The wife and I have a bit of cabin fever. Three straight weeks cooped up
in the house with a baby – no matter how cute that baby is – can
do that to you. The four walls of my bedroom and the four walls of
my living room are now intimately familiar. I’ve seen them again, again,
and again. They are there early in the morning, in the middle in the
afternoon, and in the very late hours of the day.
Sure we’ve been to the doctor twice. We even visited Walmart
for some baby supplies, Target for some diapers, and Target for some
diapers (no, I’m not repeating myself) but none of those trips can
really be considered a leisure activity (now a trip to Best Buy, that
would be a leisure activity).

The baby is doing great. Except for the occasional sleepless night,
he’s fallen into a good pattern of eat, sleep, and repeat. For a
couple hours each day, his eyes open and explore the world from
his perch upon mommy or daddy. Mommy and daddy stay busy doing
what mommies and daddies do: feed him, change his diapers, take the
well-deserved cat nap, and, best of all, stare back into the
cutest pair of eyes on earth. But mommy and daddy are ready
to take a break, if only for a few moments.

The wife and I want to head out for a few hours and scarf down some grub,
leaving our child in someone’s very capable hands. We’ll have
a nice little chat over a meal, see a couple of new walls for a
change, and enjoy each other’s company without the restrictions
of our home. We haven’t yet decided where to eat because
that isn’t really the tough decision. Where to eat is hardly
the issue. This will be the first time we leave our child in the
care of someone else – anyone else. The real question
is: which set of grandparents get to watch their grandson
first?

This question cannot be taken lightly. Former presidents haven’t had
to balance the politics of a decision quite as delicate as this.
Grandparents on both sides of our now three person family are quite anxious
to watch over their new grandson without the supervision of their
nervous son or daughter.

Our job, and it begins now, is to strike a good balance between
the babysitting offers that have been tendered – from grandparents,
aunts, uncles, and friends alike – and those we actually accept.
A healthy supply will
allow the wife and I to catch an emergency movie now and then.
Stoking demand properly will keep everyone, particularly the
grandparents, happy, where the balance between
“I never see my grandson” and
“You want to us to watch that hellion again?” is nervously thin.
But who gets first dibs? Who sets the wheels in motion?

The answer, in the end, should have been obvious. How could we not know who
deserves it most? Isn’t it easy to see? How
could our selection criteria have been any easier?

That’s right. We are going to flip a coin.

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Coaching Carousel

Jan 19, 2003

Ex-Raven coaches are certainly making their rounds this week.
Marvin Lewis scampered off to
Cincinnati.
Jack Del Rio landed a job in
Jacksonville.
Congratulations to them both.

Marvin Lewis finally fulfilled a lifetime dream: he became the head
coach of an NFL football team. This has been his quest for several
long seasons. Success on the field as a defensive coordinator, both
in Pittsburg and Baltimore, led to many interviews but no job offers;
always in the final running, always left
out in the cold
in the end.
Last year, he seemed
poised
for a job in Tampa Bay, only to have
that change in an instant. This year, he finally got his shot.
Too bad that shot is with the Cincinnati Bungles.

I don’t know if he really deserves my congratulations or my condolences.
Cincinnati is a
scary
place for a head football coach.
Failure
thrives
there. It feels like destiny.
Paul Brown, their penny pinching owner, doesn’t what hell he’s doing.
He fields the smallest and, more importantly, least accomplished
scouting staff in the league. Put simply, they suck.
He’s content to replace his coach
every few years, while ignoring the sad support staff behind them.
Players continually
run
for the hills. Who can blame them? The chances of winning
in that cold Ohio town are slim. In the wacky world of the NFL’s
salary cap, it’s been said that the every team has a chance,
except for the Bengals. Lewis has a tough road
ahead of him despite the fact that the Bengals actually have some
talent on their squad. He needs to correct that reputation and hope
that Mr. Brown will write a couple
of big checks along the way. I wish him luck (but not
too much luck; the Ravens are a division rival).

The fortune of Jack Del Rio was a bit more surprising; his
ascent through the coaching ranks was
swift.
That said, it was not undeserved. Two years ago, Mr. Del Rio
was a linebackers coach in Baltimore. One year ago, as the
Panthers defensive coordinator, he led their 31st ranked squad
to second place in total defense, impressive work for which he was
quickly awarded. He has some good things going for him.
As the second youngest head coach in the league, he doesn’t
lack intensity. He’s also had the opportunity to work alongside
Jimmy Johnson, Tony Dungy, and Brian Billick, some of the most
successful coaches of the last decade. I too wish him luck
(I’m sure he thanks God that the Bengals job didn’t fall to him).

So why do I bring these subtle changes in the job market up? There
are two reasons. The first is a bit sentimental: it clears
up a mess that resulted in a nasty game of musical chairs
last season for the Ravens. In Marvin’s quest to be king,
he was on the brink of becoming the head coach of the Tampa
Bay Buccaneers. This quest was fully supported, even encouraged,
by the Ravens, who waited anxiously by the phone to see if
Mr. Lewis got his wish or returned to the team to be their
defensive coordinator for another season. Mr. Lewis was lucky.
His current job was waiting while he attempted
to get an upgrade. Then some problems occurred.

His hand picked
successor, the current linebackers coach of the Ravens, got a
better job offer in Carolina. Come be our defensive coordinator.
The Ravens couldn’t offer Jack Del Rio the same position;
that spot was waiting for Marvin Lewis, if he needed to settle
for it. Jack Del Rio was gone. In the meantime, Lewis lost
out on the race for the job in Tampa Bay. Well, at least
the Ravens got to keep their defensive coordinator, right?
Wrong. Lewis spurned the Ravens’ offer and accepted the
same position for the Redskins. Ravens 0, ex-coaches 2.

This left me with some mixed feelings. I was a bit upset
that Marvin Lewis took advantage of the good will of my
favorite team. On the other hand, the Redskins offered him
a boatload of money. How could he turn it down? In the
process, we lost a promising young coach in Jack Del Rio
just because of some unfortunate timing.

A year later, all is well. Marvin Lewis can work out his
punishment in NFL’s equivalent of hell. I can now forgive
him. Jack Del Rio early departure was actually fortunate.
If he had stayed around, his stay would have been very
short – a single season as coordinator would have caused
more turnover than good.

The second reason I mention the changes is that I think they
validate Brian Billick’s knack for discovering coaching talent.
Mr. Billick had a heck of a year himself, quietly leading a
a team decimated by the salary cap to a solid 7-9 year.
Many predicted that the Ravens would have one, maybe two wins.
Billick proved there was life in those young players’ legs. In many
ways this season was even sweeter than that of two years ago,
which ended with the Vince Lombardi trophy above his head.
He didn’t have a good base of talent to work with. The
team was the youngest in the league, filled with players
drafted in the 6th round or below and a sprinkle of good
players. Ray Lewis, the unquestioned star and leader of the
defense, and Michael McCrary, the speedy defensive end,
went down early in the season. As a result, a large portion
of the budget watched from the sidelines.
Still, the Ravens fought and scrapped their way to a respectable record,
ending with a couple of tough losses to playoff bound opponents.
Billick deserves a lot of credit; too bad he didn’t receive
the award he really deserved: coach of the year.

All in all, as the page is flipped on another season, football again promises
to be exciting. There will be some familiar faces on the other sidelines.
The Ravens, still a very young team, get the league’s most exciting player
back with another year of experience under their belt. Brian Billick and Ozzie
Newsome, who was recently knighted the Ravens’ GM, get a little
money to spend on the free agent market. It should be fun to
watch. I can’t wait.

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Frazzled?

Jan 12, 2003

That’s how you feel when haven’t slept regularly in three days.
That’s exactly how I felt in the days right after we left the
hospital. Frazzled.

Little Cambell and his parents both were adjusting. Cambell was
adjusting from mom’s womb to our room. Mom was adjusting to the
everlasting demand that comes with breast feeding; he’s a hungry
little fella. Dad was surrounded in dirty daipers and laundry.
Sleep came in short and sporadic spurts for all of us.
Frazzled is definitely the word for which I was searching.

But frazzled doesn’t describe the current state of affairs –
not exactly anyway. The complaints and hardships of those
first couple of days seem like a close but distant memory.
It feels odd to mention them now. I noted them days ago,
during a time when I certainly felt a bit rough around the edges.
Now, on a more or less full night of sleep
my hardships seem a bit empty. On the other hand, all of it
is still rather true (I have a pile of clothes downstairs to
prove it). Things have settled down quite a bit.

Cambell has been blessedly sleepy during the night. He
wakes every night around the hours of 1 and 4 am. He feeds for
a half hour or so and goes back to bed. My kidless friends
will shriek in horror at my happy attitude. He get’s up
when? My fellow parents will likely turn green with envy.
This, in my new parenting world, constitutes a “good night’s
sleep”. Wake up, change a diaper, give him a bottle or
boob, and it’s back to never-never land. It’s not at a
bad deal at all.

The daytime shakes out in a similar manner. He eats, he poops, he
sleeps in rapid succession. In fact, he likes to combine
these leisure activities. Squirts are often audible
during breast feeding. More often than not, his eyes shut
tightly while a nipple still rests in his mouth.
A wakeful, alert little Cam is available for select times
and a few hours each day. When that occurs, both the wife
and I are left wondering the obvious question: what
do we do with him now?

Our days are broken up by the more than occasional visitor.
This child is very loved. The many feet that have passed
our welcome mat in the last week are a testament to that.
Flowers dot nearly every room. Boy clothes are finally
a reality.

His parents aren’t left out in the cold. The in-laws
came by and helped take down the Christmas decorations.
A neighbor carried our old bedroom furniture away
just before the new began to arrive. One friend patiently
answers every question of an anxious new mom and dad.
Another makes sure those frazzled parents get a good,
healthy (not to mention yummy) meal every day of the
week. It’s good to be me. It’s great to be us.

Those frazzled feelings will undoubtedly return.
There will be long days and longer nights.
They may return in just a few hours
(ammendment: in fact, they kind of did). We aren’t quite
out of the woods yet (we’ll be out in about 17 years and
51 weeks, or so). But there’s a wonderful child sleeping
in the bedroom basinett. He’s worth it.

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The Fountain of Youth

Jan 9, 2003

I’ve found that my son doesn’t particularly like to pee in his diaper.
I suppose that isn’t entirely odd; I wouldn’t want to either. It is
cramped in there. He’s freshly circumcised, so it can’t be too
comfortable. To top it off, you have to wait for daddy or mommy to
recognize your discontent and free you from the task of laying in
your own urine. It doesn’t sound nice at all.

That’s why Cam has thought of a much more efficient system: go when
daddy takes off the diaper. It’s about as glamorous as it sounds.

It’s also not so bad. At this point – about six days in – hazardous
waste duty is just part of the job. The worst part of the occasional
random shower is that it will often soak his outfit, resulting
in its share of dirty looks and upset crys as I remove and then add
two layers of clothing.

What about me? The pee on my shirt is a
(hopefully) tiny badge of honor. The poo on my hands is merely a
flesh wound. The wife and I cackle at the sights and sounds that
greet the other during each diaper changing exercise.
The wife was having a good chuckle about one particular episode until
she realized her foot was wet.

Ever wonder why parents have simply no shame
when it comes to their kids bodily functions? The dad who holds
the kleenex and says, “BLOW!” has been here. The mom who spit
shines the unknown material from a forehead has lived it – morning,
noon, and night. A week in the trenches has me primed. I can only
imagine what a tiny lifetime will do.

I’m sure that, in time, he’ll outgrow this little problem.
While I wait, I have a another, slightly larger problem: yellow,
breast milk shaken, projectile turd squirts. Duck!

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Baby Boy

Jan 6, 2003

Cambell Ray Wootton
I got in my truck on Saturday morning and noticed something interesting – something very interesting indeed. There were two indiscreet towels laying upon the passenger seat. One was blue. One was yellow. They were hand towels – the kind of towels that float about every house, visiting the bathroom on occasion. Why were they in the truck?

The answer was very simple but the answer, you see, elicited a nearly jarring response. The memories of the last few days came rushing back
in a whirl.

New Year’s Day was just about perfect. It was my kind of day. The wife and I slept in until almost 10:30 am. It was raining outside when we woke – the type of rain that glazes the sunlight into grey. The light that did steal its way through the bedroom curtains barely rustled one eyelid, much less two. A good breakfast preceded a very slow day around the house. The wife and I went our separate ways to do our separate things. I warmed up my Xbox for a Superbowl in Madden 2003 and my GameCube for a little special time with Metroid Prime.  The wife went on a bit of an organization binge,clearing out her space under the Christmas tree and straightening wherever she went (it seems that this activity has a name: nesting). The day passed just as a rainy day should: nice and easy. I didn’t even shower until just after I completed a rather long blog entry. We went out to dinner at the TV filled Glory Days Grill and returned home in time to catch a random flick on digital cable.

It was then that my life changed.

A call rang out from the bathroom. “Ken, I think my water broke.”  Your what? That couldn’t be. The wife wasn’t due until January 31st, nearly a month away. Her OB was on vacation, visiting family in California.

But the trickle on her legs was unmistakable. The activities that followed shot by in a flash. Call the hospital. Let the dog out.  Gather my clothes with her’s, which were already neatly packed.  Grab the cameras. Call the grandparents-to-be. Get some things to do – surely this will take a while. Where’s the car seat?  Where’s the baby bag? The on-call doctor said come on in, so we did.

Upon arriving at the hospital, our suspicions were confirmed by the doctor’s words: “Her membrane has ruptured.” A quick sonogram brought relief to both the wife and I. The baby had turned head down and was no longer in a breach position. This baby was going to enter the world the natural way. When, however, was still very much in doubt. The doctor told us that it could take as long as 24 to 48 hours. Since the delivery was premature, he wanted to let it start all by itself; since her water had broken, we would not be allowed to go anywhere. The next time we would leave this hospital we would be carrying our newborn son – yes, our newborn son.  The sonogram finally revealed the mystery of the baby’s sex to us.

What followed was a very long night. The wife started having contractions in earnest (“In earnest”! – somehow, I doubt that really sums it up.) at midnight, about an hour after we had arrived at the hospital. Four grandparents arrived and visited my laboring wife. We sent them home. It could be a while. At about four in the morning, she had dilated to 4 centimeters. The baby was coming and coming quick. We called them back in.

Strike a PoseAt this point, my poor laboring wife was complaining about back pain and, because her premature status basically chained her to the bed, she wanted to talk to someone about drugs. Not one, but two tries later, she had an epidural for the pain. By 7 am, she was fully dilated, completely effaced, and ready to push. And push she did.

To me, it took forever. To her, it must have lasted a lifetime. She pushed and pushed and pushed. She sweated and pushed. She grunted and pushed.  Unlike most children, our baby wanted to enter the world staring at the ceiling, not the floor. This odd positioning warranted some help. Two and a half hours later the doctor decided to do just that. A pair of forceps was the tool of choice. At 9:49 am Cambell Ray Wootton entered the world screaming what can only be described as a blessing to his anxious parents.

Immediately, he was taken to the corner where a pediatrician and baby warmer waited. With a premature baby some precautions need to be taken.  The lungs need to be examined. The blood sugar needs to be checked.  We watched them poke, prod, and clean him from across the room.  I whipped out the video camera.  Time to get some of this on tape. Minutes passed. He was posed for us from afar. More minutes passed. He was handed to my wife. It was an incredible moment, a wonderful moment. I’ve never been less ashamed to say that I wept. The joy was overwhelming. More than two and a half years of trials were over and my newly born son was in my hands. My heart trembled.

The last time I checked, premature babies were supposed to be small.  That wasn’t the case here. Mr. Wootton weighed in at 7 pounds, 2.8 ounces. They say that if the wife had carried him full term, he would have topped 10 pounds. Thank God for small (quite literally, small) blessings.

Those newborn eyes explored the nearby faces. The flashes of my camera made them cringe in retreat. We soon shared our moment with the anxious folks in the waiting room, his grandparents and a good friend of ours, Steph. They quickly made their way to the hospital room to get a first look at the new soul resting against the breast of my wife. Flashes of light continued to dance across his beautiful face.

All that time in the pressure cooker must have made the little tike hungry. The visitors retreated as my wife began her role as a food source. Soon after, it was time for Cambell’s required trip to the nursery. I gave my brave wife a kiss and followed along.

The little guy had some more work to do. He was placed under a warmer and brought to a crispy temperature. His blood sugar was checked. Most importantly, I got to give him his first bath.

Our friend Stephanie, a post partum nurse at this very hospital, had also trailed along to the nursery. One of the real neat things about having her around was that she belonged there.  It was a relief and a lot of fun to have someone you know and trust give you your first lessons in baby bathing. She showed me the ropes and offered a very helping hand with shampooing his full head of hair.  Steph, I really appreciated your presence. I thank you so much.

After he was given a cool little hairdo by another nurse, we were off to visit mom. After a small mob of nurses greeted the new earthling, mommy and baby were reunited. Mommy was really much better – I’m sure drugs had something to do with this.  Baby was happy for the warmth of her chest.

An hour passed and we were off to the recovery room. Here, all three of us would spend the next two full days. The room itself was great. It had two beds, two TVs, a private bathroom and shower, and plenty of space for visitors. None of the amenities went to waste.

The rest of the hospital stay went by in a flash. An endless, but very welcome, parade of guests came to visit their new grandson, nephew, cousin, and future husband. Presents and flowers became permanent residents. Nurses came in to check on the baby. Nurses came in to check on the wife. The hospital staff brought us meals. The baby took occasional trips to the nursery for checkups, tests, vaccinations, a circumcision, and, twice, to let mom and dad get a little shuteye. The care was exceptional.  For a couple of days, the stigma normally associated with a hospital went completely away. We were quite thrilled to be there; thrilled to be under the watchful eye of professionals.

Those two little towels that I spotted on the passenger seat gave the wife, and the seat alike, a little extra protection on the way to the hospital just days ago. They now seemed out of place.

The memories that flooded my senses began to ease. I started the engine, released the emergency brake, slapped the truck in drive, and quietly exited the parking garage. I had to make the quick trip around to the hospital entrance to pick up the wife and my baby boy.  It was time to go home.

The Wootton Family

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I’ve always wanted to make a top ten list of my favorite this
or that of the year. Since I’ve been ignoring my favorite
hobby as of late on this site, I thought that a list of my favorite
games of the year would be in order.

Making the list was more difficult than I thought. I’ve
played a ton of games this year. I was suprised to learn
that a decent amount of them came out in 2001, not 2002, so I had
to trim my list a bit (don’t worry, it did not effect the winner).
I was also surprised to learn that the PC dominated my list.
For someone who owns all three current console systems,
I thought I played them much more.

In the end, my top 5 mostly came down to play time.
How much time did I spend with the game?
Which ones really, truly hooked me?
Which ones busted in to my already busy schedule, possibly
victimizing another game in the process?
In the very end, I was very happy with my choices.

1. Nascar 2002

This choice will surprise a lot of people – it even surprised my
wife. How could a racing game that takes place almost entirely on
oval tracks garner my “GOTY” award? There’s one very simple answer:
online play.

A one hundred lap spin on a Monday night might not sound like a whole
lot of fun. But add 20 other real drivers, who constantly trade
paint and jostle for position, and you have more than an hour of
white knuckle action. Pit stops mean something. You better watch
your tires. You’ll need them for those last 10 laps. The wonderful,
self-policed community at
Online Racin gives me a great playground
in which to play. There’s never a shortage of very good competition.

My enjoyment of the game is enhanced by my enjoyment of the sport.
Each week I get the opportunity to take a spin around the same venue
as the real drivers. Jeff Gordon and I get to spread some rubber around
together.

Just recently, nearly a year after I purchased the game, I renewed my
three month contract with Online Racin and moved up to the next level
of competition. It seems that I’ll be turning left a lot next year
as well.

2. Battlefield 1942

Battlefield took the internet by storm in September. The demo
had me captivated for months. I once heard someone mention that
the best game they played this year was the demo of Battlefield
1942. It didn’t take the release of the real game to know that
they had something special.

Slap 16, 32, or even 64 players on a battlefield and let them go
at it. The missions are based on historical battles.
Ever want to storm the beach at Normandy? Here you can.
Each battlefield is strewn with drivable vehicles. See that
B17 over there? You can fly it. Don’t forget to bring a
couple of buddies along to be man the guns on both the top
and bottom of the plane.
See that tank? Hop in and lay down some justice. And it
doesn’t stop there. Battleships, aircraft carriers,
submarines, and artillery are all fair game.

The focus is on ease of use and quick action but I can’t remember
a war game that did such a good job of making you feel like
you are there. You might run up a hill only to spot a tank.
Just as he sets his sights on you, a buddy flys by and
drops a bomb front and center. Don’t forget to thank him.
That AAA gun on the horizon and the smoke spewing from his
tail means he’ll soon be meeting the ocean.

3. Mafia

Nascar was a surprise to everyone else. Mafia was a surprise to me.
I’ve played Grand Theft Auto. This whole driving, shooting thing
has been done. Hasn’t it? Not like this.

Hop into vintage (well, vintage without the manufacturer’s licence) cars
and take a slow spin around some very seedy corners. It’s the 1930’s
and your luck’s about to change. Chased by the one mob family
only to become the member of another. Time to work your way up the ranks.

Hop in a car and you get a slower version of Grand Theft Auto. Hop out
and you get Max Payne, with a bit more realism and without all of
the special effects from the Matrix. The freedom that the open world
offers is awesome, all rendered beautifully on my screen. It also did a great job
of using my 4.1 Klipsch speakers. O to hear the rain falling on tin
rooftops once again….

A great story holds it all together. The Don keeps you busy. Tony
Soprano
wouldn’t have it any other way.

4. Tony Hawk 3/4

Yes, Tony Hawk 3 came out last year but cut me some slack. I got it for
Christmas. At the time, my wife was a bit unsure of her purchase. I hadn’t
specifically asked for it but there it was under the tree.

I didn’t know extreme sports were my thing. Now I’m a devoted fanboy.
Tony pulls off all sorts of moves. Flipkick over this. Frontside grind
on that. String together a combo to impress the ladies. Get Chuck’s
poor tongue off that pole. The missions are fun and quite addictive.
I spent last January starting an earthquake in San Francisco and
helping some poor kids deal with a bully. Now two other extreme
games occupy my time: its sequel, Tony Hawk 4, and a game
that made my second list, Aggressive Inline.

5. Madden 2003

I won the Superbowl with the
Ravens about an hour ago. All they were
missing was a great receiver, mysteriously named K.Wootton, some
help on the offensive line, a corner from free agency, and
Sam Adams back. Todd Heap came into his own and Jamal Lewis
carried the load (much like in real life). The strech run featured a bruising running attack
with the occasional big play. The Rams didn’t stand a chance.

If you can’t tell, the franchise mode has me hooked. Raise your team
from the ashes. Sign, draft, and cut players. Negotiate their
salaries. Attend the scouting combine. Deal with the salary cap.
Play as many seasons as you want. See what you have during the
preseason. Think I’m done now that I have the Vince Lombardi trophy?
Think again.

That’s the top five. If you like games and you don’t own any of them, get out
to the store (they would also be great presents for some late Christmas shopping).
I’ll add another list sometime with numbers 6 though 10. I’ve already
elected them. I might as well make someone read about them.

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Towering Above

Dec 31, 2002

After meandering about and, finally, repurchasing the books,
I finally gave in to another temptation. Saturday we arrived at the
theater to see one of the big ticket movies of winter, either
The Two Towers or
Die Another Day.
The newest Bond flick wasn’t showing, leaving only the
movie I desperately wanted to see but also desperately wanted to
avoid. After all, I haven’t yet cracked the books for the second time.
Curiousity got the best of me and, with
impending shut down of
my personal life, I thought it best to fill up my schedule sooner rather than
later. So the wife and I went to see the second episode of the Lord of the Rings.

There are certain movies that must be seen on the big screen, where
you can be surrounded by speakers and taken away by the picture
that encompasses your field of vision. Sometimes the urge to be
first in line makes you walk to the ticket booth. Sometimes it’s the fact that
sad acting can be better ignored behind the glitter of the
flickering lights. Sometimes a movie is just so damn good you
must see it in all its 10 foot glory, where a wall of speakers can make
your seat shutter. The Two Towers was definitely one of the latter.

Before Saturday, it was high atop my personal list of must-see-on-the-big-screen movies. Just about any action flick can make
the list –
Bond movies,
any movie with
Arrrnold
in it. Pretty explosions is usually a requirement.
This year, the second
episode of Harry Potter
made my list; a dark movie theater might make its magic just a bit
more magical.

I’m glad The Two Towers found itself on the top. It was incredible.
It was epic. It’s the best movie I’ve seen
this year and one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. I was glued to
my seat. My very pregnant wife jostled a bit in hers but stayed right where
she was.

The first movie was good. It was better than good. I’ve spent about $60
on the
two versions of the DVD. That soundly places it high on my short
list of great movies. The second movie, like the second book,
was better. Braveheart and Gladiator will have some company on
my DVD shelf. I can only hope that Peter Jackson is kind on my
entertainment budget this time around.

The first movie made me think it. The second movie made me say it.
The Lord of the Rings is the
Star Wars of this decade.
Peter Jackson has picked up the ball that George Lucas dropped. The
second movie even reminded me a bit of
The Empire Strikes Back.
It was much darker than the first movie and let the history
established in the first flick of the series take on a life of its own in the second.
The best part is that I have no fear that Ewoks will enter the picture
for The Return of the King. We have our cute little creatures and
these hobbits carry swords.

I have only one question for the director: how about adding a fourth movie
to the mix?
I’d love to see the adventures of the original Hobbit, good old Bilbo
Baggins, in big screen form. That’s where it all started. It would be
a great place to end.

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Uncomfortable

Dec 30, 2002

That’s what the wife is: uncomfortable. She’s uncomfortable standing,
uncomfortable sitting, and, most of all, uncomfortable sleeping.

The ninth month of pregnancy is slightly unkind to a woman’s body.
Her balance is all out of whack. The bellyTM peers freely at the ground;
it’s now the only thing that can see her feet. A teaspoon of salt
results in an inflatable doll. Ever see one of those massive #1
Styrofoam hands at a football game? I can get one in my living
room by just passing the wife some chips. Stomach crunches are things
she used to do in the good old days. A sound night’s sleep is but
a distant memory.

I try to help. I really do (note to self: taking her to the 3 hour
showing of
The Two Towers
would not be a good example). The other
day I formed the “mountain of pillows”, a feeble attempt at
providing relief in bed. I rub her back occasionally (like during hour 2
of The Two Towers). I comfort her in other ways.
I remind her how great she is. I assure
her that we’ve only a month to go (as in “Yikes! Only a month left!
What have we got ourselves into?”).
I try not to run screaming from the house during the more than
occasional
Braxton Hicks
contraction. I remind her what adults often do at night
by sleeping blissfully by her side as she wakes to visit the bathroom
once again.

She ran by the hospital today for a quick check up and ended up staying
for a while. They hooked her to machines and added the contraction
contraption to her bellyTM just to make sure everything is ok.
She laid in a bed and listened to the beautiful sound of the baby’s
heart beat for hours. Thankfully, everything was fine. It was an
uneventful day for her and a slightly nervous one for the father-to-be on the
other end of the phone.

The countdown officially begins tomorrow: one month to go. I’m
quite proud of how the wife has handled the burden. The cute little
bellyTM is a badge of courage. She doesn’t complain much, even as the
simple things become more and more difficult. She’s a trooper and
I suppose that’s just how it should be. In 30 days, her own comfort
will be the furthest thing from her mind.

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Growing Old Together

Dec 29, 2002

I want to wish my wife a very happy birthday on this 29th day of December.
Today, the year flap on the old electric clock flips forward just a bit.

I’ve been accused of being too sappy in my blog — too mushy. I have to say
that I’m guilty as charged (my
Hallmark application is in the mail).
This year I’ve had a lot of happy things to
talk about and a lot of happy things to say. In life, and in marriage,
you have your ups and downs. This year definitely fits in the former
column. A lot of it revolves around the fact that there’s a baby
on the way. My life, and that of my wife’s, is rapidly changing.
It’s an exciting time. But it’s also more than that. Things have just
been, well, good.

My wife isn’t just a small part of the equation. I’m so lucky to
have someone who understands, loves, and can refrain from maiming me on
a daily basis. Sometimes two people just click and there’s no argument,
no doubt that they should be together. “50/50”, the preacher said.
Somehow I still got the better end of the deal.

The wife and I have been through a lot. The hot chick who sat next
to me in a high school class now sits in my living room. We’ve seen
a lot of firsts: jobs, a house, furniture, cars. We’ve grown up together.
We once passed notes in Human Dynamics class. We now prepare to enter parenthood and I’ve never been
more confident of our relationship. To say I’ll a truly lucky guy
just doesn’t say it all.

Jenn, you are my best friend, my lover, and, soon, the mother of my children.
I love you. Have a very happy birthday.

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Looking Past Christmas

Dec 24, 2002

I’ve had a bit of trouble catching on to the Christmas spirit
this year. It has come and went and returned again. It didn’t
really grab hold of me until just last week.

Latching on to that spirit is normally a lot easier. The wife
starts the Christmas tunes just after Halloween. Just
watching the sugar plums dance around her head can right
the most downtrodden soul.

However, my soul isn’t the problem. Neither is the little
Scrooge or Grinch that can hide in us all. It’s not like
I don’t have the time to pause and smell the milk and cookies.
It’s that Christmas just hasn’t been my focus.
After all, for the wife and I, the big event of this year doesn’t
really happen until next. December, a month normally
reserved for shopping frenzies and Christmas wishes, has
been filled with child planning and baby dreams.

Decorating the inside of the house took us a while to finish.
The twinkling lights that line the outside of the house didn’t
get put up until just last weekend. I’ve been dragging my
feet through a combination of laziness and bad weather
(snow one week and rain the next didn’t exactly encourage
me to pull the ladder up to the side of the house).
All eyes were ahead.

All of a sudden Christmas has arrived. Even though I was a bit
late, I jumped on the train just before it pulled into
the station. Last weekend, we were able to spend some time
with family. I got to visit with my sister, see my father,
and hug my mother (ok, I may have given good old dad a hug too).

I’ll soon be preparing to head out to church for a better
reminder of that small child cooing in a manger, wrapped in
swaddling clothes; a King in the making who is truly a
reason to celebrate.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll wake up early, grab some coffee, and
tear into that stack of presents under the tree. As I do,
I won’t be able to resist thinking about just how different
this will be next year.

It’s funny. The very thing that has me looking past Christmas
is one of the best Christmas presents I can imagine, even
if I have to wait until January to open it.

Oh, and Jesus, Happy Birthday!

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