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I had planned to talk about my vacation tonight. I spent the weekend with both my parents and the in-laws. We all got together for a quick trip to Ocean City and we had a lot of fun. However, I’m not much in the mood for vacation talk at the moment. See, I spent the weekend with the mother-in-law and, not long ago, she was taken to the hospital.

Early signs are good. It looks like it is a case of food poisoning. Some fast food caught up with her in a very bad way. The wife had the displeasure of following the ambulance to the hospital. That’s a visual my brain keeps tumbling over. Those flashing lights — that’s for mom.

The wife is still at the hospital. I’m at home with the baby. I’ll leave the emergency babysitter phone call for later. I desperately hope I don’t need it.
I want to be there for the wife. My shoulder is there in spirit. But I want to stay with my son. There’s a (hopefully small) family crisis. He needs me. Or, maybe more truthfully, I need him.

That’s one place where the events of tonight has brought about a change of perspective. It’s not the mother-in-law who was carted to the hospital this night. It was my son’s grandmother. A new little heart wishes her well. We both do.

Update: She’s coming home from the hospital today; one night was enough. There’s no telling when the little tike will get his daytime babysitter back but she’s feeling better. Shew.

Cambell has begun his attempts to walk. He’s not exactly steady on his feet — he requires both two hands to steady himself — but stepping seems to be in his blood. He didn’t need guidance. Those knees bent and those feet began to step all by themselves. Miraculous. I have a feeling that he’ll be walking by himself very soon. The great chase begins.

Standing, something he started a few weeks ago, was the ability that excited him. The moment he learned he could do it, standing became the only thing he wanted to do. Sitting on my lap is becoming a thing of the past. Dad, I want to stand. Why? Because I can.

Today, we put yet another check mark in his list of accomplishments.
I was excited when I was greeted with a hello from my son in the morning hours so many months ago. This morning, though, was much sweeter. I didn’t get a hello today. I got a “Dada” – the very first one. Dada was thrilled beyond words. He should have taken the opportunity to ask for a car. He might have gotten one. Or two.

ESPN is running a poll about touchdown celebrations today. All-time classics and recent notables alike are included.

My favorite on the list? The Lambeau Leap. There’s something about throwing your body into the stands that just shouts football to me. Maybe I need to book some tickets for a Sunday in Green Bay. Honorable mention goes to the Mile High Salute. It’s short, quick, and to the point.

The worst? Unquestionably, Warren Sapp’s wiggle. Watching that 350 pound man bounce around in the end zone was horrible. It nearly made the eyes bleed. He should apologize personally to Beyonce Knowles.

What’s missing? How about the one where you hand the ball to the referee and walk to your bench? Yeah, I’ve been here before. I’ll be back later. Now that is classy.

My fantasy football team is awful. They are worse than awful. They are just sad. I thought I knew something about football. Apparently, I was mistaken.

I started the season losing my depth at running back. James Stewart is out for the season. The quarterback for one of my top receivers then took a trip to the emergency room. I suppose that is what Vick gets for running against the Ravens.

I’m now lost in a sea of mediocrity. Marvin Harrison, the top wideout from a year ago, is being shut down. He has 16 catches this season. Last year, that would have been a good game. Peerless Price made the move from a #2 receiver to a #1 by going on vacation. No one has heard from him since. Marty Booker, another stud wideout, is suffering from quarterback loss in an indirect sort of way. Can you believe Chicago actually wanted Kordell Stewart as their QB? Ugh.

Now injuries are beginning to settle in. Travis Henry, my star running back, hurt his ribs this week. He gained seven yards on the ground and threw an interception. Yes, my running back threw an interception! Dante Culpepper, the only real bright spot in my lineup just broke some bones in his back. Wonderful. Neither guy made it to halftime.

I keep thinking that they can’t be that bad. Marvin has to eventually catch a pass or two. William Green will again show the flash he had last year. But then I look at my sad 1-2 record and lose hope.

Sniff, sniff. If this keeps up, I’ll actually have to start watching football for the football. People still do that. Don’t they?

I didn’t think my son really enjoyed television.
Baby Eistein can hold his interest for a little while.
The Wiggles can grab his attention for minutes at a time. But
rarely does anything on the little flickering tube garner
any type of reaction from him. It’s not like he asks to
watch a favorite show. Of course, it’s not like he can talk
quite yet either.

But the other day, the wife called me down to show me the Wiggles
in a little bit of car trouble. It seems the engine of their
Wigglemobile was acting up.
The purple Wiggle, who my wife informs me is named Jeff, opens up
the hood and promptly gets a faceful of grease. There’s a pause,
a squirt, a pause, and a squirt. My son couldn’t hold himself
back. Each shot of grease brought about a howl of laughter. It
wasn’t a chuckle. It was a signature belly laugh. He was hysterical.

The wife swears it is his favorite show. Who am I to disagree? It’s
not like he finds The West Wing particularly funny.

I know. I know. As a good little parent I shouldn’t be advocating
my son’s involvement with that evil box of horrors. It’s not like
I’m looking for a
babysitter.
I was just happy to see his joyous response, even if it means I’ll
be fighting him for the remote from this point on.

Is anyone else thinking about hurricane Isabel? It’s not like the local news would let us forget. Isabel isn’t the top story right now. It’s the only story. I find it pleasing to get a break from all the death the news at five normally fires at us but sheesh. There’s got to be something else to talk about. Let’s not forget that Jamal Lewis rushed for 295 yards this weekend. Now that’s news.

I’ve always been facinated by storms. Massive storms that look so pretty from space are no exception. Despite the fact that Isabel is weakening, she looks like a doozie. I look forward to pictures and video from the front lines. Run for cover people, unless you are a reporter. In that case, leave the camera on.

It’s still unclear how much the Baltimore area will be affected but, for the moment at least, I’m concerned about my future vacation spot. The wife and I have plans to visit Ocean City in a couple of weeks. I hope it is still there when we arrive.

For some odd reason, I find it comforting that this hurricane is named after my grandmother. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would she? Even if she does, I’ll have some stories to tell Cambell. There was this one time when your great-grandmother reshaped the East Coast. Tell your buddies to beat that.

This is what I saw when I arrived home yesterday from work. It resembled the former corner of my house but something wasn’t right. I didn’t remember doing any digging during the night. The cable box has tilted since a plow hit it during the winter months but I didn’t remember deciding to fix it myself. What the hell happened? You can tell I was unhappy; I took pictures.

This morning I got my answer. A Verizon truck was parked on this very corner. Aha, I thought. I have found the culprits of this dirty deed. I took a detour from my normally short jaunt to my car to express my unhappiness. I expected the damage to be fixed. I wanted grass again. Hey, what are those guys doing with the shovels?

I was assured that the mess would be cleaned up. They would level off the ground when they were done. New seed would be planted. The neighbors down the street had service problems and the wires underneath my lawn were the source of the evil. The crew knew they would be back today to finish the job. They didn’t bother to clean up because they were not done. I even got a business card to identify crew leader.

Explanation accepted.

This is what I saw when I arrived home from work today. Look what they’ve done with the place. It’s not Art Deco but, then again, what is? The Empire State Building you say. We are getting off subject.

My yard has seen better days, even when I forget to mow. The sidewalk is busted up, something I didn’t realize until I saw pieces of it cradled in the grasp of the big yellow machine. A ditch several feet wide and several feet deep hides within my beautiful new red fencing. I saw two guys with shovels when I left. I didn’t expect a backhoe.

I actually found myself wondering if the beer bottles in the bottom of the ditch were dug up artifacts or new additions to my property. There’s something to be said for dedication to the job.

Even so, I hope they come back tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be nicer this time around.

This morning the wife found a bug in her bowl of cereal. The creepy little thing was squirming for breath in a sea of milk. I had just finished a bowl of that same cereal when she made the discovery. It was bug free, I think.

She called the company responsible to explain her little crawling problem and they promised to send us some free coupons. You could almost hear the wife’s stomach turn as the company representative queried her about the bug’s shape and color. I tried to console her. At least she didn’t find half a bug.

My fantasy football team notched their first win last night. As I find out every year, fantasy football does wierd things to your football watching experience. You may vote for a team or player you hate. You might be timid about the success of a team you love. A meaningless game suddenly becomes a fascinating matchup.

Last night, both my opponent and I had a stake in the Philly Tampa game. Donovan McNabb would throw for his team. I started Philadephia’s defense and Tampa Bay’s kicker. My opponent wanted to see Donovan McNabb flash some skills. I wanted to see a battle of field goals. Philly 0, Tampa 3 would make me very happy. The final score – Philly 0, Tampa 17 – was good enough. Mr. McNabb, a very good quarterback, had a very bad day. That’s too bad. I like him as a player. I just don’t like it when he plays against my team, fantasy or otherwise.

The wife and I went shopping for a car seat yesterday night. It only took us three stores to find one we liked. She was focused on features and safety. I was determined that it would match the truck. Cambell didn’t seem to care. He fell asleep as the sun set. One of us has our priorities mixed up. Don’t worry. I’ll straighten her out.

The new seat feels like a graduation of sorts for the little guy. Daddy, I can stand up on my own. I’m this close to crawling and I’m ready to amaze you next week with a host of new activities. I think it’s time for a big boy seat.

I hear ya boy. Just don’t be in too much of a rush to grow up. It won’t be long before Dad is asking you to mow the lawn and make your own breakfast. Bug free, of course.

I attended my final physical therapy appointment last Wednesday. I’m not entirely cured of my Bell’s Palsy but I’m close. A while ago, my doctor told me that no one would be able to tell I was sick by Labor Day. That prediction turned out to be true.

Some nagging effects remain but they are constrained to small things. I’m not worried about blinking. I’m focused on getting my bottom lip up to speed. I no longer slur my speech. My toothy smile only has only a little bit to go. Generally, it is now hard to notice. Unless I strain to show folks my problem, they’d likely never know there was one. For that, I’m extremely grateful.

I’m not grateful, however, that I have not been given a free pass with regard to the silly exercises I do day in and day out. I’ve promised to continue my funny faces for another month. It will be a long, face-tortured month.

It’s not that I hate them that intensely. This past weekend, while vacationing with some good friends, they were actually a lot of fun. I wasn’t juiced with the prospect of performing my fanciful art in front of an audience but I could understand their curiosity. So, we made a deal: they could watch but they must also participate. Imagine a group of folks making silly faces at each other. Add alcohol and stir. A daily chore turned out to be a fun evening activity.

I have an appointment with the neurologist next week. I fear that I’ll be stuck in the face with buzzing needles again but I’m still encouraged. This visit would fall under the heading of follow-up, a title that I very much welcome.

I wanted to note how thankful I am to my physical therapist, who took time out of her busy schedule to help out someone with really crappy health insurance. Bell’s Palsy is a funny affliction, where healing occurs at a slow pace, normally without any treatment whatsoever. Because of that, I’m unsure of exactly how much physical therapy has helped. However, I’m convinced that I spoke clearly sooner because of the effort. I’m convinced that my eating habits returned to normal earlier because of her help. I’m sure that the healing process was accelerated. For that, there’s a lot of thanks to go around.

In fact, I plan to make sure some flowers go her way this coming week. The wife will likely be the delivery girl. I’ve already wrote the note I intend to include. I hope it brightens her day.