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We spent last weekend camping. A Halloween weekend at Granite Hill Campground was filled with activities, from a costume contest (which deposited a prize in the wife’s nephew’s pocket) to a bout of trick or treating (Cambell fell asleep, but we need not talk about that). It was fun and every night ended just as it should: huddled next to a warm campfire passing around marshmallows.

Chubby bunnies was the name of the game on our last night there. For those not in the know, chubby bunnies is a game where you stuff your mouth full of marshmallows one at a time. After each marshmallow, you must say, “chubby bunnies.” One guy managed to get 16 marshmallows into his mouth before my comments about his likeness to Old Yeller made him spit them to the ground. It was truly impressive indeed. My wife led the female side of the campfire. Her grand accomplishment was 12. I’m so proud.

The trip really got us thinking about buying a pop up camper. We already have a hitch on the back of the Xterra, a hitch that was originally meant for a boat. A boat, however, sounds like a purchase of the very distant future. The wife and I love to fish but we have a very young child. I don’t think I’d feel real safe floating above the Ocean with him onboard until he can tell me his age. Even then, there’s always the possibility of a little brother or sister to worry about. Besides, much like a pool, the best kind of boat is somebody else’s boat. Those things are expensive, in both time and money, to maintain (Incidentally, I’ve heard that the two best days of a man’s life is the day he buys his boat and the day he sells his boat).

Anyway, back to the camper. It just sounds like it makes sense. Before we had a child, the wife and I camped a reasonable amount. Now that we have a kid, camping sounds a whole lot more family friendly than a hotel. Not to mention, its a good bit cheaper.

My wife remarked that she didn’t do a lot of traveling as a child. I was the exact opposite. We had a camper and we went all sorts of places. I liked camping as a kid. I still like it as a adult. The ability to, ahem, rough it while still being able to control the temperature — via a convenient heater or air conditioner — sounds right up my alley. Camping season gets extended and mom, dad, and baby get a good reason to get out of the house more than occasionally.

For the moment, this just a dream and future plan. But, if you couldn’t tell, I’m pretty enthusiastic about the idea. It might not be as far off as you, or I, think.

Last week, I noticed the calendar on the wall of my office was a bit out of date. It turns out that it is no longer June. Imagine that. While I took it down to change the featured NASCAR driver of the month, I mused that this is so like me. The passage of time always seems to outpace my ability to update it. My calendars do more than track the day of the week. They mark the date of my last distraction.

Distraction is something which I’m intimately familiar. Games collect dust on the shelf and new television shows fill up my TIVO. Books lie unread and my monthly subscriptions form piles of unfinished business. And yes, blog updates get few and far between. These things are supposed to be my diversions and even they get lost in the shuffle.

Work has certainly been knocking around my schedule a bit lately and I suppose I’m feeling it a bit. There is always something to do around the house. A little of this and a lot of that are always left for tomorrow, or next week, or next month. We’ve spent the weekends running and the weekdays recovering.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened in June but, given that the calendar is at work, I’m guessing my job had something to do with it. June is as good a month as any to mark when my recent bout of distractions began. Fortunately, my next break is less than a month away — anniversary here I come. I’m guessing I’ll like November’s NASCAR driver better anyway.

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This is my very own Halloween postcard. I know. I know. Halloween is about ghosts and ghoulies and witches. Yes, we must have witches. And skeletons. It’s all the same, really. You say tomato. I say Charlie Brown.

Cambell’s first Halloween season started with a day trip to a reasonably local pumpkin patch. Some friends led us to a farm with a host of activities. Among them, a corn maze, bees hives, a small store, and, of course, a little patch of land filled with orange vegetables springing from the ground.

A little fenced in petting zoo was our first stop. Cambell fearlessly grasped at the goats and sheep within. Daddy shadowed the little one, hoping that those little fingers wouldn’t be mistaken for feed. Shew. You still have 10? Let’s move on.

The pumpkin patch was a treat. A bumpy hayride took you to the field. Get out and pick your poison. We did so, and took an opportunity to shoot some glamour shots along the way. It was a neat way to choose a pumpkin for Halloween. It’s not like I grew it myself but ripping it from the earth felt a whole lot more seasonal that picking one up from Giant. Too bad my poor little pumpkin didn’t like its rainy stay in front of the house. It belched its filthy contents on my front doorstep. Eww.

On Sunday, we continued the family theme and went to Lake Waterford park. The park is only a couple of miles from our house. The wife and I have been there several times, normally stopping at the local convenience store to pick up some bread for the many geese and ducks that crowd the waters of the lake. Not so long ago, the wife and I made a not-so-secret discovery. Far in the back, the park houses a playground. This playground isn’t just any old playground either.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s obviously quite new. Plastic walls and spongy floors replace the rusty rails and dirt trampings of my youth. Swings for all sizes – toddler on up – guide you in. A play area filled with things to climb on, slide over, and fiddle with would have any child jumping for joy. The thing is huge. 10 kids couldn’t crowd this place. — heck, neither could 50.

It’s the kind of place you desperately want to share but don’t want anyone to know about. There’s this really, really cool thing, but, shhh, don’t tell anyone. We want it for ourselves. On Sunday, some close friends and their not quite two year old daughter were let in on the “secret”. She and her parents alike kept very busy.

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For a kid, I couldn’t help but think this playground would be paradise. As a parent, it’s a Godsend. In a year, we can let Cambell loose in here. I have no doubt he will have a blast. As it stands, his laughter in the swing indicates that he’s enjoying it just fine right now.

On Monday, my family activities were far from over. A friend of mine and I found ourselves in similar positions. Our wives were working. We both had the day off and a little kid to watch. We decided to take a trip and a hike. The destination was Cunningham Falls. A picuturesque hike to the falls found Cambell asleep in his backpack. At least Daddy got some exercise.

All in all, it was a great kickoff to October. The leaves are changing and soon I’ll be spending less time mowing and more time with the leaf blower. I can feel fall settling in. C’mon leaves. Come on down. You now have permission.

It always seems that when things really get interesting, I really don’t have time for writing, especially that of the blogging kind. Some late nights at work, a hectic weekend, and a computer meltdown has left me little time to dawdle. I don’t mean to take vacations of a week at a time. It’s just that, I’ve been a little too busy doing things to write about them.

I’d blame my computer meltdown for my absence if I could. I was practicing for my Monday night NASCAR race when my computer stopped. There were no sparks and no odd whirling noises. No fanfare was provided to clue me in on the problem. It turned off and wouldn’t turn back on. A silent box stared back at me. All I could get was a brief whirl of the fans and an occasional USB light to shine in the back. I’m done, Sherlock. You built me. Now fix me.

Computer problems are serious business in the Wootton household, normally throwing me into an obsessive problem solving mode. That eating thing is going to have to wait. We have a problem. This time, however, I wasn’t that broken up about it. I’m almost certain I can hear my inner geek crying but I had better things to do. A long day at work lay ahead tomorrow. Let’s go watch TV.

Of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t on my mind. It’s assumed that any computer problem will be fixed and fixed in short order. I think the wife accepts this. My friend likened it to the illness of a pet. You have pay the vet bill. You won’t like it but you’ll stomach it. My computer isn’t far off. In some ways, it is its own little electrical member of the family. And, heck, it’s what I do for a living. Leaving it broken would be like a having a mechanic with a broken car (and without transportation – and Battlefield 1942 – to boot).

On Wednesday, after a tidal wave of work had passed I finally got around to solving the problem. I figured it was one of three things: the power supply, the motherboard, or the processor. I’d start at the beginning and work my way forward. A problem with the power supply would be the best case scenario. It’s the easiest thing to pick up at a local store – any Best Buy or Comp USA has them in stock — and, of the three, it’s the easiest to replace.

Problems with the motherboard or processor are much more difficult to diagnose. To start, one goes with the other. It’s hard to tell if the motherboard is working without a working chip and vice versa. Finding either component locally is a bit more difficult. The web or one of a couple specialty stores in the area would be my best bets. And what would I do after I discovered the problem? I didn’t want to end up with an extra motherboard or processor floating around the computer room. These things are expensive. God forbid it was the motherboard. That would require an operating system reinstall.

It turned out that my plan was well conceived. I ripped the power supply out of my second computer and hooked everything up. Presto. Everything came back online. A trip to CompUSA garnered a new 400 watt power supply and a new fan (ooo, pretty) to take care of some recent temperature issues I’ve been having. She’s better than new, thankfully. Oh yes, it’s a she. My computer sees my fingertips way too much to be a dude.

Now that the computer is back up, I’m back to writing, although I suppose that a brief rest from work has more to do about it than anything. Hopefully, I’ll even get around to detailing my weekend before the next one is upon us. Cambell had a busy time and I have just the cutest picture to share. Trust me.

Cambell has gained the ability to climb up a piece of furniture to a standing position. He then uses the furniture as a prop to walk, or cruise, around the room. He’s enjoying it quite a bit. His parents are flustered. Suddenly, he’s mobile.

In response, the wife and I spent the weekend babyproofing the family room. The room got a good cleaning, had some furniture rearranged, and had nearly all of its contents first removed and then reintroduced to a new resting place. It was an all day job. We couldn’t believe just how much junk was stored in that room. DVDs were moved from here to there. CDs were pushed out of reach. The knick-knacks on the shelf better move or, better yet, find a nice, cozy storage box. It was the kind of cleaning where you look about the room in the middle of the job and realize that there isn’t a spare patch of carpet anywhere. What do we do with all this stuff? Like any good pack rat, mostly we just moved it around.

A side effect of his new mobility is that Cambell is beginning to learn what the word “no” means. He doesn’t understand (or choose to understand) entirely — his chuckles at the wife testify to this — but he’s getting it. Still, the TV now has a habit of changing channels without my assistance. Those CDs he has his hands on have already become a point of contention.

Accompanying the little guy on his latest fully upright travels are his first two teeth. They came in as a group, sprouting on the top left and right of his mouth. In my opinion, he’s been a pretty good sport about the whole bones tearing through flesh thing. After all, it doesn’t sound very comfortable. The odd thing is that his two new teeth will give him a vampiric look if they don’t soon get some company. Thankfully, that whole turn into a bat thing seems to be beyond him, at least for now.

It looks like Rush Limbaugh is down to one job again. His ESPN gig is up, thanks to some controversal comments on Sunday and a semi-voluntary resignation today. Here’s exactly what he said. Go ahead and watch. I’ll wait.

Ok, I’ll come clean. I’m a fan of his show. It’s made for this sort of stuff. It’s rattles a Democrat’s nerves and makes a Republican smile. I like him because he’s willing to go over the top and willing to stick to his guns when he does.

ESPN got exactly what they wanted: controversy. They listened to his show. They wanted social commentary on sports issues. They should be familiar with his general hatred of the media. They can’t say they didn’t see this coming. I bet their ratings will be up this week. Their executives should be very happy.

Peter King, one of my favorite members of the sport’s media, wrote that Rush’s comments weren’t racist but they were boneheaded. I agree. This was a miscalculation by Rush. Ruffle feathers. Don’t lose job. But the reaction was off the charts. A white man spoke his mind about racial issues. Heaven help us. Let’s forget that he might have a point.

He’s might not even be wrong. Years ago, a black quarterback was a new thing. Doug Williams was one of very few in his playing days. More recently, Steve McNair is often credited with ushering in a new era of quarterbacking (We could only hope. Steve McNair is, quite simply, the man, injured or not.). Back then, of course the media would want black quarterbacks to do well. It was the story. Success is something we can all get around. If there happens to be a lot of print around on the subject, so much the better.

But things are a bit different now. It’s 2003, by the way. Black quarterbacks lead 28% of the teams in the NFL right now (32% when Michael Vick returns). Having a black quarterback is no longer an anomaly. It is no longer worthy of news. Along with that newsworthiness, the media’s interest in the success or failure of black quarterbacks is now very low or nonexistent. Rush is wrong, even though he is still defending his view (and rightly so).

That doesn’t mean that we can’t all discuss this issue without the thought police of Al Sharpton or, even scarier, Democratic presidential candidate Wesley Clark shouting for the man to be fired. Just because Rush says it, doesn’t make it true. Just because a statement involves race shouldn’t mean that it isn’t worthy of debate. Race shouldn’t matter, either in quarterbacking or discussion. The former is still up in the air. There are plenty of Sundays for quarterbacks of all races to prove themselves (and let’s not forget that black and white are not the only two colors, or races, available). The latter, unfortunately, was answered again today, if you didn’t know the answer already.

This weekend I sat on the balcony of our 9 story ocean lookout and found myself in a position that was not unfamiliar. I wanted a camera. I wanted to capture the moment. But I was cognizant that leaving my purch to fetch my camera would ruin everything. So I sat there. Record or experience — sometimes you have to make a choice.

Moments like these come and go. They appear with great frequency since the birth of our son. You want the first step, the first words, the first everything recorded for posterity. You don’t want to miss anything. In a perfect world, every discovery would have a picture. Every new movement would appear on video. But that isn’t possible. You pick and choose. Should I hold the camera or hold his hand?

In the sand, I choose the later. My wife held the camera. My son took an assisted trot and got a little sand between his toes.

The beach itself silently signaled the end of summer. It was mostly deserted. A few people were here and there. Beach blankets were in short supply. No one was there to swim. They were just there for the visit, perhaps to say goodbye until the warmth of summer returns the following year. You could almost hear the opening number to Grease. A home movie, silent or no, would tell the same story. Pictures did the trick just fine.

But on the balcony I wasn’t so lucky. Story time came early — just after breakfast. My mother-in-law was reading to my son. An old storybook of the wife’s was in her hand. Her words were very familiar to the little girl who now has a little boy of her own. My own mother and I watched as the reading of one became a chorus of two. The wife knew the words by heart. She didn’t need the book to pass the story along. No pictures of that one. I’ll just have to remember that I was there.

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.