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I seem to be spending a lot of time these days downloading software
from Google’s website. Considering the fact that I was only faintly
aware that Google even produced desktop software until just recently,
I’m surprised to find not one but three pieces of Google branded software on my hard drive.

It all started with Google’s desktop search program. I kind of came across it by accident a while ago, somehow missing all the commotion surrounding desktop search tools. Microsoft, Yahoo, and others have since entered the fray but I haven’t found either the time or desire to check out other offerings.

As for Google’s tool, I’ve found it very useful. Searching files on my computer used to be like watching glaciers move. This thing is so snappy you almost assume it’s broken. There are some flaws, e.g. I wish it could search non-Outlook related email and I wish it would search my C# code files, but I’ll live.

As for the feature itself, it’s pretty easy to predict something such as this becoming standard for all operating systems from this point on, likely leaving third-party software begging for scraps. That might not mean good things for Google and friends but that’s ok. It does mean I’ll spend a lot less time staring at a progress bar both today and tomorrow.

Google’s little picture program, Picasa, was next on my list. Picasa, which I’d like to retitle Your Mother-in-law’s Picture Program, is a great compliment to my current suite of picture editing programs, which include Photoshop, Paint Shop Pro, and Gimp. Picasa’s focus is rather different from those programs, choosing to worry about things like photo albums and organization rather than hardcore editing. Because of this, it offers a bunch of neat, whizzbang features that are just perfect for the casual user. Create slideshows or picture collages in a couple of buttons. Enhance your pictures using a couple of simple, but effective, visual effects. All of this is wrapped in one of the better user interfaces I’ve seen for these types of programs in years.

The feature that really puts it over the top is its ability to send pictures via email in approximately one button press. Select your pictures and press go. Picasa will open your favorite email program, create a new message, and attach your selected photos to that email in a web-optimized form. That is, the pictures are generally smaller, in both file size and resolution.

For me, this saves me the cumbersome steps of opening Photoshop, altering a picture, saving my work, and attaching its altered form to a new email. For casual users, like my mother-in-law, this really opens up picture sharing on the web. She doesn’t have to worry about file sizes. She doesn’t have to care about the resolution of the photos her 2 megapixel camera belts out. She just has to hit the send button. Amen to that.

Heavy use of Picasa, led me to Hello, another Google tool. Hello can best be described as an instant messenger program with pictures. Think of it as AOL IM with a visual element. Chat with your friends and send them pictures, fully aided by Picasa. One feature that I really liked was the fact that you could spy on your friend; Hello’s filmstrip presentation provides a little indicator of what they are currently eyeing. I also really like the concept of including a thumbnail of the currently viewed picture in the chat log. That simple feature makes the conversation about something. Very cool.

If anyone is looking for some software to whittle away some hours in, these are all good candidates. I’m not sure I’m done looking for a desktop search tool quite yet (for example, Copernic’s offering looks pretty nice, but I bet Picasa gets real comfortable on my computer. As far as Hello goes, don’t be surprised to see an invite show up in your email, provided I actually want to see your pictures.

One of the things you learn early in parenthood is to be prepared. This might involve leaving more time for those little things, like traveling. It may involve leaving your back turned as little as possible. Most of the time, it’ll involve being ready for the unexpected.

For example, if you were to visit church on Christmas Eve for evening service, you should plan ahead. Dressing, for example, is a little more involved when young ones need to participate. Your pants aren’t the only one in the closet. Your shoes aren’t the only thing needing to discover feet.

You might leave a bit more time for dinner, possibly employing the services of the local Papa John’s rather then attempt to do the heavy lifting yourself. The clock will be ticking. Let’s not forget that one parent can easily be removed from the family preparation picture in a heartbeat, perhaps due to an insatiable infant that — hypothetically, of course — latches onto the breast and becomes determined to never let go.

Before leaving the house, you may want to check the vitals on your mode of transportation. For example, gas is apparently a requirement if you want your car to do simple things, like go. A shining gas light that forces an extra pit stop is not a happy beacon for an anxious grandmother peering through a church window. The fact that your youngest child may wail in the back seat during the entire trip is a possibility you might want consider as well.

Once you arrive at church, you should get comfortable. After all, your church may not offer nursery services for evening mass. Your little one will be easy to keep stationary, particularly after receiving a new set of clothes. Pat yourself on the back. That extra outfit is just the kind of preparation I speak of. The first outfit, liberally laced with the previous contents of the bottle you brought, could very well be ready for retirement.

Your oldest, however, may present additional challenges. Crayons might keep him occupied for a little while. That well of kindness in his heart might keep him still and quiet for more than a few moments. But, eventually, your child is likely to get fidgety. Trust me. I’ve heard stories.

He might stand and sit, stand and sit. He could view the pew as a wonderful piece of playground equipment, using it to venture from one parent to the other.

Of course, restlessness might also manifest itself as unbridled enthusiasm. He might loudly cheer at the conclusion of the sermon. He might gleefully clap and hoot at the end of every hymn. These are little joys, truly shared by all.

Near the end of the service, you might worry about the approaching candlelight hymn. Worries about so much fire surrounding your little one could bother you. Don’t stress. It’s more likely that your child will view it as a massive birthday celebration, following the bob and weave of the candle in an attempt to conclude his birthday wish. Keep it moving and just out of reach. Good luck. Your chances of keeping such a candle lighted are low indeed.

But, eventually, you’ll find your way home. While the echoes of chaos are fresh in the air, you’ll pause to consider the changes in your life that parenthood brings. You’ll thank the little ones that make life unpredictable and be happy for the blessing that is the holidays. You might not have felt ready for such a day, where the unexpected lay behind every corner, but don’t fool yourself. The only thing you truly could be unprepared for is spending the next morning without them.

I never knew insect bites could cause such a raucous. Surely, a tiny bug couldn’t send me to the hospital, my surprise location just hours after the 2nd birthday of my oldest son?

The party went well enough. Presents were liberally scattered on my next of kin. Kind gifts of clothes were tossed aside in favor of an eye catching toy or ten. In between bits of shared joy and appreciation (both him and his parents were treated very, very well), my thoughts traveled to an apparent insect bite on my right thigh. What had once been a little bump was now something closer to a wound, having grown in both size and color. It hurt. I took the advice of a close friend and registered nurse, both one in the same. Hours later, I was staring at the business end of a scalpel.

It all started about two days earlier. As I said, I didn’t think much of it. I can’t tell you when or how I got it. I remember initially mistaking it for acne at one point. There was an attempted popping – never a treat on the soft skin of my outer thigh – but then it faded from memory.  On Friday, however, it surfaced (or resurfaced depending on the timing of said popping). My bite wasn’t so tiny anymore. Pain was mixed with its growing shape.

On Saturday, I knew something was up. I worried about infection. I phoned my doctor. No response from the on-call clown. I phoned my soon-to-be ex-doctor a second time. Again, no response was forthcoming. Then the party happened. My leg hurt but there was a house to clean and prepare.  I muscled through, successfully ignoring the pain. Somehow, the source of my irritation came up in casual conversation. A room full of people, most of them relatives, ensured that I never stopped fielding questions about my little injury.

(Those that are faint of heart, may want to cover their eyes at this point in my story.)

Shortly after the party, a kind friend volunteered to look at my wound. I believe my wife made the initial request. I’m unsure I could have asked her to do the dirty deed. My wound had grown nasty. It was bright red and hard. It had formed a nice little blister before the party. That blister was no longer a problem. It was ghastly. I suppose it isn’t good party policy to invite your friends to inspect nasty things but that’s exactly what I did. My surrogate doctor sent me to the hospital.

I arrived at the hospital not knowing what to expect, beyond a long wait. The emergency room was full of people. I settled down with a book to find myself in Triage about 5 minutes later. The physician’s assistant took a look and mentioned something about a possible recluse spider bite (I have since, through a little internet researching, begun to very much doubt this theory. Do your own searching at your own risk.). The doctor came in and ordered it opened and drained. I kind of expected the draining part. I didn’t expect, however, the cutting portion of the procedure. While waiting for them to return with their instruments of death, I couldn’t help but my liken my experience to an episode of ER. You know how they are always laying that cloth down on folks with the big hole in it? That was going to be me!

(During my wait, I was visited by some curious colleagues of my direct medical staff. Oh yeah. Guess who was the topic of the day at the hospital water cooler. Please hide your jealousy.)

To be honest, the hospital visit wasn’t that bad. The staff was nice and everything happened much too fast for me to properly react to it. I’m getting surgery? It’s almost done. I’m getting blood drawn?  Hey, you are pretty good at that. I’m getting a tetanus shot? That’s nothing! Get out of here and get your prescriptions filled.

(Cover your eyes. I warned you!)

Since then I’ve been spending a lot of time with warm compresses to both drain the wound and control the swelling. I redress the wound a two or three times a day. Today, I’m crumbling to public demand as I offer a picture. Here’s my wound as of yesterday. Get your stomach contents cleaned up. I’ll wait.

Today, the pus in the middle is gone, leaving something akin to a bullet wound that is still very much getting care. I hope to one day entertain my children with my stories of ‘Nam. Maybe I’ll respond to the media’s incessant insistence that video games cause violence by claiming that I played Halo 2 so much that this is was the result. Regardless, I’m pretty hopeful that my stories will be of recovery. I find that to be a good thing.

Earlier today, I called my dad, who recently had lung surgery to scrape pneumonia from its surface. He spent a large percentage of December in the hospital with a tube draining fluid from his lungs. He spent the last week recovering from his surgery and attempting to do simple things, like eat.  He’s been home for all of two days. His first words? “How are you feeling?”

Well, it could be worse.