So the holidays are officially here, meaning much of the next two months will be filled with traveling, drinking, eating and way , way too much time spent with distant 'in laws' for whom I have little to no interest in being around. This all started yesterday with Thanksgiving at Monica's parent's house where, of course, the baby stole the show for better or worse.
Despite a beer tragedy (as in not having any- damn you Massachusetts and your pioneer-era drinking laws) and 3-4 hours of overall crankiness from the girl, the day was pretty low-key and successful. Then again, I did not have to change Av's post turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and squash diaper this morning.
She was dressed to impress in what appeared to be some sort of infant-sized wedding dress and dumb little black shoes, and she won everyone over with her cute face and little tricks. I call them tricks because I know she does them on purpose as despite being 10-months-old, she knows that everyone is looking at her because she is adorable, and she knows what kind of reaction she is going to get before she does something. I am in so much trouble when she starts walking and talking.
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because there is no stress of buying gifts, I don't have to go to church and I get to eat. A lot. Unfortunately, much of the day is spent smelling food that I cannot yet have, and usually ends with me feeling like I just took down half of the buffet at Golden Corral. Either way, I'll take it over the hustle and bustle of Christmas and the half-ass holiday that is Easter. (I mean, really, Easter? Come on. Usually I don't even know when it is until like two-days before because it isn't even held in the same month every year. Not to mention Easter Baskets. C'mon, just give the kids a gift certificate to CVS so they can pick out their own candy and maybe a Wiffle Ball bat. Yeah, yeah, I get the whole 'Jesus dying' thing. OK. Just go to church and pray then. Like All Saints Day or whatever).
Christmas is really the holiday that gets me down, to be honest. Sure, it is supposed to be 'joyful' and it is if you are 7-years-old and waiting for Christmas morning ( unless you're me, who is still waiting for that Power Wheel I asked for in 1989), but for adults the entire month of December is nothing but stress- and shopping. Even at the pet store- where I attempted to go today to buy cat food and a new fish for Monica (goldfish have like a 30 second life span. What useless pets)- there were hoards of people stocking up on, well, I don't know, dog beds? I get waiting in line at 4 a.m. for a $200 TV. But your pet does not care what it gets for Christmas. In fact, your pet does not know it is Christmas so save your money.
Christmas also bugs me because of all of the singing. Whether it be traditional carols or new jingles like that one from the Gap commercial that makes me want to punch hole through my TV, they are all irritating and they are all jammed down my throat.
I am hoping that having a baby this year makes the day a little bit more enjoyable for me, as she will be a good excuse for leaving family functions. I am not above making my daughter cry if I want to leave somewhere, either. It is the holidays, kids. Every man for himself. Family functions, to me, are the worst part, especially if it isn't my family. In general, I am a pretty anti-social guy and talking to distant relatives who I don't really know makes me feel very uncomfortable. Believe it or not, talking and being around little kids makes me even more uncomfortable.
The family parties never actually turn out to be as bad as I think they will, but I have had enough isolated bad experiences to keep me from remembering that until it is over. Like last year when I was welcomed by the grandfather of my still-pregnant girlfriend with the statement 'Congratulations, or whatever you want to say about it.' and then forced to participate in a family singing of the 12 Days of Christmas. I have been scarred by a lot of things in my 26 years, this day is at or near the top of the list.
I would actually say that Av has already made this season a little bit more fun for me, as I have been assigned to buy her toys for Christmas while Monica buys the clothes. This means that I essentially get to go to toy departments and pick out whatever it is I would be interested in playing with. Lets be real here, when we spend the whole day together every day the toys are just as important to me as they are to her, if not more.
So far we have a kitchen set, a shopping cart filled with plastic toys and some sort of moving education train but far and away the coolest gift has to be a bin of 10 jumbo rubber bath toys. I am already a big fan of the bath toys we have, there is an octopus, a crab, frog, alligator, marlin, dolphin and dragon (yes, dragon. Do not ask my how a dragon made it in to the sea creatures bath toy bag), but the new toys have a polar bear, seal, otter and turtle- and those are just the ones I can see in the bin. Yes. I have been reduced to being excited over bath toys.
So, I suppose we have a small gap before the real holiday fun begins now, but not much. We are taking the baby on her first long road trip, out to Western Mass to visit my family next weekend, and I am sure the holiday stress will really begin when the baby wakes up around hour two of the trip and wants to get out of the car seat. From there it will be on to all of the fun and games that come with the month of December. I don't want to make it seem like I am completely miserable and negative about Christmas, there are things that I like, too. But the things that I like seem to come in small doses and I never seem to get to spend enough time with the people I actually want to see. My advice would be to buy stock in Budweiser, because memories start early and kid toys are a lot more fun with a buzz.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Episode 31- Baby kiting
Many days I am faced with a simple choice: To blog or to nap? Lately, sleep has been winning that battle more often than not. Sorry. Also, I wish there was another word for 'blog' because when people talk about me 'blogging' makes me feel like a euro kid at a coffee shop with a stupid hat and tight jeans. I guess I could go with 'Internet journal' instead. Nope. Still dumb. Anyway, that is not the point of this post.
Last week the baby and I were faced for the first time with what has been my biggest fear since taking this job. Bad weather. Living in New England for all of my almost 26 years I can say with confidence that there is nothing in life that ruins my day more than winter. Usually from about mid-November to the beginning of May I am completely miserable. Depressed, cold, tired- just miserable.
I despise winter. I hate it. Snow sucks. It is cold and wet and it makes everything more difficult. You can't drive, and if you can you risk getting run in to by the other morons on the road. You have to move your car for snow emergencies, spend a stupid amount of money to heat the apartment, wear sweaters, scrape ice and did I mention that it is cold? I am not even sure why I still live here. I think it is because it is a hell of a lot easier- and cheaper- than uprooting and moving elsewhere.
Anyway, toward the end of last week the baby woke me up at the usual 6:15 and I looked outside to see driving, pouring rain. I took a peek out on to the porch to see what the temperature was like and sure enough, it was freezing, too.
Bad weather with the baby scares me because so much of our day is spent going back and forth from places, either in the car or in the stroller. Winter means less driving, no walks, no parks and lower motivation to take trips to places like the animal shelter. Winter means we are stuck inside.
Now, in my child free days, being stuck inside would just give me an excuse to get drunk during the day and probably allow me to watch a lot of bad TV. With a baby it means that I have to somehow keep her entertained and keep myself from going stir crazy. This is a frightening prospect and I am woefully under prepared for it.
Luckily for us, the weather cleared up the other day but it got me thinking a lot, too, because I know Old Man Winter has already mapped out his route and programmed his GPS for Salem, MA. It won't be long at all. Thus, I am soliciting ideas for what to do with a baby all day when you can't leave the house. Some have suggested fantastic ideas already, like the baby kite above, submitted by my friend Joe. Joe will have kids soon, too, I am sure. We can go baby kiting together. I look forward to that.
Other than that, I don't have much. We have plenty of toys and videos, but those only go so far. Maybe I can use this time to develop some sort of talent or hobby. We shall see how that goes. Perhaps woodworking.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Episode 30: Captive animals: bringing joy and disapointment to children everywhere
I remember my Mom telling me once that she had to take my sister to a birthday party for one of her friends that was taking place at the local animal shelter. To me, this seemed like the absolute worst, most depressing birthday in history. Imagine, 'happy birthday! you can come play with these sad, lonely, homeless animals. AND YOU CAN'T TAKE ANY HOME!!! YAY! Awful. Happy Birthday, kid. Here's a kick in the knee for good measure.
I think the purpose of the animal shelter is great, keeping adorable pets alive and finding good homes for them. However, going to the shelter has always made me sad. This is still the case, but now that I have a baby who needs to be entertained it is an incredible time-killing resource.
This baby, like I am sure most babies do, thinks that animals are the funniest thing in the world. She loves ducks and puppies and birds and cats. They are like living, moving toys. We do have two cats here at the house, as I have mentioned (and you'll all get to meet them as soon as I get enough motivation to put all of the multi-media involved with that blog post up here) , but LC and Nug tend to bolt in the other direction, with good reason, whenever the baby is around.
So, as part of our Tuesday Time Killing we decided that we would take a trip to the shelter and gawk at some homeless animals, hopefully get a few laughs out of the girl.
We arrived at the shelter to find it bustling, which always makes me happy, with at least four or five different pairs of interested folks walking dogs around and petting cats. Of course, as is always the case wherever we go, the place was also crawling with the elderly. Many of them just killing time by petting captive animals. This made me sad.
We went to see the puppies first, because these tend to make her laugh the most, but for some reason she didn't seem to interested in them, too loud maybe, so we chose the cats instead. What I learned is that the puppy section of the animal shelter is exponentially more depressing than the kitten section. Cats at the shelter lead essentially the same lives they would in your home, only in a cage. They sleep, play, eat, mess around, play some more, cause trouble and the like. Sure, they are happy to see humans and to get out of the cage- it can't be fun in there- but they are no where near as depressed about it as dogs.
Walking through the dog section was like walking down death row. Every cage, all the way down the line, the dogs were sitting in front of the bars looking out. Excited every time someone walked by, waiting to get out of there. No one was playing, no one was sleeping, no one was pooping, they were just staring at us. I am decidedly not a dog person, but even I felt bad enough to want to take them home.
(On a side note, I find that I get a lot of back lash for not being a dog person. It isn't that I don't like dogs, I just think they are annoying. I am not going to do the dog vs. cats debate here, all I will say is that dogs have to go outside to poop- which you then have to pick up in some sort of weird reverse baggy move-, they bark, and they always smell. Not to mention dog people are WAY too weird with their pets. Cats, on the other hand, poop in a neat little box, smell only rarely, and don't make all that much noise. Plus, they are more fun to mess with and you can play with them inside of a small apartment without worrying about tearing up everything that you own).
The cats provided at least 45 minutes of solid entertainment for the both of us, and there were at least three that we considered taking home before coming to our senses. I could tell the baby liked the cats because she screamed the entire time. This is not a cry scream or an afraid scream, this is a high-pitched, top of her lungs, excited scream. This is what she does when she is super happy. Which is cute, I guess, unless you are in public or have a headache.
So, the shelter trip was fun and I am sure there are more to follow. One final story I have to tell before we go. We were in the cat room looking at some furry little guys when I heard a loud bang and a thump. I look over to find a dazed and embarrassed old man picking himself up off the ground with a little help from one of the volunteers. Like a bird, he had mistook a glass window panel for a door. Walked flush in to it and nearly knocked himself out. Ahhhh old people.
I think the purpose of the animal shelter is great, keeping adorable pets alive and finding good homes for them. However, going to the shelter has always made me sad. This is still the case, but now that I have a baby who needs to be entertained it is an incredible time-killing resource.
This baby, like I am sure most babies do, thinks that animals are the funniest thing in the world. She loves ducks and puppies and birds and cats. They are like living, moving toys. We do have two cats here at the house, as I have mentioned (and you'll all get to meet them as soon as I get enough motivation to put all of the multi-media involved with that blog post up here) , but LC and Nug tend to bolt in the other direction, with good reason, whenever the baby is around.
So, as part of our Tuesday Time Killing we decided that we would take a trip to the shelter and gawk at some homeless animals, hopefully get a few laughs out of the girl.
We arrived at the shelter to find it bustling, which always makes me happy, with at least four or five different pairs of interested folks walking dogs around and petting cats. Of course, as is always the case wherever we go, the place was also crawling with the elderly. Many of them just killing time by petting captive animals. This made me sad.
We went to see the puppies first, because these tend to make her laugh the most, but for some reason she didn't seem to interested in them, too loud maybe, so we chose the cats instead. What I learned is that the puppy section of the animal shelter is exponentially more depressing than the kitten section. Cats at the shelter lead essentially the same lives they would in your home, only in a cage. They sleep, play, eat, mess around, play some more, cause trouble and the like. Sure, they are happy to see humans and to get out of the cage- it can't be fun in there- but they are no where near as depressed about it as dogs.
Walking through the dog section was like walking down death row. Every cage, all the way down the line, the dogs were sitting in front of the bars looking out. Excited every time someone walked by, waiting to get out of there. No one was playing, no one was sleeping, no one was pooping, they were just staring at us. I am decidedly not a dog person, but even I felt bad enough to want to take them home.
(On a side note, I find that I get a lot of back lash for not being a dog person. It isn't that I don't like dogs, I just think they are annoying. I am not going to do the dog vs. cats debate here, all I will say is that dogs have to go outside to poop- which you then have to pick up in some sort of weird reverse baggy move-, they bark, and they always smell. Not to mention dog people are WAY too weird with their pets. Cats, on the other hand, poop in a neat little box, smell only rarely, and don't make all that much noise. Plus, they are more fun to mess with and you can play with them inside of a small apartment without worrying about tearing up everything that you own).
The cats provided at least 45 minutes of solid entertainment for the both of us, and there were at least three that we considered taking home before coming to our senses. I could tell the baby liked the cats because she screamed the entire time. This is not a cry scream or an afraid scream, this is a high-pitched, top of her lungs, excited scream. This is what she does when she is super happy. Which is cute, I guess, unless you are in public or have a headache.
So, the shelter trip was fun and I am sure there are more to follow. One final story I have to tell before we go. We were in the cat room looking at some furry little guys when I heard a loud bang and a thump. I look over to find a dazed and embarrassed old man picking himself up off the ground with a little help from one of the volunteers. Like a bird, he had mistook a glass window panel for a door. Walked flush in to it and nearly knocked himself out. Ahhhh old people.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Episode 29: Sleep schemes
Since the day Av was born getting her to take a nap during the day has been a constant battle. She is just too active, too interested in what you are doing and too stubborn to go down without a fight. This has created some problems, most notably in the sense that if she doesn't nap, then I don't get to nap. If I don't get to nap, I get grouchy, and no one wants that. (On a less important note, I would say her lack of sleep is the number one reason this blog isn't updated more frequently, but the number two reason is my own laziness so we'll give her a pass).
This also means that I will occasionally randomly fall asleep in inappropriate places. Like on the floor while we are playing. Or at the kitchen table when I try to feed her. I always remember as a kid wondering why my dad had to 'rest his eyes' every day in the afternoon. Now I get it.
To make matters worse, anyone and everyone that we know, with or without children, seem to think that they are experts on this sort of thing. First it is the 'oh my, she should be sleeping more than that!' followed by some useless, know it all advice that never works. Other parents are the worst at giving advice, because for some reason, they fail to realize that every kid is different and think that just because their precious little loser did something one way our child has to do it the same.
(OK, maybe calling their children 'losers' was out of line, but prior to becoming a father I hated children and having a baby did little to change this. Sure, I love my own kid, but I still can't really stand being around or hearing about anyone else's)
The fact of the matter is that, for whatever reason, Av is just too excited and high strung most days to put in any significant sleep. She will nap for 15-30 min at a time, and about once a week her body will force her in to taking an epic two-hour break, but even getting those naps started is a challenge.
So, with this essentially becoming a way of life for me, I now find myself in a battle with an infant over sleep on a daily basis. Taking a ride in the car is always the most effective method, as the baby is lulled to sleep by the motion and vibrations of the road. This is a bad habit to get in to, however, as going for a drive is not always appropriate, and she is growing out of her snap-in car seat very fast. (Part of Av's many wonderful resistances to sleep also includes an inability to remain sleeping if she is moved from one area to another. Thus, I cannot take her out of the car seat and bring her upstairs without ruining the nap).
As for non car naps, they are essentially non existent. On occasion, if she is tired enough and I feed her a warm bottle she will fall asleep in my arms, but again, if I try to move her anywhere she is up right away.
So, over time I have learned that the key to naps is to make her as tired as humanly possible and force her body in to passing out.
This was our plan yesterday.
After a failed morning nap (ruined by our incredibly annoying and inconsiderate neighbors- more on them below),we set out for a few errands in the hope that she would take a car seat nap and be half way pleasant for the rest of the day.
We had a fun little trip to the pet store and the animal shelter (she likes to laugh at the captive pets), but she failed to sleep in the car at any point during the trip, so I was forced to improvise. What followed was an attempt to tire her out by making her visit anyone and everyone that I could think of. First, it was a stop at the old store I used to work at, Athlete's Corner (home to some loyal bog readers), where we spent about a half hour socializing, something that I thought would wear her out, but did not.
Next, it was off for a little walk to the liqueur store and grocery store to kill some time. Still no dice. Finally, I decided to drag her back to Salem and in to my current place of employment, the Beer Works, where I knew my friend was bar tending. At the very least, I thought, the 15 minute drive would be enough to put her over the top. It wasn't. We spent another half hour there where she was fawned over by waitresses and Brazilian cooks alike. This did a lot to stroke her little ego (you can't blame them, I mean, she is adorable) but little to tire her out.
So, with my failed mission behind me we returned home and waited for Monica, who always seems better at this sleep thing than I am. The one good thing about the lack of naps is that she does sleep much better at night, pretty much straight through now, but unlike her, Mom and Dad don't go to bet at 6:30, so the early morning wake up calls are tougher for us to handle.
This brings me to my neighbors. After another day of not napping today the tired, grouchy feeling that both of us had finally came to a head around 1:30. With both of us irritated, a play session in the living room turned in to a tear-filled fit and a hasty carry down to the car for a sleep ride. Just one trip around the block did the trick, she was passed out like she had been under aged drinking on prom night.
I carried her upstairs in the car seat, put her in her room and quietly closed the door. I had just settled in on the couch, ready to nap myself, when the McSlammerson family that lives downstairs came home.
There are only four of them, Mom, her boyfriend and two middle-school aged girls, but whenever they come home it sounds like a stampede of rhinos. I don't even think it is the girls that make the most noise, either.
I have particular disdain for the mother because she does nothing with her life and she appears to be very mean to her kids. She has no job and seemingly no life. She just sits around all day listening to music and not taking down her Halloween decorations three weeks later.
Now, I understand that I, too, am around all day, but I have a baby with me. She is alone. Her kids are 10 and 8. Get a job. And don't give me that 'art school' BS either because I know that you only go at night. The boyfriend is a nice guy, but I am not sure what he does, either. He is back and forth during the day, and spends most nice evenings skateboarding in the street in front of the house. Yes. Adult skateboarding. Unless you're getting paid adults should never skateboard. I like playing basketball. Do you know when the last time I had a chance to play basketball was? Again. Your kids are in middle school. Get a job.
The problem, I suppose, is not with their seemingly useless lives, it is more with the amount of noise they make in the process of doing nothing. Every time they leave or come home the doors are slammed. I mean SLAMMED, to the point where they shake the house. This is totally un called for. We share a back door that requires some extra effort to close, sure, but when they leave it sounds like they attach a boulder to the door knob by a string and let it roll down the street until the door is slammed through the frame.
To make a long rant shorter, the Slam Family decided to come home about ten minutes after I put Av down. Not only did they slam all of the doors, but Mean Mom was also yelling at one of her poor children ,and their dog was barking to go out. Thus, to add to the noise, my baby started crying. Thanks, idiots. I live my life like an old person, maybe we should move to an old person apartment building, too. They never make noise. Well, except for when the ambulance comes.
This also means that I will occasionally randomly fall asleep in inappropriate places. Like on the floor while we are playing. Or at the kitchen table when I try to feed her. I always remember as a kid wondering why my dad had to 'rest his eyes' every day in the afternoon. Now I get it.
To make matters worse, anyone and everyone that we know, with or without children, seem to think that they are experts on this sort of thing. First it is the 'oh my, she should be sleeping more than that!' followed by some useless, know it all advice that never works. Other parents are the worst at giving advice, because for some reason, they fail to realize that every kid is different and think that just because their precious little loser did something one way our child has to do it the same.
(OK, maybe calling their children 'losers' was out of line, but prior to becoming a father I hated children and having a baby did little to change this. Sure, I love my own kid, but I still can't really stand being around or hearing about anyone else's)
The fact of the matter is that, for whatever reason, Av is just too excited and high strung most days to put in any significant sleep. She will nap for 15-30 min at a time, and about once a week her body will force her in to taking an epic two-hour break, but even getting those naps started is a challenge.
So, with this essentially becoming a way of life for me, I now find myself in a battle with an infant over sleep on a daily basis. Taking a ride in the car is always the most effective method, as the baby is lulled to sleep by the motion and vibrations of the road. This is a bad habit to get in to, however, as going for a drive is not always appropriate, and she is growing out of her snap-in car seat very fast. (Part of Av's many wonderful resistances to sleep also includes an inability to remain sleeping if she is moved from one area to another. Thus, I cannot take her out of the car seat and bring her upstairs without ruining the nap).
As for non car naps, they are essentially non existent. On occasion, if she is tired enough and I feed her a warm bottle she will fall asleep in my arms, but again, if I try to move her anywhere she is up right away.
So, over time I have learned that the key to naps is to make her as tired as humanly possible and force her body in to passing out.
This was our plan yesterday.
After a failed morning nap (ruined by our incredibly annoying and inconsiderate neighbors- more on them below),we set out for a few errands in the hope that she would take a car seat nap and be half way pleasant for the rest of the day.
We had a fun little trip to the pet store and the animal shelter (she likes to laugh at the captive pets), but she failed to sleep in the car at any point during the trip, so I was forced to improvise. What followed was an attempt to tire her out by making her visit anyone and everyone that I could think of. First, it was a stop at the old store I used to work at, Athlete's Corner (home to some loyal bog readers), where we spent about a half hour socializing, something that I thought would wear her out, but did not.
Next, it was off for a little walk to the liqueur store and grocery store to kill some time. Still no dice. Finally, I decided to drag her back to Salem and in to my current place of employment, the Beer Works, where I knew my friend was bar tending. At the very least, I thought, the 15 minute drive would be enough to put her over the top. It wasn't. We spent another half hour there where she was fawned over by waitresses and Brazilian cooks alike. This did a lot to stroke her little ego (you can't blame them, I mean, she is adorable) but little to tire her out.
So, with my failed mission behind me we returned home and waited for Monica, who always seems better at this sleep thing than I am. The one good thing about the lack of naps is that she does sleep much better at night, pretty much straight through now, but unlike her, Mom and Dad don't go to bet at 6:30, so the early morning wake up calls are tougher for us to handle.
This brings me to my neighbors. After another day of not napping today the tired, grouchy feeling that both of us had finally came to a head around 1:30. With both of us irritated, a play session in the living room turned in to a tear-filled fit and a hasty carry down to the car for a sleep ride. Just one trip around the block did the trick, she was passed out like she had been under aged drinking on prom night.
I carried her upstairs in the car seat, put her in her room and quietly closed the door. I had just settled in on the couch, ready to nap myself, when the McSlammerson family that lives downstairs came home.
There are only four of them, Mom, her boyfriend and two middle-school aged girls, but whenever they come home it sounds like a stampede of rhinos. I don't even think it is the girls that make the most noise, either.
I have particular disdain for the mother because she does nothing with her life and she appears to be very mean to her kids. She has no job and seemingly no life. She just sits around all day listening to music and not taking down her Halloween decorations three weeks later.
Now, I understand that I, too, am around all day, but I have a baby with me. She is alone. Her kids are 10 and 8. Get a job. And don't give me that 'art school' BS either because I know that you only go at night. The boyfriend is a nice guy, but I am not sure what he does, either. He is back and forth during the day, and spends most nice evenings skateboarding in the street in front of the house. Yes. Adult skateboarding. Unless you're getting paid adults should never skateboard. I like playing basketball. Do you know when the last time I had a chance to play basketball was? Again. Your kids are in middle school. Get a job.
The problem, I suppose, is not with their seemingly useless lives, it is more with the amount of noise they make in the process of doing nothing. Every time they leave or come home the doors are slammed. I mean SLAMMED, to the point where they shake the house. This is totally un called for. We share a back door that requires some extra effort to close, sure, but when they leave it sounds like they attach a boulder to the door knob by a string and let it roll down the street until the door is slammed through the frame.
To make a long rant shorter, the Slam Family decided to come home about ten minutes after I put Av down. Not only did they slam all of the doors, but Mean Mom was also yelling at one of her poor children ,and their dog was barking to go out. Thus, to add to the noise, my baby started crying. Thanks, idiots. I live my life like an old person, maybe we should move to an old person apartment building, too. They never make noise. Well, except for when the ambulance comes.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Episode 28: New stuff.
You know how almost every time you see a band play live there is always that time when the singer walks up to the microphone and says 'Now we're gonna play some new stuff!' and then everybody cheers? I hate that. Drives me nuts. First, hearing the new song is useless to me. I have never heard it before so I can't be excited about it, and I sure as hell can't decide if I like it when it is being blasted out of amps that are turned up to 11 and I have no idea what the singer is actually saying. Second, if by chance I do like it, there is no way I am going to remember that song even 10 minutes later, let alone the next day or when the new album comes out in three weeks. Just wait until the album comes out, guys. We're already at your show, we already like you, we will all probably buy it anyway.
With that preface, I am gonna break my own rule in a way and 'hit you with some new stuff' today, as my kid has developed quite a bit in the last few weeks, and it is pretty humorous.
Aside from being able to eat real foods, like noodles, bananas, olives and cheerios, she is also able to stand up on her own. albeit for a few seconds at a time. This makes for some entertaining moments, and a few dangerous incidents (she nearly knocked herself out with a three hole punch the other day), and means that she is always about to discover something she has never seen before. Among her favorite new things are, plastic bottles, plastic kitchen utensils, anything in the refrigerator and pens.
Honestly, I know it seems like a cliche' parental thing to say, but there really is something new that she does ever day. The picture above shows her with her new 'pet'- one of those $10 remote control puppies they sell at Walgreens. This would be a pretty crappy toy if she were any older, but for all intents and purposes it seems to be a success.
She is pretty funny with it, even though she knows it isn't a real dog. Instead of actually playing with the dog, she spends most of her time trying to use the bone-shaped remote control that comes with it. She even tries to press the buttons, but her little fingers aren't quite strong enough yet.
She has been around dogs and cats most of her life, but I had the pleasure of witnessing what I believe to be the first time that she has ever noticed a bird. Sure, we go see the ducks at the park a few times a week but, for the most part, ducks stay in the water and if they fly, it is usually like 6 inches off of the ground. Yesterday she discovered the magic of high, soaring sea gulls, and it was absolutely hysterical.
With the weather uncharacteristically beautiful for November yesterday we took a walk around the neighborhood and eventually ended up on a bench next to the Palmer Cove Yacht Club. We sat and watched the boats and socialized with the neighbors (Spanish women, for some reason, are magnetically drawn to Av. Everywhere we go if there is a Spanish woman there, she will come talk to us. And there are a lot of Spanish women in Palmer Cove).
In any event, as we were sitting on the bench some woman came along and decided to feed the seagulls some stale hamburger rolls. Naturally, we were swarmed by birds and this kid could not have been happier. She must have laughed for 10 minutes straight, but the real moment of the day was when she noticed them flying above her head. Her face went from laughter to awe instantly as they soared above her. She tried desperately to follow them with her eyes without tumbling over, but could never quite get that balance down. Yes, the miracle of flight finally realized by an infant. Nice.
Being an Old person- revisited
As I have mentioned in previous posts, Av and I lead the same lives as old people, further evidenced by out afternoon sitting on a bench looking at birds yesterday. Today, again, this was reinforced for us when I had a moment in the Walmart parking lot.
Now, shopping at Walmart at 9 a.m. is definitely an old person thing to do, and I am OK with that. We walk around slowly and wait forever at the check out and dodge clueless drivers in the parking lot, but I guess that is to be expected. We don't have anywhere to go anyway. But today was extra disturbing for me because realized as I looked through the parking lot that the car I used to feel cool for driving is actually an old person ride. Damn it.
When we had the baby I was forced to trade in my 2-door Saturn for something more practical, so I went to the dealer and ended up with a good old American made Chevy Impala.
Now, my Impala doesn't exactly look like this.
Or this.
or this.
In fact, it looks exactly like this.
But I still feel kind of cool when I drive it because it has a big engine and it's fast. Unfortunately, today killed any cool feelings I had about my car. Walking around Walmart was a disaster, as the elderly were everywhere, more so than usual, and were doing extra-old things, like arguing about prices with the cashiers (it is my fault, really, I now go to the Walmart on 114 in Danvers, which is right next to an elderly and assisted living complex). When I walked out of the store I looked around and noticed that there were Chevy Impalas like mine every where. Red ones, blue ones, white, gray, and every old person's favorite- gold.
Demoralized, I packed up the baby int he car, put on my left hand turn signal and drove 15 mph all the way home.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Episode 27: Blogger's notebook
Today I will be doing a blog version of what was once my favorite thing to do as a journalist: The reporter's notebook. It sounds all fancy and official, 'reporter's notebook,' like my notebook is filled with so many inside tidbits that the public is lucky to have me share with them. In reality, it is just a bunch of crap that A. I am too lazy to make in to a larger story, B. Is something that I feel is entirely unimportant but know I will catch shit for if I don't mention, and C. something that someone I begrudgingly had to keep a good relationship with in order to get information from 'suggested' that I write about.
Well, with this blog it is no different. Only this and future 'blogger's notebook's' will be done purely out of laziness. I'm running out of good ideas to write about, it seems, and the baby has slept a total of about 10 minutes this week, so I am dragging ass and slacking on the 'blog site,' as my Dad calls it. Sorry, folks. Think of it as seeing your favorite band live on a night where they are really hungover and uninspired.
Under the warning label it listed what was restricted from being dumped. Furniture, rubbish, metal and 'waste'. (If someone can explain the difference between rubbish and waste you are a smarter person than I). Next to said sign sat a broken folding chair, two recycle bins filled with what appeared to be old gym bags, broken CD cases and what looked like a portable air compressor, one broken window blind and a filthy pair of black sneakers. I am pretty sure all of those restrictions were violated, and I am willing to bet, unless it was mounted on a tree, the closed circuit surveillance camera did little to catch the perpetrator.
...
'Um. No.'
Well, with this blog it is no different. Only this and future 'blogger's notebook's' will be done purely out of laziness. I'm running out of good ideas to write about, it seems, and the baby has slept a total of about 10 minutes this week, so I am dragging ass and slacking on the 'blog site,' as my Dad calls it. Sorry, folks. Think of it as seeing your favorite band live on a night where they are really hungover and uninspired.
...
Today I took the next step toward being a full on dad (you know, aside from fathering a child, spending half of my paycheck to feed her and bitching about the heat being turned up) when I woke up this morning, walked over to my closet and for the first time in my life put on a bathrobe. I have owned this robe for several years, a very soft, fleecy Christmas present from when my dad used to manage the warehouse at some yuppie LL Bean rip-off type company, but I wore it sparingly as up until this point I have never been much of a robe guy.
Aside from initially feeling like a sex offender (Monica told me I looked like Grover's tall, creepy cousin who had to knock on doors before he moved in to the neighborhood) I took a liking to the robe and wore it most of the morning. I also confirmed my suspicion that the Snuggie is nothing more than a reverse bath robe without a little cloth belt. Scam.
...
I have never been the type of guy to take pictures, in fact, I have never owned a camera until about three weeks ago when I accidentally broke Monica's and bought her a new one only to find out that she had a protection plan on it. Long story short, we couldn't scam Staples and we now have two identical cameras. In any event, I wish I had one of those cameras with me this morning.
For about two months a trash bag filled with old clothes has been kicking around the house, and I decided today was the day that I get off my lazy ass and take it to the Planet Aid drop box. The nearest one to my house is located in a parking lot in between a sub shop and a transmission repair garage that looks more like a place where teenagers go to be murdered on prom night by a cult of the undead. There are two drop boxes in the back of the lot and both have very large, very intimidating warnings on them that say 'NOTICE: THIS BOX PROTECTED BY CLOSED CIRCUIT CAMERA. NO DUMPING ALLOWED' (That's what she said).
Under the warning label it listed what was restricted from being dumped. Furniture, rubbish, metal and 'waste'. (If someone can explain the difference between rubbish and waste you are a smarter person than I). Next to said sign sat a broken folding chair, two recycle bins filled with what appeared to be old gym bags, broken CD cases and what looked like a portable air compressor, one broken window blind and a filthy pair of black sneakers. I am pretty sure all of those restrictions were violated, and I am willing to bet, unless it was mounted on a tree, the closed circuit surveillance camera did little to catch the perpetrator.
...
When I was between the ages of 19-21 I did my fair share of scamming people in to giving me beer. I can remember one night where a bunch of us went around to different liquor stores saying that we left our ID's in the car in the hopes that someone would just say 'don't worry about it.' It took an hour or so, but eventually it worked.
Last night at the bar I encountered the single most pathetic attempt to drink under aged in history. Around 11 p.m. about 6 kids walked in and ordered beer, four guys and two girls. All four guys had ID's that were either real or real enough that I couldn't tell, and all had just turned 21 in the past few months. The two girls, however, were only 20. I know this because they told me in the following ways.
The first girl pulls out her ID and hands it to me. DOB 6/20/89. Really?
'I was hoping you would just look at my picture and ignore the date. If I tip you really well, can I still drink?'
'Um. No.'
So, not the best effort I have ever seen, but her friend topped it with this gem.
'What if I have an ID that says I'm 21, but I'm really not. Would you confiscate it?'
'Um. No. But I'm also not going to serve you.'
'But, it says I'm 21.'
'But you're not.'
'So.'
'So I can't serve you.'
'What if I have my friend go to the store and I bring in my own beer.'
'Seriously?'
'Yeah. Just give me a glass.'
'Not a chance.'
Wow. Just wow.
...
So I mentioned before that Av hasn't been sleeping much, and I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that she has started to eat real food and I think it makes her gassy and constipated. She has an outrageous amount of teeth for a child her age, six with more on the way, therefore, we have decided that it is time to introduce her to foods that are not just unidentifiable mush.
She likes bananas, sweet potato fries and cheerios, but one thing she is going to town on a lot lately is oatmeal. It doesn't even matter what kind of oatmeal, or what is in it, she loves it. As a result, there have been a multitude of poop incidents. In fact, almost every morning I wake up to a steaming load in her diaper. When she has been keeping me up all night as it is, that is not a good way to start the day.
That said, even I had to laugh at the latest poop catastrophe that took place on Tuesday. Somewhere around noon she was in the bath tub getting the stink of her last oatmeal dump off of her when she instantly stopped playing and splashing around, squinted her eyes and let out what I thought was a fart. It was classic cliche' bathtub fart. There were bubbles, she let off this little giggle afterward. It was funny. Until I saw the turd float to the top of the tub. Needless to say, the bath ended then and there and the strenuous task of removing the turd without touching it, or letting it touch anything in the bath tub began.
...
So that is it. That is my time. Tonight marks my final time that I will be doing the Item a favor covering School Committee meetings. I realized that if you quit a job that you hate but still go back every two weeks to help them out, it defeats the purpose. So, I'm done. That's it. I'm out. Another year or so as a stay at home dad, then it is off to the real world again. Now if only I knew what I wanted to be when I grow up...
Monday, November 9, 2009
Episode 26: I hope DSS isn't reading this
When I was growing up my parents used to like to reminisce about all of the times that something terrible happened or almost happened to me as a baby. There was the time I got the pea suck up my nose and had to go to the hospital, or the time that I fell down a flight of stairs, bounced off of my head and was caught inches away from slamming in to the front door. This was funny to them, as I was admittedly the 'experimental child.'
Aside from a general lack of motivation, inability to do simple math and occasionally crippling anxiety (none of which can be directly blamed on the incidents listed above) I feel like I grew up to be a fairly well-adjusted, intelligent adult. Sure, some of the effects of being the experimental child still linger. I have terrible handwriting and some pretty severe cognitive confusion thanks to a decision to force me in to being right-handed, despite the fact that originally I was clearly a lefty, but for the most part I have learned to live my life as a normal, functioning human.
With this experience under my belt, I have taken a similar experimental approach to raising Av, which has resulted in my fair share of 'oh shit' moments throughout the day. The number one most frequent incident that I come across is the bumping of the head. This is something that used to freak m out a lot at first, but now after a few months has become less of a concern for me.
As she approaches 9-months, the baby is getting to the point where she can just about stand up on her own, and is not too far from being able to walk. This creates a lot of humorous 'milestone' moments, but at the same time, her lack of balance creates a lot of near-miss injuries, too.
Much of our time at home is spent playing on the floor, where I like to strategically set up some of the 257,000 pillows we have in our house to create soft landings for her. I cover up the corners of the walls, places where she could fall backwards and the area around the coffee table. Somehow, she always finds a way to fall in between the pillows and bounce her head off of the hard wood floors.
Most of the bumps are pretty mild, actually, I am never too far away, so I always have a hand on her to break the fall, but babies heads are huge, I think it is something like 98 percent of their total body weight (this number has not been researched), so much of the time she just tips over head first and takes a little bump.
Due to the pageantry of the crying that takes place after the fall, I used to take this pretty seriously, until I realized that it is just the stigma of bumping her head that makes her cry, not the actual pain. Sure, once in a while she might whack it pretty good, but mostly it is just a little bump.
The real pain comes from injuries she brings upon herself, like when she is playing with something hard and plastic, like one of those pointless baby toys that just has three spinning ducks on it, and she slams it off of her nose because she has no motor skills. Or when she uses her ridiculously sharp teeth to bite her own lip.
Th other day she was sitting in the high chair eating a cookie when she broke out in a panicked cry, you know, one of those delayed ones where she is so upset there is no noise coming out, just a purple face, squinted eyes and some tears. Turns out, she got a little too excited with the cookie and ate her own finger. She has bitten me before, trust me, those bastards are sharp.
So the lesson I have learned here is that taking care of children is less about feeding them and keeping them entertained as it is about preventing catastrophic injury at every turn, and then attempting to explain to someone who can't speak and who probably isn't sure what your saying, that trying to climb the bookshelf to grab and eat a three hole punch is not safe.
Thus, the experiment continues on a daily basis. Hopefully, her experiences will shape her in to an upstanding, successful, well adjusted adult like her father. If not, it will probably be my fault. Which I am sure will be mentioned in therapy around age 16.
Aside from a general lack of motivation, inability to do simple math and occasionally crippling anxiety (none of which can be directly blamed on the incidents listed above) I feel like I grew up to be a fairly well-adjusted, intelligent adult. Sure, some of the effects of being the experimental child still linger. I have terrible handwriting and some pretty severe cognitive confusion thanks to a decision to force me in to being right-handed, despite the fact that originally I was clearly a lefty, but for the most part I have learned to live my life as a normal, functioning human.
With this experience under my belt, I have taken a similar experimental approach to raising Av, which has resulted in my fair share of 'oh shit' moments throughout the day. The number one most frequent incident that I come across is the bumping of the head. This is something that used to freak m out a lot at first, but now after a few months has become less of a concern for me.
As she approaches 9-months, the baby is getting to the point where she can just about stand up on her own, and is not too far from being able to walk. This creates a lot of humorous 'milestone' moments, but at the same time, her lack of balance creates a lot of near-miss injuries, too.
Much of our time at home is spent playing on the floor, where I like to strategically set up some of the 257,000 pillows we have in our house to create soft landings for her. I cover up the corners of the walls, places where she could fall backwards and the area around the coffee table. Somehow, she always finds a way to fall in between the pillows and bounce her head off of the hard wood floors.
Most of the bumps are pretty mild, actually, I am never too far away, so I always have a hand on her to break the fall, but babies heads are huge, I think it is something like 98 percent of their total body weight (this number has not been researched), so much of the time she just tips over head first and takes a little bump.
Due to the pageantry of the crying that takes place after the fall, I used to take this pretty seriously, until I realized that it is just the stigma of bumping her head that makes her cry, not the actual pain. Sure, once in a while she might whack it pretty good, but mostly it is just a little bump.
The real pain comes from injuries she brings upon herself, like when she is playing with something hard and plastic, like one of those pointless baby toys that just has three spinning ducks on it, and she slams it off of her nose because she has no motor skills. Or when she uses her ridiculously sharp teeth to bite her own lip.
Th other day she was sitting in the high chair eating a cookie when she broke out in a panicked cry, you know, one of those delayed ones where she is so upset there is no noise coming out, just a purple face, squinted eyes and some tears. Turns out, she got a little too excited with the cookie and ate her own finger. She has bitten me before, trust me, those bastards are sharp.
So the lesson I have learned here is that taking care of children is less about feeding them and keeping them entertained as it is about preventing catastrophic injury at every turn, and then attempting to explain to someone who can't speak and who probably isn't sure what your saying, that trying to climb the bookshelf to grab and eat a three hole punch is not safe.
Thus, the experiment continues on a daily basis. Hopefully, her experiences will shape her in to an upstanding, successful, well adjusted adult like her father. If not, it will probably be my fault. Which I am sure will be mentioned in therapy around age 16.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Episode 25: Babies and old people. Two peas in a very smelly pod.
Let me first start out by saying that I love old people. I think they are great. They are our country's greatest natural resource and I think we can all learn a lifetime of knowledge from them. If given the choice of having dinner with a random 25-year-old or a random 85-year-old, I would pick the 85-year-old almost every time. (The one exception to this rule is Russian women. I am not sure that they have hearts. Then again, growing up in Soviet Russia probably wasn't all that easy so I'll give them a pass).
The reason that I bring this up is that I have been noticing lately, since I have been staying home with the baby, that I have been keeping the same hours as the elderly, and it is beginning to get a bit disturbing. In general, babies and the elderly are a lot alike- strange sleeping habits, an inability to control their bowel movements and a diet made up mostly of soft, pureed food- but I never expected that I would essentially be living the life of an old man at the age of 25 just because I take care of a baby.
I started to notice it a few weeks ago when the baby and I were at the park. I looked around at one point and saw nothing but elderly people all around me. Sitting on benches, slowly strolling up and down the paths, taking Polaroids of trees and boats. This phenomenon has continued every time we have gone to the park since, simply because we happen to go at about the same time that the local assisted living facility takes its daily outdoor field trip.
(This, incidentally, is how I learned that Russian women are heartless. While most of the American and other unidentified races of elderly approach me often to compliment me on the baby, reminisce about their families and make baby noises, the Russian women tend instead to glare as we walk by. They have no interest in seeing a baby. It does not remind them of their grandchildren. It does not brighten their day. In fact, it seems that nothing brightens their day. They even frown as they walk around the park on a 50 degree day in November which, if you think about it, has to be down right scorching for someone who grew up in Moscow).
In any event, once I realized that we were on schedule with the assisted living home it occurred to me that the baby and I inadvertently have been keeping old people hours. We are up at 6, I usually eat lunch by 11, nap by 2 and am ready for dinner and a stiff drink by 5. A true early bird, if you will.
The other day the baby and I had some errands to run and started out like it was a normal day. We made a few stops and got a few things done, and I found myself in the vicinity of the mall. I had little desire to go back home already, since the baby seemed content to be out, so I decided we'd kill some time and see what the place had to offer. Walk around, maybe Build a Bear, maybe a soft pretzel, Home Depot if there is time, etc. It never occurred to me that we may be at the mall too early for any of that. We had been up since 5:45. This was practically mid-day for me. We walked in the front door of the mall at 9:12 a.m. (which, to me, is not an unreasonably early time) only to realize that the only stores open were Starbucks, McDonalds and the Apple Store (because evil never sleeps). So what did we do? Joined the legions of elderly people in walking the mall loop.
'My doctor says I need to keep active to avoid arthritis and keep my blood pressure down. If I walk now I'll have the energy to play with the grand kids later.'
Disappointed and a little disturbed, honestly, that the stores in the mall open so late (damn kids and their sleeping in can't get to Journey's to open before 10!) we returned home. The baby was asleep so I settled in to watch some kick ass daytime TV.
For those of you with jobs and lives, you may not be aware that Wayne Brady now hosts a new version of Lets Make A Deal right before the Price is Right. Yes, I enjoy this. Me and every old person in America love Wayne Brady and Drew Carey. While watching my two-hour block of fabulous cash and prizes I saw the usual commercials. Hover Round. Polident. Activia. But due to my recent experiences, by the time it was over I started to feel like my walk at the mall would have been aided by a motorized scooter, and I was looking for a way to cure my occasional irregularity, overactive bladder and moderate to severe psoriasis... ACTIVON! APPLY DIRECTLY TO WHERE IT HURTS!
I know that it will only be another few months that I am on old people hours, but it is starting to disturb me. I don't want to pick up old people tendencies. I don't want to start eating fish and mashed potatoes for lunch. I don't want to drive my car through a storefront and kill three people. I don't want BPH or an enlarged prostate. I like old people, but I don't want to be one.
With that I will leave you with one more story of the elderly. On Monday I had to go to the bank to pay my rent. Among the customers ahead of me were three old men. The first walked up to the teller with several crumbled pieces of paper.
'I need to check my balance. My account number is in here somewhere,' he said. The teller read him his balance.
'Is there anything else, sir?' she asked,
'No. That's all, thank you.'
The second man comes up to the teller.
'I need to take out $40. My account number is *******. I'd also like a balance.'
'Ok, sir. I need to see some identification, please.'
'Identification?! I jut gave you the damn account number.'
'Sir...' (a back and forth ensues, which ends with the man leaving because he didn't have his wallet).
The third old man comes up, as I am now at the teller window next to him, and begins speaking in a foreign tongue that I believe was Russian, but I cannot be sure. The American teller has no idea what he is saying. Eventually another elderly person in the office was able to translate. He wanted to withdraw $20 from his savings account.
That was three men, all seemingly over the age of 70, whose lives could have been made so much easier by simply learning to use an ATM card. I was, and still am, flabbergasted by the lack of technological advancement in the elderly. It isn't an iPod, it's an ATM card, and it will come in handy some day if you need to pick up a new pair of orthopedic shoes for your mall exercises.I am thinking about teaching a class. Banking for the elderly. It will have to be at like 4 in the afternoon, though, can't interrupt dinner at 5. Or BINGO at 6.
The reason that I bring this up is that I have been noticing lately, since I have been staying home with the baby, that I have been keeping the same hours as the elderly, and it is beginning to get a bit disturbing. In general, babies and the elderly are a lot alike- strange sleeping habits, an inability to control their bowel movements and a diet made up mostly of soft, pureed food- but I never expected that I would essentially be living the life of an old man at the age of 25 just because I take care of a baby.
I started to notice it a few weeks ago when the baby and I were at the park. I looked around at one point and saw nothing but elderly people all around me. Sitting on benches, slowly strolling up and down the paths, taking Polaroids of trees and boats. This phenomenon has continued every time we have gone to the park since, simply because we happen to go at about the same time that the local assisted living facility takes its daily outdoor field trip.
(This, incidentally, is how I learned that Russian women are heartless. While most of the American and other unidentified races of elderly approach me often to compliment me on the baby, reminisce about their families and make baby noises, the Russian women tend instead to glare as we walk by. They have no interest in seeing a baby. It does not remind them of their grandchildren. It does not brighten their day. In fact, it seems that nothing brightens their day. They even frown as they walk around the park on a 50 degree day in November which, if you think about it, has to be down right scorching for someone who grew up in Moscow).
In any event, once I realized that we were on schedule with the assisted living home it occurred to me that the baby and I inadvertently have been keeping old people hours. We are up at 6, I usually eat lunch by 11, nap by 2 and am ready for dinner and a stiff drink by 5. A true early bird, if you will.
The other day the baby and I had some errands to run and started out like it was a normal day. We made a few stops and got a few things done, and I found myself in the vicinity of the mall. I had little desire to go back home already, since the baby seemed content to be out, so I decided we'd kill some time and see what the place had to offer. Walk around, maybe Build a Bear, maybe a soft pretzel, Home Depot if there is time, etc. It never occurred to me that we may be at the mall too early for any of that. We had been up since 5:45. This was practically mid-day for me. We walked in the front door of the mall at 9:12 a.m. (which, to me, is not an unreasonably early time) only to realize that the only stores open were Starbucks, McDonalds and the Apple Store (because evil never sleeps). So what did we do? Joined the legions of elderly people in walking the mall loop.
'My doctor says I need to keep active to avoid arthritis and keep my blood pressure down. If I walk now I'll have the energy to play with the grand kids later.'
Disappointed and a little disturbed, honestly, that the stores in the mall open so late (damn kids and their sleeping in can't get to Journey's to open before 10!) we returned home. The baby was asleep so I settled in to watch some kick ass daytime TV.
For those of you with jobs and lives, you may not be aware that Wayne Brady now hosts a new version of Lets Make A Deal right before the Price is Right. Yes, I enjoy this. Me and every old person in America love Wayne Brady and Drew Carey. While watching my two-hour block of fabulous cash and prizes I saw the usual commercials. Hover Round. Polident. Activia. But due to my recent experiences, by the time it was over I started to feel like my walk at the mall would have been aided by a motorized scooter, and I was looking for a way to cure my occasional irregularity, overactive bladder and moderate to severe psoriasis... ACTIVON! APPLY DIRECTLY TO WHERE IT HURTS!
I know that it will only be another few months that I am on old people hours, but it is starting to disturb me. I don't want to pick up old people tendencies. I don't want to start eating fish and mashed potatoes for lunch. I don't want to drive my car through a storefront and kill three people. I don't want BPH or an enlarged prostate. I like old people, but I don't want to be one.
With that I will leave you with one more story of the elderly. On Monday I had to go to the bank to pay my rent. Among the customers ahead of me were three old men. The first walked up to the teller with several crumbled pieces of paper.
'I need to check my balance. My account number is in here somewhere,' he said. The teller read him his balance.
'Is there anything else, sir?' she asked,
'No. That's all, thank you.'
The second man comes up to the teller.
'I need to take out $40. My account number is *******. I'd also like a balance.'
'Ok, sir. I need to see some identification, please.'
'Identification?! I jut gave you the damn account number.'
'Sir...' (a back and forth ensues, which ends with the man leaving because he didn't have his wallet).
The third old man comes up, as I am now at the teller window next to him, and begins speaking in a foreign tongue that I believe was Russian, but I cannot be sure. The American teller has no idea what he is saying. Eventually another elderly person in the office was able to translate. He wanted to withdraw $20 from his savings account.
That was three men, all seemingly over the age of 70, whose lives could have been made so much easier by simply learning to use an ATM card. I was, and still am, flabbergasted by the lack of technological advancement in the elderly. It isn't an iPod, it's an ATM card, and it will come in handy some day if you need to pick up a new pair of orthopedic shoes for your mall exercises.I am thinking about teaching a class. Banking for the elderly. It will have to be at like 4 in the afternoon, though, can't interrupt dinner at 5. Or BINGO at 6.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Episode 24: The one where Mom got the Swine
This is a classic case of Karma biting me in the ass once again.
Since the H1N1 Swine Flu 'epidemic' took the world by storm last April I have been the disease's number one critic. I was still working at the newspaper when the craze first swept through America and I was stuck doing one of the things I hated the most as a journalist, hopping on a trendy national story and trying desperately to localize it.
There was always something going on in the world that we were trying (usually poorly) to make relevant to the citizens of Lynn, and I always hated it. For example, say something tragic happened in India (I have a hazy recollection of a terrorist attack or massacre of some kind happening there last year) I would get the 'call some Indian people living in Lynn' request from my boss, meaning I had to spend my day cold-calling Indian people looking for comment on a situation they were not involved in. I hated it. The only thing worse was when someone died and I'd have to do the 'What to you remember about so and so' interview. Like they were going to say anything other than 'Dave was a great man' or 'It was such a tragic loss.'
Just once I wanted to hear someone say, 'You know, it is too bad that Dave died, but he was a real prick. I won't miss him.'
The Swine Flu story was no different, and was made worse by the fact that paranoia in schools was at an all time high. As the education reporter, it became my job to find out if there were any cases of the swine in Lynn, and to field calls from every angry parent whose student had a cough as if the school system was somehow negligent for not preventing the spread of a contagious flu.
For six months I cursed this disease and wished it would go away. 'It is just the flu' I would mutter through clenched teeth. 'Take some friggin Dayquill and get over it.' Much to my dismay, the swine never went away and, in fact, the paranoia party worsened as the school year approached again.
Fast forward to the beginning of last week. I had been under the weather for two or three days, a sore throat, headache, fatigue, you know, common cold stuff. I was just about over it on Thursday when Monica started feeling the same way. With my having to work the weekend, she packed up the baby and headed south to Dedham to stay with her parents for a few days in the hopes that she would feel a bit better and get some help taking care of Av.
As her sickness worsened and a fever ensued, she realized that maybe I had not passed along my mild cold and thought it would be best to head to a doctor. Normally in this situation they would have sent her home with an antibiotic and told her to get over it, just as doctors have been doing to people with the flu for years, but given her job as a middle school teacher/ mom and the previously mentioned H1N1 paranoia, they decided to stick a swab up her nose and test her for the Swine.
It was positive. Karma.
Now, the baby has had her swine shots, but enough time had not elapsed, so Monica was quarantined for three days meaning I was thrust in to 24-hour-dad for the first time.
(EDITORS NOTE/ PUBLIC SERVICE: Av's Swine shots were administered by a pediatrician named Christine Tentindo of Beverly Pediatric Associates. This woman is without question the most evil, uncompassionate monster on the planet. She didn't even tell me when she was going to give the baby her shot. She just stabbed it in to her leg without warning, and then got annoyed when she started crying. So annoyed, in fact, that she left the room until she stopped. We will not return to this practice and anyone with children should stay as far away from this wench as possible. Thank You.)
I was admittedly nervous heading in to the situation, not because I didn't think I could handle it, but because I wasn't sure how Av would react to having just me around, especially at night when she is used to having Mom come in the room.
So from Monday to Wednesday it was just Av and I hanging out and, surprisingly, things went extremely well. I stayed patient and she didn't panic too much, although by Wednesday morning she was just about done with me and was clearly in search of her mom.
As for Monica, she is back to normal and back home. After her ordeal all indications are that, while she felt like crap and suffered through a three-day fever, Swine Flu is- as I have been saying from the beginning- still JUST THE DAMN FLU. Yes, people die from Swine. People also die from the seasonal flu. People also get run over by trains and crushed by falling tree limbs. It happens. If people didn't die the lines at the bank would be unmanageable.
The medical industry, as it likes to do with any disease (restless leg syndrome, anyone?) is using H1N1 as an excuse to spread paranoia and fear to the American public in an effort to collect $50 co-pays and sell more drugs to the populous. 'You have the Swine! stay home! Unless, of course, you are visiting your doctor, the ER or the pharmacy, which you will have to do several times before you are better!'
I know that the important thing is that the baby is OK, even if the medical industry is a complete sham, and it is nice to know that she now trusts me enough to spend an entire day with me without panicking, but in the end, I learned that there is still nothing like having your mom around no matter how cool your dad is. If there is a lesson to be learned here, kids, that is it. Mom's rule.
Since the H1N1 Swine Flu 'epidemic' took the world by storm last April I have been the disease's number one critic. I was still working at the newspaper when the craze first swept through America and I was stuck doing one of the things I hated the most as a journalist, hopping on a trendy national story and trying desperately to localize it.
There was always something going on in the world that we were trying (usually poorly) to make relevant to the citizens of Lynn, and I always hated it. For example, say something tragic happened in India (I have a hazy recollection of a terrorist attack or massacre of some kind happening there last year) I would get the 'call some Indian people living in Lynn' request from my boss, meaning I had to spend my day cold-calling Indian people looking for comment on a situation they were not involved in. I hated it. The only thing worse was when someone died and I'd have to do the 'What to you remember about so and so' interview. Like they were going to say anything other than 'Dave was a great man' or 'It was such a tragic loss.'
Just once I wanted to hear someone say, 'You know, it is too bad that Dave died, but he was a real prick. I won't miss him.'
The Swine Flu story was no different, and was made worse by the fact that paranoia in schools was at an all time high. As the education reporter, it became my job to find out if there were any cases of the swine in Lynn, and to field calls from every angry parent whose student had a cough as if the school system was somehow negligent for not preventing the spread of a contagious flu.
For six months I cursed this disease and wished it would go away. 'It is just the flu' I would mutter through clenched teeth. 'Take some friggin Dayquill and get over it.' Much to my dismay, the swine never went away and, in fact, the paranoia party worsened as the school year approached again.
Fast forward to the beginning of last week. I had been under the weather for two or three days, a sore throat, headache, fatigue, you know, common cold stuff. I was just about over it on Thursday when Monica started feeling the same way. With my having to work the weekend, she packed up the baby and headed south to Dedham to stay with her parents for a few days in the hopes that she would feel a bit better and get some help taking care of Av.
As her sickness worsened and a fever ensued, she realized that maybe I had not passed along my mild cold and thought it would be best to head to a doctor. Normally in this situation they would have sent her home with an antibiotic and told her to get over it, just as doctors have been doing to people with the flu for years, but given her job as a middle school teacher/ mom and the previously mentioned H1N1 paranoia, they decided to stick a swab up her nose and test her for the Swine.
It was positive. Karma.
Now, the baby has had her swine shots, but enough time had not elapsed, so Monica was quarantined for three days meaning I was thrust in to 24-hour-dad for the first time.
(EDITORS NOTE/ PUBLIC SERVICE: Av's Swine shots were administered by a pediatrician named Christine Tentindo of Beverly Pediatric Associates. This woman is without question the most evil, uncompassionate monster on the planet. She didn't even tell me when she was going to give the baby her shot. She just stabbed it in to her leg without warning, and then got annoyed when she started crying. So annoyed, in fact, that she left the room until she stopped. We will not return to this practice and anyone with children should stay as far away from this wench as possible. Thank You.)
I was admittedly nervous heading in to the situation, not because I didn't think I could handle it, but because I wasn't sure how Av would react to having just me around, especially at night when she is used to having Mom come in the room.
So from Monday to Wednesday it was just Av and I hanging out and, surprisingly, things went extremely well. I stayed patient and she didn't panic too much, although by Wednesday morning she was just about done with me and was clearly in search of her mom.
As for Monica, she is back to normal and back home. After her ordeal all indications are that, while she felt like crap and suffered through a three-day fever, Swine Flu is- as I have been saying from the beginning- still JUST THE DAMN FLU. Yes, people die from Swine. People also die from the seasonal flu. People also get run over by trains and crushed by falling tree limbs. It happens. If people didn't die the lines at the bank would be unmanageable.
The medical industry, as it likes to do with any disease (restless leg syndrome, anyone?) is using H1N1 as an excuse to spread paranoia and fear to the American public in an effort to collect $50 co-pays and sell more drugs to the populous. 'You have the Swine! stay home! Unless, of course, you are visiting your doctor, the ER or the pharmacy, which you will have to do several times before you are better!'
I know that the important thing is that the baby is OK, even if the medical industry is a complete sham, and it is nice to know that she now trusts me enough to spend an entire day with me without panicking, but in the end, I learned that there is still nothing like having your mom around no matter how cool your dad is. If there is a lesson to be learned here, kids, that is it. Mom's rule.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
...and we're back
If anyone still remains interested enough to check back in with us after a two-week sabbatical, you will be happy to note that the computer issues at blog headquarters have been resolved.
It was an eventful two weeks, filled with swine flu, Halloween craziness and a host of other events and happenings that I will get to in future posts. For now, just relax and bask in the comfort of knowing that I am now back to aimlessly blogging about my life in the hopes that it will provide at least a small bit of entertainment to your day.
I would love to it here and claim that not having a computer for two weeks was this great experience that took me back to the days before we were so reliant on technology, but that would be a lie. It sucked. Cut and dry.
I didn't so much miss the Facebooking or emailing, but I did miss having information at my fingertips whenever I wanted. I missed looking up menus and directions, seeing up to the minute world, sports and entertainment news and YouTubing funny videos or TV shows.
Life before technology is for the birds.
So, with that said, I'll sign off until tomorrow when I will get back to logging my time as a stay at home Dad.
It was an eventful two weeks, filled with swine flu, Halloween craziness and a host of other events and happenings that I will get to in future posts. For now, just relax and bask in the comfort of knowing that I am now back to aimlessly blogging about my life in the hopes that it will provide at least a small bit of entertainment to your day.
I would love to it here and claim that not having a computer for two weeks was this great experience that took me back to the days before we were so reliant on technology, but that would be a lie. It sucked. Cut and dry.
I didn't so much miss the Facebooking or emailing, but I did miss having information at my fingertips whenever I wanted. I missed looking up menus and directions, seeing up to the minute world, sports and entertainment news and YouTubing funny videos or TV shows.
Life before technology is for the birds.
So, with that said, I'll sign off until tomorrow when I will get back to logging my time as a stay at home Dad.
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