Time-Out

Apologizing for not updating my blog frequently enough is going to be a trend of mine, I fear. This is the first time I've sat down to write a blog and have no specific story or instance to tell of. I'm simply writing because for the next 34 minutes, I am free to do so.

Time is a luxury now; a comodity that is more rare than even sleep. It is sparce and going faster than ever before. In 2 days, Cassie will be 2 months old and it feels like it's been 2 seconds. She is growing like a weed, sleeping on more of a schedule (though I wish it was for longer periods of time), and is becoming more sociable. In short, she's awesome.

What I'm having a hard time with, though, is time management and coming to the understanding that time is not my own anymore. Another way to put it is letting go of my selfishness. What I'm being asked and needed to do are not hard things. What's hard is that they are not needs of mine. It's been a great experience. God is showing me how much time I waste focusing on me and my laziness (a talent I have mastered). So every day I surrender to the fact that my schedule is simply a wish list. I hope to get things done and if I do, great. If not, there's always tomorrow. Cassie is the boss now and, as cute as she is, will be for the rest of my life.

That's the other thing. She's growing into herself more. She's growing out of that newborn stage, which I know women love for some reason, but for guys it's a tough time. Those first couple weeks it feels like you're holding a dozen eggs out of the carton. Your only mindset is "don't break her." It's great and everything, but my back starting going out because as I held her, I would be so tense and hunched over from fear of her falling through my arms that I think I slipped a disc.

Now though, she is growing and starting to interact with me. She reacts to facial expressions. The other day she half smiled at me and I went to give her $50 just because. I came to terms a long time ago with not being able to buy myself anything anymore, but I am now starting to realize that all she's really going to need to do is look at me and we'll be off to buy her a new porsche...even if she is only 3 years old. This is a trate she gets from her mother. Jesse has one look to get me to buy her something. It could be a milkshake from Chick Fil A or a Rolls Royce. It doesn't matter. It's the same look. And that look has been passed down to her daughter. I'm already poor, I guess soon I'll be broke too.

It's ok though. I may never have enough money to give her all the things that I want, but I can always give her my time. It's hers anyways.

Oh...and here's a picture of us trying to take our first Christmas picture. This was the best we could do. And for some reason, it's one of my favorite pictures ever.

Don't Judge Me

So a lot has happened since my last blog. Work has been extremely busy, the last stages of Jesse's pregnancy was no picnic, oh, and we had our daughter. It's been 5 weeks since our life got turned upside down and it's been an absolutely insane experience.

I apologize for not updating my blog more, but between rocking Cassie to sleep at 3:00am, trying to remember what day it is, and weeping for no apparent reason, I haven't had much time to sit down at the computer and update you all on the goings on of parenthood.

After 5 weeks, it's hard to pinpoint one specific thing that has changed in my life since having our daughter, but I'll try to sum it up with two words: extreme paranoia.
I have spent more than 20 hours staring at our thermostat trying to decide if setting it at 72 degrees or 73 degrees will cause Cassie to get the flu. I have figured out where the hot spots are in the house and where she can sleep and not have the breeze of the fan hit her face too much. When going on walks with her, I'll hold her hat over her head to protect her from the sun but not let her WEAR the hat so she won't sweat in it.

I stopped in the middle of the "Baby's R Us" parking lot to stare down an elderly lady who I thought took a corner too fast. Keep in mind, she was no where near us, but I thought I should give her the stink eye anyways. When a cashier asked how old Cassie was, every instinct I had told me to say "Shut your face and scan the diapers, jerkface" but thankfully,by God's grace, I was able to answer her with a slight smile on my face.


I pray every night that Cassie will sleep hard and when she does, I can't sleep because I'm not sure if she's breathing or not. My time and efforts are completely consumed by making sure Cassie is as safe as possible. And the craziest, most bizarre part of it all is that I wouldn't change it for the world. I haven't had a good night's sleep in 5 weeks, my hand has been introduced to baby poop more times than I can count, I don't think twice about sleeping in a shirt that has fresh spit up on it, and there have been mornings where I honestly have to stop and figure out what day it is. And I wouldn't change any of it. The sleepless nights abound (though they are thankfully getting much much better), the dirty diapers just keep coming, all the cliches are true. But the one I love the most is the one where all it takes is one look from her and it makes things all better. When she holds my hand while she's sleeping, there is nothing better. I'm not trying to get all sappy, it's just true. That's not to say I'm not going to bring a shotgun to Disney World next time we go. I mean, I don't know what kind of background check they've done on Chip or Dale.

Life has afforded Jesse and me a brand new adventure in the form of a healthy, beautiful baby girl. And if anyone comes within 10 feet of her, I can not be held responsible for my actions

Birthing Class

In this blog I am going to attempt to convey to you what this past Saturday was like for Jesse and me as we spent EIGHT hours at a birthing class. I'll tell you now that I am going to fail at this miserably. There is no possible way to articulate with words that which is "the birthing class." But alas, I will try.

Lets start with the teacher. She wore Birkenstocks. There's nothing more that I really need to say about her other than that. I could say that she was way...WAY too free with her body, modeling a birthing position longer than most women who are actually in labor. I could say that she tried to tell joke after joke while her voiced trailed off to barely a whisper so by the time the punchline came you had no idea what she was saying. I could say all those things and more, but I won't. All you need to know is that she wore Birkenstocks.

The class itself was in a rather small room. We were there with 6 other couples. We lined the perimeter of the room, all sitting in bean bag chairs. The man that sat across from me was as typical of a police officer as you could imagine. He was my favorite in the class because his discomfort with the chair and with the awkwardness of the entire situation was written all over his face. It was awesome. I stared at him a lot. I also stared at one of the mothers who was insanely serious about the class. She was hanging on every one of the teacher's words. To no surprise, she was that one student who, when everyone else was dying to leave, kept asking question after question (think back to your college days. You remember that person, don't you?) My 3rd favorite was the guy sitting to my immediate right. I didn't like him at first. He could not have been more disinterested in the class. I'm pretty sure he would've made a run for it several times if he didn't think his wife would kill him. But when it came time to practice putting the diaper on the pretend baby, he shined. I'm not saying the diaper I put on the doll was perfect, but this guy's was awful. Not only was it bad, but rather than try again he decided it would be a better idea to take one of the wet wipes and fashion it around the baby's head to make it look like a bandana. This might not sound funny to you, but when you've been sitting in a bean bag chair for 8 hours listening to your hippy teacher telling you jokes you can't understand, a baby with a bandana is hilarious.

Now more about the bean bag chairs. I've glossed over them but I'd like to give them some attention now. Let me say this: you haven't lived until you've sat in a bean bag chair for 8 hours straight. At first thought they seem comfortable, but they end up enveloping you to the point where you can't move at all. Any attempt to adjust your position in the chair brings some much noise (bean bags can be loud) that you draw the ire of everyone in the room. The girl that I mentioned earlier, you know, the teacher's pet, gave me a death stare more than once because I interrupted the very important "to play music or not play music in the hospital room" portion of the day. From that point on, no matter how uncomfortable I was, I refused to adjust. The sound that came from the chair was too deafening to risk it.

I could go on about the class. It was 8 hours of pure comedic material. But I'm not going to go any further simply because a lot of it isn't appropriate. For instance, I'm not going to talk about the videos we watched and how there were cameras in places that no camera should ever go. How the women in these videos showed things that usually require a 2 drink minimum. I'm going to make no mention of how all the men had to give their wives hand massages while the lights were dim and the teacher played new age "crystals will heal you" type music. (That might not sound weird, but you try doing that with 12 complete strangers). No, I won't talk about those things because I have class.

I will say this: I'm glad it's over and through it all it made me even more excited to soon welcome Cassie into the world. There were several times during the class where I looked at Jesse and just smiled. It wasn't the class but rather what the class represented - we were one day closer, one less obstacle to go through to having our daughter. We are praying and trusting that God will ready us for something that you simply can't prepare for in an 8 hour class.

The Mastermind

There wasn't a lot going on this week in the world of pregnancy. Jesse is futher along, Cassie is kicking like crazy, and the due date is now officially less than 2 months away. The school year began this week so Jesse is back to teaching so there's been a bit of an adjustment there as far as her schedule goes. For the most part it's been steady as she goes.

I did realize something this week. You might even say I had a bit of an epiphany (or as Smee from "Hook" said "Lightning has struck my brain"). It all happened when having 3 different conversations this week that all had a similar footnote.

When talking to my friends Tommy and Kelly (both adults, mind you) I, also an adult - some may argue the opposite though - uttered the following sentence: "Did somebody toot?" I, a 32 year old "man" said the word TOOT! Who says a word like that? Only a parent to their young child. The problem is, I'm not a father yet. What's even worse is it was said as natural as any other word I might say on a regular basis. How did this happen? Why would I say "toot" when I'm not even a father yet? I'll give you the answer in a moment.

Sometime this past week Jesse was telling me about her pains from Cassie growing. I asked Jesse the following question - and again, I was being completely serious - "Does your tummy hurt?" TUMMY! I said "tummy." Who says that? I know who says that - parents of young children. BUT I'M NOT A FATHER YET. Before I know it I'm going to be combining the two and saying things like "Boy that burger isn't sitting right. My tummy hurts and I have the toots!" I mean, why not? And why stop there? Maybe next time I stub my toe on the coffee table I'll say I have a case of the "ow-ies." Or should I just go for broke and drop my r's and say "bettoo" instead of "better" and so on and so forth. Where will it end?

The 3rd and final straw that led to my great epiphany was the other night when I was looking for something to watch on TV. I went to see what was on Disney (which should've been my first clue) and saw that "Good Luck Charley" was on. YES! But wait, I had already seen it. Wait...I had already seen it? What was I doing? Granted, "Good Luck Charley" is one of the best shows on TV and if you don't watch it you're missing out ("Mama's havin' a baby child"). Why can I quote Disney shows? And why am I disappointed when I have ALREADY scene an episode? What.is.happening.to.me???

Then it hit me: for the past 4 years, Jesse has been grooming me for fatherhood. She has changed my vocabulary and my TV viewing habits BEFORE we have even had our first child. Genius. Pure genius. I didn't even know it was happening. All this time I just thought that Jesse was this incredibly cute and innocent girl because that's who she is. That may be true but she's also been calculating and cunning as well, all without me even knowing it. I mean, look at me. Even as I've been writing this, I've wondered if I had to toot. Not pass gas, not break wind, not flitter, or even farrrr, ugh I can't even say that last one anymore.

You know what, though? I'm happy she's done it. Nothing has made me more excited about having our daughter than being 100% certain that Jesse is going to be a great mother. And now, thanks to her, I'm on my way to being a father. Even if that means using some silly words and being force fed "Wizards of Waverly Place." Though I don't think that's on anymore. Ugh, there I go again. I'm happy to do it because it means I get to partner with the greatest mother-to-be on the planet. Bring on the toots.

(you like how I spun that right there?)

Picture This

Jesse and I did something this week that I was trying to avoid with all my heart. But we got an offer from some good friends that was too good to pass up. So we did it. We took maternity pictures. I've never understood maternity pictures. You're doing a whole photo shoot of something that doesn't quite exist yet. The pictures are taken just a couple months before the baby is born and then you have to do it all over again. What's the point?

I've seen many pictures of butterflies. There are even butterfly catchers (which I think is a class taught in home-schools across the country). But I've never seen any pictures of cocoons, have you? That's basically what this equates to.

If I'm being honest though, the reason that I didn't want to do this has nothing to do with the fact that maternity pictures don't make sense to me. It more had to do with the fact that I may be one of the most unphotogenic people in the world. I started off strong as a kid. The problem is that I peaked way, WAY too early. The best picture I've ever taken was my class picture in the 5th grade. I mean it. To this day it is still my favorite picture of myself (pictures that don't have me in it I've never given much thought to). My hair was perfectly coiffed, I was wearing my favorite shirt, and my smile was more charming than Zach Morris.

I remember looking at this picture for the first time and thinking "I've officially arrived." The very next year, though, was a different story. I'm not sure what happened but I went from looking like the coolest kid in school to the nerdiest person you've ever seen in your life. In retrospect, I suppose my 6th grade picture was a better representation of who I really am, but still. (I don't have this picture but if you ask my sister, I'm pretty sure she carries it around in her wallet) Since then, every picture has been a downward spiral to complete and utter embarrassment.

There may be no worse picture than my 9th grade band picture. One could argue that just taking a band picture is asking for trouble and I suppose you'd be right. This picture is on a whole new level. Every once in a while my sisters will bring out this picture to remind me of my darkest days. It's a constant source of mockery for my family. And I'm defenseless to their attacks. There's nothing I can say to justify the picture whatsoever. Simply put: it's the worst picture ever, as you can see for yourself.

With good reason, I feared the aforementioned maternity photo shoot.



With much trepidation I agreed to the maternity photo shoot. As expected, Jesse looked beautiful in every picture. She's never taken a bad picture. I on the other hand looked like someone smiling while trying to keep their tongue from hitting the top OR bottom of their mouth. (try it and you'll know what I mean) As we did the photo shoot, I was sweating. People were staring. My inner monologue was telling me that I might as well be in my band uniform. But we made it through. Jesse had a blast and it wasn't exactly torture for me either. Once we got the pictures something completely unexpected happened - I loved them. This started out as something to do for Jesse and ended up being a complete blessing for both of us. Even though Cassie isn't here yet, seeing these pictures makes it seem as though she is. I'm so grateful to Logan and Brittany for taking these pictures for us. They did an amazing job. I can't wait 'til we have our first official "family" portrait.



On another note: for those of you who read the "nailed it" post, here is the finished rocket ship. It was worth shooting Dave in the hand for.

ALSO: any and everyone can leave comments on all posts now. So if you've tried before but couldn't, you should be able to now. Thanks for reading

Nailed It

Part of being a father is being able to build things. Whether it's for your kids school projects, or skateboard ramps, or the classic tree-house, eventually there are going to be things that your children need built. My dad had a garage full of tools (sawdust was the common aroma around the house). My best friend's garage had tools everywhere. It was a normal thing for our fathers to build us whatever we were into at that moment. It is something that I appreciate now and took for granted then.

Here's the problem with all of that: I am an IDIOT when it comes to tools. Never has this been more true than yesterday (but more on that in a second). It worries me that whenever Cassie needs a dollhouse built, I'm going to have to hire a contractor to come build it for her. Don't get me wrong, I try to do projects around the house and usually they get done. But they lack all efficiency and skill. The reason I try, even though I have no idea what I'm doing, is because when I got married a good friend of mine told me to just try. He said the only way I'll learn is to try. My friend who told me that was Dave and yesterday...Dave paid the price for that advice.

My wife is a 1st grade teacher and is in the process of getting her classroom ready for the upcoming school year. Jesse takes A LOT of pride in decorating her classroom. She wants her students to have an amazing 1st grade experience so she works tirelessly at making everything in her room perfect. This year she wanted to put a rocket ship in the corner of her classroom to serve as a place for her students to read - "launch into reading." Dave volunteered to help me build it - good friend.

Jesse and I bought the wood. I successfully cut all the 2x4's and Dave helped cut all the other wood. We took the wood to Jesse's classroom and to our surprise, and later dismay, some guys were working on another classroom and said we were welcome to all of their tools. Using their saw and nail gun was going to save us massive amounts of time. Dave grabbed the nail gun, I grabbed the nails and we were set. We laid out the wood according to how it was going to be built. We had a plan. Shouldn't take long at all.

The problem: I am an IDIOT when it comes to tools.

It came time to actually build the rocket. Dave braced the 2 pieces of wood that I was about to nail together with the nail gun. I placed the nail gun against the wood and fired away. The gun recoiled more than I thought. But as I looked, sure enough a nail was in place. Something didn't feel right, though. Dave yelped, held out his finger and told me to "look!". I immediately freaked out as I stared at Dave's finger. I had just shot one of my best friends in the finger with a nail. Dave had a nail in his finger and I was as white as a ghost. Dave was somehow smiling as he watched me freak out. We realized quickly that we needed to pull the nail out so we ran to the sink and on the count of 3 I pulled hard as I yanked the nail out of Dave's finger. It came out quickly with only a slight drop of blood. I was sure we were going to have to go to the ER but miraculously, and I mean miraculously, Dave was ok. The Lord saved Dave's hand.

Shaken, I sat down as Dave got a bandaid and continued to laugh at me. The owner of the gun walked in shortly after the incident and explained to us that he had recently shot himself in the leg with the same "cheap gun." Apparently the gun shoots a rogue nail every once in a while. THANKS MAN. THANKS A LOT FOR THE GUN! This fact did not make me feel better in the least. I held the gun. I fired the gun. I shot Dave. I will never be the same.

Sorry Cassie but from now on I will build everything with with legos or crazy glue.I hope that will suffice.

I'm happy to report that Dave is still my friend and though his finger is sore, he's going to be ok. I, on the other hand, and going to have nightmares for years to come.

Hands Off

On February 19th my wife and I found out that we are going to be parents. One of the happiest days of my life. Since then, we have been planning, decorating, rearranging, painting, buying, selling, etc etc etc. Jesse (my wife) is now 7 months pregnant and things are getting real. Through this process I've observed many things; from how I've been acting and also how other people react to our pregnancy. I've decided to write a blog to, if nothing else, sort out these observations so that I don't go insane.

One of the most amazing things that I've noticed since Jesse got pregnant is the gravitational pull that women's hands have towards her belly. It literally blows my mind every time a woman walks up to her, begins carrying on a normal conversation, and then suddenly places their hands on Jesse's stomach. They will stand there and talk about nursery decor, not feeling well, where to buy cute maternity clothes, all while keeping their hands on her stomach. Is this normal? There is no part of me that understands this. Does the same thing happen when you see someone with a goiter? "What a wonderful growth you have on your neck, there. May I place both hands on it as we stand here and talk about the weather?" It makes.no.sense.

My favorite is when a woman (and I say "woman" b/c no man has done this...yet. If a man were to do this I would simply punch them in the throat and be done with it) asks permission to touch Jesse's stomach. I'm standing there and just want to scream "NO YOU MAY NOT YOU WEIRDO." But I don't. I bight my tongue and stand in awe as Jesse keeps her composure during this bizarre exchange. I suppose asking permission is seen as being courteous but isn't that like asking permission to fart? Everyone knows the answer is "No" but you'll probably do it anyways. (BTW, I asked Jesse's permission before using the word "fart.")

I guess I have such a hard time with it b/c when someone puts their hand on my shoulder just to say hello, I want to shove them away as if they have leprosy. An ideal conversation for me is a smile, nod of the head, and no word uttered. Actual words exchanged is stretching it. Physical contact is direct evidence of God's patience working in me.

My only guess...and it is a guess...to this crazy behavior is that it feeds women's insatiable need to hold babies. Even when they're not yet born, touching a pregnant stomach satisfies the baby-holding appetite for women. I think this, along with many other reasons, is why women are the ones to carry the pregnancy burden. If men were to be pregnant and other men kept coming up to them to rub their stomach, you'd have fights all the time. But women can handle it. Jesse has handled this pregnancy more brilliantly than I could ever imagine. Her attitude inspires me. It gives me such peace b/c it's MORE proof of how incredible of a mother she is going to be. I can't wait for our daughter to arrive. Just don't touch my stomach or we'll have problems.