Harvest Time

The garden is closed. The falling temperatures blackened the vines, and I warned Da Missus that I would need about an hour to fetch the taters. I went out last night and came back in just as all daylight faded. When my first sweet potato sprouts arrived in the mail DOA, I almost wrote off growing any this year. But I found some at the local hardware store and put them in the dirt immediately. We had plenty of vines with no idea how many potatoes to expect. Turns out it was quite a bit.

About three weeks back, I pulled three vines' worth and had a good handful of potatoes. The two batches of sprouts produced very different yields: long, ropy vine taters and fat, traditionally shaped ones. But I didn't expect the rest of the vines to offer up quite so many as I excavated last night.

The sizes again ranged from finger to cat.

We are now flush with taters.I pulled the last of the cherry tomatoes from that lingering stalk last night, leaving only the bright marigolds and the dead pea vines. I'll shave the garden down to the soil and maybe cover it with tarps to burn the weeds out before next spring. I offered to split the tiller rental with the neighbors next year so they can start a garden too. If we plan our crops, we can trade veggies.

+  +  +

An expected disadvantage to the daycare has emerged: the sidekick gets bored at home. He has the run of the main floorspace and a variety of objects to distract him, but he burns through them quickly on weekends. As Your Sister self-medicated into a coma, I feared the deputy's yelps would wake her, and I tossed him into the car for drives this weekend. We went into the forest Saturday and meandered and visited the local playground yesterday. Both times, he ran for the parked cars. He is obsessed with vehicles, be they cars or trucks or airplanes. He loves tires and rushes to pat them. He stays on the playground items for about three minutes and spends half an hour going from car to car.

The daycare scheduled costume parade for Friday, and Your Sister is tempted to catch it. This will require her to miss the entire school day. I hope it's worth it. I envision a five-minute scrum of kids tugging off each other's hats. I'll stay at work and save my parental visits for when he will remember if I was there or not.

+  +  +

My Mom visited the Amish country last week and seemed to enjoy it. She's baffled by the Amish, and that probably extends to all other religions. We, in contrast, attended a night of secular one-act plays at Kathy and Travis's church, and they put on a better show then the one-acts I managed a few years back. They had better energy, more skits of differing lengths, and ended strong.The venue was better too. It was a lively night, and none of this would have been allowed in the church I grew up in. That's the kind of show the local company has to consider before it goes completely under.

+  +  +

I have a headlight out on the Matrix, and a Google search for replacement bulbs suggests that I have to take off the bumper to get to the dead bulb. That can't be right. Changing Your Sister's sportscar headlights wasn't that bad, and it required removing air ducts and the battery. If it's that involved, I'll let the dealership do it. And this might be under warranty anyway ...

In the Interim

And we're back.

All is well, nothing is amiss. Your Sister is in the sick bed lately, but she's still going to work. The sidekick continues to sleep through the night, exhausted mentally as much as physically; he's trying his damnedest to talk, but it comes out as jabberwocky. We don't have to wind him down anymore. By the time he gets out of the bath and eating a light banana mush, he's yawning. Your Sister puts him down much quicker than before while I do dishes or shove dinner into the oven.

One such dinner was the usual Monday night wangs, but this batch of birds came from a local farm. We got them at the tailgate market on Saturday. We normally could buy local meats from the gourmet grocery store, but the bankruptcy of their landlord dislodged them, and they continue to look for local space. We miss that place. But a number f their suppliers took to the tailgate market, and we can buy more cheaper without the middleman. We bought three packets of wings, but I learned only after opening two of them, that they were vacuum-packed. We had much, much more than we expected and normally ate. But ate I did and slept like the dead afterward.

That evening, Your Sis took the deputy to the new local Halloween fair. It's a massive thing, with bands and pumpkin patches and mazes. I wonder how this might affect our town's annual Halloween street party. I've written off running in this year's costume 5k; I don't have the lungs after months of indoor patenting. I ran Saturday, and the conditions were exactly the same as last year's race, and like that evening, I couldn't finish the 5k route. The dry air wilted me.

Your Sister's stubborn sense of professionalism has finally stepped back as she has hit her threshold of care about this semester's workload. No longer is she locked into doting all the i's. Now things will get done when they get done. I don't blame her. She has some leeway as a returning new mom; she doesn't have to ramp up back into her previous fifth gear. She always gives kids a chance at the semester's end to salvage teir GPA. They won't suffer.

I have a few more monsters to draw for the October theme at heygregory.com, and then I'll bear down on next year's comic. 

Picture of the Day
Back in the day.

Glad To Be Back At Work

Between Your Sister working on Saturday and attending a far-off wedding on Sunday and being back at work Monday, these past three days made me glad I don't work from home with the sidekick. Because it's not practical while he's at this age. He's everywhere. Or he's desperate to be everywhere and crying when he can't reach this or climb that. There's only so much assuaging I can muster. I took him to the school yesterday to tour the school and visit with teachers, but he fell apart within 20 minutes, and back home we went. It rained. That removed the park or the stroller as a way to kill time. I was delighted when naptime rolled around.

I had my own naptime Saturday evening after visiting the neighbors. They invited the three of us over to hang out and make s'mores, and they plied two of us with Two Buck Chuck. I have no problem with that. Your Brother introduced us to it during one of our first visits to their house. But I ate very little that day, and my glass was rarely empty, and I quickly realized that I was dizzy even though I was sitting down. I told them that I had achieved "pickled" and needed to leave. Your Sis stayed for a time while hubby and child were zonked, and I hope that time out helped her.

She still feels frazzled despite the weekend extra work time, and I don't know how to help. This isn't grading; this is class preparation. Me, I'd trust my familiarity with the material to see me through -- make some highlight notes and improvise between them. She doesn't work that way, and I think that's working against her.

Moving Picture of the Day
Watch the new Avengers trailer. Watch it a lot.

No Contest

We've observed radio silence lately because we're stuck in a rut. Our days have become rigid in their schedule with nary a variation in our hours.

Your Sister is crawling through the semester. Having only one planning period every two days is murder, and she's deadweight. She's planning to go into work this weekend again, and my suggestions to lighten the workload clunk off her blast shields. The schedule should lighten next semester (still scheduled to begin with the new year, not weeks after), and the feedback of the bedraggled teachers should guarantee this doesn't happen again.

Earlier in the year, the county announced a contest for a new official seal. Logos were solicited, and I was mildly tempted. The deadline was right around the time of the two local conventions, and I had my concerns about the vetting process. Namely, there would be a committee of locals who would filter the submissions down to a handful before a round of citizen voting for the winner. The initial criteria for submissions was clearly noted. Who knows what the committee would look for? And why open up a matter of design to an expanded committee, one the size of the county? Too many variables in play. The winner wouldn't be necessarily the best design, but the one that appealed to the broadest range for whatever reason.

The two logos that have been released for public input reflect my suspicions. (I'd link to them, but the newspaper site requires a paid online subscription to read articles. Even the New York Times gives you a number of freebies per month.) They are bland or intentionally folksy. The committee apparently agreed as they have added a third voting option: the current county seal. So you can vote for weak, weaker, or same. I'm glad I stayed out of it. I wonder if they got so few submissions or, probably, they eliminated the ones that displayed ingenuity. It reminds me of the beer-logo fiasco, and what I call the victorious mediocre. The sharp/smart/clever/snazzy is dismissed in favor of material that prefers to blandly identify instead of engage. Or the contest organizers want the design that best fits their unspoken idea. And that makes the contest a dead crapshoot. (Am I just bitter? Maybe.)

I think the "same" option will win. It's the safest choice, and frankly the cheapest. No money will be required to replace the old seal. And that consideration will (and should, right now) trump all others.

Pictures of the Day
Entertainment Weekly and Marvel released the first official stills from next year's Avengers movie, and I can't believe we're getting an Avengers movie.
 

Hit or Misses

Yes, the airshow was freezing. We packed jackets and hats, but we were still unprepared for a wind that sharp. There was no sun. Others hadn't expected anything like that and attended in flip-flops. We were uncomfortable. They were miserable. Your Sister enjoyed it as much as the deputy because she's crazy for airshows. I don't regret skipping the 9 am 5k race on the runway -- too much wind, too much cold, too little running in the past months. But I am noticeably thinner, and I wonder how that will affect my running when I pick it up again. The Halloween race may still be possible. Actually, we're both pretty small these days. Your Sis is three pounds heavier than she was on her first day of college. I haven't been this thin in more than a decade. Speaking of which ...

This weekend marked the 10th anniversary of the Night That Changed My Life. I forgot about it entirely until this morning. That's a comfort; it means I don't obsess.  But it does remind me how radically my stations have changed in the interim. A new wife, a son, a house, new in-laws, a lost parent, comics, two jobs, 5ks. It's vertiginous. And dizzying. In virtually every way, my life improved. I'm tempted to contact the ex and thank her for her supernova of bad decisions. I'm also curious to compare our progress since then. I don't wish her ill, because, frankly, part of me thinks I don't need to. She's done more damage to herself than anything I could have concocted in the darkest bitter moments.

I mean, let's be honest, someone departs that way because they're betting they can find a better partner or be better off financially (Also it's an intentional slap to the head with a big, cold fish.). But that bet, at least indirectly, also gambles that the one left behind can't do better than the departed. And in that regard, the former missus missed. I traded up. I so, so traded up. Still, she was my best friend for the decade prior to the one I just marked, and her absence is notable for the time we did spend together. I certainly don't regret the marriage as it, if nothing else, house-trained me for Your Sister.

Another of our friends' marriage seems to be collapsing, and both folks work with Your Sister. No one knows the particulars, and that's fine. It complicates Your Wife's workplace, of course, and touches the majority of our friendships. We like this couple a lot, both as spouses and individuals. I hope they can work this out. But the parallels to an early collapse a few years back is spooky.We remaining husbands are obliged to step up.

Picture of the Day
This is Pyongyang, North Korea. This would make Orwell run screaming.
 

Huzzah for Phobias!

Mission Hospital and a slew of radio stations are sponsoring a health fair at the airport Saturday, and they are gonna mount a 5k race there. ON THE RUNWAY. I haven't run since we did it last (was that Easter?), but I might not be able to resist that opportunity. They're trying to bring in kids by promising small airplane rides and tours of the airport's giant trucks, and that's right up the alley of Your Nephew, who is now officially in love with school buses. The only hitch is the jolting cold front sweeping in. And the fact that the airport is shuttling people to the event; I'll bet dollars to doughnuts they can't accommodate a baby seat.

I suspect a bird ate his outdoor pet spider Charlotte.She will continue to live, however, in my nightmares. But huzzah for phobias! Another giant f'ing spider has popped up on our deck, spinning a web we could use for a pool tarp/communal shroud. The sidekick is delighted.

Kathy called to mention an ad she saw in the paper for a part-time radio newsman. This is for the local station. Tempting, but it's part-time, and I'll double down those doughnuts that it's morning and noon. That station goes on autopilot around 4 pm. But I'd love to do radio. I had the briefest of experiences with it at ECU. Did you know I once had an imaginary station that I "hosted" on cassettes I made for songs I taped from actual radio stations? And that I named my Pandora station after it? And that I was a complete goob?

Picture of the Day
The sidekick and monkey enjoy breakfast.

Parental Back-Up

Star Wars blu-rays now live at our house. Your Sister packed it in very early Friday night, and I ducked out to grab the set at the Mart of Walls. I hadn't been in there in a long time, and every stereotype was validated. Their ventilation system circulates sad air.

I spent a few hours in the workshop to pound out the Spider-Girl artwork for Kathy and Travis. It's lingered way too long in the sketch phase. I drew a 11 x 17 piece a while back, but it's flat. I redid it with a new angle, moving away from the tight reliance on my reference photos.

She spent most of the weekend at the school catching up on summer grading. The sidekick continues to move in fourth gear always, and Your Mom came over Saturday to watch him. I went back into the workshop and tackled the city background on the Spider-Girl image and cranked up the commentary track on the Naked Lunch DVD I bought a few moths back. I love that film. I love my time at ECU it hearkens back to. When Your Sister returned, and the sidekick was put down, we cracked open the blu-rays and watched only the deleted scenes. They're wroth the cost of the set by themselves. The Tattooine Biggs scenes are there. The Return sandstorm scene is there. Leia and Han's Hoth argument originally went much longer. The Wampas were more prominent. The admiral in Return had a subplot. Han had a girl on Tattooine. I mean, we just marinated in this stuff.

Both Your Parents came over Sunday while I made the grocery run. I concocted a new stir-fry recipe last night (fried chicken with honey and black pepper coating), and I think I burned my throat. It feels scratchy, and this isn't allergies. I suppose the grease stayed hot cocooned in the crispy shell longer than I expected.  On the other hand, I think it tasted great.

I finished re-reading The Exorcist, and I want to watch the film again. I'm not sure if I ever saw the whole thing through. I think I can sell Your Sister on watching it if I suggest we watch it as a time-caspule artifact from the '70s.

Picture of the Day
Fogbank.

DragonCon Video

This is a good indication of the variety and volume of costume varieties at the show. The only quibble I have is that the video suggests much less floor traffic than we encountered. That kind of wingspan room is just not there. The atmosphere of camaraderie, however, is omnipresent. It really is a happy party.

Not What I Ordered

A sign that we are parents: Sleeping through the entire night makes us giddy as drunks. I'll tempt fate and say he is virtually over his lingering bug. Our own versions are fading also, but we all cough randomly to map the territory of the herd.

(The Debacles need a collective noun. A nerd of Debacles? A thrill of Debacles? An ass-smack/goose of Debacles? We shall ponder.)

Almost immediately after receiving my blue-ray copies of the original Star Wars trilogy from The Amazons did I realize that it contained no supplemental material, the stuff that justified the purchase of yet another copy of these films. I think I've bought them three times, all on VHS. All the packaging noted were commentary tracks. I had hoped and assumed an reckoned that the trilogy sets would each include the good stuff. No. Now I must own bu-rays of movies I don't intend to watch to get what I really want. However, I know the sidekick will probably want to see them within the next three years. I packed up the set, printed out the paperwork from their website, and mailed the movies back to The Amazons this morning. Sigh. So close.

Picture of the Day
Hi, Happy Hobbits.

Again? Again.

Still croupy. Still medicating. I should start a BrewGrass featuring cold medicine. The sidekick is much better, and Your Sister is climbing slowly out of the murk in her head.

I got an email from the theatre announcing yet another show switch. They wanted to do Arsenic & Old Lace, a play with eleven male characters. As the email notes, that's asking a lot. Apparently only three guys showed up to audition. They will instead do a two-person show, one that has the actors reading letters onstage. That may be as close as they ever get to reading theatre, an option that can salvage shows with large casts but few actors. Like the one they just scuttled. Just last week I saw an article about a local actor starting up reader theatre in town in an effort separate from the county theatre group. I tried to sell them on the idea. It's convenient for everyone and capable of being just as entertaining as memorized shows. And you don't risk losing patrons by changing shows midseason.

I briefly considered auditioning for this show before I remembered what my schedule becomes during rehearsals. I can't drop the sidekick off and eat supper before getting to the practice space. Despite my reservations and complaints from past shows, I like this script, and it's a staple of community theatre. I'm starting to age out of certain roles that I always wanted to play. Now that we see how the auditions developed, I'm glad I stayed home.

Your Sister noticed last night that I have a beard these days (not just stubble) and she's fascinated. I think she has beard envy. 

You and I talked about costume ideas for next year, specifically Commissioner Gordon. Here's what the comic version looks like:

And here's Gary Oldman. 

I can do this rather easily. This is a role I'm aging into.

Picture of the Day
This can't be right, can it? The Sahara is longer than the US?

Nip It In the Bud

The sidekick's constant running nose sprints along, and we noticed that he was again stumbling and cranky. Much more moody than we're used to. We remembered that this is how his ear infection started, and we visited the same far-off doctor's office Sunday. Confirmation ensued. The doc said his left ear shows retraction, apparently evidence of an ear infection. We caught it early though, and he escaped the office without a shot and armed with a prescription. We're giving him more ear drops as a precaution. He's again waking up in the middle of the night, and we placate and coo and caffeinate as the sun rises.

A combination of allergies, convention crud, and whatever was blown our way by last week's tropical depression has waylay-ed Chez Debacle. I have avoided a full whammy, but Your Sis is staying home today. The doctor said the sidekick exhibits only the normal daycare exposure to dozens of viruses. Nothing we can do, she said. Wipe his nose and hope he isn't flattened by anything bad. Your Brother is paranoid that all daycare kids require ear tubes, and the doctor poo-pooed that. I was a daycare kid from eight months on, and I had no tubes. A ton of allergies, yes.

We biked Saturday, an excursion delayed for months by the boy's ailments. He seemed OK with it. I had just finished mowing the yard jungle. We usually bike later in the day, and I expected a longer recovery time. Nope, Your Sis was in a high gear, and off we went, and many sufferings did I endure. But I'm glad we did it and wished we went every weekend.

Because of a great early-bird price, we bought our memberships to next year's convention. Combined with our relocation rate and confirmation for the hotel, we're all set. We're going. I'm currently thinking of going as Gary Oldman as Commissioner Gordon.

Picture of the Day
Apparently the deleted scenes on the Star Wars blu-rays include scenes like this:

Car Talk

Da Missus drove the car with the bad tire to the local garage. They plugged it. But she was told that when she needs a new tire, she has to replace all of them at the same time. All-wheel-drive cars require this. We did not know this. We would have bought another type of car.

I've heard there's a service called 'shaving' that can make a new tire match the degradation of the other three, but that sounds like something beyond our local guys' ability. This stinks out loud.

+  +  + 

I have now ordered the Star Wars Blu-Rays from the Amazons. I only got the original series.

+  +  +

Despite allergies and congestion, the sidekick has slept through the night since last week. Hu-fucking-zzah.

Picture of the Day

I have found my costume for next year's con.

There and Back Again 2011

Here are my con photos.

I stayed home Friday to prepare the boy and My Mom for our vacation. She arrived a little later than I'd hoped. I wanted to caulk our bathtub and give it the whole weekend to dry, but I discovered very late that tubes of caulk can and will go bad. We had three tubes. All liquified. I grabbed the boy and hustled to the nearest hardware store. Mom showed up about an hour later, and I caulked the tub as he went down for a nap. He didn't like it, and Mom had her first exposure to a cranky sidekick, and I think that prepared her for the weekend.

Your Sis got off work at 3:30, and we were on the road by 4:15. It was about half an hour later that we realized one of her tires was perilously low. We could either ignore it, swing by Greenville and patch it (if a garage was open at 5 on the Friday before Labor Day), or go back home and switch cars. We picked C. While it added almost two hours to our ride, it was the quickest option we had. We got to Atlanta at 9. Could have been worse: We passed a 13-mile stretch of interstate where cars were not only parked, but people were milling around on the pavement and playing sports in the median. I have not seen anything like that.

The check-in was seamless, despite the hotel switch, and we charged right out to get our convention badges. The phone GPS was confused by Atlanta's density, but we found the correct hotel downtown and were officially conventioning well before the con closed shop for the night. We hung out with some online friends. The convention started Thursday morning, and the foot traffic was already strong. That was nothing compared to Saturday.

We got up around 7:30 to prepare for the parade. Instead of shelling out $13 for hotel cereal, we found a Starbucks right around the corner. We dressed in costume and hit the road. Between leaving the hotel and finding the parade, random folks had yelled out my character name, including security guards. One approached to check my handgun, and I showed him it was completely fake and plastic and harmless. We learned he was in the Air Force, and he talked Germany to Your Sister.

Right before we got to the parade, we passed a street preacher who was angling for a fight. He was yelling at passersby, including the family with young kids ahead of us. He berated them for reading Harry Potter (assuming they read Harry Potter) instead of the the Bible (assuming they didn't read the Bible). Convention people can validate a lot of geek stereotypes. He was doing nothing to help the stereotypes of fundamentalists. And yelling at kids is the mark of a total asshole. He wondered aloud again why the parents let the kids read Potter instead of the Bible, and this was right as we walked by, and I responded "Because it has a better ending." He stammered a bit and went back to his spiel, and I hope he was soon after hit by a bus filled with drag queens.

Your Sister grabbed a seat near the gathered horde, and I searched for the parade staff so we could officially join in. That done, I sat with her, and we ate breakfast and pointed out costumes. We found a contingent of GI Joe/Cobra folks and complimented each other on their outfits. I saw WKRP's Loni Anderson ride by, and I assume she was a Grand Marshal. On the dot of ten, we started walking, and we quickly found the parade to be immensely immense. Here's Your Sis in all her costumed glory. I love this picture.

I was gobsmacked by the audience. A good number yelled GI Joe catchphrases and character names. It was by itself worth the cost and planning to attend. I saw and hugged my hometown gang along the route, and we were met at the very end by a college buddy and her gal. It was a perfect parade experience.

And then we went into the madness of the convention. You do not walk. You shuffle. Shamble even. You do not talk. You yell. You sweat. You say "excuse me." All the time. You gawk at costumes. You pose for pictures. You obey the security folks even as you grumble about the policies (like no standing along a wall to catch breath). We hit some booths and tables for knickknacks. I found brand new Joe figures that I hadn't seen before. We started snapping costume photos in earnest. The sheer number of people boggles the brains. And it spread over blocks of downtown. It filled hotels. It smothered the streets and restaurants. This is truly an international gathering. And we were INSANE to think we could have brought the sidekick. Some folks brought their kids and shoved them around in strollers, making the crowds less navigable and smooth-flowing. Those people should be ejected. And hit by a bus of drag queens.

We left the crowd and found the Gone With the Wind restaurant where we ate for Your Parents' anniversary. And back we went, into the mob. It really is all about milling and shuffling and sight-seeing. The variety of costumes from every conceivable genre is endless, but there were patterns emerging: Dr. Who, Captain America, Spider-Man, Vader. The biggies.

Your Sister called it a day around 4:30, and we went back to our hotel. It was about seven blocks from the action, and we appreciated the separation. The host hotel elevators were impossible to nab and fit into. We did begin to run into those attending the nearby college football game; some of them had not heard about the convention and reacted as you might imagine Southerners With Money would: Exaggerated confusion and stares. And these were people festooned in school gear as much as we were in our costumes. But I had a bird on my shoulder, and that threw many a debutante. (I know you were a debutante. But you ain't these people.)

I aired out my costume in the hotel room before dressing up again and meeting my online gang for dinner downtown. Your Sister grabbed dinner from the Starbucks (they serve bistro boxes now) and shooed me out the door to enjoy myself. The gang and I gobbled Mexican and rested briefly in a hotel room before diving into the chaos. Saturday night at DragonCon is utter calamity. It's nonstop revelry with obvious debauchery lingering at the fringes. It's Mardi Gras indoors. For hours we walked and gawked and clicked and chatted. I was pulled aside many times for my outfit; most people were delighted to be reminded of a character they hadn't seen in 20 years. Some were confused. Two people asked if I was Popeye. Another person asked if people knew who I was and was relieved when I said absolutely. Some actual firefighters knew me. That was cool.

I packed it in around 12:30. I had worn contact lenses all day, and my eyes were shot. Also, my feet. I carefully walked back to the hotel and initially avoided the drunken game fans whose team just lost. But right as I was about to take the quiet detour away from the mobs, I got my dander up. Fuck 'em. I walked along the main road and right toward the drunks. Some were mighty mad that my comeback was funnier than their jab. One older lady, I suspect, debated tackling a sailorman for a sidewalk quickie. Your Sister was out cold when I got to the room.

We grabbed Starbucks the next morning before officially checking out. The hotel warned us that the valet car service would be swamped Sunday morning, and we may have been the only people to have heeded that warning. The lobby was crammed with crabby hungover game fans bitching about the wait. See, we checked in a day earlier than they, and our car was parked closer. They arrived after everyone else hit the city, and their cars were practically parked at our house. Also, and this can't be ignored, the valets were all black, and these unhappy guests sounded like nothing less than sons of the plantation owners bitching about workflow. We kept silent lest we delay our departures. Let the howler monkeys howl. Brats. Where is that drag queen bus anyway?

We met up with my college buddy and her gal for brunch, and we spent a chunk of time catching up and trading convention stories. They didn't officially attend, but they did donate at the con's vampire blood drive. We managed to escape town before the tropical storm hit, but the Twitter feeds did speak of people waiting in the rain for con events. Your sister suggested new costumes for 2012 before we left the city. We got back about 5:30. Mom was aglow with her time with the deputy. She agreed to do this again next year if we went. And I think we will.

Recap: We're exhausted but deliriously happy in a geek cloud of camaraderie.

+  +  + 

On Monday, I watched the boy while Your Sis caught up on school stuff. We also had to address her flat tire. We called AAA and learned we could have the car towed to the nearest garage, and we pursued that for a while. Then we considered simply putting on the spare tires and having her drive it to the garage later in the week after school. That's what we did. But that car and that wheel are gigantic. A AAA tow driver came by and switched out the tires. I did the grocery run and bought cider for her to swig after the long weekend and last-second workload. The sidekick slept through the night. Thankfully, so did we.

Coalescing

The diaper rash is fading. The sidekick slept through the night. I'm halfway packed. Our con experience is a little over a day and a 3-hour drive away. You just followed me on Twitter.

The world is spinning my way. 

It's with a sigh of relief that I can say our big weekend starts tomorrow. Your Sister doesn't feel ready to pack and go. But might she ever? I say no. Not until we're on the road. We're meeting up with folks from Mississippi and California at the show. We're 90% confirmed to be in the parade Saturday morning, and I hope to have the few comic pros attending to draw in my Doom cooking sketchbook.

I called My Mom, and her anxiety has given way to optimism. She had no pressing questions. I drew a map to the local park, and I promised to leave a garage door remote for her. I pick up her eclairs tomorrow before she arrives.

Picture of the Day
The building codes are slack in Mister Rogers's neighborhood.

Hi, I'm A Bastard

The diaper infection has returned, and I blame the long commute. I was home yesterday awaiting the repairman, so the kid got a full day of intensive tush therapy. The automated pharmacy system initially refused to refill the cream prescription, and I protested to a human pharmacist until I got clearance. This happened about a half-hour after I berated the over repair guy into driving to Asheville to get the part he needed; he wanted to wait until Thursday for the part to arrive from Spartanburg and then make an appointment to install it.

No, sir. I drive to Asheville very day. It's doable.  

But it will cost more, he said.

More than buying a new oven?

No.

Make it happen today.

And he came back about five hours later and fixed the oven. Being a jerk sometimes is the best option. I would have tipped him, but apparently his drive was added into the bill. So he and the company were covered. More money for me and for gee-gaws at the convention. Just three days away! Costumes done! Parade authorities contacted!

I baked some of those Sunday biscuits to go with dinner. Our suspicions bore out: The pilot igniter was kaput. I think it faded into death as the oven seems to crank up like a volcano now.

Your Sister was at school until 8 with the semester's open house, convincing parents that it was too early to abandon ship on their kids' GPA.The boy was down before she came home.

My Mom will be driving up Friday later than we first thought, giving us less time to prepare her for the weekend. I'll call her tonight to give her more notes.

Picture of the Day
I envision the sidekick torturing My Mom with shenanigans all weekend. Or maybe I mean "hopefully envision."

Work It Out

The boy followed a spirited ride home from daycare with an attack of constipation. Seriously, he's trying to suffer every ailment before our Atlanta trip.

He started screaming at bedtime. Orajel didn't help, and Your Sister vetoed ear drops. She took him to the bath and interpreted his expressions to mean he was backed up and fighting it. After a half hour of his screams, I suggested we try to colic thermometer trick: You lay the baby* down, insert a thermometer rectally, and wait for his protesting muscle contractions to work out the blockage.

We did this in his tub for about a half hour, and halfway through, he realized what we were doing and that it could help, and he started co-operating. We were actually working together on this, and it was a bonding moment. It was almost 14 months to the day that I was in practically the same position making practically the same encouragements to Your Sister.

She grew impatient and wanted to try an enema, but a hastily improvised contraption failed immediately, and I went back to the thermometer. Eventually, I let him sit normally and let him play with bath toys and realized his screaming had stopped. I called in Your Sis to verify that the storm had passed. He was fine.He was exhausted, and he cashed into sleep quickly.

*I trip up over this word with him. He's technically not a baby anymore, and I wanna enjoy each of his developmental stages. I don't want to infantalize him, to be the kind of parent that can't let go of the baby-hood. He's a toddler, but that's a clumsy word. My nickname for him had the word "baby" in it, and I'm awkwardly trying new names. It still tumbles out by habit, and I regret it each time. I may just start calling him by his first and middle names.

+  +  +

A little longer than I'd rather, I heard back from the hotel representative, and I now have a confirmation of accommodations at a second Atlanta hotel. I'm concerned the deal I was promised may not trickle down to the front-desk people, so I opened a Twitter account (@GregoryDraws) to ask the Hyatt Concierge for help. I heard back immediately and was given an email to send a request for the PDF of the deal. I'm waiting to hear back.

EDIT: I got my email listing the consolation package along with contact information for a reservations manager. I called and thanked her. This situation stinks for a lot of people, but it's progressed smoothly.

I bought two blocks of styrofoam to carve my gun replacement. I'll try painting it before falling back to covering it in electrical tape.

Picture of the Day
A mask at a local craft store. 

Heart Attack

I got a call yesterday morning from our DragonCon hotel. I expected it was a reservation confirmation. The four main hotels that house the party fill up quickly, and people scramble for last-second accommodations. That's why we reserved a room in September. Eleven months ago.

I was informed that because of construction overrun, we couldn't use the rooms we reserved. And we would not be able to get rooms in that hotel.

Initial reaction: MURDER.

However, the hotel rep, who had no doubt steeled herself for this and probably experienced similar meltdowns already, told me that a nearby hotel had agreed to take the displaced, and our original hosts would pay for one of the nights, offer us early reservations for next year's convention at this year's rates, and give us free subway passes for this year's show. That seemed fair. I agreed to the deal. I was assured that we'd receive confirmation emails within the next two days.

I asked the caller when the hotel realized this would be necessary, and she said last week.That's short notice, and I'm positive they were holding their breath for months beforehand in anxiety. So Wednesday morning --  eight days before the start of a four-day Mardi Gras attended by thousands and thousands -- they had to find new rooms for their guests. I told her I sympathize with the last-minute adjustments and hoped those she had to inform were kind to her. I suspect some will deliver the rage I managed to keep in check.

Our new hotel is five blocks away from the party. That might make for better sleep. We can also get there via the subway system. We need never risk bad weather.

Today
Me: Hi, new hotel. I need a confirmation for a relocated reservation.

Second DragonCon Hotel: Yeah, we never heard of you, and we're booked solid. Oh, we do have a special rate for a room Saturday night.

Me: How booked solid are you if you have a special rate on a room?

Second DragonCon Hotel: You should call the first hotel and find out what's up.

Me: Hey, first hotel. Guess what second hotel told me.

First DragonCon Hotel: Those booked-solid rooms include the block we nabbed for the relocated guests.

Me: But there's no proof I'm included in that.

First DragonCon Hotel: I'm gonna call over there and verify you're taken care of.

Me: OK. I'm being polite, but I can get ugly here.

First DragonCon Hotel: Won't be necessary.

Just a few minutes ago
First DragonCon Hotel: You're on the list, and they are still working on reservations.

Me: When you say "working on," what are the chances I won't get a room?

First DragonCon Hotel: None. You'll have a room. I'll call you with the confirmation when I get it.

Me: So I just sit tight and wait?

First DragonCon Hotel: Please.

Me: Can I borrow your fingernails to chew on?

First DragonCon Hotel: Thanks for being patient.

Me: Please take this the right way, but when you call me with the number, I hope that's the last time I talk with you.

Now
Me:

We tried on our costumes last night. I'm thinking of making a stryofoam gun butt to replace the heavy toy gun I carried last time. That gun made the holster sag the whole time. I don't need a whole gun, just something to fill the holster. I can sculpt and paint it in an hour. We've lost so much weight since 2009 that our costumes will sag a bit no matter what.

The deputy is a hundred times better now, but he was wired last night. We all slept maybe four hours. I am Biblically acquainted with my coffee travel mug today.

Recovery

The Nystatin seemed to work immediately. I'm using it exclusively on him instead of alternating it with the Vusion non-prescription cream; I'll save that for later. For now, he gets the strong stuff. His color's better, and he seems relaxed. Relaxed-er. Your Sis says he probably felt relief immediately. He's back at daycare equipped with the cream and a warning about his teething. We used Neosporin on him last night after he became cranky. Seemed to work. Teething can cause kids to tug their ears, and that initially spooked us into thinking his ear infection returned. He and I also apparently share the same allergy cycles. To recap: His loins are burning, he's teething, and his nose is a swamp. Childhood, ta-da.

I felt the quake yesterday but assumed it was one of the assisted-living home delivery trucks driving off. I felt what I assumed were aftershocks, but those felt like a very mild swaying. Your Sister and her students -- half a mile away -- had no idea anything happened.

The new neighbors baked us an apple pie, and we are devouring it each night. It's huge. Now so are we.

Picture of the Day
The gals went to Tallahassee and lost a close one to a nationally ranked team. I think our team is too new/limited in competition to get into the rankings.

A-ha.

It's a yeast infection.

He developed a slight fever at daycare yesterday, and I picked him up early and immediately made an appointment with the doctor. We saw her this morning (and her pediatric shadowing med student), and she pointed at the "classic breakaway lesions" and said this was treatable. We have two new medicine creams and should see improvement within 48 hours. Also, he were advised to dry him with a hair dryer and let him go streaking. Warm air is better than the bog that is his diaper. His fever is miniscule today. Also, he's teething.

It's a huge relief. This is common and fixable, and he's not actually pissing radioactive water. The parental panics do creep up after a few days of mystery ailments.I'll stay home with him today, and we'll probably be on a regular schedule tomorrow and after.

Picture of the Day
Say cheese.

Shift Rotations

After a weekend of medicine and baths, we have deduced that this diaper rash is a product of his antibiotic treatments for the ear infection. His skin goes red as his urine spills about in his diaper. Either he's peeing an irritant or something on his skin reacts to the pee.

The daycare folks suggested it might be diet, but nothing new has been introduced. They also said the antibiotics may have scuttled good bacteria in his system. He gets yogurt every day. Maybe we should up the dosage. If this doesn't fade by Tuesday night, I'm taking him to the doctor. Our best home remedies are exhaustive and exhausting us. I presided over about three hours worth of bath soaks this weekend. His rash also bumped our planned party-versary bike outing, for obvious reasons.

I took the neighbor kid to see Captain America, and he is psyched as psyched can be for next year's Avengers movie. So am I. The film holds up on second viewing too.

We're two weeks from DragonCon, and it's sneaking up on us. My Mom will watch the deputy that weekend, and she's equally excited and anxious. I'm taking that Friday off to walk her through a day with him, and we've hired a babysitter to be available via phone if Mom needs help. She's on retainer. But Mom's watched the boy before. She'll be fine. He hasn't spent the night without us before though, so I don't know how Your Sister will do.

Picture of the Day
Peek-a-bird.