her eyes disappeared, and the eye holes were pure eyeball. These were the magic words. That sold the majority of comics. I said the pitch so much in exactly the same way that I apologized to my neighbor tables. They loved the idea. And it was good, I admit. One kid sat down right there and drew his monster. The monster gallery is here.
Around 11, the organizers asked if they could plug into my surge protector to power the equipment for bands in the courtyard behind me. There were three acts: a medley from the ACT Little Shop of Horrors and two comic bands named How I Became The Bomb and The Falcon Lords. Everyone performed in costume. People stood in front of my table to look out the window behind me, and that helped sales. A few people from Your Sister's school came by, and I signed comics for them. I sketched on a convention-wide jam piece, and that loosened up my drawing muscles. In the rare downtime, I worked on my web comics.
Your Sis herself came by a little after noon with lunch for me, and she manned the table while ran to the bathroom. She heard my sales pitch so often that she delivered it as I spoke to other people, and she sold some issues. A few people from the Brevard paper came by and asked if I would want to do a paper feature. We traded business cards. I gave away more of those than I expected. I'm glad I made up new ones earlier in the week. Around three, a local podcaster interviewed me about my con experience. half an hour later, one of the organizers thanked me for the quotes to the paper and said they were his favorite. I thanked him for putting on such a wingding and told him these comics were made only because they presented this show. An hour later, some online friends came by. It was a party. Your Sis left around 2:30.
I realized I made some mistakes in my con plans. My signs were too small and too low. People bent at the waist to read them. I also charged too much for sketches. The table next to me were raking in money with $1 sketches. The vast majority of attendees were happy and friendly. There were lots of families and curious townsfolk. The occasional stereotypical comic geeks came by, but they were relatively rare. One parent worried the baby monster was created in the comic via explicit monster sex, and I assured her of asexual egg-delivery reproduction. Another woman picked up one of my drawing pens and asked if she could have it. She collects pens, she said. I told her I need it to draw.
I took photos of costumes folks who drifted by, including some semi-professional folks hired by the convention. I didn't use one letter-sized sheet I printed Friday night. I'll give them to Your Sis for students to work on between exams.
While I was aware of the hours, the day flew by. It was 5 p.m. out of nowhere, and the show closed. I packed up my stuff, thanked my neighbors, and walked the show for the first time so see what might be left out to buy. I found nothing that called out to me, and drove home. It couldn't have gone much better, and I'd do it again next weekend if I could. I already have plans for next year's show, Roo willing.
Meanwhile Your Sister was trying to lock down a crib that Mom was buying back home. Babies R Us and Toys R Us ran them in circles all day, and the changing station was not bought. The parents were aggravated. Your Sis was enraged. We bought one the next day at K-Mart after I convinced her that no one would care if it matched the crib and we could buy it immediately and have it done with. Problem solved. The crib should arrive at one of the two R stores next week, and I'll pick it up during lunch. When we both met up Saturday evening, I asked for a wings dinner to celebrate, and I got it. And had two beers. And slept like the fucking dead.
I mowed the lawn Sunday at the hottest part of the day only because it was between rainstorms. She slept a lot, and we walked with umbrellas to alleviate her swelling ankles. Over pub food, we discussed parental theories and a communal philosophy on raising Roo in response to how we were raised. We're at 35 weeks today.
Life is good.
Mind Boggling Moving Picture of the Day Darth Vader plays the Star Wars theme on bagpipes to open Fanaticon.
This is too awesome to wait for Monday: It's the top 50 hip-hop samples and the source songs. You want a study break? This is it. This is a party link.
“For a first-year effort, this is a big show, and that befits Asheville,” said Gregory Dickens, a comic book artist from Brevard who is one of the more than 60 artists and vendors slated to participate. His titles include “Focus,” “We're Having a Monster” and “The Sleep Book.”
“If you're going to do it, it needs to be big. Brash, even. This is an unabashed celebration of pop culture and comics, and the distinction between those is rapidly vanishing.”
They ran the name of my comics. That's free advertising! I'm gonna make it rain in the comic shop! The paper's website ran my photo in the creator section but didn't ID me or run my interview there. Weird.
Your Sister made a drawing of her We're Having A Monster baby with a name we considered for our pagan goth child.
This week's Roo appointment was quick. Your Sister is at 33 inches and 173 pounds. She's put on 20 since we learned we were preggo, and that's right within the range we want to be. We go back in two weeks for fluid tests and to check Roo's position. Mom is going to order the crib equipment, and I'll pick it up next week.
Tonight, I pick up hand sanitizer and snacks and get to bed early.
This is what my con gear looks like as of last night. There's not much. I practiced my Iron Man sketches while getting my car inspected. I learned downtown Buncombe County has free wifi. I wonder if I can stream a webcam link from the convention.
I'm eager. I'm excited. I hope to hobnob with other comic folks at the bar afterward.
The hiatus is work related. I just got major product off my shoulders. Also, we're pretty boring old people except for our (re)production.
We learned yesterday that the state DMV will not renew our vehicle registrations until it has proof the inspections were done. For my car, Brady the Matrix, I discovered the dealership did not inspect my car despite charging me for it. The serviceman found out where the error occurred and promised my car would move to the head of the line when I bring it by, and they'll make me street legal tout de suite. That won't be until next week, I suppose.
For her motorcycle, the inspection will wait until she's back in shape to ride it again. She suggested taking it to the nearby tire place this weekend, and I squashed that immediately. I have no experience riding it, and she's more than eight months preggers. It will wait.
I have packed up all my convention material except my current sketchbook and the laptop. Everything else is bagged or boxed. I can easily park my car and carry everything to my table. The con is offering curbside car-watching while we "guests" unload to our assigned area. I won't need it. I can park on the museum roof deck and walk there and back. I've covered all my bases for equipment, and I have nothing left to fret over. I just have to show up and hawk my paltry wares. I did get a suggestion for hand sanitizer from a con pro I know, and I'll pick some up before Saturday morning. Also, table snacks. I have none. I scouted the museum and my assigned space has an outlet. I'll take my laptop. This paragraph now hold the world record for Most Uses of the I Pronoun.
Roo is constantly moving, and it's substantial. I don't even wait for Your Sister to move my hand to her belly. I rest my palm there and feel him shuffle around.
Windows 7's ad campaign continues to educate me. Apparently it can simulate PowerPoint, a feature I had no idea about. I also discovered I have free chess and Scrabble game. Thank God I learned about this after drawing the comics. My next projects are a tattoo design for one of Your Sister's friends, more semiweekly comics, and making library signs for the high school. Also gardening and running and maybe raising a child. We haven't discussed the names since last week, but my preferences haven't changed.
Just saying: Lost was odd his week Good, but odd. There's another new episode next Tuesday and then the big blow-out series finale airs next Sunday.
Picture of the Day Fanaticon is the cover story this week. The organizers also spent a half hour talking comics on one of the local radio shows yesterday. It's the event this weekend. I continue to argue with myself about how much I'm charging for the comics. The side that says "cheaper is better" wins out. I don't want to price myself out of sales, and a small b/w comic shouldn't cost as much as a full-size color comic.
I'm planning to wear my Fantastic Four logo shirt under a white-button up. That's my casual costume.
We both arrived home at the same time -- me from work, her from a meeting at the college -- and piled into her truck of a car and zoomed to the theatre. We caught Iron Man 2, making this film the second we've seen in a theatre this year, and they both star Downey. That's not by design. We discovered that cinemas now offer blue trays to carry all your food items to the seats. It make sense for larger families, but for us it felt like a trough of gorging.
We saw the film, and dissected it as always over hot and fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts. It's much like the first film intone, and you can tell it's made my virtually the same people. It's a little thicker, but consistent with the first film's attitude and style. If anything handicaps it, it's that the first film had surprise on its side. The cast is strong, and there is a post-credits tidbit to tease the next Marvel film. I properly geeked out.
Your Sis thinks she could catch the Robin Hood movie coming out this week in theatres, but she was not comfortable during the movie last night. She was distracted by Roo and claimed she could feel something triangular moving around. She assumes it was a foot. I don't think I can drive her to the next county, sit her in a theatre chair for two hours, and drive her back home with a clear conscience (What if she drives? Work with me here.). We have plenty of DVDs, a TiFaux, and NetFlix. The last NetFlix film we watched was Wall-E, and we gave up after 45 minutes. We were bored. We have no heart.
She moved all the diapers to the storage room bookshelves. It's now an armory for the butt. An ass-ory? An arse-enal?
Picture of the Day I was never sure if that was all her hair. I assume not. It has to take years to grow that long.
A quick dinner at a bar Friday night turned into a parade of people we hadn't seen in forever. A pregnant stranger walked by and exchanged notes with Your Sister about due dates and movement. Her fetus had clearly dropped, something that hasn't happened yet with Your Sis. We're at 34 weeks today, with only six weeks left until the due date.
She took my monster mini to school to show off and made copies of the last page for her students to draw on. That feature went over like gangbusters, I hear, and two girls handed her their designs. I used them to start my online gallery. I hope every issue I sell at the convention leads to an entry.
As Your Sis and I surveyed the garden space, we realized a nearby peach tree was most sincerely dead, and I was commissioned to make it go away. Chopping down a tree is a satisfying experience. Particularly if it's a smallish tree. That done, I weeded the yard of all the nice yellow flowers she insists are weeds. With hands and arms shot, we went to lunch and to get garden stuff. We returned with five 50-pound bags of cow manure, fertilizer water additive, packets of seeds, and a few tomato plants. I set everything out to work with the next day, and we killed time before heading out for prom.
She wore a maternity shirt from Target and a black skirt, and I wore the suit bought for last year's work convention. I bought her the new Madonna concert CD for Mother's Day, and we cranked it in her new car's stereo. Roo immediately got active. I reached over and felt limbs move around, and he stayed moving until we got to the dinner restaurant. His movements dwindled over the next half hour. In the restaurant, we saw kids in their prom finery and overheard the other sharing their prom memories.
Dinner didn't take as long as we thought, and we killed time in Target before heading toward the prom. I have longed hoped to bedeck her in fashion jewelry from department stores, and I found a gaudy fake emerald ring she considered for about two seconds before putting back on the shelf. But then I thought of my high school ring and realized she could wear that. I should have thought of it for the prom, but she agreed to wear it to school Monday to extend our prom story. And finally after 20 years, a girl I took to prom has agreed to wear my school ring. It's a minor victory for our hero.
Prom was great. The kids looked sharp in a spectrum of dresses I hadn't seen before. I'm accustomed to a short range of colors and styles, but this collection of gals was muy diverso. Fabulousness reigned. We of course hit the free photo booth, and I posted those pics at FaceBook. The party was at the same country club as last year's, and it was again a perfect size for the number of kids. It was, unlike last year, freezing, and that eliminated the likelihood of kids sneaking onto the golf courses. They may have been further encouraged by how lovely Your Sister looked in the full blossom of maternity. A few teachers congratulated me on the monster comic, and I spread the word to the more arty kids. People sound excited for the show. I'm so releived to have the comics in hand that I'm almost nonchalant about the convention.
The tiller I rented was waiting for me Saturday morning, and the garden was officially begun on Sunday morning. I waited until 10 a.m. to be polite to the neighbors. People who crank up small yard engines before then should be pummeled. I chopped up the topsoil a few times. The small size of the tiller made it handy to steer by a pain to shove out of deep soil. My back was killing me. Also my hands were shot from tree-chopping and working the tiller handlebars. I spread almost 300 pounds of manure onto the soil and tilled that together before we headed out for groceries.
I waited until later in the day to plant the seeds and hopped online. I discovered an email questionnaire for the Asheville paper. I sent my answers along with the covers of the minis and a new photo of me freshly taken by Your Sis. I'm very curious to see where and how big it runs. I'm assuming it will be in the weekend tabloid.
Then I planted the garden. We've got lettuce, carrots, cilantro (all first-time tries), tomatoes, squash, and bell peppers. We used maybe half the garden space, and we'll plant more later in the summer.
That night, we wrote thank-you cards for the shower gifts and discussed the finances for the next year. If she takes a year off, we seem able to afford it. We think it's feasible, and I won't have to sacrifice too many Starbucks drinks. Priorities. I didn't sleept well, and I blame the aches of the weekend. I should have Adviled.
Before going to work this morning, I took the printer people two boxes of doughnuts. Tonight, we hope to see Iron Man 2. That's when I'll get my own doughnuts.
